The Beginning
Day 1: March 6, 2009
Just finished the long bus ride up to Los Penitentes. I thought I was on the wrong bus at first because we were traveling away from the mountains, but we soon circled back around to head up a wide valley.
Staring up at these mountains from the valley gives you some sense of their grandeur—the snow covered peaks sat a few thousand feet above the scattered cloud ceiling today—but it’s not until you’re traveling up through them that you realize their true height. Valley after sparsely vegetated valley (this is a very hot, dry region) the mountains continued to rise sheerly above us. It wasn’t until we reached Los Penitentes that we were actually below one of the lesser snow-capped sentinels.
As anyone who has visited southern Utah or Arizona can attest, the desert can be breathtakingly gorgeous. Here is no exception. Steep slopes of scree crumbling from dark rock faces are covered with small grasses that lend them green and yellow hues. Above these, dark and sand-colored ridges lead up to saddles beneath the majestic, white crowns of the Americas. I’m so happy to be out of the smog-filled streets of Mendoza breathing the fresh, thin mountain air.
Looking down on Los Penitentes
The plan is to spend two nights here in Los Penitentes acclimatizing in a little log cabin hostel aptly named Campo Base before heading up to the next camp, Confluencia. It’s easy to tell that I hit the season’s end. Los Penitentes, which I’ve heard can be quite happening in mid-season, is devoid of much human life. There’s no one else in my hostel and the only sound that can be heard is the Spanish soap operas that are entertaining the hostel attendant. I think it’s going to be a long two days, but there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be right now than in this crisp, cool mountain air staring into near solitude.
For some reason the air here seems thinner than other places at comparable altitudes. I’m no higher than Brighton, UT but feel more of the altitude’s affects than I normally would. I do feel good. This afternoon I walked around Los Penitentes, which took all of ten minutes, then read and napped for a bit. At around seven, I decided that I better get some exercise lest I never fall asleep tonight. Los Penitentes, I discovered, is the name of a small ski resort. It took about 30 minutes to hike half way up the mountain, although to be fair hiking the second half would have taken considerably longer due to the increase in slope.
Los Penitentes ski lodge
When I reached the base there was a man and a boy taking mountain bikes out of a Ford Econoline camper. They drove south through Mexico and Central America, took a ferry to Ecuador (skipping the drive through Colombia), and then continued south through Peru, Chile, and Argentina. They boy is home schooled. Evan, Susan, and Roberts plan to settle in Argentina for a good three years before moving on. It’s amazing that more people don’t do these things.
Now I leave you with a passage from my newfound, horribly translated reading material: Mountains of Light – Cord of the Silver [a direct translation of the nearby mountain range, “Cordon del Plata”]
“In this chapter, which we will offer to them will be the possibility that you they can know each mountain that is in the Cord of the Silver, where we will indicate to its routes normal and their possible climbs and new virgin routes [oo la la] to them to conquer.”
You have to take what you can get when fighting cabin fever.
Day 2: March 7, 2009
I’m beat. Sara and Melissa met me up here at 11 AM off the bus from Mendoza. After a quick lunch we took off up the mountain for an acclimatization hike. I was a bit concerned that Melissa or Sara might experience mild AMS hiking up to 3800m without spending any time in Los Penitentes, but they were fine.
Crystal clear mountain stream
There was one point during the hike where we got off trail and had to scramble up a scree slope to relocate the trail leading up the ridge to summit. Other than eating up a little extra time, it wasn’t an issue. When we reached the top we were rewarded with stunning views of the valley below and surrounding peaks.
Looking across at Los Penitentes ski resort
Our hike lasted about six hours, so when we got back we were famished. All day I had hyped up our host’s cooking since the night before she had made rosemary potatoes, grilled veggies, and a soy patty. All were delicious. We were very disappointed tonight when she brought out a pile of spaghetti noodles with canned veggies on top. I’m not sure why, but Argentinians always default to sauceless spaghetti when you ask for vegetarian fare. I figure that the only reason I got good vegetables the night before was because she brought them out with a slab of beef. I asked her to swap it with one of my soy patties and I had her leave the delicious sides. I’m dumbfounded as to why she thought we would prefer dry pasta with canned veggies? It’s clear that the Argentinians don’t understand vegetarianism.
