French Direct
“I’m isolated from those who are isolated from this”… a friend
Leaving
As I sit here in the Guayaquil airport, about to board a flight for Lima, an interesting idea has entered my mind and already I feel the drive. I have will be silent about my intentions and I feel it should stay that way for a while. I sense a readiness to level up in what I can manage and face and, in many regards, feels necessary. I am ready for the fear and challenge that I will confront me. Move steady, calm, and quietly to gather info and prepare. These next few weeks are for me. Stay steady and calm; it’s time to board the plane.
Preparation
I made the decision to come here just last week. Friends were north in central Ecuador rock climbing and after preparing all my things to camp and climb, purchasing the bus ticket at the terminal, and arranging a stay for Robin, I stood outside my door with my bags by my feet and was overwhelmed by the imminent five hours of bus travel on high, windy road. I don’t know why but motion sickness has been a progressing stronger limitation to adventure. All it takes is a thought of the bus and the nausea enters my body and my head begins to spin. Disappointed, I re-entered my apartment and instead of leaving for the north I found myself in my bed, defeated.
Because I had a few days of a clear schedule I decided to spend it in nearby Cajas, wilderness access local to where I live. And I spent a few nights sleeping at around 12,500ft. I had originally planned to be here in Peru for this entire month but a pinky pulley injury and some organizing work, held me back. And now I am here in the Ancash, on the last day of August.
The whole process of leaving is always interesting. Getting Robin squared away with friends- expressing my gratitude to the family that sees after her by cooking a large pot of chili from scratch, roasting and grinding the coriander seeds to make the chili powder. It’s my girlfriend’s birthday and we were out celebrating with friends. We are drinking and playing games in a well lit and I get up to go, expressing to the group that I am leaving the next day and need the rest of the evening to prepare- from getting laundry hung up to so it’s dry by the next morning to deciding on which rock and ice protection I’ll bring on this trip (being that I’ve done little on rock this year, I decided just to bring draws and screws with me). Walking back I run into an older guy I know on the street, a kind older man that I’ve lifted with in the gym. “porque estas viajando en Peru? Querria a visitor Machu Pichu?” …. “no, esta viaje no me voy por un otra parte”…. “no, I won’t go visit Machu Pichu”
I pack my duffels and my girlfriend come over to spend the night, leaving the next morning. I look around and realize no one else is in the apartment complex, as if to give me room to leave quietly and clean.
Yesterday at 1230p I took and Uber to the mini-bus station with a 1p departure. A 4 hour bus ride on high curvy roads descending toward the coast. Having done yoga asanas that morning specifically for motion sickness I think “wow, it might be helping, I only feel mildly sick”. I also took a Gabapentin. Disassociation helps.
Hauling my heavy bags through the airport I arrive at check-in to unexpected costs and afterward step outside to enjoy a moment of the warm, thick air of the coast.
A three hour plane ride to Lima, arriving at 11p, an hour of lines and clearing immigration, recovering bags- noise, stimulation and stress. I transfer to a pre-booked hostal after negotiating w/ several taxi drivers learning later that I wasn’t being taxed to hard for my white skin; the new lima airport charges an outrageous amount for them to do business there, so all costs are driven up from what I recollect from previous years. After nearly and hour to go only a few miles which is the hell of Lima traffic I check in to my hostel and am quickly asleep. Just as fast I am up, eating a breakfast of an egg and bread and Uber to the airport to board for my hour flight to Carhuaz. Before I can collect my bags the taxi drivers accost me to take a ride and I agree to one as long as I can secure the front seat and later am kindly dropped off at a hostal I am well acquainted with. Within minutes I am renting snow stakes and buying fuel. I rest for a moment to give my spine a break and am off to town to get cash and supplies- bulks of food from the market, sunscreen that will actually protect my skin, little things, all the while meal-planning in my head. I return to the hostel to draw beta from other climbers about what they have encountered in the mountains this season and what they can tell me about conditions. I ask specific questions and this quickly filters out who to spend my time relating over these things with. One Chilean guide was generous in showing me some photos from the past few excursions in the mountains and it struck me how dry they looked this year.
The marijuana is burning around me and although tempting I’ve vowed to do what might be the hardest thing for a climber in Huaraz- not smoke. I went out for lunch to my favorite spot and had a causa ceviche, later enjoying a beer while socializing a bit and waiting for the evening energy to calm down.
