It seems only fitting
after summiting my tenth 14,000 foot mountain here in CO this past summer that
I share the story of my 14,000 foot climb in Argentina.
This story really
begins at my roots, my dad and my Uncle John are mountaineers at heart, and it
was hearing Dad’s stories about climbing Longs Peak that got me excited about summiting
mountains too. I proudly jotted my name down at the top of Longs the summer
when I turned 14, and aside from not being able to climb the stairs to bed when
I got home, loved every minute of it.
With three 14,000 foot
summits under my belt by the time I reached Argentina, I was looking for a
similar adventure, and what better opportunity than Mount Aconcagua, the
largest mountain outside the Himalayas at 22,841 feet.
Now, I know what
you’re all thinking, and no, I don’t have a death wish. Summiting Aconcagua is
a week to two week long process, with various camps, acclamation procedures,
highly specific gear, and an enormous amount of training. In other words, not
doable during my study abroad. However, reaching the first base camp, Plaza de
las Mulas was doable, and at 14,340 feet, was more or less the equivalent of
climbing one of Colorado’s famed peaks. The difference was doing it with 35
pound packs on a multi-day backpacking trek of a kind I had never undertaken
before.
Fortunately, I had my
best friend to undertake this adventure with, Ryan, who was gung-ho about the
idea from our first visit to the mountain in the winter when we learned the
initial details. Since my tent sleeps three, we thought of including a third
person in our catamaran, but no one seems quite as insane as us, or maybe it
was just the threat of being a third wheel as Ryan and I’s relationship
progressed. Anyway, it ended up just being the two of us. And one. big.
mountain.
We set the date for
late November, the first weekend the mountain was open to climbers for our
exhibition, and together we hurriedly started to amass all the gear, food, and
supplies we needed for the trek. Luckily, Mendoza is the city base for all
Aconcagua trips so it was easy to find suppliers of camping gear such as a
sleeping bag that Ryan needed (I’d hauled all my stuff down there, because who
wouldn’t bring 50 pounds of camping supplies with them?). More difficult
however, was finding fuel for my stove (which burns white gas primarily, but is
designed to burn practically anything liquid, including straight gasoline). For
some reason the airlines don’t let you bring white gas on the plane, (something
about terrorists), so I had to go hunting around the city. I ended up being
sold some sort of flammable clear liquid in a recycled Pepsi bottle from a
FerreterÃa (Argentina’s version of hardware stores). It was sketchy, (to say
the least), but hey, whatever it was, it burned.
Another key hurdle was
obtaining permits to access the camp. As Aconcagua is one of the seven summits,
(the grouping of the largest mountain on each continent and a goal for many
expert, insane mountaineers), it’s easy for the country to charge HEFTY fees
for access to climbers and get away with it. For Ryan and me however, $500 each to
climb just to the base camp was not doable. So with a little convincing in
Spanish, English, and pointing, we argued that our student visas gave us
residency status in the country, although temporary, and with a stroke of luck,
we were granted resident passes to the camp, for a whopping $40.
I remember the night
before the trek, we went through all our gear and divvied up who was carrying
what. We’d put together breakfast rationings, bought lots of pasta makings, and
sandwich ingredients since Argentine grocery stores are typically not stocked
with freeze-dried backpacking food, and REI has yet to penetrate the Argentine
market (get on that Sally Jewell!). That night Ryan also asked me how many
times I’d done this before. “Twice” I said, and never for more than one night.
For him, it was his first backpacking trip ever. Three nights. 35+ lbs of gear
per person. Over 5000 ft. of vertical gain.
In the morning, it was
a slightly anxious bus ride.
Ok, actually it was a
VERY anxious bus ride, but not because of the mountain.
>>Comedic
Interlude<<
Here’s the thing,
whenever you climb a mountain, (or anything high for that matter), you HAVE to
stay hydrated. From the wisdom of my dear old dad, I’d learned drinking a lot of
water ahead of time is key, because if you start dehydrated, your body will
never be able to catch up. So the diligent mountaineer that I am, I drank LOTS
of water the night before and morning of. Then got on a bus.
For five hours.
With no bathroom
service.
Ryan and I laugh about
this story now, but needless to say, it was a painful lesson in how to ration
water intake. Ryan experienced the pain too as I squeezed his hand as hard as I
could the whole way there. And yes. I made it. And yes, Ryan still makes fun of
me to this day.
