Mt Aconcagua Expidition: Summit Baby!

So back in 2001 when I went on my then 'epic' 6 week trip in South America I went to the foothills of the tallest mountain in the Americas, Mt. Aconcagua which peaks out at 6,962m or (23,841ft). I've got a good photo of it but it was so long ago that it was not taken on a digital camera so it's not featured here. Anyway being there and then meeting some people who tried to climb the mountain whet my appetite for summiting and when I found that there was an opportunity to join up with an expedition group and still be able to be back in Canada for Christmas I signed up immediately.

Not having any experience with high altitude I opted to go for the expeditions 'Extended Acclimitization Plan' (EAP) which saw me and two experienced German climbers begin our trek 2 days earlier than the rest of the group. We made it to the first camp at 3,100m with no issues other than the fact that I was a bit sick and needed to use the toilet constantly. The safety measures in place in the park were impressive but even though we had to visit the doctor daily to have our blood pressure and blood oxygenation levels* checked and discuss our general health, I conveniently forgot to mention that I was having trouble staying hydrated due to the fact that all the water I was drinking was finding it's way immediately back out.**

Even though I felt crappy (no pun intended) and did not enjoy any of the excrutiatingly long 8 hour hike up to the actual base camp Plaza des Mulas (4,300m) I got a full night's sleep once there and enjoyed the 'day off to acclimatize' the next day by augmenting the rock wall around my tent.

The next day saw the rest of the group arrive which was good because I had little in common with the two 50 something year old german dudes and one of them didn't speak English so communication was also difficult. We were now 14: Dave, Jan, Letitia, Dennis, Simon, Steve, Pascal, Cedric, Bernard, Walter, Caesar, Ricardo, Dieter and Helmut. Nationalities spanning the globe.

With lots of down time we spent a lot of time BS'ing in the food tent, just hanging out in our respective tents, playing cards***( in particular a game called Shit Head which Dennis was particularly bad at) or just waiting to be fed all with an upbeat attitude about the task ahead and lots of laughs now that there were some people in the group who both spoke English and had a sense of humour.

Once our acclimitization period was over at Plaza des Mulas we had 6 straight days of torture, well 7 if you count day 0. Tuesday the weather went bad and it snowed and the wind blowed and sleep was difficult to come by especially because part of acclimatizing meant drinking 5 litres of water per day which meant waking up at least once a night to go pee.

Wednesday we set off with full packs**** for the first of three high altitude camps Plaza de Canada (which we just called camp 1) and for the first time since Madagascar I was carrying a heavy load up a mountain. Believe me my legs let me know it the next day. The snow and wind started to blow on the way up the mountain and even though I would have been warmer I opted to let my beard warm my face instead of my bandana which was absolutely disgusing smelling having been absorbing sweat for two weeks or so since last being washed.

The high altitude camps meant no more meal tent so we ate our meals, either outside if the weather was good or, except for camp 1 when the sun came out, huddled up inside our tents.

Thursday and Friday saw the same crappy weather with snow falling and wind blowing and the two nights at these camps were probably the worst. It was -15 degrees outside not counting the effect of wind chill and even once I was warm and cozy in my sleeping bag my breath would condense on the outside of my sleeping bag or my pillow making them wet and disgusting and ultimately would condense on the ceiling of the tent, freeze and then when the wind would blow, would fall back down on me as if it were snowing inside the tent!!! Very unpleasant to say the least. It makes it really hard to get enthusiastic for a day of trekking when you've only had a couple of hours sleep and your pillow is wet. That said, the higher we went the more scenic and panoramic the views became, though my photos are few due to the fact that it was too cold to take off my gloves to opperate the camera or just too cold to be bothered leaving the tent altogether.

Saturday was summit day. On Friday night, our first night at camp 3, there was some concern whether or not the weather would be good enough to make an attempt on the summit. The wind was howling and it was freezing (exact temperature unknown but 'F'ing Freezing!' seems about right) so at 5:00am when our guide awoke us to let us know we were going to depart for the summit at 6:30am, it was hard to get up for it. Also, in the course of getting ready, I found that the outer shell of my trekking boots were frozen solid and I had to struggle for 15mins just to get my boots on, as a result I was delaying the group and getting stressed everytime the guide said 'c'mon guys, we're going'. Once I finally got my boots on I still wasn't ready and had to fill my water bottles which was met with a frustrated groan and eye roll from the guides. Then I had to find my ice axe, which wasn't where I expected it to be. So rather than panic and look all around for it I just said 'forget it' and went without it. The only one to do so I noticed after surveying everyone else's packs but I knew from discussions with others that there was only a slim chance of needing it anyway.

At about 6:50 or so we finally left and I took up my position near the back of the pack just, cause that's the way I do it, I don't like to feel like I'm being pushed and like to trek at a slow yet continuous pace.

As we were trekking I noticed that there weren't as many of us as there were supposed to be, Steve and Caesar were not in the group. When added to the fact that Bernard, Dieter, Helmut and Dennis had already turned back at various stages we were only 8 making a run at the summit.