Two days of transit, now time for bed.
September 1
Yet another full-on, focused on the task at hand, day. I got out of bed at 9- being horizontal is restorative after so much sitting and anxious walking. Pretty quickly was in town searching for a sleeping pad. I oddly found the exact pad I was going to order from the States for later, purchased it without a thought, and now I am laying on it, writing.
Got back from town and made a quick lunch. Yesterday I met a guy who had a successful climb on the mountain I want to go check out. We talked in length about the glacier and the condition of the Bergschrund.
I left Huaraz at 1230p and took a combi, a shared public mini-bus. It took us 3 hours to reach Caraz with the hundred stops we made. I transferred into a moto-taxi and then to a pasajero (similar to a combi). We ascended for 90 minutes to Cachapampa and I set-up my tent at sundown at the Hosteria opposite the trail-head. My host has cuy on the menu and while searching for the shower I found their cages.
From where I am now, I will need to gain 3,000 meters/ 10,000 feet to the peak.
Approach
Was up last night for few hours listening to dogs growl and bark at I don’t know what. The energy from the sky and moon felt strong, and I was restless, until passing into a deep sleep. I awoke later than wanted, but naturally. This native village I am in is typical, peaceful moments of birds chirping, with intermittent spurts of loud music from houses and cars, or some kind of animal drama. My host is running around from one doing to the next and each need (drinking water, outlet, shower, toilet, arriero) I express is forgotten. Before leaving she apologized for being so neglectful and assured me that when I return she’d be more available and we had a friendly goodbye.
When the local arriero, the burro driver returned with his burros I asked him to sit down and offered him some bread and coffee. I didn’t have enough cash to pay for both him and the night of camping so instead of hiring him for two days of burro support, I negotiated a day and a morning with him. He would take two burros and we would manage about 2/3 of the way to Base Camp, so I would have his help for about 10 miles carrying my climbing equipment and sleeping system.
I carried my climbing day-pack for about 8 miles and took it easy the trail being very gradual and simple. I found my arriero waiting by a rock and he proposed we stop there, his burros needed to graze for the evening. I built a fire and cooked us both a delicious past over it as well as a sweet potato in the coals. We’re camped at 3,866m/ 12,700ft and I am sleeping open air.
A few days have elapsed since I have wrote. Yesterday, day two on route was so full and trial some, by the time I returned to camp damp at dark and after preparing dinner and stretching, I passed out. My mind was busy wanting to rise early, but I let that go. From two nights ago, open air, I had a rain scare so in the middle of the night pitched my shell. I’m carrying the outer wall to my mountaineering tent; it’s lightweight and strong. The arriero built a fire this time and I cooked us some oats over it. He packed up the donkeys Colossal and Jorge and we said he’d help me out for a bit further up the trail. We walked and talked and he taught me some burro commands in Quechua, which are oddly similar to some of the noises I command Robin with. We passed the lake and arrived to a big open tundra. A light storm was approaching with precipitation. After unloading the burros we shook hands and he departed. I creatively loaded my pack which I am guessing is 75lbs by how it feels loading my mid-back.
I labored hard as the trail begins to switch-backing to base camp. But after two hours with a short break in between I arrived. I cleared a spot for my tent, cooked lunch and napped an hour. Then I reloaded my pack with my climbing equipment. I ascended to a higher camp on the moraine, the edge of the glacier, stashing my gear in some rocks. I returned damp, and conked out.
This morning I naturally awoke early, physically prepared and ready to move on, but mentally wise. I layed not rising until 9. I’ve been battling a sore throat and light cold since the beginning of this trip and was happy to have a reduction of symptoms this morning as well as the persistent knee pain. On the first day of hiking, I deviated off trail and not paying attention stupidly ran into a cactus. I was in shorts and the two needles in my knee looked like nature’s version of an acupuncture treatment. But those needles would not come out easy, my skin raised an inch as I ripped them out, they really got in there! So for the last two days I have been with this knee pain and experiencing relief today.
I am on top my hyrdration and electrolyte. I also rely a lot on a local herb called muna, AKA Andean mint, which is great for the altitude and soft on the stomach. And cocaine, lots of cocaine, if you want to know my secrets.
