So, we've reached the end of my expedition. I am planning on doing a last wrap up post looking at the gear I used and whether it was any good, but that will take a little time to pull together.
Also, sadly, several of my best bits of gear would be quite hard for someone else to get hold of since as far as I know they are only available in Kathmandu. That said, several other decent bits of kit are readily available in the UK - particularly all the things I got from Alpkit. If you haven't discovered them yet, try the link. They make limited runs of a small range of stuff - but pretty much everything they do is both very high quality and ridiculously good value. My £95 Filo down jacket easily held its own against jackets costing twice as much.
That's on its way.
But in the meantime, I was wondering if there's anything else that people would like to know? I've only had a couple of comments on the blog, though I know that I have a fair number of readers for what is a very specialist topic. If there's something I haven't covered that you'd be interested in reading about, let me know via the comments function and I will do my best to answer.
Wednesday 13 February 2013
Wednesday 6 February 2013
...and the rest
The next morning, Wednesday 16th, we are enjoying breakfast on the 10th floor of the hotel, with a spendlid view of Mendoza's rooftops and the foothills of the Andes, when the waitress tells us that someone is waiting for us at reception. It's Mathias, the driver from Uncorking Argentina.
We check out, after a little initial confusion over whether the bill will be transferred to the Hotel El Portal Suites or not, and set off for our first winery. This is Cruzat, where we are met by Mathias's friend Eugenia. Cruzat is a small, relatively new winery that only makes sparkling wine. They have a range of white and rose wines that range from natural (less than 4% sugar) through brut (4-10%) to demi-sec and beyond.
The winery itself is a beautiful modern building made with old stone and old wood, surrounded by a pond. We'll learn through the day that these are common features of Mendoza wineries. It sounds as if wine tourism in Mendoza is a fairly new innovation: most of the people we meet have been in their jobs for only a couple of years and many of the buildings seem to have been designed specifically to accommodate and impress visitors.
The pond is also a common feature. Mendoza province lies in the rain shadow of the Andes and is technically in the middle of a desert. The only way that it can support countless wineries and a city of one and a half million people is through an ingenious network of irrigation channels that bring meltwater down from the mountains. Even then, vines are thirsty plants, and most wineries will only receive water on two to three days a week. To cope with this, every winery has a pond for storing water and many use a drip irrigation system that delivers a steady feed of water to the vines via strategically leaky hoses.
After a tour of the steel vats in which the wine undergoes its first fermentation, the bottle racks in which it undergoes its second, the machine that freezes the neck of the bottle to allow the sediment to be extracted, and the corking and labelling apparatus, Eugenia leads us up to the tasting room. This has a splendid view over the vines, with the foothills of the Andes in the middle distance and the broad, snowcapped peak of La Plata looming over them. Eugenia is a bit of a climber herself, but hasn't tackled Aconcagua, so we talk mountains as much as we talk wine. Cruzat's output is crisp and delicious and a fine way to start the day.
Our next visit is to Renacer, a mid-sized winery where we are presented with glasses of Malbec from three different locations. The wine from Este Mendoza is from around 1,000m and is very mineral and flinty. Next is wine from Lujan do Cujo, which is acidic, astringent and everyone's least favourite. The third wine, from a higher valley, is fruity and round. Our task is to mix the three in some proportion and see how close we can get to Renacer's own mix (though we can't exactly match it, as they have a secret ingredient - 4% of Cabernet Franc in their mix). The transformation that comes from mixing the three is an education in itself; the resulting wine is far more rounded and likeable than any of the individual wines on its own. We share the exercise with an Italian couple and Roman and Toni, who are Filipinos living in Singapore and are here on honeymoon.
Our next stop is Melipal, one of the larger vineyards. They have a wide range of wines, including a late harvest red dessert wine. We receive a five course meal with a different wine with each.
The final stop is Mendel, a very small vineyard that produces only 100,000 bottles per year. The current operation is only a few years old, but the property is old, with adobe buildings and old, pre-phylloxera vines. These are the best wines we've tasted today, and we are delighted to learn that most of their exports go to the UK via the Wine Society - of which Jeremy and I are both members [1]. An excellent end to the day.
Mathias takes us back to Mendoza and the Uncorking Argentina offices, where we meet Caroline, who is a Californian who's lived in Argentina for 20 years. Then we head back to our hotel. In the evening we traipse through the rain to find a sidewalk cafe where we have an indifferent pizza.
The 17th starts with the discovery that Laura Robson is engaged in an epic struggle with 8th seed Kvitova in the Australian Open. We watch until it's 9-all in the third set, but the prospect of missing breakfast draws us away from the telly. In the restaurant, we meet up with Nico again, who has dropped by to arrange a trip to Patagonia for a Grajales client who got to Plaza de Mulas and then developed water on the lungs and was sent down by the medics (and by helicopter). She's disappointed, but determined to make the most of her time in Argentina.
It's our last day, but neither of us feels like doing much with it. We take an extended stroll around town and get a sense of how it hangs together (everything is arranged around a set of 5 public squares, centred on the giant Plaza Independencia with four smaller satellite plazas). We look, without success, for "I climbed Aconcagua" t-shirts in the gear shops. We enjoy a much more satisfactory pizza at the Germanic bar we visited earlier in the week. We have ice creams in one of Mendoza's many celebrated ice cream parlours. We contemplate going to a wine-tasting bar, but the sun isn't high enough over the yard arm.
Eventually, we head out for a couple of beers, and then go for a final, immense, T-Bone steak, washed down with a bottle of Mendel. Well, most of a final, immense T-Bone steak. At 600g, I simply can't eat all of it.
Up early the next morning for our lift to the airport. At this point, it could all get a bit nerve-wracking, but actually the day goes smoothly. The Aerolineas clerk doesn't make a fuss about our bags being overweight, the flight gets away on time, the bags arrive swiftly, we are in time to catch a bus across town from Aeroparque to Pistarini airport, we check in plenty of time (no chance of an upgrade, though) and despite the news stories on Jeremy's Blackberry of flights being cancelled all over the UK, BA deliver us safely back to the UK with only a short delay, most of which we recoup over the Atlantic. I even get a half-decent night's sleep.
In fact, the worst thing that happens on the entire complex journey is that the endless string of announcements about when the duty free will be closing that airlines feel compelled to make in multiple languages on long haul flights prevent me from finishing the film that I'm watching. Bah.
My newly gaunt appearance and three-week beard are enough to confuse the biometric scanners at passport control, but my inadvertent disguise fools neither the Immigration Officer who waits to inspect people who are rejected by the scanner, nor my two elder children, who mob me within seconds of us emerging from customs. Our youngest, Cora, is more circumspect. She does not trust the beard. A couple of hours later she realises that she can grab it and pull on it, and does so, gleefully.
Here endeth the adventure. Thanks to all my readers for following it, and to everyone who's supported my fundraising. If you've enjoyed this blog, please do consider donating if you haven't already done so. My Justgiving page is here.
[1] The International Exhibition Co-operative Wine Society is one of Europe's largest mutual organisations and an excellent way to access top quality wine at very fair prices.
We check out, after a little initial confusion over whether the bill will be transferred to the Hotel El Portal Suites or not, and set off for our first winery. This is Cruzat, where we are met by Mathias's friend Eugenia. Cruzat is a small, relatively new winery that only makes sparkling wine. They have a range of white and rose wines that range from natural (less than 4% sugar) through brut (4-10%) to demi-sec and beyond.
The winery itself is a beautiful modern building made with old stone and old wood, surrounded by a pond. We'll learn through the day that these are common features of Mendoza wineries. It sounds as if wine tourism in Mendoza is a fairly new innovation: most of the people we meet have been in their jobs for only a couple of years and many of the buildings seem to have been designed specifically to accommodate and impress visitors.
The pond is also a common feature. Mendoza province lies in the rain shadow of the Andes and is technically in the middle of a desert. The only way that it can support countless wineries and a city of one and a half million people is through an ingenious network of irrigation channels that bring meltwater down from the mountains. Even then, vines are thirsty plants, and most wineries will only receive water on two to three days a week. To cope with this, every winery has a pond for storing water and many use a drip irrigation system that delivers a steady feed of water to the vines via strategically leaky hoses.
After a tour of the steel vats in which the wine undergoes its first fermentation, the bottle racks in which it undergoes its second, the machine that freezes the neck of the bottle to allow the sediment to be extracted, and the corking and labelling apparatus, Eugenia leads us up to the tasting room. This has a splendid view over the vines, with the foothills of the Andes in the middle distance and the broad, snowcapped peak of La Plata looming over them. Eugenia is a bit of a climber herself, but hasn't tackled Aconcagua, so we talk mountains as much as we talk wine. Cruzat's output is crisp and delicious and a fine way to start the day.
Our next visit is to Renacer, a mid-sized winery where we are presented with glasses of Malbec from three different locations. The wine from Este Mendoza is from around 1,000m and is very mineral and flinty. Next is wine from Lujan do Cujo, which is acidic, astringent and everyone's least favourite. The third wine, from a higher valley, is fruity and round. Our task is to mix the three in some proportion and see how close we can get to Renacer's own mix (though we can't exactly match it, as they have a secret ingredient - 4% of Cabernet Franc in their mix). The transformation that comes from mixing the three is an education in itself; the resulting wine is far more rounded and likeable than any of the individual wines on its own. We share the exercise with an Italian couple and Roman and Toni, who are Filipinos living in Singapore and are here on honeymoon.
Our next stop is Melipal, one of the larger vineyards. They have a wide range of wines, including a late harvest red dessert wine. We receive a five course meal with a different wine with each.