Melissa and Sara crossing an Andean slope-side meadow
After dinner a man came by requesting my gear, which will be carried by mule to the higher camps. After five minutes of miscommunication in Spanish, I learned that I’d have to carry my bag from Confluencia (3380m) to Plaza de Mulas (4300m) because the last mule caravan of the year is leaving tonight. I realized that by attempting a summit so late in the season (and for a reduced rate) there would be cutbacks, but the lack of communication from the guide company is starting to weight on my nerves. The guy who was supposed to meet me in Los Penitentes never showed, I’m not sure if I have a sleeping bag waiting for me in Confluencia (Pablo, my guide, said he has an extra but never told me where it will be. He’s meeting me in Plaza de Mulas), and no one at the hostel has been informed any more than I have about gear transfers. I just hope that Pablo climbs more professionally than he organizes.
Heading back down to dinner
Now it’s lights out. We have to take a 60 peso [US$17] “transfer” five kilometers to the park entrance tomorrow morning. There are no taxis up here, so we don’t have much say in how we get around. I’ll just be happy to get on the trail.
Day 3: March 8, 2009
Confluencia (photo by Melissa Meyer)
Today had some ups and downs. After a carbo-loaded breakfast (ugh… it never ends) we headed up to Horcones to start the actual trek. We got a late start trying to make a last minute decision on whether Melissa would stay up in the mountains instead of returning to Mendoza. In the end, she opted to join the expedition instead of returning to the city’s smog-filled streets for another week of Spanish study. We made up lost time by reaching Confluencia in less than two hours (we were quoted three). After a protein-packed lunch (those beans and rice backpacker meals are a life saver) we hiked around Confluencia’s surrounds. A few hours passed and Sara had to leave us to start her long journey back to the contrived world of desks and deadlines.
Sara heading down with a group of Argentinians (photo by Melissa Meyer)
Standing in the presence of such geological giants is a humbling experience. Staring at grand vistas I recognize that the mountains are big, but it’s not until you begin to move that you begin to comprehend the spatial majesty. It almost induces a sense of vertigo when trying to walk and gaze up at surrounding peaks. Which reminds me, we actually got a brief peek at Aconcagua today. We thought at first that a closer, lower peak was the destined prize—that is until the clouds cleared and revealed the goliath. I’m not going to lie. My heart sank an inch. “Wait. I’m trying to go waaaaay up there?” Intimidating to say the least.
Overlooking Confluencia
But, I’m in high spirits despite a few disparaging remarks at the ranger station in Horcones. We met a German man who tried to solo the summit but was stymied by high snow levels on the Polish route, then ordered down by medics when he developed a mild frostbite in his left trigger finger. The rangers also mentioned that there are 120 km/h winds at Camp Berlin—6000m (~1000m below summit). They hadn’t meant to discourage me, but it’s hard not to ready myself for disappointment in the event that we are forced to abandon our summit bid.
Sun setting on a nearby peak
The day ended on a gorgeous note when we were rewarded with a blazing sunset resting on a nearby peak. Even if Aconcagua denies us this time, just being up here is reward enough.
p.s. The night sky up here is spectacular, although dimmed by a ¾ moon. I can finally pick out the Southern Cross.
Day 4: March 9, 2009
Last night I hard some American accents so I ventured out into the mild night to say hello. All three were front Montana and had summited Aconcagua six days prior. Although a storm had forced them down from camp Alaska after three days of waiting, they headed back up and had a beautiful summit day with winds at only about 40-50 km/h. It was a ray of sunlight on the otherwise dismal horizon.
Looking across Horcones Inferior glacier on the way to Plaza Francia (photo by Melissa Meyer)
When Melissa and I awoke at 7:45, the Americans had left. After our umpteenth breakfast of toast and jam, we set off for Plaza Francia (4250m), an acclimatization hike to the south side of Aconcagua that will hopefully prepare our bodies for Plaza de Mulas (4300m). We hiked out to the fork yesterday and I thought the sign said “Plaza Francia 5km”. Easy. However, when we got closer today it actually read “Plaza Francia 5hs” [5 hours]. It wasn’t bad. We made it up in four hours with a few stops along the way. This hike was the first time I actually felt any negative effect from the altitude. As we neared our target my head started to throb and breathing became labored. I slowed down the pact and sustained long, deep breaths and the pulsing subsided. However, after thirty minutes up top Melissa’s head started to ache. Time to head down. (She was fine once we descended.) We’ll see if my body is prepared for the altitude tomorrow evening after the 8-10 hour trek to Plaza de Mulas.
Aconcagua blazing in the sunlight, Horcones Inferior below
On a positive note, standing at the foot of Aconcagua in Plaza Francia offered another ray of hope. Even from 10000’ below the summit, it looks obtainable. Also, today’s weather was perfect for a summit attempt. When we awoke, the mountains down to 12000’ were shrouded in clouds. As the day progressed, they dissipated to the point where Aconcagua’s summit was blazing in the sunlight by the time we were approaching Plaza Francia. In addition, winds had almost completely subsided. If the mountain will grant me a day like that in four or five days, I’ll be set for a summit. I know ho fickle high altitude weather systems can be, but I’m hoping for the best.
