Aconcagua Area Map
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Aconcagua Area Map |
Dec 2003-Jan 2004
I had been planning an Aconcagua trip since 2001, when a trip with my friend, Tom Cogbill, fell through. It didn't work out in 2002, but I finally was able to go in December, 2003, with two good friends.
Preparing for the trip -- learning about the required practicalities, finding and arranging with an outfitter, preparing to get the team together, getting in shape, etc -- took considerably focus in the latter half of 2003, so it was a relief to meet my friends at the Base Camp Hostel. The hostel in Mendoza turned out to be one block from the hotel I had prearranged to stay at, so getting together with Ryan and Nate was easy. There was a communication problem with the outfitter, although I had emailed our dates and intentions since August, but we got on the trail as planned.
Click on any picture for a large version.
Weighing gear to stash on mules. Mule packaged either 2x30lbs or 3x20lbs. |
Our camp at Los Puquios |
Taking a break on the 40 km hike in |
Monolith visible from first camp: Las Lenas |
Crossing the one bridge |
Our first view of Aconcagua |
A break in Relincho Valley, on the way to Basecamp |
Mules at the trailhead at Punta de Vacas |
Ryan, Nate and Henri at the trailhead |
Hanging out at Camp Lenas |
Base camp. In foreground, the Bibler tent we borrowed from our friend, Tom Gallo. In the background, the outfitter tent where we ate our meals, prepared by Daniel or Caribe. |
The approach was a 40 km hike. We did it in three short days. With light packs, the mules carrying the bulk, it was a mellow warm up to the trip. The two intermediate camps, Camp Lenas and Case Piedra, are marked with thick black circles in the area map at the top.
First view of the mountain as we move towards Camp One |
Icefall visible from Camp One |
From Camp One, view up towards Aconcagua/Ameghino col |
Somebody moving up towards the Col and Camp Two |
View of Aconcagua and Polish Glacier |
The rule of thumb for acclimatization is to ascend no more than 1000 feet per day above 10,000 feet. A common way, using an expedition style approach, is as follows. Say you want to move from Basecamp to Camp One. You make a carry, with food, climbing gear and perhaps some extra clothes, items you can spare at the lower camp. You carry this up to the upper camp, in this case, Camp One. Then you descend to Basecamp, and that is your first day. On the second day, you move your camp up to Camp One. Then you take a rest day.
There is considerable anecdotal evidence to suggest that it is advantageous to spend a night at higher altitudes. The theory is that once you've spent a night at a higher altitude, your body starts to produce more red blood cells, and will continue to do so for the next four days. Since the body can produce more red blood cells at a lower elevation, if you descend during this four-day time span, you will acclimatize faster. We wanted to follow such an approach, so we did a carry and moved our camp up, on the second day -- after a rest day at Basecamp. Then we moved down again and spent a night at Basecamp. Then we moved up to Camp One again for good. It seemed to work well, as we felt much better the second time in Camp One. The drawback was a tough third day carrying both the second load and the overnight gear.
View of Basecamp on approach to Camp One |
The kids playing |
This is the most comfortable loo we used on this trip |
Ryan reading in the tent |
Pumping water, an interminable camp chore |
Stretching, an obligatory activity during the long rest days |
Fighting Penitentes |
A broad view of the glacier, covered with moraine, that we crossed on the way to Camp One |
Penitentes just before Camp One |
The Sierra tent in Camp One |
Resting at Camp One -- the balmiest day we had |
Penitentes around Camp One |
Some friends we followed on one of the carries to Camp Two |
Towards the end of a rest day in Camp One, our dinner was brewing, when Todd from Alpine Ascents International came rushing into camp, almost carrying Henry, a client. Henry had come down with Cerebral Edema, a serious and life-threatening high altitude condition. Of course, we helped out as we could. We heated some water for Henry, and then Nate helped Todd guide Henry down to Basecamp. Watching Henry was pretty disconcerting. He could not speak properly; he understood and answered questions, but could only speak gibberish. He would say something, and realize it didn't come out right, and then try again. When we gave him a water bottle to drink from, he would keep trying to unscrew the cap, even though the bottle was open. Even after pointing this out to him, he still tried to unscrew it. Everything all went pretty fast. Later, I went over and spoke with the guides from Adventure Peaks, and they had some experience with HACE. They thought Henry would be fine.
