Aconcagua - Part 4

January 2015, Argentina - I don't remember falling asleep the night before, but I do remember waking up. That instant recognition that your reality and immediate future involves getting out of your cozy sleeping bag to suffer and toil in the intimidating and cold pre-dawn of the second-highest of the Seven Summits. It's exciting and wouldn't have traded it for the world, but grooaannn.....

As I was suiting up and getting my boots on I could tell there was some commotion in the tent next door, the one with Mohammad and Chris. But, I was so in the zone and going through my own preparation for the day that I didn't pay it much attention. It wasn't until we began to leave camp for our Summit bid that I even noticed Chris and Mohammad were not with us.

"We forgot Chris and Mo," I exclaimed over the wind as we started moving up the hill, looking incredulously at the others.

"No, they are going to descend with Tincho in an hour to Plaza de Mulas," said our guide Peter, referring to the closest Basecamp on the opposite side of the mountain from where we began the climb.

"What happened?!" I said.

"Chris has clear signs of Acute Mountain Sickness and Mo woke up with a facial edema on the right side of his face."

What!? This really stung, Chris and Muhammad had become good friends of mine and I was both concerned for their well being and disappointed for them to not have a shot at the summit. A facial edema, for god sakes!

More than anything, this cemented the extremity of what we were undertaking. To think that a physically fit thirty-something year old man would have half his face totally swollen up overnight, AND that those of us in the summit party planned to climb over 3,000 feet higher from that point. From a certain perspective, the whole endeavor simply defies reason.

Mohammad would later tell me about the incident and how he work up with no vision in his right eye. “I looked like Madeye Moody,” he cajoled back in Menzoda, referring of course to the Harry Potter character with an enlarged magical eye. Easy to laugh about it later, but no doubt it was scary for Mo to wake up in that condition in such an unforgiving place.

The route out of high camp climbs a steep headwall in a series of gravel switchbacks. We followed the well-formed climbing trail for just over an hour before making it to our first rest break on a rocky outcropping at the top of the headwall on climbers left. A band of sandy yellow rock serving as a mediocre windbreak while we gulped down some snacks and water.

My confidence from the night before was pretty shaken at this point. The incident with Chris and Muhammad had gotten into my head, and physically I had been operating at my limit from the start. The altitude was really making an impact and completely negated the benefits of now lighter packweights. Having never been above 20,000 feet before, I felt ill-equipped to deal with the compounding effects; the physical effort making it harder to travel efficiently, which in turn added to the physicality, and so forth. I'm a liar if I don't admit that I considered throwing in the towel at that first rest break. What kept me going where the first rays of morning light and some well timed Shot Blocks to get me energized for another hour of climbing.

"Peering over the ridge I met the infamous South Face with a rush of vertigo. Like a Hitchcock zoom I could look all the way down the face, a huge unobstructed line to the bottom of the valley 8,000 feet below."

Leaving the rest break we climbed over a small patch of snow and continued up the compacted trail. Fortunately the angle of the slope had backed off somewhat and I began to settle into a more steady rhythm. After a short distance we passed through a short rock band, making for easier terrain off to climber's right. The morning had been a real grind to this point and was quite relieved as we reach the top of the rock band and saw the next portion of the route laid out before us: a huge gently sloping traverse punctuated only by a small rock outcropping called “The Thumb” about halfway across. On the other side, now clearly in sight was La Cueva, a large cave that would be our last stop before entering the fabled Canaleta which leads to the summit.

The traverse was well-timed as the hour of easier climbing allowed me to lower my heart rate and gather some strength for the final push. I don't remember too much of the traverse just a vivid memory of when the easy terrain gave way to steep and horrendous scree. In my very first post I described this moment, an almost drowning like feeling at 21,000 feet...struggling to gain solid footing and make efficient progress upward. The total distance we covered over the following 45 minutes could not have been more than 200 yards.

At multiple points I had to step out of line to rest, and I wasn't the least bit apologetic or embarrassed about it. I could see the same exhausted panic I was feeling in Gary's eyes. It was reassuring to know my struggle was not a solitary one. With the two of us now trying to recover, our lead guide called for an impromptu break. Silent humility fell over me as I sat on my pack, trying to get a few cookies and some water down my throat. It was such a calm, perfect day for a summit attempt. A few rocks shifted next to me and they tumbled down the scree slope out of sight.

"Get it together, this is your moment to do this," I thought. "Just a few short hours and we'll have this in the bag."

By far the most steady of the clients at this point was my dad. If I had the energy I would have laughed at the fact that the doctor in Basecamp nearly prevented him from climbing at all, and on this greatest test of the trip he was performing brilliantly.

Too soon Peter and Johnny were putting on their packs and I knew it was time to keep moving. In that short break I’d recovered quite a bit of energy, the rest and food had snuffed out my psychological and physical panic. The route was no less steep or tenuous than before, but this time I was ready for it and able to move slightly more efficiently. Still, the going was tough until we reached La Cueva a large, distinct, and uneasily chossy cave for yet another rest. Here my energy picked up further as we now had an unobstructed view of the Canaleta a wide boulder strewn couloir that leads directly to the summit. "There it is," the top of South America right before my eyes.