Day 5: March 10, 2009
It’s been a tough day. I’m now in Plaza de Mulas after completing the 30km climb from Confluencia.
Just above Confluencia, staring at the long path to Plaza de Mulas
After dinner last night we were informed that our hosts was charging Melissa much more than we had expected per night (my stay had already been paid by the company). Furthermore, the higher camp would not be able to provide her with services (tent, food, etc) at any price. Sadly, this meant that she had to return to Mendoza this morning while I headed up. It’s a bit frustrating because had we self-supported, as we’re accustomed to doing when we head outdoors, then she would have been able to stay.
Mid-way to Plaza de Mulas, looking down
Mid-way to Plaza de Mulas, looking up
So I began up to base camp alone. An initial steep climb out of the river valley in Confluencia opened up onto a huge sandy, pebble and boulder strewn glacial valley with a gradual slope of no more than 5-10%. That meant easy walking other than a few non-technical stream crossings. I set my legs to cruise control and made great time to Ibanez, the temporal and psychological mid-point. As I approached this section, the trail became more fluid and I found myself having to stray from the mule paths since they tended to ford the stream wherever, and it was deep and wide in most places. So, I skirted the bank until finding a good spot to poll vault to the other side. Once or twice this method nearly resulted in a very wet me, but I came out unscathed.
One of the many deep, wide mule crossings
Much more than half way by distance, Ibanez is the psychological mid-point from where you start to climb
Climbing up out of the river valley
With Melissa gone I turned to my iPod for companionship. This is when I realized how eclectic and cynical my music collection is. Being in the mountains evokes in me a feeling of joy. Listening to song after song about political reform (e.g. Anti-Flag), dysfunctional relationships (e.g. Bob Dylan, et al), and sci-fi doomsdays (e.g. Misfits) forced me to ponder the music that has shaped my outlook on life. I’ve managed to turn the cynicism into realism—recognizing true human instinct—and put it to practice with pragmatism—realizing limits and making the best out of situations. It’s a good way to live life, especially when you combine these practices with risk association. If one learns to turn risk into opportunity then the world is his or her oyster. As Aristotle said, “Those who act win, and rightly win, the honest and good things in life.”
Trail side casualty
Old, dilapidated park building dwarfed by the peaks above
Mules coming to take end-of-season loads down the valley
Groovin’ to my tunes, I started to climb out of the river valley, up and down hills, higher and higher. I made good time until about 5 km from Plaza de Mulas, where the trail took a sudden shift in grade—any more and I could have taken out my rock climbing shoes. This is where I hit a literal and figurative wall. Step-by-step I trudged up the slope, hoping I was close to my destination. All day, mule trains heading up to the high camp and coming back down with end-of-season gear loads had been passing. The mules’ dexterity on the mountain is a constant amazement. At one point, as I scrambled across a scree slope taking a shortcut in the trail, I looked down and saw mule scat. (As a bi-ped with two trekking poles, this route was precarious enough.) Now, on the last leg of my grueling climb, there came a mule train easing down the dangerously steep slope fully loaded with gear. A part of me (my legs, that is) wanted to curse the beasts for their ease of negotiating this terrain. The rest of me bowed in a show of respect. I can’t help but think that the mules’ athleticism is due largely to the park’s laws and regulations on animal welfare (conditions are monitored by the
World Society for the Protection of Animals and local organizations).
Mules raised by mountain goats
Praying that Plaza de Mulas is just over the next hill (it was a few more)
Running on fumes I continued to climb, praying that my destination was just over the perpetual next hill. Finally it came and right as I reached the ranger station
Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird started to flow from my ear buds. As I looked back on my grueling ascent I thought, “What a perfect coda to my long, crescendo-filled concerto.”
Day 6: March 11, 2009
Days are long here in base camp. It seems that each night spent at a higher altitude is accompanied by a mild headache. Last night was no different. Because there’s not much else to do, I retire early and spend half the night in a sleepless fit before drifting off to a series of strange, lucid dreams (which researchers say is caused by high altitude but offer little explanation).
After several hours of drifting in and out of sleep, unzipping vents and removing or donning layers to regulate warmth, I awake to a cold, dimly lit world.
Our source of water froze every night. Each morning at around 11:00 it would all come gushing down the mountain.
