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.
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