At this point we donned crampons for the steep and increasingly snow-covered route. There were easily a few dozen Climbers heading for the summit alongside us, some of them above, but many below. As far as I could tell we were somewhere in the middle of the pack but in the weird "innerspace" of high-altitude climbing the others felt miles away as we each fought for control over the internal universe of our screaming minds and bodies.

Still, with an upswing of energy, I was the first to leave the break along with my dad. Within 50 feet he was having trouble with a crampon, so we had to stop for a minute or two as I knelt down to tighten it properly, being careful not to drop my head below my heart which at this altitude would cause an instant headache. The climbing became a lot more interesting as the loose scree relented to some very easy scrambling over microwave to refrigerator-size boulders. Following a fairly direct path upwards we hit a ridge that began a leftward traverse to the summit. Eduardo was definitely starting to slow down some, but clearly had enough in him to go the distance. We were so close, yet another rest break was called to ready ourselves for the final push. We collected just beneath the summit ridge where snow had accumulated from the storm that pinned us in Camp 1 just days before. Peering over the ridge I met the infamous South Face with a rush of vertigo. Like a Hitchcock zoom I could look all the way down the face, a huge unobstructed line to the bottom of the valley 8,000 feet below. For context, that's like peering over the edge of three Burj Khalifas, the world's tallest building in Dubai, stacked on top of each other.

"Based on climbing seasonality in the Himalaya, the only mountain range higher, it's possible, moreover probable, that at that moment we were the two highest people standing on the Earth. Two people out of 7 billion..."

Unlike the previous rest breaks that day, which had been serious and full of doubt, this final stop was downright jovial. Each of us knew we were less than 30 minutes from the summit, just a few hundred feet away. Nothing at this altitude is a sure thing and conditions can change fast, but it was looking quite likely that we'd make it to the top. "What a perfect day," we kept saying to each other, and it really was. The sun shining, winds were moderate by Aconcagua standards, and temperatures were comfortable for climbing. In my photos it looks like any other day in the outdoors, possibly on a hike in the High Sierra or scaling one of Colorado's “Fourteeners”. But in many ways those same photographs betray the extremity of the experience. Where else would you take a rest break for 15 minutes just a stone's throw, literally, from the summit of a mountain? Where else would you take two deep breaths for every step? Where else would it take the better part of an hour to cover 200 yards?

Adrenaline pumping now, the five of us geared up for the final push upward. Making quick work of the snowy traverse, there was a small traffic jam of climbers descending at a narrow constriction of rocks just below the summit block. Allowing them to pass, heart-thumping hard from both excitement and the considerable effort, I pushed efficiently through slightly more technical terrain. There was some hand over hand scrambling in this final pitch and I was being careful to get good holds and not step on my dad's hands climbing below me. A crampon through the top of the hand now would, of course, be less than ideal.

I was so focused on my movements that suddenly, with a gut-wrenching realization, there was no higher to climb. In an instant I was overwhelmed with emotion and tears welled up in my eyes, smudging my glasses. I waited for a moment to let my dad catch up and gave him a huge hug. Together we walked a few paces on mostly flat terrain and summitted together at 2:04 PM local time on January 4th, 2015.

Here it was, the thing of my dreams for many years, the top of Aconcagua at 22,400 feet. The highest peak in South America, the highest mountain in both the southern and western hemispheres, and the second tallest of the Seven Summits. I stared at the ground beneath my feet and disbelief. Was I really here? Can you believe I'm here with my dad? How many things had to go right for this to happen?

I cannot be certain of this, but based on climbing seasonality in the Himalaya (the only mountain range higher than the Andes) it's possible, moreover probable, that at that moment we were the two highest people standing on the Earth. Two people out of 7 billion... what a moment!

The summit itself is a spacious and slightly tilted plateau about the size of a tennis court. In the middle is a cross, an Aconcagua landmark adorned with wind-torn and sun-faded prayer flags, pictures, and notes left by climbers. We stayed on top for 30 minutes or so, taking pictures and meandering about the summit. There were a few others on top during our stay, most memorable of whom was a very emotional Argentinian who collapsed on the ground shouting "Jesus Christe! Jesus Christe!". It was a little funny, but I also knew how he felt. My own tears still crusted to the inside of my glasses.

I dreaded leaving the summit, but some clouds are building off in the distance and we knew full well that there a wind storm was just hours away. I stared longingly at the summit as we headed down and the roof of South America quickly fell from view as we retraced our steps down the Canaleta.

"The tent wall was battering the top of my head and the corner of the shelter lifting up with each gust of wind despite the weight of my dad and I side. A non-trivial mass if I’m honest..."

Our excitement from the summit propelled us quickly down to La Cueva where we took a quick break, though this time our attitudes were much more relaxed than at the same spot on the way up. In my experience this is pretty typical... What seems like a scary and intense place on the ascent, somehow doesn't feel so intimidating on the way down. From the summit, the road home is a known entity. Our fear in the ascent being of the unknown, the pre-dawn darkness, the physical challenge that lies still further ahead, and still further upward. But which state of mind is actually correct? Are we right to be guarded and concerned on the way up? Are we right to ride the high off the summit and enjoy the moment? Probably a little bit of both.