This morning I was ousted from my warm cocoon by the reverberating sound of a helicopter climbing up the valley. From a distance, it looked as if someone had to be airlifted to the park entrance. Apparently this is a fairly common scene. The mountain can be harsh and unapologetic. Last night I talked to three Americans who were using a satellite phone, desperately trying to get in touch with someone who knew the status of their American guide, who had to be airlifted out a day prior due to chest pain. They had spent the day hiking up and down from the higher camps removing their caches. This morning they left, forced to abandon their summit bid after eight days on the mountain. There’s a somber moment of sympathy and life goes on in Plaza de Mulas.
Plaza de Mulas, end of season
Now it’s must be around five in the evening and I’m doing everything I can to fight off boredom. So far today I’ve: ate, studied Spanish, ate, read an issue of Backpacker magazine cover to cover, ate, read an article in Spanish about Afro-Argentinians (as they call themselves) living in Buenos Aires, hiked around to take a few pictures of Plaza de Mulas and its surrounds, washed my feet (well past-due), hung some clothes to dry, and ate some more. These long, low-activity days are boring but necessary for proper acclimatization.
Tomorrow we head to the first higher camp, Canada (5050m), for an acclimatization hike. We’ll return to Plaza de Mulas for one more night before heading back up to Canada to camp and make further yo-yo ascensions to higher camps on the path to Aconcagua’s summit. Weather is holding. Spirits are high. All we can do is climb and hope the mountain allows us.
Sunset over Plaza de Mulas on Day 6
p.s. I just watched a storm system crawl over the mountains to the west and split in two, giving Aconcagua a wide birth north to south. I was so sure we were going to get some snow that I went and battered down my tent fly. The clouds just flowed around us as if affected by an invisible force field, passing even below a much lower technical peak below the leviathan. I’ve never been in the presence of such a weather-altering crag.
Day 7: March 12, 2009
A worthwhile lift is full of new experiences. Today I encountered one of significance to my life. At 5050m (16568’), Camp Canada is the highest that I’ve ever been in altitude while standing on terra firma. Of course the intent is to go much higher in the coming days, but Canada was a welcomed milestone in my climbing career.
Trail to Canada starts here
No sooner had we left up the trail from base camp than I realized that this mountain climbing business is tough. The air is thin, sun beating down (or wind and snow flying), trail steep, and environment inhospitable. For two hours we marched up a 45-degree slope, back and forth on switchbacks. Since we want to conserve fuel, which we’ll need at the higher camps to melt snow for water, we each carried around nine liters of water in addition to all our technical gear and warmest clothes, which we won’t use until reaching 5500m. We cached it all in a weatherproof bag, took in the spectacular views of surrounding peaks (We could finally see into Chile!) and headed back down, trying not to trip and tumble down 500m of scree. Upon reaching the bottom, my knees were thankful. Just like ascending, descending is a lot of work—instead of climbing against gravity you’re trying to resist it.
Steep switchbacks leading to Canada
The plan is to rest in Plaza de Mulas for one more day (all rest and no climb makes Jonny a dull boy) before heading up to Canada to camp. I’d just as soon get up there. Nights are getting colder and who knows when a storm will blow through. Honestly, one of the toughest things about climbing mountains is the waiting.
Where we wait. Our kitchen, guest room, dining room, and social club.
Before I had stated that Argentinians don’t understand vegetarianism. While I still believe that to be the case majority, I now know that some are open to it. One of the most admiring traits of my guide, Pablo, is his unspoken respect. When I was consulting him for the climb I stipulated that I was vegan (which I had to explain was a “vegetarian” who doesn’t eat dairy, eggs, etc). Since meeting Pablo in base camp the food has been great. In addition, all the meals have been vegan, which he also eats (although he likes to add cheese). Most Argentinians who I’ve met turn their nose up to a meal without meat. When they learn that you don’t partake of flesh, they either make a snide comment meant to be humorous (whatever it is, I promise I’ve heard it), or just stare at you speechless. Last night our dinner consisted of squash, yams, potatoes, and garlic roasted in a fire oven (called “asado” style). Four of Pablo’s friends joined us for the feast and not one made a snide comment about the lack of meat. They of course inquired, but after it was explained that we were eating vegetarian due to me, everyone just nodded and chowed down. Everyone was glad to be eating the delicious food (made better by salt, pepper, and olive oil). It’s the first time that I’ve felt accepted as a vegan among carnivorous Argentinians.
