Whole lotta lava in Nicaragua

It was big, dark and menacing. And it was getting closer.

No, it wasn’t a storm cloud, or a howler monkey, or any one of the enormous insects that make their home in Nicaragua. It was Cerro Negro (translation: Black Hill), a 2,214-foot-tall volcano made up of nothing but charcoal-colored rock and ash, without so much as a weed sprouting from its moonscape-like surface.

And I was on our way to slide down it — with gear made for snow, not volcanic rubble.

Volcano boarding (also called ashboarding) is one of the fastest growing tourist attractions in the Reserva Natural Complejo Volcánico Pilas El Hoyo, 5,288 acres of protected land outside the colonial city of Leon. Cerro Negro is one of only a few of places in the world where you can attempt the daredevil sport.

Ashboarding on Cerro Negro in Nicaragua.

Thirty minutes into a bone-rattling ride in the back of an ancient Land Rover, we were still another half-hour from Cerro Negro’s base. Yet it loomed ahead the entire way, growing ominously larger as the antiquated SUV bounced over the unpaved road, occasionally pulling over to let an ox-drawn cart pass.

When we finally pulled up to a small shack to pick up our equipment, it was already late afternoon.

“This is better,” our guide assured us. “It is not as hot out, so the bottom of your shoes won’t melt.”

For whatever reason, he'd neglected to mention that the black rock can reach scalding temperatures after a day under the hot Nicaraguan sun. And that we’d be hauling along the 10-pound board on the hour-long climb. Oh, and that Cerro Negro was still quite active: It had erupted 23 times since its birth (in 1850), the last was in 1999.

When was it due for another eruption, I asked.

“About every 10 years there is volcanic activity,” he answered.

I'm no math major but even I could figure out it was quite a few years overdue.

Nevertheless, we grabbed the snowboards (one person opted for a “sled,” basically a piece of plywood with a rope on the front), and began our ascent up the eastern side of the volcano.

There was no clearly marked path, just a seemingly endless expanse of pumice-like rocks so light they shifted beneath our feet with every step. This made the steep climb, difficult with the unwieldy boards, even more of a challenge.

But the bigger challenge was yet to come. That awesome feeling of accomplishment one normally gets when reaching the summit was supplanted by another feeling — fear. The sun was sinking quickly, the wind was nearing what felt like gale-force and the path between the volcano’s outer edge and its crater, which emitted hot, smelly plumes of sulfur, was exceedingly narrow. My aversion to heights (and egg salad) started seriously kicking in.