How to Photograph an Active Volcano Without Getting Vaporized
A chat with photographer and Deadhead Peter Fisher about climbing Guatemala’s Volcán de Fuego for National Geographic—and advice for anyone (AKA me) thinking of doing the same.
Welcome to A Time of Gifts, a newsletter that’s loosely about travel and living well, written by me, Shona Sanzgiri, an editor, journalist, and photographer based in L.A.
I meant to quit all Meta-branded platforms this year. And yet there I was again one morning, mindlessly scrolling Instagram like I was staring at a ceiling fan, clocking everything, absorbing nothing.
One post broke my trance: a photo dump that began with an image of Guatemala’s Volcán de Fuego, a column of smoke blooming into a blue hour sky. I scanned each photo, struck by the scale not just of the volcano, but all of its finer details—the cinders, the ash, the encircling clouds.
The photo that stayed with me for days wasn’t any of those, but something more intimate: a view from inside a tent, the volcano framed by the flap and within what seemed like walking distance.
That’s when it hit me: you can just…camp across from an active volcano?
Yes, and how. Fuego draws hikers year-round despite the very real possibility of being incinerated. In 2018 a series of deadly eruptions triggered a pyroclastic flow (a rapidly tumbling mix of hot gas, ash, and loose rock) that barreled into nearby villages, killing nearly two hundred people.
And yet, I’m planning to go next year. Call it hubris, or a midlife crisis. I turned 40 a few months ago and realized my window for doing life-affirmingly dumb shit is closing fast.
As part of my research, I reached out to the photographer, Peter Fisher, a former New Yorker digital photo editor known for his electric, sometimes delightfully deranged portraits for The New York Times. The volcano photos were his first assignment for National Geographic, and they feel markedly different from the rest of his work—slower, meditative, intense.
We talked about the brutal hike required to reach the volcano, how he trained for it, the split second before the shot that landed in National Geographic’s best-of-the-year list, and what it feels like to stand inches from beauty that could kill you.
Shona: I’ve been a fan of your work for a while, but these volcano photos—holy shit. They literally made me stop scrolling.
Peter: That’s high praise. I feel that fully.
The photos that initially made an impression on me were the shots from inside the tent. There’s one where you’re lying back, and another one of your friend reading. Those made me think, I need to be there.
That was a shot I had in mind from the start. I rarely go into projects with a shot list, but I knew I had to get that: a tent facing an active volcano right across the way.
Was that in the morning?
Midday. It gets brutally hot during the day—the sun’s full blast up there. You’re at around 12,000 to 13,000 feet, so it’s freezing and windy at night, then scorching by midday. You’re just hunting for shade whenever you can.
After seeing your photos, I immediately fell into a volcano tourism rabbithole. I was like, “I have to climb this.” Then I read your caption and thought, “Uhhh can I do this?”
You should do it! But yeah, it’s brutal. You’re just ascending the entire time. Everyone goes in thinking it’s a tourist hike anyone can do, but that doesn’t mean everyone should. The terrain is mostly volcanic ash, so every step forward means you slide you half a step back. You’re crumbling with the mountain, breathing in dust the whole time.
The ash gets kicked up with every step, so you’re walking through a constant dust cloud. You’re filthy by the end. I was pulling out black boogers for a week afterward.
Fuck.
Yeah, it’s rough. A lot of people don’t make it to the top. There are 4x4 services that’ll drive you near the camp, but I’d say don’t do that. It’s worth earning it.
Once you’re at camp, how long does it take to reach the actual volcano?
From camp to the ridge line…about an hour and a half, maybe two hours one way once we got our route dialed. But it’s tough. You have to descend about 1,500 feet before climbing 1,500 up again. That stretch—less of a trail, more loose ash—is the hardest. We did that hike every morning and evening for three and a half days. By the end, we were wrecked.
And how many of your shots were from that vantage point?
About half. I wanted to get as close as possible. It’s not like Old Faithful—it doesn’t erupt on a schedule. You’d ask the local guides, “What mood is she in today?” Sometimes it’d go off when the clouds rolled in and you couldn’t see a thing.