While we’re on the topic of sustenance, I learned today that the glacier-fed stream on which we rely for water flows muddier some days than others. That of course meant that today’s Tang (which they lovingly call “juice”) and rice and lentil soup was a bit siltier than normal. However, they don’t mind and neither should I. I’m probably getting a few beneficial minerals from the mix. The ancient
Anasazi ground their maize between stones and their teeth lasted a good 10-15 years. Besides, now I can say that I literally carry a little piece of the Andes around with me.
Day 8: Friday, March 13, 2009
It’s so incredibly peaceful in Plaza de Mulas on this Friday the 13th. During high season this plot of land would be a bustling high-altitude frontier town. Inka Expeditions, the only other operator still here, finished packing up this morning and started their long trek home. The few other independent climbers broke camp this morning—five headed down and two gents from New Zealand started up the steep slope toward Aconcagua.
At this moment, with my two companions taking the traditional
siesta, the only sounds that can be heard are the wind whipping past rock spires overhead, the gurgling glacial brook rolling by camp, and a lone park ranger raking abandoned plots (the climbing season officially ends in two days, on March 15, but the rangers stay until the end of the month).
Gambling on an end-of-the-season climb appears to be turning out in our favor. We’re enjoying the solitude of an abandoned camp, and the weather report called up from Horcones last night forecasted clear skies and mild winds for the next three days. Forbidding any physical injury, our ascent should go well.
Since I now share the day’s hours with only two other individuals, it seems proper to introduce them: Nestor Pinto is an auto mechanic from Cordoba, Argentina who seems to spend much of the climbing season in the Andes. Last month he scaled a few peaks in Cordon del Plata, a slightly lesser range closer to Mendoza. His sights are now aimed on Aconcagua.
Nestor, like many other locals who gather beneath the rock, doesn’t have money for relatively expensive camp services and thus is forced to rely on the kindness of others. Two days ago he showed up in our camp with no crampons and an empty belly. Pablo kindly offered him some food and he hasn’t left. Nestor’s simple, incessant ramblings appear to grate on Pablo occasionally, but he’s a kind soul with a heart as big as his stomach. Pablo and his friends jokingly call him “Cordoba” or “Gordo” (“Fatty”), but I’ve given him a new nickname, “Mario”, as his short, pudgy stature, Italian features, and thick mustache make him a perfect fit to play the vintage video game hero. Mario is supposed to leave tomorrow for Camp Nido (5500m).
Mario definitely doesn't get vegetarianism.
Pablo Candela is my guide. He works for a company out of Mendoza called “Geotrek”, and as he’ll admit doesn’t speak a lick of English. Communication is difficult at times, but we seem to convey the important subjects. As I mentioned before, he is a respectful and generous soul. Mario generally sits and rambles on and on about some mundane subject (he only has a few as far as I can tell) and Pablo quietly listens, occasionally nodding or grunting to show his interest. In the same moment, Pablo fills Mario’s platter with seconds (and most means, thirds). His long, European face, square-framed glasses, and thick, reddish-brown beard lend him a contemplative, wizened appearance. Most of the day he wears a long, focused gaze. Surprisingly he’s also in pretty good shape for scaling steep grades at altitude despite his habit of smoking several Marlboro Reds each day.
The unapologetic Pablo
And so we three pass the days in base camp—eating, reading, and listening to Mario while cooking or gathering water. Even with the language barrier, it’s nice to have a few more souls with whom to share the solace.
[5 hours later]
My serene solitude soon turned to intrigue when I saw what looked like three figures mounting large boulders across the valley. Some of you may be thinking what I was. When I reached the boulder field I started to notice chalk marks covering many of the rocks. When I walked up there were, in fact, two park rangers and a medic on a V3-ish boulder problem. I ran back to get my shoes and chalk.
Those of you who enjoy this sport can relate to how hard bouldering can be a lower altitude. At 4300m above sea level it’s a real challenge. I hopped on the V3 traverse and had to get off half way through to catch my breath.
We later moved on to a V4-ish face (none of the problems up here have names or ratings). This was much more my style. A few short power movies and I was topped out. I lay there for at least a minute like a fish out of water gasping for air.
When I got back Pablo wanted to hike over to the glacier to test out his new crampons. Twenty minutes later—after passing the (revered) sole living plant in Plaza de Mulas, glacial caves, and a stream that actually flowed straight out of the mountain—we reached the foot of the giant ice flow.
Glacial stream flowing straight out of the mountain
It’s sad to think that future generations may not be able to witness this geological wonder. According to Pablo the glacier stretched several hundred meters further down the valley just 10 years ago. Yet it’s hard to believe this mass of ice is in danger when you’re climbing up through fins 15 feet tall that stretch over the horizon.
