Why I Wrote This:
I wrote this to give an honest look into our Mexico Volcanoes Expeditions for those who may not know about it yet, and to help people more fully understand why it means so much to us as a company. For me personally, this trip is deeply personal on a lot of levels. It’s something I’ve had the privilege of shaping over time while carrying forward what Tim and JB created, and that responsibility has stayed with me from the beginning. This isn’t meant to sell anything or convince you to book a trip. It’s meant to share what this experience actually is, what it feels like to be part of it, and why we’ve built it the way we have. If it resonates with you and you find yourself wanting to experience it one day, I hope you’ll consider joining us.
I still remember the first time I was part of bringing a group down to Mexico for this expedition. It wasn’t fully polished yet or as dialed as it is now, but even then, standing in the streets of Puebla on that first day, I could feel what it had the potential to become. That first expedition stands out for another reason too. I was there with JB, former SWS Mountain Guides co-owner, and David, current co-owner. JB wasn’t just one of our guides or my boss. He was a friend and someone I looked up to in a way that’s hard to fully put into words. He had a rare ability to see what something could become long before it actually existed, and I admired that more than I probably ever told him.
After that expedition, he and I had a conversation that has stayed with me ever since. He asked if I had any interest in taking over and continuing to grow the trip. I remember feeling honored but also understanding the weight behind that question. It wasn’t just about logistics or building something bigger. It was about doing it the right way, in a way that supported the local communities just as much as the people coming down to experience it. JB has since passed, but that moment and the trust he placed in me have never left. It shapes nearly every decision I make about how this expedition runs and what I want people to feel while they’re there.
Why We Start in Puebla:
We begin and end in Puebla because it’s more than just a place to land. It’s where you start to feel the culture right away through the colors, the history, the food, and the way people interact with each other. There’s a warmth to it that goes beyond temperature, and it’s something you don’t always find in larger cities, which is why we start here instead of Mexico City. We meet at a hotel chosen very intentionally for its comfort and location. I’ve personally walked through more than forty hotels in the area to find the right fit. It wasn’t about finding something flashy. It was about how it feels when you walk through the doors. Comfortable, familiar, and welcoming.
The staff know us. They ask about past groups, about the climbs, and about how things have been since our last visit. When our guests arrive, they aren’t checking into a random place. They’re stepping into something we’ve spent years building relationships around. On our first evening, we head out for a welcome dinner, which is still one of my favorite parts of the trip. There’s always that moment where everyone is getting a feel for each other and carrying a bit of uncertainty about what the next ten days will bring. Then the food arrives, conversations open up, laughter comes easier, and you can almost watch that tension disappear.
Mexico has a way of shifting people’s perspectives if they let it. If you give it space, it replaces assumptions with something much more personal. That first dinner isn’t just the start of the expedition. It’s an invitation into what we’ve built and a way of saying you’re not just here to climb mountains, you’re here to experience a place that has shaped us as guides and as people. Over the years, we’ve been intentional about building these smaller moments into the trip. They might seem simple, but they’re there for a reason. We want people to feel connected to the culture, the people, and the places most travelers never really see, because those connections are what turn a climb into something far more special.
After dinner, some people head out to explore while others go back to rest. I usually step away for a bit later that evening just to take it all in. Every time we begin this trip, it feels personal and reminds me why we’ve put so much into building it the way we have. The next morning, after breakfast, we leave the city and head toward La Malinche. The transition is always noticeable. One moment you’re in the energy of Puebla, and a few hours later you’re standing in quiet forest with cool mountain air.
La Malinche:
We stay at an old Olympic training facility that has gradually evolved into a mountain resort. It’s comfortable in a simple, honest way, with warm beds, hot showers, space to spread out, and a fireplace. We chose it because it lets people ease into the mountains instead of feeling thrown straight into them. That first night matters. It’s when the group starts to settle in and the trip begins to feel like a real expedition. Gear gets organized, layers get sorted, and conversations shift toward the climb ahead. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air.