Still, the next morning we hadn't heard anything, so I picked up Henry's pack and went down to Basecamp. For me, at that time, it was more a symbolic gesture, but the AAI people showed a lot of gratitude for it nonetheless. I had missed Henry by less than an hour, but I was glad to hear that he was alright. Todd and the other excellent people at AAI fed us (Nate and I) a delicious breakfast. There was another person there, whose name eludes me right now, but he came out to say goodbye and gave us each a big hug. A thouroughly friendly person, he said something that completely mirrors my own sentiments. He said that it was extraordinary how complete strangers, in a mountain or climbing environment like this, just help each other out and become partners spontaneously, when somebody is in trouble.
Epilogue: Henry had spent the night in a Gamow bag, and probably only survived the night because Todd and Nate (and Eng Sherpa, who came up to help also) got him down to Basecamp. I met Henry when we were all back in Mendoza, and then he turned out to be an outspoken, educated, smart, well-articulated, and friendly guy. I was and remain truly glad to see him recovered, although he said he might suffer some minor symptoms for a few weeks after the incident.
The incident put us back a day or two, but we had gained an invaluable ally in AAI, who helped us out with food, fuel and even a white-gas stove in Camp Two.
Ameghino | |
A sulphur lake below Ameghino. These two pictures should have been one, but Panoram Factory couldn't merge them properly. | |
On the way, we spotted some climbers on the Polish Glacier |
We watched intently, curious about their progress. Here they are, visible as three indistinct dots. You can see their movement in comparison with the previous picture. |
View of Relincho Valley from around the Col area |
Camp One from above |
View of Polish Glacier on the way to Camp Two |
On the way to Camp Two |
Taking a rest while carrying to Camp Two |
Nate descending from Camp Two |
Leaving Camp One for good, taking a rest |
Ryan scribbling at the Col Camp |
We saw a couple of these strange birds. This one is at the Col Camp at 17,500 feet! |
The strange bird taking off (visible in the left center) |
Ghost Climbers |
I noticed a lot of people that I decided to call Ghost Climbers. They (we) were all covered up with gloves, hats, face masks, and goggles, so that no human features were visible. They would not look up when passing others, but rather hunch over in the same pose, relentless if quiet in their pursuit. They used the rest step, so you would see them slowly move a foot, then wait for a second, then slowly move the other, etc. It was almost eerie watching them.
Henri at the Col Camp |
Col Camp from above |
View of Mercedario from the Col Camp |
Leaving the Col Camp |
Ryan taking a rest on the way to Camp Two |
Moving to Camp Two |
Taking it in at Camp Two |
Resting at Camp Two |
Henri in the tent |
Pumping water in Camp Two |
Ameghino from Camp Two |
A Mountain Chili freeze dried dinner -- or so we thought. Ryan had picked this up in Camp One, and he had been looking forward to chow this down in Camp Two. It turned out it was a garbage back, not a cached dinner. This was a source of some amusement. |
Our broken pump in Camp Two. Notice that both the handle and the vent is broken off. |
During the trip, we had a continuing discussion about our food supply. I had learned that on longer expeditions, it is important to bring only as much food as you need, no less and no more either. In addition, I had read about the abundance of food on Aconcagua, in all the frequented camps. For this reason, it was important for me to plan food so that we would not have extra. This was an issue for Ryan and Nate, partly because they eat more than I do.
In Camp Two, our logistical issues came to a point. First, our water pump broke. We discussed at length whether it was safe to drink boiled water, since the water boils at such a low temperature at 19,000 feet. This almost became moot, because we wouldn't have enough fuel to boil all our water anyway. We ended up agreeing to boil water, replenishing our fuel supply by an abandoned cache that a friend pointed out to us.
During some of the logistical discussions, Nate had suggested that he go down to save the resources for Ryan and me. On the day we had planned to summit, a fierce wind was blowing. We thought it would ease up early afternoon, as it had done this the previous days. Yet, by late afternoon and even early evening, it had shown no sign of letting up. We thought the summit bid was history at that point. I told Nate that if we could not leave that night, it would be hard for me to go down. Ryan felt the same way. I think Nate had had enough of the mountain and did not want to stay any longer. Even that same evening, he packed up his things and went down to Basecamp. There were no hard feelings; this was his decision and it was what he needed to do. I went outside and watched him hiking down, with some sadness in my heart.
