Mountaineering has got to be one of the dumbest sports to get into, and one of the hardest to pull yourself away from once you’ve started.  It’s expensive and not particularly fun; most of your time is spent in horribly cold and windy conditions, walking for miles uphill, on ice, and usually in the dark.  The environment tries to stop you with avalanches, crevasses, windburn, snow blindness, and piles of loose rock called skree just waiting for your foot-step to start a landslide.  On top of this your body and high altitude don’t particularly get along.  At these heights the air is thinner, digestion slows, pulse increases, sleep evades you, and AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness, a serious and potentially deadly reaction to altitude) starts to show itself.  Really there are only two small moments that are rewarding:  the 10 seconds or so that you can stand the cold on the summit, and of course bragging to your friends about it once you’re done. 

I got my first real taste for high altitude while trekking in Nepal this past April (one of those stories I promise to post up here “one of these days”).  On that trek, the Annapurna Circuit, some new friends and I hiked 180 miles in 18 days, and reached a maximum altitude of 5417m passing through the Throng La, the highest mountain pass in the world.  It was an amazing and beautiful trek in the Himalayas, but difficult and much more than I’d done before.  At the time it topped the climb up the stairs of Adam’s Peak in Sri Lanka as the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  Now there is a new winner, summiting Cotopaxi.

Originally I didn’t think Cotopaxi was going to be that difficult.  I’d met plenty of people that had tried and failed, but most of these were due to altitude sickness through not getting the proper acclimatization before hand.  I’d taken the proper steps to adjust my body to the altitude and didn’t think AMS would be an issue.  With a summit at 5897m (19,347ft), Cotopaxi was only roughly 500m higher than I’d been in Nepal, and I imagined conditions would be about the same.  Some snow, chilly, and dark, but manageable.  Turns out I was way off.  Apparently something about the bulge in the earth around the equator, or the fact there there is a glacier sitting on top of it makes Cotopaxi much more formidable.

After an acclimatization hike on a nearby ridge the day before and quick drive and hike to the refugio at 4800m we got our first lessons with our ice climbing gear.  We suited up in layers of fleece and windproof materials, strapped non-flexing and insulated plastic boots, and added crampons (metal spikes) to our feet.  The ice axe of course was the tool we were all waiting to get get our hands on although we hoped it was more of a decoration for this hike and maybe to make us feel a little more macho.   We learned a few techniques for walking on ice with the crampons and all got a good nervous laugh out of the “how to save your life with an ice axe while sliding down the side of a mountain” lesson.  By the end of the day we were all pretty tired and looked forward to the few hours of sleep before our wake-up at 12am to get things started. 

After a light breakfast we suited up and headed out the door at around 1:30am to begin the climb.    There were 4 of us climbing with 2 guides.  The French couple would be climbing and roped in with our French speaking guide, and the Australian Zalika and I would be climbing with bilingual Washington whom I think was beginning to notice that my level of Spanish amounted to smiling and nodding at everything he said.  With head-lamps lighting the way (or at least illuminating our feet), we did our best to put one  heavily laden foot in front of the other while trusting Washington (who does this climb sometimes 3 times a week) to not lead us over any cliffs.  After the first hour our group had become splintered as Zalika and I moved ahead of the French couple.  A little further on we started to pass the teams who had decided to turn around and so we had already reached that most important of accomplishments: “Not being the first to turn back.”                    

We continued on through some pretty difficult sections of the climb.   The wind was always constant, but at one point it was so strong that we were literally being blown down and with every step we made we were pushed back two.  I found myself sprinting for short burst during lulls in the wind before being blown down in order to make up lost ground.  Our ice axes were proving invaluable, and were the only thing keeping us on the route.  It was at this point in the climb that I think Zalika and I came closest to turning back.  On my own I might have done so, but the hell if I was going to be the first in the group to raise the idea.  So instead we plowed ahead through what looked like gardens of ice bushes, piles of broken ice shards, and over and around large crevasses, taking a few seconds to pause and catch our breath in the thin air after about ever 15 steps our so.  Over every rise we expected to find the summit, but instead were greeted with the view of another higher peak in the distance.  It was almost enough to make you cry, or maybe I did cry because it was about at this point that my eyelashes froze together and I had to remove the ice to be able to see.

Eventually though we did reach the last rise, although we were both a bit suspicious by then and it took us a moment to actually believe we had reached the end of the road, or the half way point since we still had to walk back.  The top of the peak was particularly cold and windy and as elsewhere shards of ice were pelting us in the face and bouncing off our jackets.  The views were mostly covered in clouds but occasionally we would catch a glimpse of the vast grasslands below. We took a moment to look at ourselves and laugh at the ice covered zombies that had made it to the top.  All of our gear was coated in a layer of ice and my eyebrows, lashes, and facial hair had all started forming icicles.  After a few quick pictures (both of our cameras were acting funny, apparently batteries don’t like arctic temperatures either) and pats on the back we turned around and headed for home.  The walk back was much quicker as crampons work surprisingly well running down ice covered paths.  It was impressive to see the fissures and crevasses that we had passed so close to unknowingly in the night, and to review what we had accomplished. 

We returned to the refugio to receive smiles and pats on the back from those remaining.  It had taken us around 9 hours round trip to reach the summit and we had climbed around 1100 meters.  Apparently of the 20 people that had left that morning to attempt the summit, only 6 of us had actually made it.  The French couple we were traveling with had turned back at around 5000m, still an impressive accomplishment and higher than most people will ever reach in their lives without flying.  We pealed out of our heavy gear, hiked back down to the car and returned to Quito still in a daze of what we had accomplished that morning. 

Before beginning this South American phase of the trip I had high hopes of conquering a few mountains and eventually summiting Aconcagua in Argentina, just under 7000m and the highest peak in the Americas.  On the way up Cotopaxi  I cursed this idea and had given it up.  Mountaineering is a funning thing though and the feeling of accomplishment that comes from a successful summit and the mental determination required can probably only be compared to marathon running (like marathon running with 20lbs of gear in sub-zero temperatures uphill, like the Idideron without the dog sleds).  I’m already beginning to forget the pain of the past few days and thinking again about some of the other nearby peaks and breaching the 6000m barrier.  And while mountaineering may not be one of the smartest activities to get involved with, it sure does make for some nice photos.  

Categories: Climbing, Ecuador, Photos