I left the tent and entered beautiful sunshine. I read some John Muir, a harrowing tale about a dog and him traversing a vast glacier. I prepared a welcomed meal of oats with fruit and stretched for an hour. My body was feeling great, well balanced and restored. I stashed food in the trees and even sat on a high limb and played my flute in the forest for a while. I then said goodbye the greenery and slowly made my way back up the moraine, arriving after a brisk 90 minutes of stout walking enjoying fresh glacial melt along the way. I arrived at my stashed gear and found a very flat, wind protected spot to camp. I setup in the dirt, prepared some pasta and got into mountaineering mode around 4p. I ascended the glacier passing over several crevasses finally reaching a flat spot and stashed some equipment there. What took me 75 minutes to ascend I descended in 12. I arrived to moraine camp at dark: 5,000 meters/ 16,300 feet.
Since then I have been pounding fluids, and hearing big rockfall and avalanche in the nearby amphitheater. Post sunset is usually when we expect the mountains to quiet as everything begins to freeze. As I laid there enjoying the brilliant night sky, listening to the symphony of very large features ripping down the mountains, I contemplated this.
Glacier Approach
I departed the moraine at 0715 this morning, expecting a quick ascent to high camp. Having navigated most of it last evening (to the foot of the technical section) I felt good under the weight of my pack, until I decided to haul it. The first haul went totally fine but in it I got a bit disoriented by what was overhead. I got to a section where I drifted a bit left and instead of continuing, I climbed a few meters of vertical to overhanging solid nieve using a bit of French aid. Albeit solid feet and sticky tool placements, a fall would have been consequential. After clearing the lip I found ice high and left to build a belay and from there began hauling my pack on a micro-traxxion. I’m not an aid or bigwall climber and it really showed once I realized my pack wouldn’t clear the lip. Taught and at a diagnol, I could tension my only 70m, 7.1mm rope to exactly half. That was the beginning of a two-hour ordeal of failure after failure trying to free my pack. I descended and re-ascended multiple times in a kind of fury. Eventually, after deciding to fix the rope and untie to make a traverse into the pack, I freed it; but, to get to it I had to crawl and scooch on my butt. When I got back to the anchor I checked my harness and my heart sank in my chest. My coveted and much needed V-thread tool was missing. Before I had descended I had removed it and clipped it to a back loop of my newer and less familiar harness. I knew better once I did it, but did it anyway. Realizing this I thought “this will be my turning point”. I can’t go any further without the ability to drill rappels.
I mustered the will to descend and give things a look, curious if it had stuck into the slope somewhere below. My guess was that it dislodged as I was crawling and scooching, so I descended 40 meters downclimbing and traversed. No tool! My head slung.
When I turned around there it was, shining bright yellow in the snow and easily retrievable. I zipped it up in my jacket and was on my way!
I ascended the line and gathered myself. To the climbers right was a rap line but from what it looked, all filled up with pendientes was not what looked like the way up. To the left were some old signs of a track in the snow and it looked like it relieved above. And this was another fuck-up, well two. I am following other footsteps blindly and even worse, referencing Gaia to tell me where the saddle is. As I booted up I felt so silly. Here I was for two hours undergoing all sorts of silly things right beneath the point at which this glacier tops out. The footsteps disappeared into a massive, rotted out snow-bridge. This crevasse was horrific and eternal. I stomped a ledge and donned my pack, traversing along it’s corniced lip only to discover a dead-end in front me, another horrific gap. But, in the distance I got my first glimpse of the mountain I came to climb but have never actually seen until now- Alpo Mayo.
The air to my back really registered as I sat on this perch staring into the face. I comfortably down-climbed back to my little ice belay cave. Traversing past it a few meters I saw a distinct maze of footsteps, gained the “technical push” to high camp at 5,500 meters/ 18,000 feet, climbing it quite securely and unlabored even with the pack on.
I arrived to three tents, with three Peruanos hanging out as cooks and porters. Three more people, all Swiss, were descending Quitaraju. I setup camp in the snow and after an hour of resting was awoken by the Swiss couple and guide, at 4p. They had left camp at 2a. The guide, who also lives in Ecuador, took a liking to what I was doing. He said he just had one of the longest days of guiding, after managing a descent as long as the ascent, needing to make all sorts of ugly, messy rappels through pendientes. He then re-affirmed, because of it’s solar aspect, that the conditions on the face of Alpo Mayo should be much more favorable. He’s been on it five times in years previous since the early 90’s.
Now up, I got booted and suited and went for a recon hike on the upper glacier, making mental photos of the features around the Bergschrund entry, the entrance to the actual face and the route I am interested in climbing- called the French Direct.
