It's been five days at low-altitude and it feels great. Life here is warm and easy and I can actually breathe. I want to sit and rot for a week, maybe two. Food and rest and water... it all sounds too good to be true. And it is. My body is quickly acclimatizing to low-altitude and that isn't good...
The problem is quite a large one, and the reason for the rush; the next point of interest is Ojos del Salado (translates as "Salty Eyes" or "Origins of the Salado river"). This is a massive volcano that we (Shane Hutton, current bike traveling companion and I) would like to climb.
At 6,900 m (22,600 ft), "Ojos" is the second highest peak in South America (behind Aconcagua) and the highest volcano in the world. This is a massive peak! The frosting on the cake is that it also has the highest lake in the world. We've been eyeing this bad boy for three months since first hearing of it's existence.
Herein lies the difficulty. By now, we are very well-prepared for a summit attempt. I've been doing hard physical labor at high-altitudes for several months. However, each day spent at "low-altitude", our bodies begins to acclimatize, growing accustomed to the rich oxygen and warm temps, making us weaker and less able to get to the extreme altitudes.
So, reluctantly, we begin preparing for "the" mountain.
We spend two days in Fiambalá, the last town before climbing back to the mountains. It just enough time to be able to walk again and buy supplies.
We talk to the famed "Jonson", the dude in town that knows all the mountains and has the route info that we need. It appears that we are the first people for the season to make a summit attempt.
We talk to the local police and register.
We spend a day buying 15 kg (35 lbs) of food, rent a cold-weather tent, and then we pack everything into our small 40 L day packs.
We eat as much as possible, trying to put some "meat" on our skinny frames.
---
The weather report shows two major storms moving-in during the next ten days. There is a small break in the weather that will allow just enough time for a summit attempt. It's now or never; final preparations are quickly made, full of anticipation.
Jonson drives us halfway up the pass, turns into the vast desert, and drops us... pointing to a gulch. "That way" he says, and turns around. So it begins, again...
We walk 35 km (20 miles) with a "waaay too heavy pack" that day and camp next to the headwaters of a small spring at 4,000 m (13,100 ft). We begin stacking rocks to add to a preexisting rock wind-break trying to add as much protection as possible. Then we stash some food to eat on the way down. It's howling cold... I'm back in the Andes.
The next day is more of the same. But now, we are away from water. We walk through sand and rock, navigating through several dry gulches, to make it to a large boulder at 5,000 m (16,400 ft), a journey of 20 km (12 miles). This is camp for the night.
Shane begins breaking and boiling crazy, knife-shaped ice pinnacles for water and I work on the rock wall. We leave another food and water cache. I leave the already frozen water bottle positioned to catch the afternoon sun so it will hopefully stay "less frozen"... we hope to return to this camp the same day as the summit attempt and I want everything ready as possible.
If all goes well, we'll camp tomorrow at high-camp (6,100 m/20,000 ft), and then have a summit-attempt the following day.
We hunker-down early. We are making good time, very good time... and everything is going according to schedule. The every present wind has picked-up a notch and is howling with all it's might. Today should be the worse of the first storm system with winds of up to 100 km/h (60 mph). According to the weather forecast, things should begin to settle tomorrow.
We wake the next day, boil more ice pinnacles (my water bottles have long since frozen solid) for the daily breakfast of oatmeal. As soon as the sun hits camps, we are ready to go.
We work our way through several small ice fields, careful not to slip with our tennis shoes (the only shoes I have). By noon, we make the final pass at 5,600 m (18,400 ft). There is great news, good news and bad news:
-The great news is, that from here we can finally see the summit! It is a spectacular volcanic cone. The sky is clear and it looks like the weather is good.
-The good news is, the altitude hasn't been bothering us. I do have some labored breathing, but my heart rate is good and I'm making very good time! I'm quite accustomed to being above 13,000 ft and it feels good to not have the typical "low-oxygen" problems. Simply amazing for this altitude.
-The bad news, is really bad... the wind hasn't died down, at all. All morning there have been gale-force gusts up to 120 km/hr (70 mph). It is cold, about -15* C (5* F), and wind chill drops it to about -25* C (-15* F). I'm wearing all the clothing I own and I can't keep warm. My nose is very cold, and I haven't been able to feel my fingers for the last couple of hours (I only have thin cycling gloves).
I quickly take one hand out of the glove for a quick photo and get off the windy ridge. We move as fast as possible. We don't talk. The wind is strong enough to push me back and forth, nearly causing me to lose balance several times. We continue for about 45 minutes, when my heart drops.... clouds are pouring over the top of the summit and the entire sky is filling with clouds. There are snow flurries and I feel a few flakes on my cheeks.