The next morning, we climb La Malinche. It’s our first move above 14,000 feet, but the goal isn’t to push limits. It’s to acclimate and establish the rhythm we’ll carry forward. The route starts in dense forest before gradually opening up, and around 13,000 feet the trees thin and the landscape changes. That’s usually when it starts to click for people. I like to watch for the moment when things shift. Breathing settles, pacing smooths out, and the urge to rush fades. That’s when the experience starts to land and everything begins to come together.
We take our time to the summit and then head back down. That evening at the cabins always feels relaxed. A hot shower suddenly means a lot. There’s storytelling, laughter, and somewhere in there we share a small surprise that has become a tradition and one of the things people remember most.
Iztaccihuatl and Popocatépetl:
From Malinche, we head to Iztaccihuatl. Izta has a different presence. It’s bigger, more complex, and demands more attention. The terrain constantly changes, the altitude becomes more noticeable, and the climbing requires more focus. We spend multiple days here on purpose, as this is where most of the acclimatization for Orizaba happens and where people tend to grow the most as climbers. The route includes trails, loose scree, scrambling, and glacier travel. It’s a more demanding climb and one of my personal favorites to guide because it keeps you engaged the entire time.
Climbing with Popocatépetl nearby adds another layer to the experience. Some days it’s quiet, and other days you can see ash and steam rising into the sky. It’s a reminder that these mountains are alive. One of my favorite memories was watching Popo put on a light show on New Year’s Eve while we sat at high camp on Izta. By the time we leave, the group always feels different. You can sense it.
Tlachichuca:
After Izta, we head to Tlachichuca. This town means a lot to me. It isn’t built for tourism. It’s a small farming community with a very real and authentic feel, and over time it’s become a second home. We stay at a climber’s hostel that has supported Orizaba expeditions for decades. You feel the history as soon as you walk in, but what makes it special is the people. The hospitality is genuine. Meals are shared, conversations come easily, and you’re treated like family.
We build in a full rest day here, not just for acclimatization but for the experience. We walk through town, visit local spots, and spend time in places most climbers pass by. This part of the trip matters just as much as any summit.
Pico de Orizaba:
Then we move toward Pico de Orizaba. The drive to high camp feels like a transition into something bigger as pavement turns to rough mountain roads and the elevation climbs to 14,000 feet. After settling in, everyone prepares for an early start. Like most summit days, we begin in the dark, moving under the stars until the first light reveals the Jamapa Glacier.
Orizaba is a steady climb upward. There are no shortcuts. This is where everything comes together. The pacing from Malinche, the movement from Izta, and the acclimatization built over days all matter here. I spend a lot of time watching the team, not just for safety but because it’s one of the most meaningful parts of guiding for me. Watching someone work through fatigue and settle into their rhythm while continuing upward never gets old.
Eventually, we reach the summit. At 18,491 feet, Orizaba is the third-highest peak in North America, but what stands out most is the perspective. From the top, you can see for hundreds of miles and trace the entire journey that brought you there. We don’t rush it. We take time to let it sink in.
The descent is long, and the energy shifts. The pressure is gone, and there’s a sense of completion. Back in Tlachichuca, that final evening is always special. Hot showers, a full meal, and time to reflect. People talk about the climb, but also about the moments they didn’t expect to matter.
The next morning, we return to Puebla, with time to explore before heading home. By the end of the trip, something has usually shifted. Not just because of the climbing, but because of the experience as a whole. That has always been the goal.
What This Expedition Means to Me:
I hope it’s obvious that I care deeply about this trip, not just because of the climbing, but because of what it represents. I want people to experience the country honestly and see it for what it is. I have family from Mexico, close friends there, and relationships in these communities that mean a lot to me. The people we work with, the towns we return to, and the guests who trust us have all become part of my life. Even the person I go back to each time to buy vanilla for my wife is someone I look forward to seeing again, a small but real reminder that these connections go far beyond the mountains.
Written By Caleb Burns