What was it like to stand that close when it actually erupted?
You feel it in your chest—a deep rumble, then an explosion that makes your ears ring. It’s dangerous and completely mesmerizing. Everyone edges closer even though your brain’s screaming don’t. It’s pure moth-to-flame energy.
You mentioned training for the climb. What did that involve?
Mostly hiking and leg work. I filled my pack with weights because I knew I’d be carrying around 45–55 pounds—camera gear, water, batteries. I even hit the StairMaster a few times with the pack on just to see how long I could last. It definitely helped; by day three, my friend was toast.
Tell me about the shot that National Geographic picked as one of their top photos of the year.
That was on day one. We’d just reached camp, exhausted, when a guide said, “If you want to see the volcano before dark, you have to go now.” We’d planned to rest, but I decided to push. I still had my pack on and the camera around my neck when I heard the rumble. I looked up, saw my buddy’s flashlight against the ash cloud, and just started shooting. Didn’t check exposure, didn’t look at the screen. I barely remembered taking those photos until I got home and started editing.
That’s wild because the photo looks perfectly composed, like you planned it.
Not at all. Total chaos. That’s the fun part of photography—the moments that just happen.
Did you have a shot list going in?
Not really. It was my first Nat Geo assignment, so I just wanted to do a good job and cover the whole arc of the story: the climb, the camp, the eruption, the aftermath. I was also shooting video because you kind of have to now. My plan was just to capture everything and build the narrative later.
You were up there for three and a half days. How’d you spend the downtime?
A lot of reading and talking with other hikers. Most people only stay one night, so we’d get a new batch of travelers every day—people from all over. We’d wake up around 3:00 or 3:30 a.m. to hike, nap midday when it got too hot, then head out again. That tent photo you liked was taken during one of those midday breaks.
You mentioned talking to locals about how the mountain’s changed over time.
Yeah, they’ve seen everything—the deadly eruptions, the robberies, the weird weather. Once you’re up there, you’re really out there. There’s no regulation, no ranger saying “don’t cross this line.” If you wanted to, you could walk right up to the edge—and people do. It’s as chill or as dangerous as you make it.
Was that danger in your mind while you were shooting?
Not really. It’s so beyond your control that you can’t dwell on it. If that’s how the cards fall, that’s how they fall. It’s like getting on a plane—either you make it to Dallas or you don’t.
Would you say this was your most dangerous shoot?
Not quite. Later that summer, I shot a piece for The Atlantic about surf fishermen in Montauk who swim out at night, in the dark, no lights, to fish off boulders a hundred yards offshore. Sharky waters, heavy surf. My buddy Charlie—same guy—came with me as my assistant. That one was way sketchier.
The guy is your designated chaos companion.
Exactly. My beer-drinking buddy and my go-to for anything stupidly exciting.
What advice would you give to someone thinking about climbing Volcán de Fuego?
Train. Nothing crazy, but be ready physically. You’ll have a better time if you’re not dying on the trail. Do it between November and April—the dry season. And if you can make it all the way to the ridge—do it. You won’t regret it.
My favorite things this week
🧶 Our friend ektor garcia (lowercase intentional) leads a recent New York Times: T Magazine roundup of five new artists to watch. He just opened a major exhibition at the San Jose Museum of Art and has shown at galleries around the world. His work comprises large-scale hanging crochet installations and mixed-media sculptures made from copper wire, leather, rubber, and other discarded materials in conversation with the craft traditions he inherited from his family in Zacatecas, Mexico.
🥤 This mint chip smoothie recipe from Charleston restaurateur and renaissance man Brooks Reitz is so good I’ve made it every single day this week. Somehow it’s healthier and better than most milkshakes.
🎧 Loved this 2012 conversation between travel writer Rolf Potts and fiction writer Anthony Doerr that Potts just resurfaced on his thoughtful travel podcast, Deviate. So much great travel-writing (and just travel) advice here.
🐟 Food & Wine tracked the journey of wild salmon from sea to plate—a vivid, POV-style read that’ll change how you think about fish.
Follow me on Instagram at @fauxrealist