The final stop is Mendel, a very small vineyard that produces only 100,000 bottles per year. The current operation is only a few years old, but the property is old, with adobe buildings and old, pre-phylloxera vines. These are the best wines we've tasted today, and we are delighted to learn that most of their exports go to the UK via the Wine Society - of which Jeremy and I are both members [1]. An excellent end to the day.
Mathias takes us back to Mendoza and the Uncorking Argentina offices, where we meet Caroline, who is a Californian who's lived in Argentina for 20 years. Then we head back to our hotel. In the evening we traipse through the rain to find a sidewalk cafe where we have an indifferent pizza.
The 17th starts with the discovery that Laura Robson is engaged in an epic struggle with 8th seed Kvitova in the Australian Open. We watch until it's 9-all in the third set, but the prospect of missing breakfast draws us away from the telly. In the restaurant, we meet up with Nico again, who has dropped by to arrange a trip to Patagonia for a Grajales client who got to Plaza de Mulas and then developed water on the lungs and was sent down by the medics (and by helicopter). She's disappointed, but determined to make the most of her time in Argentina.
It's our last day, but neither of us feels like doing much with it. We take an extended stroll around town and get a sense of how it hangs together (everything is arranged around a set of 5 public squares, centred on the giant Plaza Independencia with four smaller satellite plazas). We look, without success, for "I climbed Aconcagua" t-shirts in the gear shops. We enjoy a much more satisfactory pizza at the Germanic bar we visited earlier in the week. We have ice creams in one of Mendoza's many celebrated ice cream parlours. We contemplate going to a wine-tasting bar, but the sun isn't high enough over the yard arm.
Eventually, we head out for a couple of beers, and then go for a final, immense, T-Bone steak, washed down with a bottle of Mendel. Well, most of a final, immense T-Bone steak. At 600g, I simply can't eat all of it.
Up early the next morning for our lift to the airport. At this point, it could all get a bit nerve-wracking, but actually the day goes smoothly. The Aerolineas clerk doesn't make a fuss about our bags being overweight, the flight gets away on time, the bags arrive swiftly, we are in time to catch a bus across town from Aeroparque to Pistarini airport, we check in plenty of time (no chance of an upgrade, though) and despite the news stories on Jeremy's Blackberry of flights being cancelled all over the UK, BA deliver us safely back to the UK with only a short delay, most of which we recoup over the Atlantic. I even get a half-decent night's sleep.
In fact, the worst thing that happens on the entire complex journey is that the endless string of announcements about when the duty free will be closing that airlines feel compelled to make in multiple languages on long haul flights prevent me from finishing the film that I'm watching. Bah.
My newly gaunt appearance and three-week beard are enough to confuse the biometric scanners at passport control, but my inadvertent disguise fools neither the Immigration Officer who waits to inspect people who are rejected by the scanner, nor my two elder children, who mob me within seconds of us emerging from customs. Our youngest, Cora, is more circumspect. She does not trust the beard. A couple of hours later she realises that she can grab it and pull on it, and does so, gleefully.
Here endeth the adventure. Thanks to all my readers for following it, and to everyone who's supported my fundraising. If you've enjoyed this blog, please do consider donating if you haven't already done so. My Justgiving page is here.
[1] The International Exhibition Co-operative Wine Society is one of Europe's largest mutual organisations and an excellent way to access top quality wine at very fair prices.
Tuesday 5 February 2013
Tuesday, 15th January
I think we've earned a lie-in, but maybe we overdid it a little. The problem is that Argentina is big on its sports, and the TVs in our suite have channels that are showing last week's Heineken Cup rugby matches. Since Jeremy and I are both huge rugby fans, we watch those until it's almost too late for breakfast.
Then the morning gets a bit complicated. Grajales have booked us in for one night, and we have to make arrangements for the others, but it turns out that the hotel is full tonight. They offer to put us up in another hotel, a little way across town, for tonight, and hold our bags so that we can come back for Wednesday and Thursday nights. But that means packing up and getting out of the room right now, and Lito is coming in half an hour to help us take our rental gear back. Inevitably, we're late joining him, but he waits for us.
We drop off Yacob's boots first. At first the gear shop can't find any record of him having borrowed them, but I spot his handwriting as they are leafing through their file. Then they notice that the laces are missing from the boots, and Lito has to spend $7 buying some new ones. This is completely perplexing. None of us can think of any reason why he would have done that.
Then Nico, who runs the Grajales operation in Mendoza, arrives for a coffee and to discuss finances. Lito takes George to return his gear, and drops off Jeremy's boots, then rejoins us. In the meantime, we've established that we had been overcharged for our permits (possibly because Nico bought permits for the wrong route, but it's not completely clear), which we offset against what we owe the porters and settle up. Nico also promises to get us the Grajales rate for our remaining nights at the hotel, which turns out to be $85 per night if we pay in US$ cash. Not bad.
We also ask about what to do in Mendoza (as if that wasn't obvious) and Nico gives us the number for Caroline, who runs Uncorking Argentina and will put together a bespoke winery tour for us.
Business over, we check in to the new hotel and wander around the city for a bit. We pick up souvenirs in the form of polo shirts with a subtle Pumas logo [1] - sadly there are no "I climbed Aconcagua" ones in any of the shops - enjoy a beer sat outside a German cafe bar, blanche briefly at the proposed price of the wine tour (US$200), decide that it's much more reasonable when we realise it includes a 5 course lunch, and head out for dinner.
We've been told that there's only one street to go to for nightlife in Mendoza, and it's called Aristides. This turns out to be the street that we'd wandered along in search of a beer on New Year's Eve, only to find that everything was closed. Even the Irish Pub [2]. Tonight is a different story. The Irish Pub - named after a genuine Irishman who became a leading light in the Argentinian Navy [3] - is very much open, and we sit outside sampling the various beers and waiting for the sun to go down. There is a surprising variety of ales, including a porter [4], which is what I settle on. Our original plan was to go find somewhere else for dinner, but eventually we just order from the pub's menu and enjoy large steaks and another bottle of Malbec. The standard is again excellent, though it lacks the unexpected rightness of last night's experience.
[1] The Pumas are the Argentinian rugby team - riding impressively high in the world rankings despite Argentina not having a professional league of its own.
[2] This is surely against some fundamental law of the universe.
[3] I think that was his story. He was definitely Irish, and became some sort of big cheese in Argentina, and there was a ship in the background of the pictures of him, but to be honest it all got a bit hazy after a while.
[4] A cross between an ale and a stout. Very tasty. Traditionally a winter ale, but works surprisingly well chilled on a summer afternoon.
Then the morning gets a bit complicated. Grajales have booked us in for one night, and we have to make arrangements for the others, but it turns out that the hotel is full tonight. They offer to put us up in another hotel, a little way across town, for tonight, and hold our bags so that we can come back for Wednesday and Thursday nights. But that means packing up and getting out of the room right now, and Lito is coming in half an hour to help us take our rental gear back. Inevitably, we're late joining him, but he waits for us.
We drop off Yacob's boots first. At first the gear shop can't find any record of him having borrowed them, but I spot his handwriting as they are leafing through their file. Then they notice that the laces are missing from the boots, and Lito has to spend $7 buying some new ones. This is completely perplexing. None of us can think of any reason why he would have done that.
Then Nico, who runs the Grajales operation in Mendoza, arrives for a coffee and to discuss finances. Lito takes George to return his gear, and drops off Jeremy's boots, then rejoins us. In the meantime, we've established that we had been overcharged for our permits (possibly because Nico bought permits for the wrong route, but it's not completely clear), which we offset against what we owe the porters and settle up. Nico also promises to get us the Grajales rate for our remaining nights at the hotel, which turns out to be $85 per night if we pay in US$ cash. Not bad.
We also ask about what to do in Mendoza (as if that wasn't obvious) and Nico gives us the number for Caroline, who runs Uncorking Argentina and will put together a bespoke winery tour for us.
Business over, we check in to the new hotel and wander around the city for a bit. We pick up souvenirs in the form of polo shirts with a subtle Pumas logo [1] - sadly there are no "I climbed Aconcagua" ones in any of the shops - enjoy a beer sat outside a German cafe bar, blanche briefly at the proposed price of the wine tour (US$200), decide that it's much more reasonable when we realise it includes a 5 course lunch, and head out for dinner.
We've been told that there's only one street to go to for nightlife in Mendoza, and it's called Aristides. This turns out to be the street that we'd wandered along in search of a beer on New Year's Eve, only to find that everything was closed. Even the Irish Pub [2]. Tonight is a different story. The Irish Pub - named after a genuine Irishman who became a leading light in the Argentinian Navy [3] - is very much open, and we sit outside sampling the various beers and waiting for the sun to go down. There is a surprising variety of ales, including a porter [4], which is what I settle on. Our original plan was to go find somewhere else for dinner, but eventually we just order from the pub's menu and enjoy large steaks and another bottle of Malbec. The standard is again excellent, though it lacks the unexpected rightness of last night's experience.
[1] The Pumas are the Argentinian rugby team - riding impressively high in the world rankings despite Argentina not having a professional league of its own.
[2] This is surely against some fundamental law of the universe.
[3] I think that was his story. He was definitely Irish, and became some sort of big cheese in Argentina, and there was a ship in the background of the pictures of him, but to be honest it all got a bit hazy after a while.
[4] A cross between an ale and a stout. Very tasty. Traditionally a winter ale, but works surprisingly well chilled on a summer afternoon.
Monday 4 February 2013
Monday, 14th January
Packing for our departure reveals a small problem: our sleeping bags had travelled up separately (because they needed to stop off at Confluencia, unlike the rest of our high altitude gear), and Jeremy and I couldn't now fit them into our bags, which were pretty full on the way up. The Grajales logistics plan seemingly hasn't catered for this and there is a little consternation until Tomi finds space for them in one of the guides' bags.
