Aconcagua - Part 2

December 2014, Argentina - Plaza Argentina Base Camp on Aconcagua is an impressive sight. Smaller in scale, but not too dissimilar to the domed city that services the main South Col Route on Mount Everest. Many dozens of personal tents dot the hillside. There is a helicopter pad, medical hut, and semi-permanent encampments of of large communal mess tents emblazoned with the colors and logos of local guide services.

Our US-based guide service International Mountain Guides (IMG) subcontracted a lot of the in-country logistics and infrastructure to a local company named Fernando Grajales Expeditions. The Grajales domed mess tents were the most common in base camp, distinctly yellow and white with black lettering. Our Argentine guide Tincho guided for them and we shared their facilities with a number of other clients and guides. By the end of the trip we got to know a few of them quite well: a doctor from Chile, a German couple back for a second try at the peak, and so forth.

Dusty and windswept from the three day trip to camp, the table and chairs inside the communal tent were a tremendous luxury. Even to escape the constant wind blowing in my ears made me instantly more calm. Showers were available for purchase, as was a small army of porters who less fit or confident climbers hire to help carry their personal loads on the mountain.

Our first night at base camp was miserable for me. I barely slept at all and the high altitude and ever present wind and dust left me congested and with a splitting headache. Even years later I still can recall the discomfort of that night and my relief at seeing the early morning sun peeking through the tent window. The climbing schedule called for a full rest day at camp before making our first foray to Camp 1. I was grateful for the time to acclimatize as my headache waned through the day. Some decongestant medication, a vigorous regimen of H2O, and deep breathing were working their magic. I’ll admit that I was a bit disconcerted by my condition at base camp the night before given we were sitting a full 8,000 vertical feet below the summit.

Training our eyes to the mountain now, we could see the beginning of our selected climbing route: The Polish Traverse.

The rest day was punctuated by a good handful of helicopter evacuations. It so happened mine and my Dad’s tent was just above the heli-pad and were buffeted by the thumping wind and sound of the rotors. Climbers who were either too sick or not approved to climb higher by the mountain doctor were given a free ride out on the helicopter dedicated to the mountain. This is tremendous safety measure for a mountain as serious as Aconcagua, with the transport being funded by the climbing permit and park fee we secured back in Mendoza.

The only real “chore” we needed to take care of on the rest day was a mandatory visit to the medical hut for a chat with the doctor. Every climber who plans to travel above Camp 1 requires the mountain doctor to sign off on their bill of health. Despite feeling pretty poorly from the night before, I passed the exam with flying colors. And despite my father’s strong performance to date, he was the only one on the climbing team who the M.D. flagged as being at risk due to higher than desired blood pressure. Being in his mid-sixties this was probably to be expected. Dad would be permitted to perform the carry to Camp 1 the next morning, but was required to report back on his performance to get the “okay” to proceed higher.

Our team tackled Aconcagua expedition style. This brand of climbing requires a coordinated assault of the peak involving “carries” and “moving days”. With this approach our team would essentially climb the mountain twice: first climbing to higher camps to carry and stash supplies, followed by a quick retreat to lower elevation, then move to the higher camp the next day where our gear awaited us from the day before. This approach is necessary on a mountain of this size for all but the most trained and gifted mountain athletes who can go light and attack the mountain in a single push. Expedition style climbing makes acclimatization much easier and allowed our team to carry more gear and supplies, thus widening our safety net and improving our odds of a summit.

Training our eyes to the mountain now, we could see the beginning of our selected climbing route: The Polish Traverse. This has become a popular option as it affords climbers to see two sides of the mountain on their way to and from the summit. The route traverses (duh!) from our current base camp “Plaza Argentina” in the east to a separate, but equally large, base camp in the west called “Plaza de Mulas”. In between we’d stay in three successive camps that moved steadily up the mountain, culminating in high camp at 19,000 feet. From there, in a week’s time, we would make our summit attempt to the highest point on earth outside of Asia.

"A clean snowfield for making water lay just beyond a small level heli-pad for rescues, the occasional piece of toilet paper fluttering in the wind under grapefruit sized rocks. .. Higher than the impressive summit of Mount Rainier in the Washington Cascades, here was Camp 1 at 14,500 feet above sea level."

The Polish Traverse is considered non-technical in the sense that it’s largely walking and basic scrambling with no special gear required beyond clothing, high altitude mountaineering boots, and an ice axe. No hand over hand climbing moves, roping up, or epic moves required. Which is not to say that Aconcagua doesn't have its share of super challenging routes. The mountain’s south side is a test for any mountaineer and has repelled the likes of many mountain legends. We wouldn't set eyes upon the south face until just before the summit, with luck, but it rises uninterrupted for 15,000 feet from the valley below.

