Iztaccíhuatl — The Sleeping Woman

This September, I returned to Mexico for my second volcano adventure. Earlier this year, I climbed Orizaba and Malinche — but this time was different. It was my first time going high without acclimatization in the area, flying straight from Pittsburgh to Mexico City and driving directly to base camp at about 13,000 feet.

A Wet and Cold Start

We woke up at 11 p.m. to begin our climb, but heavy rain forced us to wait until 1 a.m. When we finally set out, the rain continued for hours. By the time it stopped, I was already soaked and freezing. I changed quickly, layering up in every piece of warm gear I had.

The Sleeping Woman’s Crater

Iztaccíhuatl is unlike any mountain I’ve climbed before. The volcano’s crater is broad and undulating, forcing you to ascend and descend across rocky ridges and snowfields. Some sections held deep snow over jagged volcanic rock, while others opened into sweeping views. By 7:30 a.m., we reached the summit at 17,160 feet just in time to see the sun break the horizon.

The Descent

Our descent took us down a steep snowy slope into rocky terrain, and eventually into an alpine meadow bursting with flowers growing out of black volcanic ash, glistening from the morning rain. Walking through that surreal mix of colors and textures was one of the highlights of the day. We returned to base camp around 11:30 a.m., packed up, and drove back to Mexico City, tired but exhilarated.

Training Pays Off

What made this climb even more special is that I came directly from low altitude to high camp in one push — and had no problems. It was a personal test of my training, preparation, and resilience, and I felt strong from start to finish.

Legend of Izta and Popo

Climbing Iztaccíhuatl is not just a physical challenge; it’s stepping into a legend. In Aztec mythology, Iztaccíhuatl (“the sleeping woman”) was a princess who died of grief after believing her warrior lover, Popocatépetl, had been killed in battle. When he returned alive, he carried her to the mountains, where the gods transformed them into volcanoes. Today, Popocatépetl still smolders as a watchful warrior, while Iztaccíhuatl rests forever in the silhouette of a sleeping woman.

Standing on her summit at sunrise, I felt part of both the mountain’s raw volcanic power and its timeless story of love and loss.