Of more enduring concern is the word from Penitentes that, following the snowfall, there have been avalanches on National Route 7 and the road into Mendoza has been blocked. Apparently some 6,000 cars have been stuck on the road overnight. But there's not much sense in staying at base camp, and if we have to stay a night at Penitentes while the route clears, so be it.
We say our goodbyes to the base camp staff and to Tomi, who has another group of clients coming up to base camp in a few days; it wouldn't make much sense for him to go back down only to come straight back up again. A vague plan is hatched to try to get back to Argentina when the England rugby team visit in the summer and take Tomi to one of the games as we set off down the Horcones valley.
Once we've made our way down Brave Slope (stepping to one side a couple of times to let mules edge their way past), our route is a relatively gentle stroll, though the loose ground is hard work for the feet, the day rapidly becomes quite hot and the Playancha seems much longer and more boring as a walk than on the way up. The saving grace is the spectacular evidence of orogeny [1] all around us. At every turn, the exposed rock faces tell a tale of the immense forces that have angled, folded and twisted them up from the sea bed and continental crust and into the towering peaks around us.
My knee is holding up well, but George is struggling with his back pain, which he describes as like a knife in his back. Lito and the Spanish-speaking contingent seem keen to forge on, but with no Tomi to help him on Jeremy and I decide it's wise to hang back and make sure he's OK. The heat is punishing. I've only filled up my Camlebak today and manage to drain it before we've reached the end of the Playancha. Fortunately, the water at Lito's spring is still clear enough for us to fill up again there, even though the main stream along side it is ochre with sediment washed down from the mountains.
We stop briefly at Confluencia for a glass of squash and some fruit, and to chat with two Americans who are on their way up. Suitably refreshed, we head off. Half an hour later, George remembers that he's left his jumper on a chair at Confluencia. Tempers are only just stopped from fraying, and Lito heads back for it, asking us to go slowly. Naturally, everyone hares off at top speed. Which results in the group being strung out along the route, because George's top speed is slower than Vicky, Carlos and Yacob's. Jeremy and I decide to hang back and give Lito a chance to catch up, while pacing ourselves to keep George just in sight. There are a couple of moments where the trail, which rises and falls up the valley side, isn't entirely clear and once or twice we have to retrace our steps, but eventually the group comes back together once we've crossed a suspension bridge a couple of miles from the park entrance. Fittingly, the bridge marks the point where you need a trekking or climbing permit to go further. It marks the first part of the transition back into normal life.
At the ranger station by the park entrance, Lito checks the group out and a ranger collects our permits back in. A driver from Grajales has arrived to take us back to Penitentes with two pieces of good news. Firstly, the road is clear, so we can get back to Mendoza this evening. Secondly, he has chilled beers in the car. These are distributed but there aren't enough to go around. It comes down to me, George and a solitary can. After the incident with the jumper, I don't feel all that guilty that I get in first.
Back at Penitentes, we have to wait for the mules to bring our bags in. While we're waiting, we relocate the gear we've left behind in the store room, surf the internet, leaf through a book of photos of Aconcagua by Pablo Betancourt (which features Lito and, I think, the Nepalese guide who took Jeremy down from la Gueva), and mess around on the industrial scales they use to weigh the loads for the mules. It turns out that several of the group had weighed themselves before the trip and recorded it on baggage stickers stuck on the wall. Carlos reckons he has lost 7kg on the climb; I've probably lost more, but there's no way of knowing.
After an hour or so, the gear arrives. None of it has been lost in transit, though the bag for my sleeping mat (which I'd strapped to the outside of my kitbag) has been ripped to shreds. We reclaim our bags and sleeping bags, reunite ice axes (which were safely wrapped by the guides and packed in a communal bag) with their rightful owners, and agree to take Yacob's plastic boots back to the hire shop. Except that he doesn't have a receipt and we're not quite sure which one it came from, so we surf the internet until we've located it. Then we say our farewells to Carlos and Yacob, who will wait for the bus to Santiago to come through, and begin the drive back to Mendoza.
The drive is long, but once again it's fascinating just to watch the scenery unfold. We arrive back in Mendoza late in the evening, drop Vicky off near the airport so she can catch an early flight, drop Lito off, and arrive at our hotel sometime after 10pm. We check in, leave our bags in the hall, and look for some food. The restaurant is shutting up for the night, but after some persuasion they agree to cook something for us. Steaks in Malbec sauce are accompanied by a bottle of Malbec served warm enough that you breathe it in as much as drink it. It is the best meal I've eaten in a very long time.
We haul our gear up to our room and have showers for the first time in two weeks. There is still the lingering sense that the dust is ingrained and it will be a while before I am properly clean, but this is a good start. I survey the damage. I've picked up blisters on my heels and a couple of toes from today's walk; by my standards, not bad for the distance we've travelled. I've got sunburn on my cheeks, my nose and, bizarrely, one ear. I've got some kind of a sore in my nose that has flared up and it's a bit swollen and tender. My big toes and the end of one finger are a little numb - frostnip - but that will fade with time. The toenail on my right big toe has taken a battering; to protect my knee, I always kept my right foot pointing straight down the slopes and it's been bashed against the inside of my boot. It's tender, but it looks like it might recover given time. My knee is still sore if I twist it, but it's better than it was. All in all, not too bad, and nothing that can't be fixed with the strategic application of moisturiser, sunscreen, compeed and micropore.
And so, tired, footsore but replete with wine and a decent steak, to bed.
[1] No, it means "mountain forming". Smut, as Tom Lehrer was pleased to say, is in the mind of the beholder.
Of more enduring concern is the word from Penitentes that, following the snowfall, there have been avalanches on National Route 7 and the road into Mendoza has been blocked. Apparently some 6,000 cars have been stuck on the road overnight. But there's not much sense in staying at base camp, and if we have to stay a night at Penitentes while the route clears, so be it.
We say our goodbyes to the base camp staff and to Tomi, who has another group of clients coming up to base camp in a few days; it wouldn't make much sense for him to go back down only to come straight back up again. A vague plan is hatched to try to get back to Argentina when the England rugby team visit in the summer and take Tomi to one of the games as we set off down the Horcones valley.
Once we've made our way down Brave Slope (stepping to one side a couple of times to let mules edge their way past), our route is a relatively gentle stroll, though the loose ground is hard work for the feet, the day rapidly becomes quite hot and the Playancha seems much longer and more boring as a walk than on the way up. The saving grace is the spectacular evidence of orogeny [1] all around us. At every turn, the exposed rock faces tell a tale of the immense forces that have angled, folded and twisted them up from the sea bed and continental crust and into the towering peaks around us.
My knee is holding up well, but George is struggling with his back pain, which he describes as like a knife in his back. Lito and the Spanish-speaking contingent seem keen to forge on, but with no Tomi to help him on Jeremy and I decide it's wise to hang back and make sure he's OK. The heat is punishing. I've only filled up my Camlebak today and manage to drain it before we've reached the end of the Playancha. Fortunately, the water at Lito's spring is still clear enough for us to fill up again there, even though the main stream along side it is ochre with sediment washed down from the mountains.
We stop briefly at Confluencia for a glass of squash and some fruit, and to chat with two Americans who are on their way up. Suitably refreshed, we head off. Half an hour later, George remembers that he's left his jumper on a chair at Confluencia. Tempers are only just stopped from fraying, and Lito heads back for it, asking us to go slowly. Naturally, everyone hares off at top speed. Which results in the group being strung out along the route, because George's top speed is slower than Vicky, Carlos and Yacob's. Jeremy and I decide to hang back and give Lito a chance to catch up, while pacing ourselves to keep George just in sight. There are a couple of moments where the trail, which rises and falls up the valley side, isn't entirely clear and once or twice we have to retrace our steps, but eventually the group comes back together once we've crossed a suspension bridge a couple of miles from the park entrance. Fittingly, the bridge marks the point where you need a trekking or climbing permit to go further. It marks the first part of the transition back into normal life.
At the ranger station by the park entrance, Lito checks the group out and a ranger collects our permits back in. A driver from Grajales has arrived to take us back to Penitentes with two pieces of good news. Firstly, the road is clear, so we can get back to Mendoza this evening. Secondly, he has chilled beers in the car. These are distributed but there aren't enough to go around. It comes down to me, George and a solitary can. After the incident with the jumper, I don't feel all that guilty that I get in first.
Back at Penitentes, we have to wait for the mules to bring our bags in. While we're waiting, we relocate the gear we've left behind in the store room, surf the internet, leaf through a book of photos of Aconcagua by Pablo Betancourt (which features Lito and, I think, the Nepalese guide who took Jeremy down from la Gueva), and mess around on the industrial scales they use to weigh the loads for the mules. It turns out that several of the group had weighed themselves before the trip and recorded it on baggage stickers stuck on the wall. Carlos reckons he has lost 7kg on the climb; I've probably lost more, but there's no way of knowing.
After an hour or so, the gear arrives. None of it has been lost in transit, though the bag for my sleeping mat (which I'd strapped to the outside of my kitbag) has been ripped to shreds. We reclaim our bags and sleeping bags, reunite ice axes (which were safely wrapped by the guides and packed in a communal bag) with their rightful owners, and agree to take Yacob's plastic boots back to the hire shop. Except that he doesn't have a receipt and we're not quite sure which one it came from, so we surf the internet until we've located it. Then we say our farewells to Carlos and Yacob, who will wait for the bus to Santiago to come through, and begin the drive back to Mendoza.
The drive is long, but once again it's fascinating just to watch the scenery unfold. We arrive back in Mendoza late in the evening, drop Vicky off near the airport so she can catch an early flight, drop Lito off, and arrive at our hotel sometime after 10pm. We check in, leave our bags in the hall, and look for some food. The restaurant is shutting up for the night, but after some persuasion they agree to cook something for us. Steaks in Malbec sauce are accompanied by a bottle of Malbec served warm enough that you breathe it in as much as drink it. It is the best meal I've eaten in a very long time.