As I now lay here in the tent, with a layer of frost forming on everything around, climbing that Schrund looks a bit suspicious. I’m curious what ice conditions I will find?! Tomorrow will be a very long day, and, if done calmly and steadily, a memorable one.
neighboring Quitaraju
The Climb
Quite inspired by Muir’s writings! I just read how he was managed his way across a remote glacier in Alaska dragging, hauling and pushing 100 pounds sled over treacherous snow bridges in heavily crevassed terrain. His feet are day by day becoming colder and wetter because his boots are failing. He's become nearly snowblind and is seeing double and is days from where people are camped with a vast expanse of crevasses in between. And he's loving every minute of it! Experiencing the raw fragilities of nature, make-shifting a small fire to brew tea as he lays in his bear-skin bag on an icy abyss. “Nearly blind” he is healing his eyes by covering them with wet bandages and remarks how a hummingbird came to visit him, on the glacier, twice.
It's dark now. With a warm fire to my back. It took me a while to get going despite the abundance of dead, remarkably dry material around. Initially I gathered a bunch of dry grass and lit it up. Building this elaborate structure around it the fire looked beautiful and impressive… and quickly died out. I tried again and again but moved with a sort of arrogance saying to myself "it will light”. Then I slowed down. And realized I can slow down. I gathered some interesting dead material and taking a bit of it I got it to go as a tinder. On my knees bit by bit I built it up with substantial warmth. Fire doesn't reward complacency. I just watched a moth go into the flame.
I awoke to swollen eyes today, with blurry vision. My eyelids and eyebrows are burnt.
Muir was suffering three months of bronchitis which magically disappeared during his glacial pursuit. I seem to have contracted some kind of sinus infection, discharging radical amounts of mucus. I've had a horrid cough with chest pains for the past few days; but that seems to be bettering as I am now camped in a sub-alpine forest surrounded by sounds of running water and greenery. I rested very well. My day has been remarked by no physical activity, eating, drinking and enjoying the birds that have come to visit me.
Yesterday morning around 2a camped at 5500 meters/ 18,000 feet on the glacier I was wide-eyed inside my bag. My pad was directly on the snow and I could feel body heat vacating through whatever side pressured the ground. Surprisingly though I was warm enough to enjoy the night. My pad is brilliant! And my bag is an old reliable friend. I could only sleep from 9p to 10p, one hour. As each hour passed by and I heard the ‘ting’ from my watch, I realize that for the past 70 hours I had only slept in three, one hour increments with a handful of 10 to 15 minute naps. Possibly the nerves.
Peeking outside the tent I couldn't see more than a couple meters. Camp was completely fogged in, but I decided that although I am an hour before my 330a alarm that I would start prepping and beginning what would be one massive day! I had packed some fresh snow the evening before which I began melting to hydrate with. All of my stuff was at the foot of my sleeping bag including my fuel canister to conserve efficiency. I started layering deciding if I should wear thermals or not (I’m glad I did), drinking green tea and muna. I was deciding exactly what I want to bring to climb for the day, with each locking carabiner and sling and setup carefully decided on to minimize decisions. For instance knowing my one green locker goes with my prusik cord is the same color combo as my belay plate. don't like mix matching equipment; that drains energy when stressed. After getting my harness organized I exited my sleeping bag and put on my boots.This slow, quiet and methodical transition felt peaceful.
I left camp 340a and descended into a glacier basin to approach the wall. It was foggy and cold as I moved slow stepping over a few narrow crevasses. I was surprised to find a tricky section at the base of the snow slope. Perched at the edge of a crevasse I had to fall into the snow and use my knee to gain the slope trusting my axe placement and using a trekking pole horizontally stuck in as leverage. Down to the left was just black. Down to the right was a snow filled ledge about 20 feet angled down; still I did not want to fall. Well ascending the slope is was no clear footpath. Despite it being a popular route I was the only one there for several days and some storms had passed through since the last party of Russians descended. Despite the snowfall and drift there was not enough accumulation to concern me about about wind slab. I could faintly see depressions in the snow by some foot travel and also lines caused by ice and snow fall. Using common sense I followed the lines that had bends in them.