Fear and caution are of course our natural defense mechanism from environmental threats, of which there are plenty when climbing any serious mountain. Likewise, what would be the point in climbing if it wasn't fun, if one does not let the mountain and the experience wash over them with a smile?

Indeed we were all smiles as we took some final sips of water and continued down to high camp. Covering ground maybe two or three times faster than on the way up allowed us to leap-frog rest breaks that we’d taken on the ascent. The physical effort of going down dramatically less and each step now aided by gravity and a thickening atmosphere. Somehow the air at 20,000 feet now felt relatively thick.

High camp came into view as we reached the head wall where our summit bid began many hours before. We strode into high camp and deposited our gear in the tent vestibule with jubilant high fives and congratulations all around. Once settled in for a few minutes, Peter let us know that Mohammad and Chris had descended to base camp at Plaza de Argentina and that both were doing better at the lower altitude. Such relieving news and a good way to end one of the scariest, hardest, and most perfect days of my life. In an exhausted stupor, the afternoon turned to evening, I consumed some form of dinner unthinkingly and I fell into a well-deserved sleep.

The next morning I awoke rudely to a roaring wind just beyond the half-millimeter-thick nylon of the tent. The noise wasn't the half of it as the tent wall was battering the top of my head and the corner of the shelter lifting up with each gust of wind despite the weight of my dad and I side. A non-trivial mass if I’m honest...

I shook my dad awake. "I think we snapped a tent stay," I said over the wind, referring to a piece of thin cord that anchored our tent to the ground. I quickly got dressed and made my way out the tent door into what felt like a high-altitude hurricane. Indeed the cord was severed after abraising against a rock. With my hands exposed to the wind I re-tied the cord back to the boulder, thus re-securing our tent. As soon as I got back in the tent, the wind intensified further and in a matter of only five minutes the cord snapped again. "Let's get out of here ASAP," I thought.

On my second trip outside, I could see another team's tents getting battered even harder. They had gone for the summit some hours before and so the empty tents were sitting unattended without the ballast of human occupants to anchor them down. With Johnny and Gary we quickly made our way to their camp to disassemble their tents and cover them with heavy rocks. It was difficult work and a little bit chaotic with all that flapping nylon, but the camp was saved.

That group had been climbing with us for most of the trip and were following the same itinerary and schedule. Yet, as described in my previous post, we’d accelerated our schedule to avoid this very windstorm on our summit day. I felt great satisfaction in having the summit behind us while appreciating the ordeal that team must have been enduring in such conditions. Hats off to the IMG weather forecast!

"Preparation, good decision making, and hard work can yield some immense rewards. That a big dream in the mountains can offer a satisfaction rarely encountered in normal life."

Now, it was our turn to pack our gear and make our way down to basecamp on the other side of the mountain at Plaza de Argentina. Fortunately our descent would be on the leeward side of the peak such that the wind would become less intense as we dropped from high camp to the relative metropolis below. Dropping below high camp the wind died down immediately and the environment was shockingly more comfortable and less alarming from just a few feet to the next. The descent took the better part of the day, sipping on the gradually thicker air with each step. The route down is much more direct between high camp and Plaza de Argentina than the way we had come from Plaza de Mulas.

In fact, the way we went down is considered the “normal route” because of the straightforward navigation, well-trodden climbing path, and the quickness with which one can gain or lose altitude. It would have been a real snoozer of an Ascent, but was making for a prolific way to get down.

Quite rapidly the landscape below started to get closer and closer, the small sub-peaks below revealing themselves to be imposing 14,000 to 16,000 foot tall mountains in their own right. We'd been living above it all for days and the new earthly perspective was refreshing. By early afternoon our team once as strong as eleven, now whittled down to just five in the summit party, hit the top of the final scree slope leading to basecamp. It was still 1,500 feet below but the dome tents and infrastructure were now in full view. This was it, just another hour or so before we could bask in our accomplishment over a cold beer.

There was a stunning peak across the valley, a thin veil of ice at the summit growing into a larger and larger Glacier, rolling in smooth curves until the bottom tongue ran out and evaporated into the moraines below. In many ways this sheet of ice represented the experience as a whole. What had started as an idea in my hear years before, had accumulated into a wide and very substantial challenge. With the summit now behind us, we like the glacier, were being pulled down, the intensity and pressure slowly easing with the thickening air and rising temperatures. After twelve days on the mountain, we were at the end and everything had gone perfectly. Everyone was safe, we'd all gotten to know and like one another, and, in rank order, had made it to the summit.

It's not too cliche to say that climbing Aconcagua changed my life. It taught me that preparation, good decision making, and hard work can yield some immense rewards. That a big dream in the mountains can offer a satisfaction rarely encountered in normal life. There, on that final slope above basecamp, I looked back at the now distant yet meaningful summit above.

In my head was a chorus: "More, higher, bigger." Yes, indeed.