Climbing Chimborazo

Where the last blog left off I was commenting on my intent to summit the tallest peak in Ecuador, Volcano Chimborazo, at a height of 6300 meters. The climb happened...although not necessarily with the result I had imagined.

Looking back, it seems like I was due for a reckoning during this trip. I had cruised smoothly through Panama, Colombia, and parts of Ecuador. I was meeting people, seeing amazing sights, but not really ever being seriously challenged by anything I came across. Attempting to climb Chimborazo changed all that.

On a Wednesday morning I walked into a local guide agency to try to find out how to climb the mountain. Our conversation went something like this:

Employee: Buenos dias!

Me: Buenos dias! I´d like to find out about how to climb Chimborazo.(in Spanish)

Employee: Okay, what kind of hike do you want.

Me: I´d like to go all the way to the top.

At that, the two people behind the desk sat up a little straighter. One of them, a young guy, introduced himself to me as Franklin Barca. I didn´t know this at the time, but Franklin and I were about to get to know each other very well.

Franklin, age 28, was an alpine guide and medical student studying emergency mountain medicine. He had been guiding for four years, climbed several of the tallest peaks in the Andes, including the tallest (Aconagua, at 6,800 meters, in Argentina), and had summited Chimborazo over 40 times.

There in the office we talked a little bit about what I had in mind, and we decided on a practice hike that Friday, followed by a hike to the summit on Saturday night.

We spent almost the entire next 3 days together. On Thursday, we went and checked out equipment, and on Friday we took a trip up to the mountain for a practice hike up to 5,300 meters.

Something I really didn´t have clear in head as all these planning steps took place, was that climbing Chimborazo was serious mountaineering. We would be trekking upwards through ice and snow, and into very thin air with the summit at an altitude of over 20,000 feet. We would be wearing heavy mountaineering boots with crampons, thick snow clothing, a harness, helmet, head lantern, and I would be carrying a heavy snow pick throughout the hike.

The seriousness of what I was about to attempt dawned on me following our practice hike on Friday. We took a public bus up to the entrance to the park, walked about 6 kilometers up to the refuge at 4800 meters where we would begin the summit hike, and then after a short break, continued on a point above the refuge around 5300 meters where the snow starts to cover the landscape.

The hike from the refuge to 5300 meters left me doubled over, gasping for air every 50 meters towards the end. And once we´d reached our goal, I looked up at the mountain still towering above us, covered in snow with wind whipping around its sides, and for the first time felt strong pings of self doubt. Would I be able to do this?

I spent that night alone in my hotel room, trying to steel my nerves and insist to myself that everything would be fine; that maybe, the mountain is not really as challenging as it looked. I decided I would not look up at the summit during the hike, as it only served to make me more anxious.

The next day, at around 4pm Franklin and I were transported in truck by the guiding agency up to the first refuge at 4800 meters. There our planned schedule was to eat ¨dinner¨ at 4:30pm, rest from 5 to 10pm, wake up for ¨breakfast¨ at 10pm, suit up afterwards, and then begin our hike at 11pm at night.

I did not know this prior to preparing for this hike, but the summiting of most high peaks is done at night...or at least the majority of the ascent. The weather conditions are generally calmer at night, with less wind and snow. Due to our timing, we would also have the benefit of a near-full moon.

So at approximately 11:15pm, having eaten a light breakfast and put on all our gear, Franklin and I opened the door to the refuge and set foot outside to begin our ascent.

I felt great. I was rested, had a light meal in my stomach, already pretty well acclimated to the altitude due to the practice hike and our pre-hike rest, and felt comfortable with all my equipment. Aside from that, we would be hiking in near-perfect conditions. There was almost no wind, very little cloud cover, and the bright moon above us gave us excellent visibility, almost making our head lanterns unnecessary.

We made excellent time during the first hour and fifteen minutes, making it up all the way to 5300 meters, around where we´d finished the practice hike. At that point, we point on our metal crampons, helmets, and Franklin tied me into him, preparing to enter the ice and snow that would define the rest of the hike.