We walk another 10 minutes to a knee-high rock wall and hunker down against the increasing winds. By now, the summit is no longer visible and I know what is happening... the second storm has moved-in early... there won't be a break in between the two storms.
I can't just turn-around without giving every opportunity for a change. So, we decide to wait a little... there are still have a couple of hours before we absolutely must leave. I'm only semi-hungry, a change from the usual ravenously hungry. Loss of appetite is one of the effects of high-altitude and I know that I need to eat something. We decide to cook something while we wait.
We struggle with the stove for 45 minutes in the increasing wind and cold. By 3 pm, the cut-off time, things have only gotten worse. The temperature is -20* C (-5* F) and -35* C (-30* F) with wind chill. Winds have increased to 130 km/hr (75 mph) Thinks are not going to improve... temps and winds can only get worse as the sun has passed the maximum heat for the day. People die at these altitudes for minor changes in weather and this is a BIG storm coming in... it's time to go!
I quickly thrown-on my pack and get the hell out of there! The winds increase as we drop in elevation. We hustle back to the "big boulder" camp of the night before, grab the food and water stash, and hike another 15 km (10 miles) for camp.
The next morning, we wake to snow-covered mountains on everything above 5,000 m. I know it was the correct decision to back-off the mountain, but still feel minor regret as I turn and continue down.
My body aches with each step as we begin the 35 km (25 mile) hike to the road. It was been four absolutely brutal days with a pack that is extremely heavy and very high elevations. And, I'm still not sure what the weather has in store... I pull my hood down-low and start walking.
We drag ourselves to the highway that night and we camp in an emergency shelter on the side of the road. We have seen a single vehicle in the last 6 hours, the only one we'll see in nearly 24 hours. We'll try to hitch a ride down the pass tomorrow. Now, I incredibly grateful to have four walls to protect myself from the wind.
We wake the next day, and begin walking down the road. It takes 20 km (12 miles) of walking before we see the first vehicle in 20 hours. I stick my thumb out and we gladly jump in the back seat of the car.
---
Fiambalá offers a cooked meal and a bed. We check-in with the local police and Jonson to let them know that we are off the mountain. They are both very relieved. They have been watching the weather closely for the last several days... today there were gale-force winds in the valley, including a tornado that killed several people. Another bitter reminder that we had indeed made the correct decision to get off the mountain.
Not to waste time, we begin cycling again the next day. There are still powerful headwinds, but we'd really like to get to low altitude and warmth. We go a crushing 120 km (75 miles) that day and collapse.
The problem is quite a large one, and the reason for the rush; the next point of interest is Ojos del Salado (translates as "Salty Eyes" or "Origins of the Salado river"). This is a massive volcano that we (Shane Hutton, current bike traveling companion and I) would like to climb.
At 6,900 m (22,600 ft), "Ojos" is the second highest peak in South America (behind Aconcagua) and the highest volcano in the world. This is a massive peak! The frosting on the cake is that it also has the highest lake in the world. We've been eyeing this bad boy for three months since first hearing of it's existence.
Herein lies the difficulty. By now, we are very well-prepared for a summit attempt. I've been doing hard physical labor at high-altitudes for several months. However, each day spent at "low-altitude", our bodies begins to acclimatize, growing accustomed to the rich oxygen and warm temps, making us weaker and less able to get to the extreme altitudes.
So, reluctantly, we begin preparing for "the" mountain.
We spend two days in Fiambalá, the last town before climbing back to the mountains. It just enough time to be able to walk again and buy supplies.
We talk to the famed "Jonson", the dude in town that knows all the mountains and has the route info that we need. It appears that we are the first people for the season to make a summit attempt.
We talk to the local police and register.
We spend a day buying 15 kg (35 lbs) of food, rent a cold-weather tent, and then we pack everything into our small 40 L day packs.
We eat as much as possible, trying to put some "meat" on our skinny frames.
---
The weather report shows two major storms moving-in during the next ten days. There is a small break in the weather that will allow just enough time for a summit attempt. It's now or never; final preparations are quickly made, full of anticipation.
Jonson drives us halfway up the pass, turns into the vast desert, and drops us... pointing to a gulch. "That way" he says, and turns around. So it begins, again...
We walk 35 km (20 miles) with a "waaay too heavy pack" that day and camp next to the headwaters of a small spring at 4,000 m (13,100 ft). We begin stacking rocks to add to a preexisting rock wind-break trying to add as much protection as possible. Then we stash some food to eat on the way down. It's howling cold... I'm back in the Andes.
The next day is more of the same. But now, we are away from water. We walk through sand and rock, navigating through several dry gulches, to make it to a large boulder at 5,000 m (16,400 ft), a journey of 20 km (12 miles). This is camp for the night.