Horcones Superior Glacier
Horcones Superior helping a few huge boulders down the mountain
As we weaved up through the walls of ice, we encountered a swift stream flowing over the surface. I bent down to taste some of the freshest water on earth, and then drank my fill. The steam itself was a natural wonder. It flowed down the glacier on a wet bobsled course, curving sinuously back and forth beneath icicle chandeliers.
Hiking back at dusk, sunset reflecting off of Aconcagua
For some strange reason it transported me back to childhood days on the Matterhorn at Disneyland. I half expected a yeti to pop around the corner. This place is what Disney was striving or—the real magic kingdom. I’ll be sad to leave.
There's nothing between Aconcagua and the distant ocean so the sunset's glow is reflected long after the Southern Cross is visible
Day 9: March 14, 2009
Where to begin? My legs feel like they’ve been put through a tenderizer, I’ve broken my altitude record once again, and I just watched a gorgeous sunset over the Andes. I’d like to stay outside to watch the fading glow, but it feels like 10 degrees outside with a 20-degree wind chill.
Plaza de Mulas (4300m) to Nido de Condores (5500m)
This morning we packed up camp intending to hike up to Cambio [aka Alaska] (5200m). My pack was a little heavier than I would have liked considering we had to stop in Canada to pick up our cache. After packing it all in and hurling it onto my back, I sunk under the weight. It had to have been 50-60 lbs. But, it was okay because we were only climbing 200m more.
According to GPS, this altitude marker is 200m low.
We had talked briefly about scaling to Nido de Condores (“Condors’ Nest”—5500m), but I was sure we’d stop in Cambio due to 30 km/h winds. Any higher and the winds would be more severe. Yet, we were feeling good, especially after our New Zealand friends—Jamie and Peter (both males)—who were pitched at Cambio invited us for tea.
I started to tire when we headed uphill from Cambio. When we reached Nido, my legs were screaming for mercy. I’ve asked much of them today and I’ll only push harder tomorrow if we decide to aim for the summit, which we’re likely to do if the winds relent.
One of the reasons we pushed to Nido is that Mario had a tent already pitched. We all left from Plaza de Mulas at the same time this morning, but Mario had fallen several hours behind. This meant that we could use his tent temporarily to recuperate before attempting to pitch our tent in 40 km/h winds with 60 km/h gusts.
It was a trial. After a long, dirty, hour-long bout we came out victorious over the mountain. Granted there were sacrifices: a pole ring broke, the fly sustained a few more rips, we are forced to prop ourselves on our backpacks since the tent isn’t fully extended, and there are several large rocks anchoring our tent from both the inside and out. Mario has also caught up and decided that our tent is a great place to chill—as if it weren’t cramped enough.
Gussfeldt Glacier (as seen from Nido), where it's taboo to tread. They say that the souls of those who die on Aconcagua dwell here, lending the glacial waters an extra pure flavor.
So to summarize our day: 1200m of elevation gain on a 45 degree slope carrying 50 lbs in 4 hours and 30 minutes; fighting the wind to erect our only shelter on an exposed 5500m Andean ridge; and, of course, Mario crashing our already limited personal space. Yet, it’s all worth it since 30 minutes ago we were rewarded with today’s final blaze of glory painting the Andes red. I hope I can get enough sleep. Between the wind, the cold, and our cramped quarters it seems unlikely.
Sunset from Nido on Day 9
Day 10: March 15, 2009
Panorama of Nido de Condores
Tempers can easily flare in high camp. It’s cold out, the wind is howling, and two-person tents forcibly become three when the third is dependent on the other two. Why would you climb a mountain without enough food and gas to melt water? It’s asking for trouble.
Our tents parked at Nido (Aconcagua is the peak on the left, 1500m above)
Pablo’s fuse reached its end today when Mario, who had stopped by for lunch, may or may not have spilled two pots of boiling water and noodles, respectively. None of my stuff got wet, but Pablo’s pad and sleeping bag were soaked. He stormed out of the tent flinging Spanish curse words. Both Pablo and Mario felt bad because in the process Pablo broke Mario’s earphones. Still, it’s easy to tell that Pablo’s patience with Mario’s dependency for both sustenance and social interaction is wearing thin.
As you may have guessed, we didn’t attempt the summit today. Neither Pablo nor I slept well due to the wind rattling the tent all night, and a slight ache in my head that could have been mild altitude sickness or dehydration from trying to drink enough water without having to stumble into the cold, full-moon-lit night to relieve myself.
The kiwis, Peter and Jamie, stopped by on their way to the next camp, Berlin (5830m), with an updated weather report. Winds are supposed to jump to 70 km/h tomorrow and back down to 15 km/h on Tuesday. This is one time that I pray the weatherman is wrong. I’d really like to summit tomorrow and start the long trek back to Mendoza where someone is patiently awaiting my return.