From 5300 meters, we spent the next hour and thirty minutes traversing a huge swath of the mountain. Franklin was bringing me through a longer, less technical route to avoid some difficult stretches along the normal route. We traversed the mountain for roughly 2 kilometers, with Franklin walking in front, digging in our metal crampons into the mountainside and using our hike picks like canes to stabilize us and provide badly needed friction on the 50 degree slope.

Folowing the traverse, we hiked another 200 meters up to a resting point. There we sat down, ate some apples and a granola bar, and chatted with a pair of guys who had come up from the normal route to rest in the same spot.

There were about six other people making the ascent that day, all strong climbers from a Quito alpinist club who were doing a practice hike, preparing for a trip to the Himalayas the following month. It´s safe to say I was the one with the least (read: practically no) experience on the mountain.

At that point we were about 3 hours into the ascent, and situated at around 5600 meters. After the short break we began to hike up the mountain again.

I now have some insight into how an astronaut feels during a moonwalk. Loaded down with extremely heavy mountaineering boots, heavy clothing, and our gear, all the while trying to walk up a snowy/icy 50 degree incline, the fatigue finally began to hit me.

We hiked another hour and fifteen minutes to around 5800 meters, where I fell to the ground and informed Franklin that we would have to take a break. Unfortunately, the break didn´t do much to make me feel better.

What´s more, at that point the altitude was really starting to take its toll on me. Each step was like a small battle. Mentally, I was also finding it harder to think clearly, and focusing on small things, like putting on a glove, became difficult dasks.

Franklin was extremely patient, was taking all the important safey precautions, and giving me every help to make it possible for us to climb the mountain...but my time was running out.

The following hour of hiking was one of the most miserable of my life. My calf muscles, so essential for upward movement as we dug the toes of our shoes into the snow, began to fail me altogether. I tried sidestepping my way up, but that only worked for short distances. At the highest point we reached, close to 6000 meters, I was only able to hike around 10 feet at a time, and then would collapse to my knees.

It was there, at around 5:45AM watching the sun beginning to come up, that Franklin and I sat down in the snow to have a little heart-to-heart conversation about the future of our little venture together. I was totally fatigued, could not climb more than a few meters without falling down, and the altitude was affecting my ability to think and even summon a few words. It was time for us to start heading back down.

It was difficult to give up on the goal that we had set, but under the circumstances, it was absolutely the right thing to do. We had been hiking for more than five hours, and although we were only another 300 vertical meters from the summit, it would take another 2 hours of hiking at a descent clip to reach the top. Plus, we had to think about the descent.

The descent, while fortunately using other muscles, would eventually take us another 4 1/2 hours. I arrived to the refuge and ran into a guy from the hiking agency that was in charge of our transportation, and he asked ¨How are you feeling?¨. Not able to lie, I responded ¨I feel absolutely aweful.¨

And I did. I was so fatigued that there was nothing else to say. It was the hardest physical activity I had ever done...more difficult than running a marathon, which while extremely difficult, usually took place within the span of 4-5 hours, while this climb took place over 10 grueling hours.

Looking back a week later, I´m would say it was a positive experience. I now know what that kind of mountaineering entails. Plus, I had challenged myself, and while I failed, had failed trying to achieve something very difficult.

On the way down the mountain, we ran into one of the alpinists that was training for the Himalayas. ¨Don´t worry about it. It took me five attempts to reach the summit.¨ His words succeeded in making me feel better during the long descent.

I would consider Franklin a friend, and hope he continues on with his studies to eventually become a doctor. We´ve kept in touch some since the hike.

Following Chimborazo, after a full day of rest at my hotel in nearby Riobamba, I made my way quickly to Guayaquil on the coast. From Guayaquil I took a 26 hour bus ride (no joke!) further south to Lima, where I met up with some friends I did Peace Corps with in Costa Rica.

Now I´m writing from Cusco, preparing in a few days to do a five day trek to Choquequiroa, some ancient Inca ruins, followed by a trip to Machu Pichu shortly after, which will probably be the subject of the next blog.