Nate in the tent during the windy day |
Nate leaving |
Nate Leaving, still |
I hardly slept that night. When I would doze off a bit, I would soon wake up and listen to the wind again, which kept howling. I found myself awake at 10:30, and the wind was quiet. I didn't think too much of it, since it had done that a few times, only to pick up again shortly after. When it was still quiet at 11:30 -- I hadn't closed an eye in the meantime -- I started slowly getting my hopes up, then getting ready. Around midnight, Ryan woke up, and I told him the wind had been quiet for over an hour and that we should start getting ready.
We took a while to get ready, but left camp around 1:15. There was no wind, but it was cold. Once we got on the glacier, both Ryan and I had a hard time keeping our feet and fingers warm. At some point, I borrowed a nice, hot mitten from Ryan; my middle finger had gotten so cold I couldn't bend it. Every rest stop, we had a conversation about the cold and how we were doing. We had obviously both underestimated the environment. I had actually left clothes in Basecamp and even Camp One that I could have used here, in particular, insulators for my boots. Yet, short of a bit of frostnip on fingers and toes, nothing serious happened.
We had an amazing view to a storm that was raging over the lowlands. We saw regular flashes of lightning, and despite everything, it captured our attention with its beauty and ferocity. Unfortunately, taking a picture of the lightning, or even the storm, proved impossible with my limited skill and equipment.
Ryan at daybreak |
Henri against the sunrise |
Getting Ready |
Climbing |
Negotiating the crux, Ryan is belaying |
Still on the crux, Ryan climbing |
Taking a rest, the first opportunity we got since the crux, four hours later |
Still resting. It was a small spot we found, but still happy about it. |
Just after the rest, and getting close to the crest of the ridge. |
We had struggled up the slope and at daybreak, we were just below the crux section. This was a section of about 200 feet of 50 degree ice. On the right hand side of the steep gully, the ice was snow covered, but we decided to stay on the left hand side where the ice was exposed. We did belayed climbing on this part. Just as we were pulling up the last pitch, the sun started hitting us, and within 30 minutes, we both got really hot. This made us really dehydrated, and due to our limited water, this would pursue us for the rest of the day.
We needed a rest, but digging out a platform in the ice/neve was not conducive. About 500 feet up, there was a boulder that looked like it might be a good spot, so we headed for that. It took us forever to get there! Being dehydrated and tired at 20000 feet slowed us down to less than a crawl. When we finally made the boulder, of course it wasn't a good spot after all. It also got us a bit off-route, as we now had a steep, rotten icefield between us and the left side of the rockband above. We headed up towards a gully above us, but it didn't go. We ended up having to cross that ice field.
Exposure: Up until below the crux, falling didn't really enter my mind; the snow was soft and it's hard to fall in that, and even if you do, you don't go far. However, once we got above the crux, we looked at 1000 feet of steep ice and neve (hard snow), and falling anywhere here would most likely have been fatal. I had read about a team of four that fell here in 1998, and all four slid thousands of feet and died.
Ryan suggested we descend. Descending didn't make much sense to me, since we would have to cover some pretty steep ground, and elevation wise at least, we were close to the summit. So we continued up.
Ryan on the summit ridge |
Team at the top |
After a break, it was a short jog to the crest of the ridge. A team had passed us, and we followed in their footsteps, not having to kick our own for a change. They were pretty grateful for ours! At the time, I didn't think much about it, but perhaps it's a little amazing that we were the second and third teams to make that route that season, and we did it on the same day?
The ridge was long, but relatively flat. The guidebook had mentioned 'endless false summits,' but the mountain still fooled us. There was a big hill we saw from a distance we thought for sure was the summit, but there was at least three more after that! At this point, every step was a battle.
Fatigue: I had heard about a 'dream-like' state that extreme fatigue brings on, especially at altitude, but I had never experienced it. This was my first. I remember sitting in the snow, waiting for Ryan, and everything seemed to happen to someone else. When Ryan got over, and we started talking, I had the sensation that even the conversation was between two other people -- even what I said was coming from somebody else. It wasn't an 'out of body' experience, but perhaps some kind of precursor? It was definitely strange.
The last bit on the ridge was so slow and tiresome, we took breaks every ten minutes -- even though elevation gain was tiny, tens of feet between rests -- and our light day pack shifted between us almost every time.