>>Back to the
Epic Trek<<
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| It's so far AWAY! |
After checking into
the ranger station and hearing the required spiel about packing out trash,
checking in at each camp, etc. Ryan and I set off on trail, capturing this
picture before we set out with Aconcagua’s snowy south face clearly visible.
What’s deceptive about this picture, and a fact that ultimately made this
backpacking experience extremely challenging, is that the mountain is quite a
significant distance away – it’s just so huge it’s hard to notice.
This brings me to
logistical challenge #729 of the trip, which was also probably the most
frustrating. On the maps they issue to backpackers, the rangers make a strict
point NOT to state distances between camps in useful metrics such as
kilometers. Rather, they use time. So
from the bus stop to the first camp, Confluencia, the map said “4 hours.” Now
this seems a little objective, Ryan and I thought. Is this a park ranger hiking
the trail in 4 hours? An average hiker? A mule? We still to this day have NO
IDEA how far we actually hiked over the course of the four days, although we
estimate it was somewhere around 30 miles round trip.
Luckily the first
stretch of the hike to Confluencia camp wasn’t too challenging, and we only
gained about 2000 feet in elevation. So I took lots of pictures to ensure we
had no way of knowing how on par we were with the timing on the map (Ryan was
thrilled), but I have to say the landscaping required it…
The first night at
Camp Confluencia gave us our first real taste of professional mountaineering:
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| Camp Confluencia |
The good: Rangers available to
check in hikers and answer any questions, as well as double check you are
prepared for the next leg of the journey.
The bad: Huge permanent canvas
tents (usually globular in shape) with bunks for trekkers who hire companies to
carry their gear (and probably them) up the mountain. Wimps.
The ugly: Helicopter landing
pads (with a helicopter practicing landings) for the many emergency rescues
that happen each season.
Our first night also
afforded its first set of challenges (aka lessons of the outdoors Lisa will
never forget). Like my stove struggling to burn fuel (something it started
showing symptoms of at Valle de la Luna) and which was extremely alarming since
we needed heat to cook our food.
The good news was Ryan
and I eventually set up camp, ate our pasta, and managed not to freeze too much
while watching the sunset and the stars burst into light.
Day Two of the Trek
was actually a simple day hike around to the South Face viewing point of the
mountain. The rangers suggest this because it helps climbers acclimate, and
because the South Face is pretty darn impressive.
Some mentally unstable
people have actually ice climbed all seven glaciers to the top on this face.
Ryan and I were content to just gape at it aaaaannnddd try not to get blown
over by the crazy wind whipping us around that day like rag dolls.
Unfortunately, my tent
was not so lucky in avoiding the wind. When we got back to camp, we found it in
a jumbled mess (even all our gear inside didn’t hold it down) but fortunately
the rangers were kind enough to pile some rocks on it so we didn’t lose our
shelter completely. Also very fortunately, the only structural damage was a
bent pole, no tears, no breaks. Phew! Luck was on our side…
…until an hour later
when my water purification (my battery operated ionizer) died on me. This is
the epitome of a rookie mistake, but in my defense, Argentine stores do not
carry the type of battery my water filter uses. Katy had to bring some down
from the States with her when she visited. Luckily, I had a backup filtration
system with me, and we met Hairy Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude who were
kind enough to lend us their magical purifying wand (ya sure UV light kills water borne bacteria and viruses) and gave us a
nice stash of Coca leaves.
>>Backstory on
Hairy Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude<<
These guys, Ryan and I
learned, were set on summiting Aconcagua, AND set on doing so without a guide.
Hairy Columbian Man I wasn’t too worried about. He did Kilimanjaro by himself. Rich Alaska Dude however,
even though he lives in Alaska, informed us that he doesn’t really hike a lot,
much less mountaineer. To make matters worse, they were carrying more gear than
humanly possible, including Rich Alaska Dude’s incredible amount of fancy,
brand new gear. They were departing at the same time as us tomorrow for the
push to Plaza de Las Mulas and we said we’d see them along the way.
>>Backstory on
Coca Leaves<<
Coca leaves come from
the cocaine plant, but, unlike its powdery relative, is not a toxic drug.
Rather, coca leaves are used in the Andes for the same purpose the Incans used
them for thousands of years ago, acclamation. Hairy Columbian Man instructed us
to chew the coca leaves the night before heading up to Plaza de las Mulas at
14,000 feet and sure enough, neither Ryan nor I dealt with altitude sickness,
but I did have the craziest nightmare dreams ever the night before, so we ruled
no more coca leaves for Lisa.