We haul our gear up to our room and have showers for the first time in two weeks. There is still the lingering sense that the dust is ingrained and it will be a while before I am properly clean, but this is a good start. I survey the damage. I've picked up blisters on my heels and a couple of toes from today's walk; by my standards, not bad for the distance we've travelled. I've got sunburn on my cheeks, my nose and, bizarrely, one ear. I've got some kind of a sore in my nose that has flared up and it's a bit swollen and tender. My big toes and the end of one finger are a little numb - frostnip - but that will fade with time. The toenail on my right big toe has taken a battering; to protect my knee, I always kept my right foot pointing straight down the slopes and it's been bashed against the inside of my boot. It's tender, but it looks like it might recover given time. My knee is still sore if I twist it, but it's better than it was. All in all, not too bad, and nothing that can't be fixed with the strategic application of moisturiser, sunscreen, compeed and micropore.
And so, tired, footsore but replete with wine and a decent steak, to bed.
[1] No, it means "mountain forming". Smut, as Tom Lehrer was pleased to say, is in the mind of the beholder.
Sunday 3 February 2013
Sunday, 13th January
When I wake up, it's dark. How long have I been asleep? It's after midnight. At least the breathing issue that was keeping me awake last night has gone - I've been asleep pretty much since I got back to the tent, somewhere between 4 and 5pm. I vaguely remember that I haven't eaten anything, and the plate of food is still there, but it doesn't look very appetising. I have some water and go back to sleep.
My knee isn't hurting, but I know that it's still vulnerable. It's not going to have miraculously recovered overnight. But I'll worry about that in the morning. In the meantime...
A word from our sponsors
Or more accurately, two words for my sponsors. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who's donated, and everyone who's planning to donate. We've raised over £4,500, which rises to over £5,000 with Gift Aid. That's the sort of amount that will make a real difference to the National Deaf Children's Society - and therefore to the lives of hearing impaired children. It really means a lot.
If you're enjoying this blog, but haven't thought of making a donation, please consider it now - but don't hang about. If you're planning to donate but haven't got round to it yet, then thank you - but again, please don't delay. My fundraising page has an expiry date of 16 February - so please make your donation before it shuts down. You can find it at: http://www.justgiving.com/Jason-Whyte-Aconcagua
Thank you once again.
We wake up to find that the tent is partially buried. About two feet of snow have fallen overnight and we need to be careful opening the tent not to let too much in and get our gear wet. I am feeling surprisingly well-refreshed, considering the state I was in yesterday afternoon. I'm a little worried about managing my knee on the way down. I know how treacherous the ground was with just a light dusting of snow, and I don't know how it will be with a proper snowfall on it. It's not even as if the snow is old and consolidated enough that we can use crampons to get down; it's loose and powdery, so we'll be trudging through it rather than walking on it.
A couple of things help. Jeremy and Carlos, at Tomi's recommendation, have booked a couple of porters to bring our gear down to base camp. Under normal circumstances, that would feel like an easy way out, but right now it seems like a very sensible plan. We pack up our gear and pass as much to the porters as they will accept, leaving us with little more than our water, cameras and snacks to carry. Tomi supplies some more painkillers, and Yacob gives me a pair of tubular bandages. I put one on each knee, conscious that the good knee will be taking more than usual strain. My walking poles can take some of the pressure, but I am not sure how effectively I will use them. I've been able to adjust them so that the splintered part is inside the section above it, but as a result they are now much shorter.
The scramble down from Colera is doubly difficult in the snow, and I slip at the end - though I am relieved that I am not the only one. I set out carefully, testing the ground and trying to go at a pace I am comfortable with, rather than keep up with the group. However, it turns out that the snow is having a positive effect on the ground. As it gets mixed in with the scree, the material gets damper and moves more slowly and predictably. Pretty soon I have caught up with the group and we are making good progress. The exception is George, who has had a recurrence of a back condition overnight and can only move slowly. Tomi takes responsibility for him and keeps him moving using a combination of cajoling and encouragement.
The snow extends down the mountain as far as Camp Canada; Aconcagua's north and west faces have gone from being dry and dusty to covered in snow in less than a day. The mountain looks very different and it is hard to identify landmarks from the way up that you would have expected to be easy to spot under any conditions short of fog or driving snow. Below Canada, we take an unfamiliar route anyway, as traversing across to the Grajales enclave would be an unnecessary detour. The ground here is still in its usual dry and dusty state. Fortunately, I have gained enough confidence from the earlier sections to be able to use my escalator-walking technique. Because we are taking the more direct paths down the mountain, we make rapid progress and walk into camp in the early afternoon to a hearty greeting from the base camp staff.
We're assigned a different meal tent, which we're sharing with three Americans on their way up. One is a money manager who has climbed five of the Seven Summits, turning back 300m from the top of Everest when he discovered he couldn't breathe. Sensible. The second lives in Chelsea (that is, the original Chelsea in London) because she is married to a Brit. But he travels a lot for work, and her quid pro quo is that she goes off and climbs mountains. Aconcagua will be the last in her Seven Summits. Pizza starts to arrive in large quantities, and we wolf it down. Appetites are fully restored.
Later in the afternoon, having watched the ebb and flow of the queue outside the hut, George, Tomi and I go down to the medical hut to have our ailments checked out. George's back is still very bad and we are all only half-joking when we tell him to ask to be evacuated by helicopter. No such luck; helicopters are for emergencies only. George gets and injection of diclofenac into his back. Meanwhile, the doctor is looking at my knee. I explain the situation and she prods and twists my knee from various angles. The question is always the same - "Does it hurt here?" and the answer is an equally consistent, "Erm, no." She diagnoses a "slight hyperextension", gives me two diclofenac ("One now and one in the morning").
Back at the sleeping tent, I have a great idea and put my self-inflating mattress on top of the mattress on the bunk. For the first time, I'm insulated from the lumpy supports under the bed as well as the cold. While there, I get chatting to our new tentmate, an indepdendent guide called Wesley who's come over the mountain after guiding a new-ish route known as the False Guanacos 360 (because you go all the way around the mountain). He is almost a caricature of a US mountain guide - tall, skinny, weatherbeaten and surf-bum-blonde. He's also very good to talk to. He's disappointed that he only managed to get 4 of his 8 clients to the top ("Usually, if you can get 'em to base camp, you can get 'em up."), and says the "odd" conditions were partly to blame. Apparently the main problem on La Traversa is normally cold, but if you wrap up like you were on the higher slopes of Everest it's a pretty easy journey. Yesterday, it was warm and that made the footing loose. A lot of climbers were defeated by the sheer level of effort required. I think that makes Jeremy and Yacob feel better about it. Jeremy is very interested in Wesley's description of his route, and resolves to give it ago at some point in the future. He has unfinished business with Aconcagua. One attraction of the route, apart from the more varied terrain, is that it takes a couple of days longer; since we're fairly convinced that an extra day of acclimatisation would have enabled Jeremy and Yacob to get to the top.
The charge for our porters is US$240 for each one. The porters are independent of Grajales and organised via some kind of trade body. We haven't paid them yet, arguing that most of our US$ cash is back at Penitentes. They are OK with this, but Carlos and Jeremy are a bit worried that some of our gear will go missing on the way down until we pay up. I'm not so worried - the muleteers have their own association and I doubt there is some kind of reciprocal fee enforcement arrangement. Besides, looked at rationally, we hold most of the bargaining chips since our gear is insured and if it does go missing it should only be an inconvenience to replace it. Since we're back off to Mendoza, via Penitentes, tomorrow, Jeremy is planning to hold out on paying up for the porterage until we speak to Nicolas back in Mendoza. We've paid more for our permits than we expected, and we also have to negotiate the cost of two additional nights' accommodation in Mendoza. Since our schedule included a couple of weather days (i.e. spare days so that you can wait for a weather window if there isn't one on your target date) that we haven't used, we'll be arriving back early. Vicky is going back to work as soon as she can get a flight to Buenos Aires - having slightly mismanaged expectations as to when she would be back. George also plans to bring his flight forward. Carlos and Yacob are hoping to take a bus to Santiago and spend a couple of days there before flying home.
Jeremy and I will be hanging around the city for a couple of days. Given that we're flying with both Aerolineas Argentinas and BA, we have no confidence of successfully being able to co-ordinate moving both flights, so we're not even going to try. Since Mendoza is the wine capital of Argentina, Jeremy doesn't anticipate having any difficulty finding something to do. I am inclined to agree.
And so, on that happy thought, to bed.
My knee isn't hurting, but I know that it's still vulnerable. It's not going to have miraculously recovered overnight. But I'll worry about that in the morning. In the meantime...
A word from our sponsors
Or more accurately, two words for my sponsors. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who's donated, and everyone who's planning to donate. We've raised over £4,500, which rises to over £5,000 with Gift Aid. That's the sort of amount that will make a real difference to the National Deaf Children's Society - and therefore to the lives of hearing impaired children. It really means a lot.
If you're enjoying this blog, but haven't thought of making a donation, please consider it now - but don't hang about. If you're planning to donate but haven't got round to it yet, then thank you - but again, please don't delay. My fundraising page has an expiry date of 16 February - so please make your donation before it shuts down. You can find it at: http://www.justgiving.com/Jason-Whyte-Aconcagua
Thank you once again.
We wake up to find that the tent is partially buried. About two feet of snow have fallen overnight and we need to be careful opening the tent not to let too much in and get our gear wet. I am feeling surprisingly well-refreshed, considering the state I was in yesterday afternoon. I'm a little worried about managing my knee on the way down. I know how treacherous the ground was with just a light dusting of snow, and I don't know how it will be with a proper snowfall on it. It's not even as if the snow is old and consolidated enough that we can use crampons to get down; it's loose and powdery, so we'll be trudging through it rather than walking on it.
