With hindsight it should have been obvious. 1,000m is a huge altitude gain for a move of camp (though it's almost the standard for an up-and-down on a summit day), so it would be remarkable not to feel altitude symptoms after a shift like that. I also realised belatedly that the previous afternoon and night I had not drunk anything like enough water, so I started playing catch up.
Anyway, we all felt a lot better after breakfast. Flor, our chef while we were at base camp, had the knack of cooking big, tasty scotch pancakes that somehow stayed hot for long enough that you could still eat them warm [1]. I also began taking aspirin, which is supposed to think the blood and help with acclimatisation. As we shall see, I could actually have made a better and equally simple choice. George was already on half a Diamox a day, which was the source of much consternation for the guides and doctors. Diamox makes you pee even more than usual, which helps with acclimatisation, but on Aconcagua the climate is so dry [2] that it can actually be difficult to take in enough water to stay hydrated.
Suitably fed and watered, we went to the medical hut to have our stats checked. My O2 Saturation was 87, which is good for a first morning at this altitude and very good for a bloke of my size [5]. Heart rate was holding steady at 88. Letting the side down was my blood pressure, which had shot up to 150/90. Again the message was that it was right at the acceptable limit and I was advised to drink more water. The rest of the group were also passed as fit; George got a second lecture about taking Diamox (see above and repeat as necessary), Vicky got diclofenac, a crepe bandage and an ice pack, and Jeremy, who wasn't shifting the cold he had brought from England [8], was told "your lungs are green". Which we think meant green as in "red for stop, green for go" rather than "full of horrible green mucus-y stuff".
I spent the rest of the day (and the night) repeatedly draining my Camelbak, but otherwise resting up, reading and conserving strength. I was nearing the end of volume 1 of Monte Cristo (which, like the first two Lord of the Rings movies, is basically all set up for the extended payoff of Volume 2), but the battery indicator on the Sony was down to the final blob. Would I get to finish the book? We also went to visit the highest contemporary art gallery in the world, in which Miguel Douro exhibits his paintings - mainly of Aconcagua in various weathers and a style reminiscent of van Gogh. They were impressive, but I hadn't budgeted a the few hundred dollars needed to buy one [9].
I also gave some thought to what I could leave behind at base camp when we went up to the high camps. Above Mulas, the mules don't go, so you either pay for a porter or carry your own pack. George, somewhat older than the rest of us, had already booked his porters for the whole trip. The rest of us planned to do our own carrying. At the time, we were expecting to do an initial carry to Camp Canada (the first camp above base camp), leave some gear, go back to base camp and make our move up with the rest of the gear a couple of days later. A fair amount of time was devoted to working out what could go up in the first load, what in the second, and what was to stay behind.
The big debate in the group was generally about how many layers, and how many spare clothes to take. In the end, for me, it resolved itself very simply. I put on my merino baselayer, which were also doubling as pyjamas, put my walking clothes and an extra jumper on top of them, and basically stayed in that for the whole five days above base camp.
But that was several days in the future. We had two acclimatisation walks and another rest day at base camp to go, and in the meantime there was the question of going to the loo at night. The amount we were drinking required 3 or more trips per night, but the loos were a longish, rock-strewn stroll away, and it is cold at base camp whenever the sun is behind a cloud, and bloody freezing at night. What to do? I opted for putting on my down jacket and making the trek each time. Some of the others found a convenient spot nearer the tent. Judging by the dark streaks across the paths outside some of the tents, they weren't the only ones. [12]
[1] It emerged later in the trip that Flor wants to become a mountain guide and really doesn't like cooking. We didn't have the heart (or stomach) to tell her that the right strategy if you want to stop doing something is to be so bad at it that they don't let you do it any more.
[2] For context, it's only a couple of hundred miles from the Atacama Desert, widely regarded as the driest place on earth [3]
[3] Though some sources argue that the Dry Valleys of Antarctica are actually drier. So there you go. Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink. [4]
[4] Also: the boy stood on the burning deck, his feet were all in blisters. The flames came up and burned his pants, so now he wears his sister's.
[5] For any readers who don't know me, I'm 6'4" and 108kg [6] [7]
[6] Look, I'm part of that confused generation that grew up being educated in both metric and Imperial measures, and I shall mix my metrics if I please.
[7] At least, I was when I started. Not so much now. I haven't weighed myself, but since I got back I'm wearing trousers that haven't fitted properly since the late 90s
[8] It can be very hard to shift a cold at altitude. Get well before you travel, if you can.
[9] Or, perhaps more pertinently, the new house that I would need to hang it in. [10]
[10] We already have various paintings and objets d'art [11] that I have acquired sitting around in the spare room waiting for a wall with a bit of space on it
[11] Ok, ok, signed rugby shirts
[12] Of course, the obvious solution is to use a pee bottle, but it just didn't occur to us until after we'd gone up the mountain. What can I say? The brain works more slowly at altitude.
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