Day 11: March 16, 2009
As forecasted the wind came on strong from the northwest. At some point during the night it shifted direction and has been blowing at 50-70 km/h from the southwest all day.
Our tent is barely hanging on. The aforementioned stripped pole has collapsed under the wind pressure leaving our roof halfway deflated.
Mario also had some issues this morning. I was sleeping great despite the wind, but my slumber was disturbed around 9 AM when Mario came bellowing like a calf out of the white wind,
“Pablo? Paaablo?”
“Que paso, Cordobe?”
Which was apparently an invitation to barrel into our tent bringing all the snow with him. I couldn’t figure out the next part. He was wandering around in a white out with no gloves or hat, even though I know he has both. Pablo was gracious enough to light the burner while Mario just sat and shivered, staring into nothing and rubbing his hands and ears like someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder. If it’s any of my business, Mario doesn’t belong on the mountain. His lack of preparedness and dependency on others is going to get him into trouble. Then again, it really isn’t my business if he wants to lose his appendages to frostbite or wander off a cliff in a white out. I just feel bad for the rangers and/or guides who have to sacrifice their time and lives for his rescue.
So passes another loooong (windy) day at Nido. Since weather predictions have been mostly accurate thus far, we’re planning to summit tomorrow—winds only 15 km/h from the south—then head back down to Plaza de Mulas to pack up and hit the trail Wednesday morning. I’ve seen some incredible sights, but too much tent time, exacerbated by Mario, is enough to drive anyone loco.
Andean sunset, Day 11
Day 13: March 18, 2009
Right now I’m sitting on a bed at Hosteria Puente del Inca, 5 km outside of Aconcagua Provincial Park. Thirty hours ago I was standing at the highest point outside of the Himalayas.
Yesterday started at 5:00 AM in Nido de Condores. We awoke to a calm, cold morning, made a quick breakfast, donned all our warm clothes and crampons, and started climbing the frozen slope to Camp Berlin.
Aconcagua's summit casting a shadow to the west
Before we reached Berlin it was light enough to power off our headlamps. We slowly trudged up the slope watching a gorgeous sunrise ignite the snow-covered sea of mountains. Even though the rest of the world was bathed in sunlight, our path was in the shadow of Aconcagua until around 11:00 AM.
A new day rising in the Andes
Long after the sun has risen, Aconcagua casts a shadow over the world below.
From the time we left Nido I was breathing heavily. Though we had spent three days acclimatizing at 5500m, my body wasn’t yet prepared to go cardiovascular in the thin mountain air. As the day progressed we climbed higher and higher while I gasped for air, the whole time breathing as if running at my cardiovascular limit—even at rest.
Making our way to Independencia with Aconcagua looming overhead
By lunchtime we had made it to Plaza Independencia (6300m). My belly was grumbling and my legs needed a break so I proposed lunch. Pablo reached into his pack to discover that he had forgotten the food 800m below. Luckily I had brought a few
Clif Bars. A bit irritated, I sat down and gnawed on the frozen-rock-hard oaty goodness.
While sitting in Independencia, a commercial airplane flew a few thousand feet overhead. At nearly 7000m, Aconcagua's summit is in jet flight territory.
Pablo taking a break on the shelter in Plaza Independencia (6300m)
On day 10, a thin, strong German man had come through Nido on his way to Berlin from Plaza de Mulas on an acclimatization hike. For those who haven’t been keeping track of altitudes, that’s 1700m of vertical altitude gain and back in one day. As soon as I saw a lone figure steadily marching up the slope towards Independencia, I suspected it was the German high-altitude Olympian. Suspicions were confirmed when he trotted into Independencia, briefly paused, then turned up towards the summit. This crazy beast had started in Plaza de Mulas at 4:30 AM and was attempting the 2800m climb from base camp to summit in one day. Sure enough, he summited an hour before us. He had been acclimatizing for several weeks in the Cordon del Plata range, but his is still a marvelous feat.
By the time we reached the Traverse (6500m) the German was already a kilometer ahead. I plodded along a few steps at a time, fully jealous of the German’s level of acclimatization.
The Traverse, beginning of the end (and the hardest part of the climb)
At this point my lungs were working at full capacity just to sustain a few steps up steep slope, pausing at each interval to fill my blood with enough oxygen to move again. Just 400m under the peak, it was the furthest it had seemed all day. My mind questioned the sanity of each step as my heart beat so hard I worried that it would either pop out of my chest or explode. My body prayed for respite, but quitting now would be like ringing out on the last day of
Hell Week at BUDS. One step at a time I climbed closer and closer to the summit.