A couple of things help. Jeremy and Carlos, at Tomi's recommendation, have booked a couple of porters to bring our gear down to base camp. Under normal circumstances, that would feel like an easy way out, but right now it seems like a very sensible plan. We pack up our gear and pass as much to the porters as they will accept, leaving us with little more than our water, cameras and snacks to carry. Tomi supplies some more painkillers, and Yacob gives me a pair of tubular bandages. I put one on each knee, conscious that the good knee will be taking more than usual strain. My walking poles can take some of the pressure, but I am not sure how effectively I will use them. I've been able to adjust them so that the splintered part is inside the section above it, but as a result they are now much shorter.
The scramble down from Colera is doubly difficult in the snow, and I slip at the end - though I am relieved that I am not the only one. I set out carefully, testing the ground and trying to go at a pace I am comfortable with, rather than keep up with the group. However, it turns out that the snow is having a positive effect on the ground. As it gets mixed in with the scree, the material gets damper and moves more slowly and predictably. Pretty soon I have caught up with the group and we are making good progress. The exception is George, who has had a recurrence of a back condition overnight and can only move slowly. Tomi takes responsibility for him and keeps him moving using a combination of cajoling and encouragement.
The snow extends down the mountain as far as Camp Canada; Aconcagua's north and west faces have gone from being dry and dusty to covered in snow in less than a day. The mountain looks very different and it is hard to identify landmarks from the way up that you would have expected to be easy to spot under any conditions short of fog or driving snow. Below Canada, we take an unfamiliar route anyway, as traversing across to the Grajales enclave would be an unnecessary detour. The ground here is still in its usual dry and dusty state. Fortunately, I have gained enough confidence from the earlier sections to be able to use my escalator-walking technique. Because we are taking the more direct paths down the mountain, we make rapid progress and walk into camp in the early afternoon to a hearty greeting from the base camp staff.
We're assigned a different meal tent, which we're sharing with three Americans on their way up. One is a money manager who has climbed five of the Seven Summits, turning back 300m from the top of Everest when he discovered he couldn't breathe. Sensible. The second lives in Chelsea (that is, the original Chelsea in London) because she is married to a Brit. But he travels a lot for work, and her quid pro quo is that she goes off and climbs mountains. Aconcagua will be the last in her Seven Summits. Pizza starts to arrive in large quantities, and we wolf it down. Appetites are fully restored.
Later in the afternoon, having watched the ebb and flow of the queue outside the hut, George, Tomi and I go down to the medical hut to have our ailments checked out. George's back is still very bad and we are all only half-joking when we tell him to ask to be evacuated by helicopter. No such luck; helicopters are for emergencies only. George gets and injection of diclofenac into his back. Meanwhile, the doctor is looking at my knee. I explain the situation and she prods and twists my knee from various angles. The question is always the same - "Does it hurt here?" and the answer is an equally consistent, "Erm, no." She diagnoses a "slight hyperextension", gives me two diclofenac ("One now and one in the morning").
Back at the sleeping tent, I have a great idea and put my self-inflating mattress on top of the mattress on the bunk. For the first time, I'm insulated from the lumpy supports under the bed as well as the cold. While there, I get chatting to our new tentmate, an indepdendent guide called Wesley who's come over the mountain after guiding a new-ish route known as the False Guanacos 360 (because you go all the way around the mountain). He is almost a caricature of a US mountain guide - tall, skinny, weatherbeaten and surf-bum-blonde. He's also very good to talk to. He's disappointed that he only managed to get 4 of his 8 clients to the top ("Usually, if you can get 'em to base camp, you can get 'em up."), and says the "odd" conditions were partly to blame. Apparently the main problem on La Traversa is normally cold, but if you wrap up like you were on the higher slopes of Everest it's a pretty easy journey. Yesterday, it was warm and that made the footing loose. A lot of climbers were defeated by the sheer level of effort required. I think that makes Jeremy and Yacob feel better about it. Jeremy is very interested in Wesley's description of his route, and resolves to give it ago at some point in the future. He has unfinished business with Aconcagua. One attraction of the route, apart from the more varied terrain, is that it takes a couple of days longer; since we're fairly convinced that an extra day of acclimatisation would have enabled Jeremy and Yacob to get to the top.
The charge for our porters is US$240 for each one. The porters are independent of Grajales and organised via some kind of trade body. We haven't paid them yet, arguing that most of our US$ cash is back at Penitentes. They are OK with this, but Carlos and Jeremy are a bit worried that some of our gear will go missing on the way down until we pay up. I'm not so worried - the muleteers have their own association and I doubt there is some kind of reciprocal fee enforcement arrangement. Besides, looked at rationally, we hold most of the bargaining chips since our gear is insured and if it does go missing it should only be an inconvenience to replace it. Since we're back off to Mendoza, via Penitentes, tomorrow, Jeremy is planning to hold out on paying up for the porterage until we speak to Nicolas back in Mendoza. We've paid more for our permits than we expected, and we also have to negotiate the cost of two additional nights' accommodation in Mendoza. Since our schedule included a couple of weather days (i.e. spare days so that you can wait for a weather window if there isn't one on your target date) that we haven't used, we'll be arriving back early. Vicky is going back to work as soon as she can get a flight to Buenos Aires - having slightly mismanaged expectations as to when she would be back. George also plans to bring his flight forward. Carlos and Yacob are hoping to take a bus to Santiago and spend a couple of days there before flying home.
Jeremy and I will be hanging around the city for a couple of days. Given that we're flying with both Aerolineas Argentinas and BA, we have no confidence of successfully being able to co-ordinate moving both flights, so we're not even going to try. Since Mendoza is the wine capital of Argentina, Jeremy doesn't anticipate having any difficulty finding something to do. I am inclined to agree.
And so, on that happy thought, to bed.
Friday 1 February 2013
Saturday, 12th January. Summit Day
Summit day for me starts badly. So badly, in fact, that it starts going wrong even before the day has started. For the first time, I am having a serious problem sleeping at altitude. As I begin to fall asleep, my breathing becomes slower and shallower. Just as I drop off, it reaches a point where I'm not actually getting enough oxygen. My heart starts racing and suddenly I'm gasping for breath. And awake again.
This happens again and again, and the worst thing is that there's nothing much I can do about it. I'm tired enough that my body wants to go to sleep. But right now it simply can't. All I can do is lie still and hope I can adapt in time to get some sleep. I look at my watch from time to time. The hours are creeping by. I can't decide whether I want them to go faster, so that this is over, or slower, because I need this sleep. It's a huge day tomorrow.
And then Lito and Tomi are shouting for us to wake up. I must have dropped off, sometime after 1 am because I can't remember looking at my watch after that time. It's only 2.20am now; they have woken us up early.
I cram down half of a big block of chocolate, a couple of biscuits and some Kendal Mint Cake, washed down with tea. Then it's time to get dressed. I opt to wear two base layers on top and bottom, then salopettes, down jacket and waterproof jacket (it won't be wet up there, but I need a layer to keep the wind off). On my head it's a silk balaclava and a windproof cycling beanie, plus the hood of my down jacket. I decide to wear my gloves inside my down mittens, along with some handwarmers. This will prove to be a mistake. I also forget to put my inner boots on until just a few minutes before we have to get out of the tent, as a result of which they haven't had time to fully warm up. And then it's time to go.
The climb will involve three sections. First, there's a long string of steep zigzags up to two of Aconcagua's high altitude landmarks, Piedras Blancas ("White Rocks") and the partly ruined Independencia hut at 6,300m. Then, there's La Traversa, a long looping traverse across the face of the mountain that ends at La Gueve (The Cave), a sheltered spot at about 6,500m. The last few hundred metres are taken up mainly with La Canaleta (The Little Channel), a steep near scramble up a rocky gully, and then a traverse across to the summit rocks.
Setting out up the zigzags, we can see the headlights of groups who have left earlier above us. It gives a sense of how far we have to climb, but also of achievability - we know that these people set out not long before us. My fingers are already cold despite the gloves and handwarmers, and I wiggle them constantly to get the feeling back. My toes aren't so bad, there's less I can do to warm them up. Mid-way up, George decides that he should turn back and Tomi escorts him back to the tents, turning around afterwards to rejoin us. It's sad that he hasn't managed to go further, but it's a sensible decision.
Piedras Blancas are famous for being spectacular in the sunrise, but we pass them in the dark, stopping briefly for a drink and a snack. I take my gloves off to help Jeremy get his bottle out of his bag, and when I put them back on my hands have lost all their heat and I go back to finger wriggling. Then we're off again.
It's slightly lighter when we reach Independencia, but my hands are still cold. In desperation, I take off my gloves and put my hands directly into my mittens. This helps a lot, though it still takes a long time to warm my hands up again.
La Traversa is busy and lots of the groups are moving slowly. Lito tries to take an alternative route and get ahead, but the route peters out and we have to move back to the main track. We pass a couple of groups resting up along the way. Eventually, the long path across the scree becomes a steeper route over larger rocks and we emerge into the shadow of a large overhang. This is La Gueva, the cave, and several groups are hanging out here before their final assault on the summit.
Meanwhile, dawn is breaking. We are on the west side of the mountain, so this early in the morning we are still in darkness while light is gradually filling in the colours around us. From La Traversa, we could see the vast triangular shadow of Aconcagua lying across the sea of peaks and early morning mist below us. Now, the shadow is shrinking steadily and its edge is somewhere near base camp. Naturally, La Gueva is still dark and cold, and will be for some time, so after a few minutes we head further around the mountain, away from our ultimate route but towards a spot where the sun will reach us sooner. There we stay - Jeremy, Vicky, Carlos, Lito and me - for what feels like a long time but is probably only half an hour or so. Lito doesn't seem in a big hurry to move.