Later, when reflecting on the trek over a few beers, we were all of the same opinion that our primary guide, Pablo, did not do his best to motivate the group and seemed insistent on convincing people to turn back as we reached certain milestones. For me he asked me how I was doing, I said "tired but fine' as, other than heavy breathing I was not suffering at all from the effects of high altitude and had no symptoms of altitude sickness or any other discomfort other than being tired from lack of sleep and having tired legs from 4 straight days of steep mountain ascent. Reminiscent of the Malagasy mountain guide when I climbed Pic Boby, he wouldn't let up though, "How are your legs?" "Don't forget you have to come back down too" "We only have a certain amount of time to reach the summit"*****. I think in his efforts to talk me down, he inadvertantly motivated me to keep going just out of spite. Never underestimate the power of spite.

By the time we broke for lunch at about 1:00pm there were only two of us left, and I felt sure that Ricardo, who had earned the nickname La Machina, (due to the fact that he was fit and built like a tank Argentinian rugby player) would continue on with me but before I knew it he had turned around and was heading down the mountain with Pablo, the last of our group's guides and I had joined up with another group who I had never met before to make the final 3 hour ascent towards the summit.

From the photos you can tell that it was a beautiful sunny day and my legs were surprisingly holding up very well considering I'd never before undertaken such a physically demanding activity. With Pablo gone I could turn off the spite and just turn off in general and, like a robot, follow the person in front of me step by very, very slow step.

One hour into the final ascent we could see the summit. It looke really close. Like a couple of hundred metres away. But still two hours of trekking. Head down. One foot in front of the other. Don't forget to breathe.******

Finally, I made it! I mean I actually made it. On December 6, 2008 at about 3:50pm Andes time I reached the summit of the highest mountain in the Americas. It was really wierd that it wasn't a more emotional reaction. No sense of pride or even sense of relief. Just a matter of fact "I made it". The weirdness was compounded by the fact that, after a couple of weeks of talking about it with the group I was the only one there and had no one to high five or likewise congratulate. Seven years after I had originally been awe inspired by Mt. Aconcagua and the Andes in general I had no more emotional reaction than if I had just cycled across London to pick up my awesome goggles. 'Yup I'm here. Guess it's time to turn around and go back." Which I did. Though I did take some time to take and pose for some kickass photos if I do say so myself!

So I said 7 days of torture, that's only 5. Well to pariphrase Newton, "He who goes up a mountain must come down". My feet were hurting. I was tired. Exhausted even. In general I'm a slow trekker and even more so on the downhill due to not wanting to further tweak my wonky****** left knee. Trekking downhill was very slow but when I got down to the base camp there was a heroes welcome for the 1/14 to summit and hamburgers and coke. All of which were welcome.

That night we celebrated our experience and our last night on the mountain with champagne, beer and....whatever it was we had for dinner.

That night my lips exploded. Apparently my beard is unable to protect my lips from harsh sunlight at high altitude continuously reflecting off the snow into my face as I look down carefully placing every step for 8 hours up and 4 hours down on a bright and sunny summit day. That made Monday equally crap as i had to hide my lips from the sun and coddle my aching feet for the 8 hour hike down from base camp to the park entrance.

I assumed my feet were hurting due to wearing my boots too tight and really cinching on the crampons because I had taken the precaution of wearing all 4 pairs of my wool winter socks so I couldn't have frostbite right? Well, sort of. It turns out I had mild frostbite and when I went to the doctor a few weeks later because my toes were still numb, something I didn't think was consistent with 'boot squeeze' or whatever you want to call it, the doctor said that i had "no problem" and that I should regain feeling in my toes within 2-3months. Yes that says months.

Anyway it appears that success has it's price. Luckily around Mendoza and in Argentina generally red wine flows like a river and at about $2 a bottle so 'medicating' myself as I slowly recover was really quite pleasant.

Photos: 1) Summit Baby! 2) View from the toilet 'window' 3) View of the summit at sunset, awesome tent wall in the foreground 4) Dinner at high altitude camp 1 5) Freezing cold sunset 6) View from the summit. 6,962m. Waaaaay above the clouds. 7) Oh Ya! I made it! 8) Group photo, middle guy who made it to the top 9 + 10) Success has a price 11) Enjoying the medication

*I still don't know what this is, something like the higher your number, the fewer breaths you need to take to get the same amount of oxygen in your blood. Though how this is measured by cliping a sensor to your finger and not actually drawing blood, I'm not exactly sure.

**My logic was that, from experience, this is a temporary condition and I didn't want to be prevented from continuing up the mountain for something that would go away in a couple of days.

***Which I luckily remembered to bring but only because I had lost my bank card and had to go rummaging through my bag that I had earmarked for storage while we climbed the mountain for my mobile phone to cancel it only to find my cards there too

****Full meaning all of our personal stuff, not counting food and tents which were carried by the guides/porters.

*****Alluding to my 4 straight days of being one of the slowest in the group

******Don't forget to apply sunscreen to my lips should have also been on my mind.

*******Tweak and wonky both being proper medical terms for my condition