Pico do Areeiro

06:45:00 AM (WET, UTC±00:00)

“You won’t see anything. But I guess try to have some fun… If it’s possible.”

“Good luck. You couldn’t pay me to hike today.”

“You don’t have more jackets? Oh, jeez.”

“It won’t get better. Sorry.”

Henrique drives vans of hikers to Pico do Areeiro on the island of Madeira, Portugal for a living. His parting words were comforting to eight amateurs setting out at sunrise.

Rain thrashed angrily as we exited Henrique’s van. The volcanic island’s weather is impossible to predict, leaving us inadequately layered for the 30 degree winds that greeted us. The summit was cloaked in somber gray clouds and predawn darkness. I couldn’t see my feet as they trudged grudgingly ahead.

Henrique advised us to wait an hour before departing, in the hopes that visibility would improve.

“It probably won't.”

With that, he escaped to the warmth of his van, abandoning us at the trailhead. We put our arms around one another and huddled for warmth, teeth chattering violently.

07:00:00 AM (WET, UTC±00:00)

Within ten minutes, we decided we were too freezing to stand still. I was ready to call Henrique and beg him to come back for us, but my friends are either braver or crazier than I am. Visibility or blindness, we were hiking.

07:15:00 AM (WET, UTC±00:00)

The trail from Pico do Areeiro to Pico Ruivo is nicknamed the “Stairway to Heaven.”

We saw no heaven.

The wind was relentless, nearly whipping us off the mountain. Beads of rain dripped from our gloveless fingers. We met each viewpoint with fits of delirious, sleepless laughter. There was no view. We saw gray.

09:00:00 AM (WET, UTC±00:00)

The rain softened to a mist as morning settled. Our stiff limbs and moods thawed, easing us into comfortable conversation.

10:15:00 AM (WET, UTC±00:00)

We hadn’t seen another person for three hours. With each hint of an opening in the clouds, we cheered, only for it to close again.

11:00:00 AM (WET, UTC±00:00)

The hike was meant to take six hours. We finished it in four. Call it the company, athleticism, or the fact that we never needed to stop to admire the view.

At last, we approached the restaurant bungalow that marked the end of our expedition, where we’d reward ourselves with breakfast cheeseburgers and hot chocolate. I cheered and turned around to alert my fellow soggy hikers.

A rainbow stretched overhead, painting the gray canvas with vivid color. It bridged the path between the trailhead and where we stood, tracing our journey and smiling down at our pruned, muddied feet.