As the light reaches us, we can see that snow is beginning to fall. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the beginnings of snow are falling. The air is filled with tiny, one dimensional needles of ice, so slight that they would be invisible if they didn't glow and sparkle in the sunlight. The snowstorm we are racing against is on its way in. If we are too slow, it will be dangerous, but for now it is beautiful.
We eventually realise that Lito has been waiting for Tomi and Yacob, who are lagging some way behind us. Finally, they emerge from La Traversa, but it's immediately clear that all is not well. Yacob, normally the fittest and most energetic of us, is struggling with his balance and moving slowly. When they arrive, it becomes the cue for us to head back to La Gueva. Lito encourages us to eat and fuel up for what is ahead.
Here we divide. Yacob doesn't have enough energy to go on safely. Tomi escorts him back to camp. The rest of us press on with Lito, starting the much steeper climb of La Canaleta. At the first stop, Lito warns us that what is ahead will take a lot of effort and that we must have enough energy to get back down. He asks if any of us want to turn around. Jeremy, who has been stumbling more than the rest of us, thinks about it but decides to press on. At the next stop, Lito asks again, and Jeremy, still struggling with his cold, makes the brave and correct decision to turn around. We shout to Tomi, but he's too far away. However, a climber from another group is going down with her guide (a Sherpa!) and he is persuaded to escort Jeremy down to La Gueve, where he will either wait for us, or find someone to guide him back to Colera.
I'm not sure I can express how much respect I have for this decision. The easiest mistake in mountaineering is to press on long after you should have stopped, when you don't have enough left to make it home. It takes huge willpower and courage to turn around, especially when you are so close to a goal you have held for years, as Jeremy has. It's possible that if Tomi were still with us, the guides might be able to get all four of us up, but under the circumstances it's the right call. Especially given how events unfold.
So, Carlos, Vicky and I carry on up La Canaleta, under Lito's guidance. We move in fairly short bursts, resting often. The ground is rocky, but a lot of the rocks are loose. It's hard work finding a secure foothold. I have also developed a peculiar problem, probably the result of all the finger-wriggling earlier. Every so often I get cramp in my thumbs and they lock into a curled-up state that I can't get them out of without taking my gloves off and unfolding them with the other hand. This means I need to stop more often than I think Lito would like, but without it I can't hold my trekking poles, which makes climbing much harder.Nevertheless, and sooner than I expect, we move onto the final traverse towards the summit. At our rest stop, we can walk up a few steps and look over the ridge to see the south face falling away for 3,000m below us. What a view. Sadly, although I take a number of photos, all of them are suffering from the camera's focus problems. Sorry about that.
The traverse ends abruptly in a well-grooved and surprisingly flat path and from which you pick your way over a rocky outcrop to the summit plateau. After the rawness of ascending scree slopes for over 2,500m, it's incongruously civilised. You could almost be on top of Snowdon, if it weren't for the cold and thin atmosphere. This effect is heightened by the view from the summit plateau, which is roughly comma shaped and a few tens of metres across. By now the clouds have closed in and the stunning views that we had from Cerro Bonete have given way to white and grey.
We stay on the summit for 20 minutes or so, quietly enjoying our success and Lito's 60th summit. There isn't much wind, and it's warm enough that we could take our gloves off without our fingers getting any colder. When we first arrive, the summit is pretty busy, but the other parties soon leave and we have it largely to ourselves. We head down as new parties start to arrive.
The first part of the descent goes well, but as we came off the traverse and back onto La Canaleta I am finding it hard to find a good footing. Ground that had held me on the way up seems much less secure when I was hitting it with my full weight and the help of gravity. As we come down the last stretch before La Gueva, I hit a particularly bad patch, lose my footing and slide a couple of metres off the path and down the slope. Working my way back to it, I slip again and twist my knee painfully under me.
Assessing the damage, I've been lucky. I can still support my own weight, I have a full range of movement, and I can walk in a straight line without pain. If my foot turns beyond a certain angle, it hurts, and it is pretty clear that I can't risk doing any more damage to it. I discuss it with Lito and make it clear that I could go on, but we agree that I should go last so that I can watch where he, Vicky and Carlos are treading before picking my path. Carlos later told me that he felt Lito was very worried for me, and with hindsight I can understand why: if I got to a point where I couldn't get down to Colera under my own power, Lito wouldn't be able to get me down on his own. It would take several hours to get some support. The snowstorm had closed in and snow was starting to fall thick and fast. If they had to leave me on the mountain, there would be no guarantee what shape I'd be in by the time they got back to me. But it probably wouldn't be good.
I had expected that the first, steep section from La Gueva onto La Traversa proper would be tricky, but we get through it. The problems really start on the next section. It is comparatively gentle, but has a number of little downward zigzags, and the ground underfoot is very loose. By now a covering of snow is building up, making it hard to judge the ground. I fall over a lot, rip my salopettes and discover the breaking strain of a carbon trekking pole (110-odd kilos of me and my pack sliding into the lower section will shatter it).
Half way along the traverse is a rock known as the Finger. We stop here and discuss what to do. I am already getting tired from the repeated falls and getting up (which at this altitude really takes it out of you), but I am also aware that I am not going to get any less tired, and with the snow, conditions will only get worse rather than better.
We press on, and I am hugely relieved to find that the trail becomes easier to manage. I am still having to work my left leg hard to protect my right leg from further damage, but I am falling over a lot less. I assume there must have been a change in the type of rock that I hadn't noticed in the dark on the way up; the second half of the traverse seems much firmer and we begin to make good progress. The zigzag section is harder, and needs to be taken slowly, but I find I can trudge along with only the occasional slip. I am needing to rest more often, though. The snow is still falling thickly, making it hard to judge how far we have come. Lito reassures us that we are close to camp, and we begin to see tents, though they never seem to be ours. By this point, I am collapsing in a heap whenever we stop. I have almost nothing left. Eventually, we turn a corner on a zigzag and I slump. The extensor muscle on my left leg has been so overworked that it has turned to jelly.
Carlos kindly insists on taking my pack, and with a lighter load I am able to trudge on. It turns out we were only a few hundred metres from Colera and I manage to muster just enough energy to get to my tent, get out of my gear and struggle into my sleeping bag. Tomi hands in some hot water for soup and a plate of food, insisting that I should eat to get my strength back. I manage the soup before I fall asleep.
So that was my summit day. I reached the top, and I got back down just about intact. It had taken us the regulation 12 hours, although I was astonished to realise that we'd spent nine and a half hours on the ascent and only two and a half on the descent. That's pretty quick considering I was nursing a damaged knee. OK, this wasn't exactly Doug Scott's epic descent from the Ogre with two broken legs, but any large descent while carrying an injury is a risky business.
Afterwards, I am plagued with questions. Why did it happen? Should I have turned back earlier? As to the first one, maybe I was affected by lack of sleep or lack of fuel, but I think the major factor was simply that I was a big guy going down a very long, very unstable slope. Should I have turned back? I don't think so. I still felt strong on the way up; and I had enough energy to keep up a demanding pace on the way down and only needed help for the last few hundred metres.
And so, still in my down jacket and very hungry, to bed. Where I am pleased to report that I have acclimatised enough that I have none of last night's breathing issues and the next I know it's closer to dawn than to sunset.
This happens again and again, and the worst thing is that there's nothing much I can do about it. I'm tired enough that my body wants to go to sleep. But right now it simply can't. All I can do is lie still and hope I can adapt in time to get some sleep. I look at my watch from time to time. The hours are creeping by. I can't decide whether I want them to go faster, so that this is over, or slower, because I need this sleep. It's a huge day tomorrow.
And then Lito and Tomi are shouting for us to wake up. I must have dropped off, sometime after 1 am because I can't remember looking at my watch after that time. It's only 2.20am now; they have woken us up early.
I cram down half of a big block of chocolate, a couple of biscuits and some Kendal Mint Cake, washed down with tea. Then it's time to get dressed. I opt to wear two base layers on top and bottom, then salopettes, down jacket and waterproof jacket (it won't be wet up there, but I need a layer to keep the wind off). On my head it's a silk balaclava and a windproof cycling beanie, plus the hood of my down jacket. I decide to wear my gloves inside my down mittens, along with some handwarmers. This will prove to be a mistake. I also forget to put my inner boots on until just a few minutes before we have to get out of the tent, as a result of which they haven't had time to fully warm up. And then it's time to go.
The climb will involve three sections. First, there's a long string of steep zigzags up to two of Aconcagua's high altitude landmarks, Piedras Blancas ("White Rocks") and the partly ruined Independencia hut at 6,300m. Then, there's La Traversa, a long looping traverse across the face of the mountain that ends at La Gueve (The Cave), a sheltered spot at about 6,500m. The last few hundred metres are taken up mainly with La Canaleta (The Little Channel), a steep near scramble up a rocky gully, and then a traverse across to the summit rocks.
Setting out up the zigzags, we can see the headlights of groups who have left earlier above us. It gives a sense of how far we have to climb, but also of achievability - we know that these people set out not long before us. My fingers are already cold despite the gloves and handwarmers, and I wiggle them constantly to get the feeling back. My toes aren't so bad, there's less I can do to warm them up. Mid-way up, George decides that he should turn back and Tomi escorts him back to the tents, turning around afterwards to rejoin us. It's sad that he hasn't managed to go further, but it's a sensible decision.
Piedras Blancas are famous for being spectacular in the sunrise, but we pass them in the dark, stopping briefly for a drink and a snack. I take my gloves off to help Jeremy get his bottle out of his bag, and when I put them back on my hands have lost all their heat and I go back to finger wriggling. Then we're off again.