Shane begins breaking and boiling crazy, knife-shaped ice pinnacles for water and I work on the rock wall. We leave another food and water cache. I leave the already frozen water bottle positioned to catch the afternoon sun so it will hopefully stay "less frozen"... we hope to return to this camp the same day as the summit attempt and I want everything ready as possible.
If all goes well, we'll camp tomorrow at high-camp (6,100 m/20,000 ft), and then have a summit-attempt the following day.
We hunker-down early. We are making good time, very good time... and everything is going according to schedule. The every present wind has picked-up a notch and is howling with all it's might. Today should be the worse of the first storm system with winds of up to 100 km/h (60 mph). According to the weather forecast, things should begin to settle tomorrow.
We wake the next day, boil more ice pinnacles (my water bottles have long since frozen solid) for the daily breakfast of oatmeal. As soon as the sun hits camps, we are ready to go.
We work our way through several small ice fields, careful not to slip with our tennis shoes (the only shoes I have). By noon, we make the final pass at 5,600 m (18,400 ft). There is great news, good news and bad news:
-The great news is, that from here we can finally see the summit! It is a spectacular volcanic cone. The sky is clear and it looks like the weather is good.
-The good news is, the altitude hasn't been bothering us. I do have some labored breathing, but my heart rate is good and I'm making very good time! I'm quite accustomed to being above 13,000 ft and it feels good to not have the typical "low-oxygen" problems. Simply amazing for this altitude.
-The bad news, is really bad... the wind hasn't died down, at all. All morning there have been gale-force gusts up to 120 km/hr (70 mph). It is cold, about -15* C (5* F), and wind chill drops it to about -25* C (-15* F). I'm wearing all the clothing I own and I can't keep warm. My nose is very cold, and I haven't been able to feel my fingers for the last couple of hours (I only have thin cycling gloves).
I quickly take one hand out of the glove for a quick photo and get off the windy ridge. We move as fast as possible. We don't talk. The wind is strong enough to push me back and forth, nearly causing me to lose balance several times. We continue for about 45 minutes, when my heart drops.... clouds are pouring over the top of the summit and the entire sky is filling with clouds. There are snow flurries and I feel a few flakes on my cheeks.
We walk another 10 minutes to a knee-high rock wall and hunker down against the increasing winds. By now, the summit is no longer visible and I know what is happening... the second storm has moved-in early... there won't be a break in between the two storms.
I can't just turn-around without giving every opportunity for a change. So, we decide to wait a little... there are still have a couple of hours before we absolutely must leave. I'm only semi-hungry, a change from the usual ravenously hungry. Loss of appetite is one of the effects of high-altitude and I know that I need to eat something. We decide to cook something while we wait.
We struggle with the stove for 45 minutes in the increasing wind and cold. By 3 pm, the cut-off time, things have only gotten worse. The temperature is -20* C (-5* F) and -35* C (-30* F) with wind chill. Winds have increased to 130 km/hr (75 mph) Thinks are not going to improve... temps and winds can only get worse as the sun has passed the maximum heat for the day. People die at these altitudes for minor changes in weather and this is a BIG storm coming in... it's time to go!
I quickly thrown-on my pack and get the hell out of there! The winds increase as we drop in elevation. We hustle back to the "big boulder" camp of the night before, grab the food and water stash, and hike another 15 km (10 miles) for camp.
The next morning, we wake to snow-covered mountains on everything above 5,000 m. I know it was the correct decision to back-off the mountain, but still feel minor regret as I turn and continue down.
My body aches with each step as we begin the 35 km (25 mile) hike to the road. It was been four absolutely brutal days with a pack that is extremely heavy and very high elevations. And, I'm still not sure what the weather has in store... I pull my hood down-low and start walking.
We drag ourselves to the highway that night and we camp in an emergency shelter on the side of the road. We have seen a single vehicle in the last 6 hours, the only one we'll see in nearly 24 hours. We'll try to hitch a ride down the pass tomorrow. Now, I incredibly grateful to have four walls to protect myself from the wind.
We wake the next day, and begin walking down the road. It takes 20 km (12 miles) of walking before we see the first vehicle in 20 hours. I stick my thumb out and we gladly jump in the back seat of the car.
---
Fiambalá offers a cooked meal and a bed. We check-in with the local police and Jonson to let them know that we are off the mountain. They are both very relieved. They have been watching the weather closely for the last several days... today there were gale-force winds in the valley, including a tornado that killed several people. Another bitter reminder that we had indeed made the correct decision to get off the mountain.
Not to waste time, we begin cycling again the next day. There are still powerful headwinds, but we'd really like to get to low altitude and warmth. We go a crushing 120 km (75 miles) that day and collapse.
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