>>Back to the
Epic Trek<<
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| Hairy Columbian Man took our picture! |
Day Three was the big
day, and Ryan and I got up early (not quite as early as Hairy Columbian Man and
Rich Alaska Dude) to start our trek upwards. We quickly caught up to our
overburdened friends however and after walking with them a ways, realized if we
were ever going to reach Plaza de las Mulas, we had to ditch them. Slowly the
pair turned into smaller and smaller dots behind us as we crossed what I fondly
called
 |
| Crossing the "Desert of Rocks" |
“The Desert of Rocks.” The reality is, climbing Aconcagua is most doable
from the west face, but the initial trailhead and check in station is a ways
away from the South face of the mountain, which means not only hiking to the
mountain, but then wrapping around it to start climbing the west face.
Basically this equated into a very long, hot trek where we seemingly made no
progress, in part because of the enormity of the landscape. The end of the
Desert of Rocks always looked so near, and then two hours later, would seem
like the horizon hadn’t shifted at all. And of course, our lovely map detailed
absolutely nothing about how long the trek actually was across the Desert of
Rocks, except that it was supposed to take us around, quote, “8 hours.” So we
hiked, and hiked, and gained more and more elevation and marveled at how large
everything was around us.
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| Can you find Ryan? |
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| Ryan the mountain goat a switchback ahead of me. |
Finally, we got to the
most challenging part of the trek, the homestretch to the camp which Harry
Columbian Man had warned us was very steep. Honestly the switch backs were
comforting more than anything. At least we were going up and besides, this was more the grade I was used to climbing
14ers at home. The only difference was having 30 pounds of weight on my back…
and all the dead mules. Apparently this part of the trek is the most
treacherous for the mules that frequent said “camp of the mules.” Ryan and I
were certainly disconcerted by all the bones and slowly decomposing corpses.
Lovely.
Fortunately we made it
to the top of the climb and were greeted by a full view of the west face of the
mountain with a condor flying majestically above us (probably waiting for us to
clear out so he could head back to feast on mule). If you didn’t think about
that part though, it was really quite an incredible moment.
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| Made it! |
Plaza de las Mulas was
more than a welcome sight when our weary legs finally brought us to the Ranger
Station for check in. They were concerned by my bloodshot eyes (I blame the
coca leaves) but once we convinced them we were ok, they snapped our
commemorative photo and sent us along our way to set up camp.
I couldn’t believe we
were at 14,000 feet. Sure I was goofy and lightheaded (Ryan can attest to my
silliness), but it’s sort of hard to convince yourself you’re that high when
you’re used to this view at 14,000 feet:
And this time you see
this:
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| Cook baby cook. |
Yup, we were in a
valley for Pete’s sake, and nowhere near the tallest feature. Aconcagua looming
above us was still another 8,000 feet up.
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| Aconcagua's west face. |
Nonetheless there were vault toilet
structures and more of the large domed tents for group treks. We were
originally told we’d have to pay to use the toilets since they were operated by
private trek companies, and that we couldn’t go number two anywhere else, but
one company was nice and let us use their bathroom at our will since it was
still the early season and not many mountaineers were around yet. Just us crazy
exchange students.
Luckily, our water for
dinner boiled quickly, but unluckily we had to melt and slowly filter the water
since it came from a nice patch of snow (the water source was still frozen at
that time). We were racing the sun at this point, but Ryan and I had become
quite a team between Valle de la Luna and this trek and our efficiency paid off
with nice warm bellies and sleeping bags set up before the sun set, which, when
it did, was quite the spectacular sight.
Also unfortunately, we
were very hyper aware of the fact that Hairy Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude
did not make it to camp, at least not before darkness fell, and we hoped they
were camped out somewhere safe, not among the mule bones.
Sometime during the
night, Ryan got the courage to actually get out of the tent and observe the
stars at 14,000 feet. I kinda did, but I was not willing to leave the warmth of
my sleeping bag and so just stuck my head out as far as I could and craned it
upwards. It was quite breathtaking, both the cold and the stars. The
constellations are different in South America, so the glittering canvas above
me was quite unfamiliar, however it still had the same humbling effect and I
found myself zipping up the tent and feeling a little more blessed than I had
just a minute ago. I think Ryan stayed outside star struck for a good few
minutes before succumbing to the biting cold and retreating back into the tent.