It's slightly lighter when we reach Independencia, but my hands are still cold. In desperation, I take off my gloves and put my hands directly into my mittens. This helps a lot, though it still takes a long time to warm my hands up again.
Meanwhile, dawn is breaking. We are on the west side of the mountain, so this early in the morning we are still in darkness while light is gradually filling in the colours around us. From La Traversa, we could see the vast triangular shadow of Aconcagua lying across the sea of peaks and early morning mist below us. Now, the shadow is shrinking steadily and its edge is somewhere near base camp. Naturally, La Gueva is still dark and cold, and will be for some time, so after a few minutes we head further around the mountain, away from our ultimate route but towards a spot where the sun will reach us sooner. There we stay - Jeremy, Vicky, Carlos, Lito and me - for what feels like a long time but is probably only half an hour or so. Lito doesn't seem in a big hurry to move.
As the light reaches us, we can see that snow is beginning to fall. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the beginnings of snow are falling. The air is filled with tiny, one dimensional needles of ice, so slight that they would be invisible if they didn't glow and sparkle in the sunlight. The snowstorm we are racing against is on its way in. If we are too slow, it will be dangerous, but for now it is beautiful.
We eventually realise that Lito has been waiting for Tomi and Yacob, who are lagging some way behind us. Finally, they emerge from La Traversa, but it's immediately clear that all is not well. Yacob, normally the fittest and most energetic of us, is struggling with his balance and moving slowly. When they arrive, it becomes the cue for us to head back to La Gueva. Lito encourages us to eat and fuel up for what is ahead.
Here we divide. Yacob doesn't have enough energy to go on safely. Tomi escorts him back to camp. The rest of us press on with Lito, starting the much steeper climb of La Canaleta. At the first stop, Lito warns us that what is ahead will take a lot of effort and that we must have enough energy to get back down. He asks if any of us want to turn around. Jeremy, who has been stumbling more than the rest of us, thinks about it but decides to press on. At the next stop, Lito asks again, and Jeremy, still struggling with his cold, makes the brave and correct decision to turn around. We shout to Tomi, but he's too far away. However, a climber from another group is going down with her guide (a Sherpa!) and he is persuaded to escort Jeremy down to La Gueve, where he will either wait for us, or find someone to guide him back to Colera.
I'm not sure I can express how much respect I have for this decision. The easiest mistake in mountaineering is to press on long after you should have stopped, when you don't have enough left to make it home. It takes huge willpower and courage to turn around, especially when you are so close to a goal you have held for years, as Jeremy has. It's possible that if Tomi were still with us, the guides might be able to get all four of us up, but under the circumstances it's the right call. Especially given how events unfold.
So, Carlos, Vicky and I carry on up La Canaleta, under Lito's guidance. We move in fairly short bursts, resting often. The ground is rocky, but a lot of the rocks are loose. It's hard work finding a secure foothold. I have also developed a peculiar problem, probably the result of all the finger-wriggling earlier. Every so often I get cramp in my thumbs and they lock into a curled-up state that I can't get them out of without taking my gloves off and unfolding them with the other hand. This means I need to stop more often than I think Lito would like, but without it I can't hold my trekking poles, which makes climbing much harder.Nevertheless, and sooner than I expect, we move onto the final traverse towards the summit. At our rest stop, we can walk up a few steps and look over the ridge to see the south face falling away for 3,000m below us. What a view. Sadly, although I take a number of photos, all of them are suffering from the camera's focus problems. Sorry about that.
The traverse ends abruptly in a well-grooved and surprisingly flat path and from which you pick your way over a rocky outcrop to the summit plateau. After the rawness of ascending scree slopes for over 2,500m, it's incongruously civilised. You could almost be on top of Snowdon, if it weren't for the cold and thin atmosphere. This effect is heightened by the view from the summit plateau, which is roughly comma shaped and a few tens of metres across. By now the clouds have closed in and the stunning views that we had from Cerro Bonete have given way to white and grey.
We stay on the summit for 20 minutes or so, quietly enjoying our success and Lito's 60th summit. There isn't much wind, and it's warm enough that we could take our gloves off without our fingers getting any colder. When we first arrive, the summit is pretty busy, but the other parties soon leave and we have it largely to ourselves. We head down as new parties start to arrive.The first part of the descent goes well, but as we came off the traverse and back onto La Canaleta I am finding it hard to find a good footing. Ground that had held me on the way up seems much less secure when I was hitting it with my full weight and the help of gravity. As we come down the last stretch before La Gueva, I hit a particularly bad patch, lose my footing and slide a couple of metres off the path and down the slope. Working my way back to it, I slip again and twist my knee painfully under me.
Assessing the damage, I've been lucky. I can still support my own weight, I have a full range of movement, and I can walk in a straight line without pain. If my foot turns beyond a certain angle, it hurts, and it is pretty clear that I can't risk doing any more damage to it. I discuss it with Lito and make it clear that I could go on, but we agree that I should go last so that I can watch where he, Vicky and Carlos are treading before picking my path. Carlos later told me that he felt Lito was very worried for me, and with hindsight I can understand why: if I got to a point where I couldn't get down to Colera under my own power, Lito wouldn't be able to get me down on his own. It would take several hours to get some support. The snowstorm had closed in and snow was starting to fall thick and fast. If they had to leave me on the mountain, there would be no guarantee what shape I'd be in by the time they got back to me. But it probably wouldn't be good.
I had expected that the first, steep section from La Gueva onto La Traversa proper would be tricky, but we get through it. The problems really start on the next section. It is comparatively gentle, but has a number of little downward zigzags, and the ground underfoot is very loose. By now a covering of snow is building up, making it hard to judge the ground. I fall over a lot, rip my salopettes and discover the breaking strain of a carbon trekking pole (110-odd kilos of me and my pack sliding into the lower section will shatter it).
Half way along the traverse is a rock known as the Finger. We stop here and discuss what to do. I am already getting tired from the repeated falls and getting up (which at this altitude really takes it out of you), but I am also aware that I am not going to get any less tired, and with the snow, conditions will only get worse rather than better.
We press on, and I am hugely relieved to find that the trail becomes easier to manage. I am still having to work my left leg hard to protect my right leg from further damage, but I am falling over a lot less. I assume there must have been a change in the type of rock that I hadn't noticed in the dark on the way up; the second half of the traverse seems much firmer and we begin to make good progress. The zigzag section is harder, and needs to be taken slowly, but I find I can trudge along with only the occasional slip. I am needing to rest more often, though. The snow is still falling thickly, making it hard to judge how far we have come. Lito reassures us that we are close to camp, and we begin to see tents, though they never seem to be ours. By this point, I am collapsing in a heap whenever we stop. I have almost nothing left. Eventually, we turn a corner on a zigzag and I slump. The extensor muscle on my left leg has been so overworked that it has turned to jelly.
Carlos kindly insists on taking my pack, and with a lighter load I am able to trudge on. It turns out we were only a few hundred metres from Colera and I manage to muster just enough energy to get to my tent, get out of my gear and struggle into my sleeping bag. Tomi hands in some hot water for soup and a plate of food, insisting that I should eat to get my strength back. I manage the soup before I fall asleep.
So that was my summit day. I reached the top, and I got back down just about intact. It had taken us the regulation 12 hours, although I was astonished to realise that we'd spent nine and a half hours on the ascent and only two and a half on the descent. That's pretty quick considering I was nursing a damaged knee. OK, this wasn't exactly Doug Scott's epic descent from the Ogre with two broken legs, but any large descent while carrying an injury is a risky business.
Afterwards, I am plagued with questions. Why did it happen? Should I have turned back earlier? As to the first one, maybe I was affected by lack of sleep or lack of fuel, but I think the major factor was simply that I was a big guy going down a very long, very unstable slope. Should I have turned back? I don't think so. I still felt strong on the way up; and I had enough energy to keep up a demanding pace on the way down and only needed help for the last few hundred metres.
And so, still in my down jacket and very hungry, to bed. Where I am pleased to report that I have acclimatised enough that I have none of last night's breathing issues and the next I know it's closer to dawn than to sunset.
Thursday 31 January 2013
Friday, 11th Jan
I
had a slight headache before bed last night, so got an ibuprofen from Tomi.
Slept well until 5.30, after which I couldn't get back to sleep, in part
because Jeremy was still fast asleep and snoring. Felt nauseous after breakfast
and threw up the two cups of tea that I'd drunk, but managed to keep down the
food. Tomi supplied an anti-nausea tablet, which helped. I also decided to
start using chlorine tablets in my water. Up here, there aren't any meltwater
streams, so we're drinking melted snow. Lito has advised us several times that
it doesn't taste good and we should add some orange flavouring to it, but I
prefer to drink water (and don't want the hassle of cleaning out my
Camelbak after the trip). Our friends Damien and Ali, who climbed Aconcagua in
2011, had a bad reaction to the water at Confluencia and advised us to take
enough chlorine tablets to cover the whole trip. We hadn't needed them to date
and I was gearing up for an extended bout of mockery on our return, but now I’m
glad I have them. It’s probably psychological; the taste of the tablet is very
faint, but it’s enough to convince my brain that this water is somehow
different from water without the tablets [1].
Anyway,
Tomi's tablet did the job and, despite feeling pretty grim, I was ready to go. As
an aside, the only reason I can remember this incident is that I wrote it down.
I know that I was feeling queasy for most of the time above 5,500m, because I
remember asking Tomi for more pills, but I had no recollection of being that
bad until I read my diary for the day. I do remember feeling much better at
altitude this time round than I did when I was over 5,000m in the Khumbu on the
way to EBC, and being sure that I had coped better. For instance, after EBC I
was determined that I wasn't going to go any higher, because I was sure I would
feel grim. But despite having objectively worse symptoms (I never threw up in
the Khumbu [6]) , my memory of Aconcagua is that I coped better with altitude.