The normal route follows a snow track to below the saddle from bottom-right, then up to the summit (from where the picture was taken)
One hundred meters to go and I dropped my pack of warm clothes and water. If I was going to make it I’d have to risk the summit being as warm as the sun-soaked, wind-free cirque. Finally at 4:00 PM, after what seemed like a never-ending fight for each meter, Pablo and I set foot on the highest piece of land in the Americas—
Mt. Aconcagua, 6962m (22841’).
We were greeted by a relatively warm (slightly below freezing) summit with a very slight breeze—a perfect summit day two days after the end of season. The kiwis, Peter and Jamie, had also made it, climbing from Berlin, and greeted us as we all rejoiced in our natural high. They even let me borrow their satellite phone to call my mother, who emailed Melissa to let her know I was alive (I was expected back in Mendoza by March 16th at the latest).
Tapping the summit, Sloper Slapper style
View from the top of the Americas
Pablo and I posing in front of the South Face with the infamous aluminum cross
We spent an hour looking down on the earth and exploring the flat piece of rock for relics left by other climbers. When my heart started beating irregularly I knew it was time to go down.
Even descending I could only move 20 feet before stopping to rest. We slowly crawled down the mountain reaching Berlin around 6:30 PM. Tired, hungry, and thirsty (my Camelbak tube had frozen), I sunk down and struggled to breathe. Staying at this altitude, I felt, would certainly lead to a case of
High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE).
Heading back down through "The Cave", right above The Traverse
Back down through The (knee-jarring) Traverse
Lake reflecting the late-day sun down in Plaza de Mulas
Slightly rested we stumbled down to Nido, disassembled camp, stuffed it into, tied it onto, and lashed it across our packs, and moved towards Plaza de Mulas just as the sun was setting.
In the chaos of tearing down camp, Pablo misplaced his headlamp. Nido to base camp is normally an hour and a half decent in the daylight. Now tired, on a moonless night, with one headlamp, stopping frequently to rest our legs and watch for shooting stars, it took almost four hours.
Stumbling into Plaza de Mulas just after midnight, we dropped our heavy packs, made some Tang, and put some lentils and rice to cook. By 3:00 AM we were full of sugar, carbohydrates, and necessary protein and crashed as hard as I’ve ever crashed before knowing that tomorrow I would start the long, lonely journey back to Mendoza.
I awoke at 10:00 AM feeling surprisingly well. Pablo and I disassembled the Geotrek tent, readied his camp for storage, and I visited the medic to ensure I had no fluid in my lungs since I was still feeling short of breath (no fluid, just a bit of mucus caused by the cold, dry, thin, air). Part of me hoped that they would find something wrong and I could be air lifted to the park entrance by helicopter rather than walk the 37 kilometers downhill. Then again, life would be awfully boring without challenges.
I was readying my gear for the long trek to Horcones when Pablo walked up with a smile,
“Joan.”
“Si?”
“Tu novia es en Confluencia.”
“Melissa’s in Confluencia?”
Elated, I heaved my pack behind me and barreled downhill, head down and poles churning. By 4:00 PM I saw a long body no so patiently marching toward me. She had received the emails from my mother and father and, tired of the exhaust-filled streets of Mendoza, taken the four hour-long bus ride to the park entrance determined to hike towards Plaza de Mulas until our paths crossed. Reunited, we charged towards Puente del Inca, trying to make the last bus to Mendoza at 8:00 PM.
Looking back from Horcones as the sun sets on Day 12 (photo by Melissa Meyer)
At 8:05 we fell out of our new friend Hector’s pickup. He had seen us hobbling toward civilization and graciously offered us a ride. Argentina has a punctual bus system, and at only a few minutes past the hour our ride had left. It worked out, however, because Peter and Jamie appeared and we had a fest celebrating our exhausting achievement.
Meeting new friends during a rest day in Puente del Inca (photo by Melissa Meyer)
Andean hot spring resort that was reclaimed by the mountain (photo by Melissa Meyer)
After ten long days in the mountains, a hot shower was heavenly. Sitting on a proper mattress feels like a bed of clouds.
Summiting Mt. Aconcagua was one of the most physically taxing, mentally draining, excruciatingly long, and blissfully rewarding experiences of my life. Limping on my sore, blistered feet, I wouldn’t do it again soon. Yet, something tells me that I’ll be back here one day. There’s more than one way to scale a peak, and Aconcagua offers a multitude of possibilities.
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