The story so far... [I can't format this to scroll up the page like the opening of Star Wars, but you can imagine it that way if you like]
Jason and Jeremy have safely arrived in Mendoza, via a whistle-stop tour of Buenos Aires that took in the giant mural of Eva Peron eating a Scooby Snack (see here: it's about 40% of the way down the page). Despite it being New Year's Eve, we met up with Tomi (one of our guides), managed to hire a pair of plastic mountaineering boots for Jeremy (Jason, fearful of turning up to find that there were no boots for hire in US size 14, decided to bring his own), and met up with three of our fellow climbers - Carlos and Yacob from Mallorca and Vicky from Buenos Aires - for a very pleasant New Year meal.
The journey to Penitentes.
On New Year's Day itself, we met the rest of our party ("Lito" Sanchez, the "Godfather" of the guides, who trained most of them and for whom this would be his 60th ascent, and George - who is Romanian, not Albanian (sorry) but left for Canada at the fall of the Ceaucescu regime). Thus quorate, we boarded a minibus and drove for three hours up into the Andes, ending up at a ski resort known as Penitentes. The drive itself was spectacular. The Andes are clearly visible from Mendoza, and when the bus turns onto Route 7 and heads straight for them, it's like a very, very extended cut of that bit in Lawrence of Arabia where Omar Sharif emerges gradually out of the horizon, the whole vision heavy with the anticipation of what might happen. Except without the camel [1].
And then you see, emerging from the clouds above the brown and grey peaks ahead of you, the snow-capped summit of a proper mountain. This is Cerro Plata. At 5,955m, it's big, but it's a full thousand metres lower than Aconcagua. Sharp intake of breath, and not for the last time.
The road itself is spectacular. It follows the Las Cuevas river, on what you soon realise is the less even of a pair of stepped fluvial terraces where the river has cut down sharply through the sedimentary rock to follow a narrower path along the valley floor. The side that the road is built on undulates over dry tributaries and burrows through rock bluffs, but the far side is so even it could have been measured with a set-square. The terrace ends abruptly in a sharp vertical cliff about fifty feet high that seems to run for ever. I counted off at least 50km on the road markers, but it clearly goes on for far longer. If you have a penchant for physical geography [2], it makes for an endlessly fascinating journey.
Eventually we reach Penitentes, at about 2,580m. In the winter months, it's a ski resort - at least when there's snow, which apparently there hasn't been in any quantity for at least a couple of years now - but in summer it's a base for trekking expeditions. There's a large basement room with lockers, storage and, crucially, a big electronic scale for weighing out mule-loads which teems with activity even when the rest of the resort is dead. Somewhat incongruously, Penitentes is run by an Englishman - it turns out that his wife is from Mendoza and he's been roped into the family business.
Over dinner, the talk at the tables is of a tragedy on the mountain, still raw. Three Americans have just gone up via the Polish Glacier route. One felt ill at Camp 3 and returned to Camp 2 suffering from High Altitude Pulmonary Edema [3], but it was too late and he died. The other two pressed on. One made it to the summit and back down the other side. The other stopped somewhere high on the mountain, and his body is, as yet, still there. His family has arrived in Mendoza to try to arrange for his body to be brought down. [4]
This is tragic, but I can't help feeling that it was avoidable. It does not sound as if they allowed enough time to acclimatise, something everyone can and should do. I will see if my opinion changes as more details emerge.
First day of walking
The next day, we reorganise our kit. We pack day sacks with enough to get through a day's walking and a couple of nights in camp, sleeping bags (and any extras), and a main bag of longer term and higher altitude equipment. We leave anything unnecessary at Penitentes, including wallets, passports and a change of clothes for the journey home. Our sleeping bags will go with one lot of mules to Confluencia, our first camp. The rest will follow a few days later on another mule train, this time going to Base Camp of Plaza de Mulas [5]
Then it's off to the park entrance, a half hour or so away. On arrival, Jeremy and I need to sort out our permits. They have apparently already been paid for in Mendoza, but the rangers at the park entrance aren't buying it at first. Briefly, it looks as if we might need to go back to Penitentes for our passports and then apply afresh, but after a string of calls back to Mendoza they agree to give us the permits. The permits in question are accompanied by in individually numbered waste sacks. There's a fine if we can't return them full (or hand them over to a provider of sanitation services - which includes Grajales - and get our permit signed off) at the end.
Eventually we get going, and make it to Confluencia in 2h40 including a couple of stops for food and water. The "official" target time is 3hrs, so we're doing OK. We're also met by fresh pizza and fresh fruit, from Sabrina, who's the on-duty Grajales cook. It's great to be able to walk into one of their big hooped base camp tents and find food ready after a hard day.
After dinner, we spend another hour wandering to a waterfall we've been told about. The landscape is stunning. All around you can see the naked rock strata, folded and tilted at outrageous angles. On the way back, we bump into a ranger coming down from Mulas (as all the old hands call it) who explains a little more about the American tragedy. Not only did they not prepare properly, but they lied to the rangers and medical teams about their route, and the rangers are incensed that they split up. I'm confident that we will not make the same mistakes.
It's not particularly dirty here, but very dusty. Vigorous application of baby wipes helps to keep me feeling at least a little clean, but it's a losing battle. I think even at this point I am resolved to put up with it rather than fight it.
Our sleeping bags have arrived, the day's walking is done, we're fed, watered and as clean as we can get. And so, as Samuel Pepys would have said, to bed.
[1] Face it, a camel would be weird. For one thing, mountains are much bigger than Omar Sharif and wouldn't fit on a camel. For another thing, this is South America and the local camelid is the guanaco, which is useless for riding.
[2] Guess what? I do.
[3] Sorry for the US spelling, but a) the standard abbreviation is HAPE not HAPO and b) I don't think this typeface lets me do the ligatured o-e that I'd like to do
[4] This is quite a serious undertaking. At high altitude, it's hard enough moving your own body around, let alone someone else's. The main routes on Everest have so many bodies on them that some of them have become landmarks. Aconcagua is not quite in the same league, but getting 100kg of mountaineer and gear down from anywhere high on a mountain is a real challenge.
[5] So called because it's the highest mules can go.
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