Perhaps it’s just a matter of knowing what to expect.
The
climb out of Nido is up a dauntingly steep-looking slope that we’d seen people
descending the night before. Tackling a slope like this at altitude, your body
goes through three distinct phases. First, the anaerobic phase. Your body at
rest is nicely oxygenated, not quite as it would be at sea level, but enough
that you’re not feeling much stress. The initial bit of the climb uses up this
oxygen, and you just have time to think “Hey, this isn't so bad” before you've used it up, about five steps later. Then there’s that transitional bit where
you’re switching from anaerobic to aerobic respiration. You’ll know it if you've ever been jogging: that bit where you feel exhausted, burned out and want to
stop, and you’d stop if you weren't an embarrassingly short distance from where
you started. There are two problems with this at altitude. The first is that it
takes a really long time – what feels like several minutes - to get through it.
I’ll come onto the second one later. Finally, you get into aerobic respiration
as best you can and find that you can keep going steadily for an indefinite
period. This is actually quite cool because it dawns on you that you’re already
at extreme altitude, every step takes you another ten, fifteen, twenty
centimetres further into that extreme zone, and if you just keep doing this –
which you’re sure you can – then before too long you’ll be on the summit and
there probably won’t be anyone else standing anywhere higher than you. At this
point, under normal circumstances, your brain might be inclined to mentally
high-five itself and go “Heck yeah! You’re a mountaineer, baby! You’re a high
altitude athlete!” but this would require too much oxygen, so mostly what you
feel is a kind of determined satisfaction. [8] It is at this point that the
second problem kicks in.
Something
changes. This happens surprisingly frequently. Maybe you stop to take a photo,
or you’re crossing a rocky bit that needs you to use a different set of muscles,
or you miss your footing. Maybe you just took a sip from your Camelbak [10]. Suddenly,
you are out of aerobic balance and back to stage two – except that you didn't have any anaerobic capacity to spare so all you can do is struggle on and
breathe harder [11] until you recover.
At
the top of the initial slope, we paused for another stunning view of the Andes,
and then pressed on up another stiff slope. This one took us past bare rock, I
think for the first time on the climb. Occasionally we would pass a patch of
distinctive, and very soft, yellow sandstone which crumbled under our feet. It
looked like it had the remains of razorshells embedded it – striking evidence
that the rocks we were walking over today, nearly 6,000m above the surface of
the sea, had once been under it.
We
arrived quite suddenly at the crest of the slope, and a slightly incongruous
wooden hut. I was taken aback when Lito told us that this was the Berlin refuge
– it didn't seem that we had climbed nearly enough to reach it. We stopped for
a welcome snack [12], and I felt that it was only appropriate to make a
rendition of “Take my breath away”. This was not received well by the group
[13]. I briefly considered continuing along the Top Gun soundtrack by
suggesting to Jeremy that Vicky had, perhaps, lost that loving feeling, or
switching from a song by Berlin to one about Berlin (“Wilkommen” from Cabaret).
Fortunately, while for me the first symptom of high altitude cerebral edema
would seem to be wanting to sing, the second is not being able to remember the
lyrics.
Around
a rock bluff from the hut was Berlin campsite, but Lito prefers to camp at Camp
Colera (literal translation: “Angry Camp”. No idea why it’s called that), which
is only a little distance away along a short traverse that concludes in a
scramble up some rocks. At sea level, this would be a doddle even with a heavy
pack, but at this altitude it is frankly terrifying. It’s a struggle to work
out where the footholds are for your suddenly unwieldy plastic boots, and the
fear of falling is accentuated by the fear that, having fallen, you could slide
down the slope for quite a way before stopping. Fortunately, someone has fixed
a wire handhold along the length of the scramble.
We
arrive to another mountain plateau with another stunning view, and veg out in
our tents until dinner time. For the first time, we are sharing with other groups
[14], but Tomi and the porters have secured a decent spot.
Over
dinner – I didn't record what it was, but it might have been soup, frankfurters
and mash again – we discuss plans for tomorrow. The fact that we've come up to
Colera means that tomorrow will be our summit day – if we were waiting for a
weather window, we would do it at Nido – and Lito tells us that they will wake
us at 3 am for a 4 am start. Apparently a snowstorm is approaching, and Lito
wants to give us the best chance of getting up and back again ahead of it. He
tells us to prepare for twelve to fourteen hours of walking, and they hand out
chocolate, biscuits and sweets for us to have for breakfast. I grab a big bar
of chocolate, knowing that biscuits will be too dry for me early in the
morning. I also have a secret weapon stashed in my pack: three slabs of Kendal
Mint Cake [15].
That
evening I made a provisional list of what I was going to wear and carry the
next day. In the end, I simplified things a lot, particularly after having
listened to a loud American guide giving an extended briefing to his clients,
who were camped next to us. Anyway,
with a 3 am start ahead of us, I wanted to try to get some sleep so it was
lights out at 10pm to try to get some shut-eye. But that is another story.
[1]
Learned Taste Aversion, as we psychologists [2] call it, is actually one of the
strongest mind-over-matter effects we know of. If you feed a rat (or the mammal
of your choice) a new taste, and then inject it with something that makes it
ill, it will avoid that taste and it’s very hard to persuade it that it’s OK.
It’s a sensible trait to have evolved. If those berries make you sick, don’t
eat ‘em again. I suspect that, if we’re honest, many of us have an example of
it in our lives. I, for instance, won’t touch Bacardi after a particularly
unpleasant experience when I was younger. [5]
[3]
Bet you wouldn't have guessed if I hadn't told you.
[4]
Psychology being psychology, this is long enough ago that everything I learned
will by now have been accepted into orthodoxy, discredited, forgotten,
reinvented, rediscovered, accepted into orthodoxy again and is probably even
now on the way to being discredited once again.
[5]
But not, sadly, so young that I shouldn't have known better.
[6]
A phrase which sounds much less savoury when I read it back than when it was in
my head. But, as I can only imagine Mike Batt thought when he wrote Katie Melua's
song Half-way Up The Hindu Kush[7], it’s out there now, and I’m sticking with
it.
[7]
I still find it hard to believe that there is a song out there with the
repeated refrain “Thank you for taking me half-way up the Hindu Kush”. It’s a
sort of trompe l'oeil of Carry On grade smut. You know that the song does not
at any point include the words “Khyber Pass”, but your brain knows that that
was exactly what he was thinking,
with the same kind of certainty that led Margaret Thatcher to introduce the
poll tax. I mean, I even typed “Khyber Pass” initially as the name of the song,
and had to correct myself when I started typing the lyric.
[8]
It is possible that Americans on Aconcagua actually do think this kind of
stuff, which may be why so many stupid and avoidable tragedies seem to happen
to Americans. [9]
[9]
Though the statistician in me is at pains to point out that it’s more likely to
be because Americans make up the largest percentage of foreign climbers, and
therefore the largest group who have both limited exposure to Aconcagua horror
stories and limited Spanish.
[10]
This is surprisingly hard to do at altitude, because you have to stop breathing
while you take a sip, and when each breath gets you around half the amount of
oxygen that you’re used to, that is a Bad Thing. Even worse, you then have to
blow the water in the tube back into the reservoir, because if you don’t it
will freeze. So not only do you have to stop breathing, but you have to expend
effort and get air out of your lungs. Taking a sip of water can leave you
gasping for breath for several seconds afterwards. But you do it anyway,
because while gasping is a Bad Thing, it is temporary, whereas dehydration is a
Worse Thing, because it can ruin your whole trip.
[11]
That’s hyperventilating. Which is bad, remember, because of alkalosis.
[12]
The favourite among the assortment of sweets and biscuits that we’d been handed
was a sort of Wagon Wheel (remember them?) but with dulce de leche in place of marshmallow.
This is an inspired change, and somehow makes the snack feel considerably more
suitable for adults.
[13]
Those of you who have had the misfortune to hear me sing will understand why.
But I should make it clear that while in my hands (or rather vocal chords) the
word “rendition” carries overtones of both the original, musical and more modern,
extradition-and-torture-tinged meaning of the word, my services have not at any
point been deployed by the CIA. Some things are simply too inhumane to
consider.
[14]
There’s also no toilet niche. The solution is a little package that contains a
bag with chemicals, a few sheets of paper, a hygienic wipe, and another bag to
put it all into when you are done. It’s a little fiddly but keeps the mountain
clean (the porters will take it down in the rubbish bags when we break camp).
Sadly, it’s clear from the state of the various rock niches behind the camp
that not everyone is this fastidious. This is a real shame. At this altitude,
above the glaciers with very little animal life and not enough warmth for
bacteria to do their thing, waste of all kinds can hang around for years. It is
a big issue on Aconcagua, which is why they've instituted the idea that you
bring your waste down with you (remember the numbered bags?). Unfortunately, as
long as you bring down something the park authorities have know way of telling
whether you've brought down everything.
[15]
Complete with testimonial from the 1953 Everest Expedition – “the only
complaint was that there wasn't more of it”. I can see why. It’s easy to carry
and eat, has a strong taste that doesn't pall at altitude, and boosts your
blood sugar instantly. On the EBC trek we were struggling up Kala Patthar (the
highest climb of the trip, which gives you great views of Everest and the
valley) and I realised that we had only been given a cup of tea and a biscuit
for breakfast, and everybody’s blood sugar was low. I started giving little
bits of Kendal Mint Cake to the group and it was almost cartoon-like how people
would eat it and immediately shoot off up the hill. Like Road Runner. But in
slow motion and with walking poles.
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