The next morning
marked our last day of our epic trek, and Ryan awoke to find his contacts
frozen solid in their case, which had been in the tent all night, thus proving
our hypothesis that it was around 25-30 degrees in the tent, and probably in
the teens outside. What was worse was the other frozen device, my water filter,
which was rendered useless by the frozen mechanisms inside and was my last
backup for water purification.
Since Hairy Columbian
Man and Rich Alaska Dude wouldn’t be able to come to our rescue (they were
still not in camp the next morning), we decided we’d have to conserve water as
much as possible, then fill up at Confluencia when we passed by.
Thus began our
grueling trek back down from Plaza de las Mulas: Across the God forbidden
Desert of Rocks, to Confluencia Camp for water, then down the valley to the
Visitor Center, THEN down the highway to the bus stop. And we had to do it all
in time to catch our bus home.
After a final goodbye
to our campsite and Aconcagua, we set out on trail only to run into Hairy
Columbian Man and Rich Alaska Dude not far from camp. They had camped out on
the side of the trail in the Desert of Rocks while the sun was setting, knowing
it would be unsafe to continue during nightfall. Ryan and my reaction to this
was, “good thing they had the sense to stop before dark,” followed quickly by,
“but do they have the sense to realize if they can’t make that trek, they
probably won’t summit?” We never saw those two characters again, and Ryan and I
wonder to this day whatever happened to them. One can only hope it wasn’t a
tragic end.
Hours and hours and
hours seemingly later we finally crossed the Desert of Rocks with Lisa
thoroughly angry about how long and vast the Desert was. We came to Confluencia
not long after our water ran out, and eagerly filled up our bottles for the
last haul, hoping the system the Rangers had in place did indeed require no
filtration as they said. Otherwise it was going to be another miserable bus
ride home.
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| One last look back. |
It was as we were
heading down the valley to the Visitor Center that I really started to fill the
pain in my boot. As we were crossing the Desert of Rocks, my feet had been
battered by the uneven surface of the rocks (there was not trail per se) and
every time my left foot slightly rolled outwards, I felt an excruciating pinch
on the side of my foot. No matter, we still had to keep hoofing it to get to the
bus, Ryan rather blindly and me slightly maimed. We did come across a train of
mules and their Argentine shepherd, heading up the trail laden with supplies
for the two camps. I debated trying to climb onto one and forcing it downhill,
but then I remembered all those mule bones up by base camp and decided maybe
guiding a mule down the trail would not be my best bet to get home.
Mercilessly, we
finally caught site of the Visitor Center, where we dumped all our trash,
checked out, and officially claimed our trek up Aconcagua a success. But it
wasn’t over yet, since we still had to walk down the highway a few miles to
Puente del Inca to catch our bus.
I cannot even describe
how painful those last few miles were. Luckily we were on pavement, but
nonetheless every inch of my body was screaming to make it stop. By the time we
reached the bus stop we had descended 5000 feet over approximately 15 miles,
and had hiked consistently for 10 hours. The bus picked us up not ten minutes
later.
Winding back down the
mountains to Mendoza, Ryan and I were exhausted, but happy. We’d conquered a
pretty major challenge with lots of little challenges built in too. And we did
it together. Without ripping each other’s heads off. I’m not sure which was the
greater achievement, but we definitely felt closer for it.
Laughing together on
the way home about our adventure, Ryan and I decided one day in the future we
won’t turn around at Plaza de las Mulas. One day, we’ll make it to the top.
-Lisa en Argentina
P.S. After taking off
my hiking boot, I discovered the source of the pain in my left foot. It was a
huge blood blister about the size of a quarter and raised a good half inch out
from my foot. Yikes!
For less disgusting
content, stay tuned for decent to sea level the weekend following Aconcagua, in
Valparaiso, Chile (preview below).
So ya, just walking
around the city was like visiting an art gallery, except that the sun was
always beating down, seagulls calling overhead, and boats and waves ebbing and
flowing in the bay. The way of life here just accepts art in all its forms as a
complete and utter part of the culture, and I found it to be quite beautiful.
The chicas and I dreamed of starting a hostel there and how fun it would be to
paint and run and (in Lorri’s case) DJ the hottest spot in town. La Girasol we
want to call it, and I’m not ruling that plan out as a possible career path as
odd as it may sound.