Being in the southern hemisphere, the calculus is somewhat reversed from what is typical in the north. At home (Washington State) the Northern faces of mountains typically pose the greatest climbing challenges as they receive less sunlight which leads to cooler temperatures, bigger glaciers, and therefore more cut up and advanced terrain. The clothing brand The North Face is a nod to this phenomenon. Yet below the equator, the sun radiates on those northerly aspects melting away would be snow and ice. So, on Aconcagua and other peaks in the Andes, the south faces are where the most extreme conditions can be found. So remember to leave your North Face hoodie behind when traveling to South America or the locals will think you’re a softy

Having rested for a day at Plaza Argentina it was time to start climbing the mountain. Nine days from home and the real work began with a carry from base camp to Camp 1 at 14,500 feet. Our pack weighed heavy on our backs as we started out, heading straight up the mountain. We left the mules to circumnavigate the mountain, ferrying our non-essential climbing gear to the other base camp at Plaza de Mulas. There our tennis shoes and other luxuries would be waiting for us.

My 105 liter Mountain Hardwear BMG pack was cinched tightly to my waist and shoulders, filled to the brim with items we planned to stash at Camp 1 overnight before making our move to sleep there the next day. The trail began gently enough with a few switchbacks taking us out of camp, huge crumbling cliffs looming overhead to climbers’ left. The walking surface was friendly and I felt strong as we efficiently pushed higher to the first rest break. The compacted gravel underfoot being well worn from the many hundreds of climbers and porters who move up and down the peak each season. Spirits were high at the first rest break and everyone, for the time being, was performing well. Ahead the trail would gradually steepen as it worked up the left hand side of a large glacial gully. Pushing higher we passed through a “field” of Penitentes, some well overhead in place. Penitentes are an incredible phenomenon and helped take my mind off off the weight of my pack and increasing demands of the climbing. I was towards the front of the team with my dad and our lead guide Peter. My dad was putting on a tremendous performance on this initial carry, strong as anybody and motivated to show the guides that the mountain doctors concerns were unfounded.

Looking back down the route I could see the team had stretched out with John a good distance below with Khuntal even further back with our Argentine guide Tincho shepherding him along. In reality the carry that day served a dual purpose. The first, and most literal, being to get our gear higher up the mountain, and the second to serve as a shakedown cruise for the guides to evaluate their client’s performance. I knew this intuitively and and made it my mission that day to show strength and competency, leaving no doubt that I belonged on the team. So far so good, but with that same lens I had some concern for John and Khuntal’s chances making it higher up the peak. We waited at the final rest break before Camp 1 for about 30 minutes so the group could regroup and tighten up before the final push of the day.

The last 500 vertical feet before Camp 1 are notoriously challenging. The slope angles up steeply and the surface deteriorates into a abhorrent scree slope of loose uncompacted gravel. My 70 pound pack load wasn’t making things easy, but about an hour later I crested the ancient moraine to a reasonably flat area at the bottom of a large valley. There were a handful of nice tent platforms, waist-high rock walls erected around them to offer shelter from winds and occasional blowing snow. At the time, wind was blowing off the sub peaks on either side of the valley and a comfortable breeze was moving down to us from the main massif. A clean snowfield for making water lay just beyond a small level heli-pad for rescues, the occasional piece of toilet paper fluttering in the wind under grapefruit sized rocks. We collectively dropped our loads to claim tent platforms and reveled in our first real achievement of the trip. Higher than the impressive summit of Mount Rainier in the Washington Cascades, here was Camp 1 at 14,500 feet above sea level.

Returning back to base camp that afternoon, there were some challenging conversations to be had about who would proceed higher up the mountain. After a strong performance, our guides convinced the physician to sign off on my dad’s attempt. It was a huge relief and confidence booster for both of us, and from that moment on there would be no questioning his fitness and capabilities as a member of the team. Quite the opposite in fact.

John and Khuntal unfortunately ended their attempts of Aconcagua that day. Beyond Camp 1 the commitment, altitude, and difficulty would only escalate with few opportunities for retreat. Given their slower pace and the importance of being able to climb together as a unit, it was the right call to make and I respected how both they and the guides handled such a challenging and disappointing decision. That afternoon we said farewell and watched them board the helicopter. The rotors wound up and took off tentatively in the thin mountain air, gaining speed and altitude until it crested the ridge-line and fell from view.

Our climbing team now set, we packed the remaining gear and retraced our steps from the day before. Moving day to Camp 1 was easier than the carry had been with slightly smaller loads and the old acclimatization adage of “climb high, sleep low” starting to work it’s magic. Everyone climbed well that day and were in good spirits as we erected tents, tying them down as we were shown and getting light headed from blowing up our air mattresses. Our guides Johnny and Peter made some terrific hamburgers for dinner, yes...HAMBURGERS! I ate two with pleasure and wolfed down a third against my will to avoid having any leftovers to deal with. Stomach full, I curled up into my sleeping bag which was rated to keep me warm down to -20 degrees Fahrenheit. Earplugs silencing the flapping of the wind and my dad’s snoring, I fell into oblivion.