We summitted around 17:30. It was a strange feeling. I think I was too tired to feel much of anything, yet, something inside still wanted to get excited about standing on the Western Hemispheres tallest peak, after two years of anticipation.
View from Summit |
Ryan at the top |
Ryan feeling good about the summit |
Henri at the top |
Just above the abandoned refugio, on the way down. |
Ryan heading down towards intermediate camp, where we spoke with Todd and Eric |
Ameghino towering above Camp Two, and my last shot on summit day. |
It took us sixteen hours to get to the summit and three dreadful hours to get back down to camp. The Canaleta is every bit as bad as its reputation will know, and we only had to descend! We met with Todd and Eric from AAI in their intermediate camp between Camp Two and the Canaleta. The last hour, Ryan went ahead to camp to start to make us some water. I drifted behind, finding it more and more difficult to take each step even downhill. I don't think I had ever been so dehydrated before. I got to our campsite around 20:30, and after a bit of soup and a lot of water, I was out.
Our fifty pound packs before hoisting them |
On the way down, Ryan descending from Camp Two |
Ryan ready to head down to Basecamp from Camp One, having picked up cached gear. |
Henris pack after picking up cache in Camp One |
In the penitentes for the last time |
Getting down to Basecamp was uneventful. Although it was a short hike, probably less than three hours for fresh climbers with light packs, we took our sweet time getting going. We were still dreadfully tired, and not eager to throw the 50+ lbs packs on our backs. We left after one and I got to Basecamp around fiveish. Ryan had moved down in advance to secure our mules for the next day. Our friends from Adventure Peaks (or something like that, a British guiding company) was going out with all their gear, and Daniel had to scrounge for us to get us a couple of mules! He worked his magic and set us up. Daniel and Caribe was truly bright spots on this mountain.
Ryan and Henri, back in Basecamp in front of Aconcagua |
Aconcagua in its glory |
Ryan and Henri with Daniel |
Henri in Daniel's tent, trying to recuperate. |
Henri and Caribe |
Ryan and Aconcagua |
Ryan in Daniel's Tent, enjoying a real chair. |
Our last meal on the mountain. Eggs and Pancakes! |
Ryan and Caribe |
View back while descending down through Relinchos Valley |
The gorge that runs through the lower part of Relinchos Valley |
The first greens we saw while descending. This was quite a sight after almost two weeks of just rocks! |
Approaching the river near Case Piedra. |
Crossing the Vacas river. This was a tricky crossing: Strong current, cold water, almost waist deep. |
Henri and Aconcagua |
Ryan and Aconcagua |
On the way out. |
The hike out was an easy day and a half. The hiking was so relaxing that we would hike for two hours without a break, not realizing we had continued so long -- at least, I wouldn't. The day before, during the descent to Basecamp, I was in a frame of mind that I could not wait to get off the mountain. In Camp Two, I was motivated to stick with it and get to the summit, but like everyone else, it was grating on me. The scree, dust, wind, swinging temperatures, and the thin air all contributes to an overall weariness with the environment. Although on the altitude, I did much better than I had thought I would.
For all that, on the hike out, I was almost overwhelmed by a feeling of nostalgia. I did not really want to leave Basecamp, and we hung out there until after lunch. In Relinchos valley, I kept turning around to view the mountain. Despite the rough trail, I enjoyed the views, air, the sparse grasses and bushes, the hilly slopes around us, just being outside and in the mountains. I was not looking forward to civilization again. But there it was, waiting for us. And I have to admit, the first sandwhich with real vegetables did taste pretty good, and the first night in a real bed did feel pretty good.
Taking a break in Vacas Valley |
On the last day, getting close to the trailhead. |
I was sitting outside a little kiosk in Puenta del Vacas, the town outside the trailhead. I was trying to absorb my impressions from the trip, a process that may still be in progress. The woman of the kiosk came out and started speaking a lot of Spanish at me. Some Argentinians liked to do this, even after I made it clear that I didn't understand a word. After a while, Ryan joined us, and he understood what she was saying. It turned out that her son had died in the accident I mentioned above. A disturbing bookend to this wondrous trip.
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Special Thanks To: Tom Cogbill, for getting me on to Aconcagua, and providing info. Eric Winkelman, for hooking me up with Nate, and general encouragement. Tom Gallo, for lending gear. Todd, Eric and Eng Sherpa from AAI, for help and support during the expedition. |
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