At the top of the deep snow slope I shined my light around and I saw the bergshrund. Getting into it is tricky and it’s weighed on my mind for a week now. I saw what looked like the rappel line. So I climbed this little snow dome of part neive, part dry loose that was steep and exposed. When I crawled on top I discovered it was indeed the rappel line. The bschrund entry was above me to the left, I found it! From this angle, the climbing into the route looked very accessible, easier than projected. I looked down to the left and noticed a stomped out platform in the snow so I descended to it. It was now 5a and I saw a headlamp from the distant high camp. I flaked the rope out of my pack, adjusted some things, turned off my light and sat quiet in the dark. It was very calm.
I did a humming exercise to give my nervous system a little support. As I started to shiver, I tied in as if I was on belay and started into the ‘shrund. There's basically a snow bridge under some low angle ice blown into scattered ice features below. The first twenty feet of climbing was easy and then it reached into this shelf. I couldn't tell if I should go left or right, but I decided to go right, even though steeper because that's where the rappel lines were which means anchor. It became overhanging and I started to feel insecure. I crawled underneath the shelf and after clearing away some fragile garbage, positioned myself into a spot I could place a screw. I got a screw in and went in direct. I then placed another closer to the bulge up and right I needed to maneuver. Everywhere I swung it broke. Snice! I would scratch my tools and they would just fall out not hooking on anything just cutting through. I would stomp once and it would break. I then swung my tool around the bulge up to the right and into some firm neive. My tool was at a weird angle. I decided I could manage this crux but did not want the consequential risk so I placed a stubby screw and girth hitched it to a double runner. I got both tools in a weird angle and actually found a hand jam in the ice at my hip to leverage off of. I humped my right knee over and with my left leg hanging was able to get some front points in the actual runnel beneath my tools. I cleared what was in front of me and got in another screw, leaned down and around and unclipped the double runner, leaving it behind (I would return later for on rappel). After 90 minutes navigating this short section, I made it to the first anchor of material running through some ice, clipped in and looked upward into a foggy runnel of mystery.
At this point I donned my headlamp, flaked the rope into my pack, and began the ritual of slowly front-pointing and swinging for good placements. My lungs were labored and my calves burned but as I got into the rhythm I began to much enjoy what I was undertaking. I picked this objective for this reason, to get into a rhythm of climbing. The route felt and looked, virgin! Every tool and foot I had to find, which also felt so pure and wonderful. I was fogged in so when I looked down I saw nothing and when I looked up I saw nothing but what was right in front of me- a mix of solid nieve, super secure, and hard, alpine ice. The route goes at a consistent AI3 grade with a few steeper sections. Half-way up the couloir the fog and spindrift eased and I got a 15 minute window into high camp. Seeing the other party gathered I went into a screw and waved (without binoculars I’m but a speck on the face but nonetheless they knew I was on route, I later learned). About 2/3 of the way up there was some rocks I decided to climb through but using ice all the way. I looked down and around and felt this incredible joy inside! The climbing was so good and as I climbed even moreso. I stopped gripping and kicking so hard. The less I struggled, the safer I felt.
I continued anchor to anchor, checking their integrity and making mental notes for later descent. Some were good, others suspect. And sometimes I would just place a screw and rest. The last bit of the runnel the actual climbing line, was kicked and picked out. The climbing was easy. The last 50 meters steepened into this fun, stemmy section. At 9a I topped the line with a massive smile, arriving at a fixed snow stake on the summit ridge at 5940 meters/ 19,500 feet.
Conditions were poor. It was foggy and windy, not quite storming. I hammered in a stake on the summit ridge and tried doubling my rope through a prusik to protect myself. I walked about 20 meters on the knife edge and saw my rope dangling below to the left. I tugged gently and realized it was hooked on something below. Not wanting to compound the first warning sign, I double backed and untied, figuring I would deal with it after the summit. Placing one foot in front of the other, I walked further on the exposed ridge arriving to a dramatic corniced section. Probably 50 at most 100 feet from what I believe was the summit, I shook my head and said “no”. In that moment I cautiously knelt on a knee and felt so much accomplishment overwhelm me. I turned my back to the objective. I would not summit.
I returned to my snow picket and although messy as you can see, safely secured rope and calmly, careful managed the stuck rope situation. A stuck rope, or worse a lost rope here, means death.
Anchor by anchor I trusted my intuition, carefully checking each one. Some I backed up with Abalakovs, some I trusted solely on my own V-threading skills. I would leave material to prevent a frozen, stuck rope. Some of them I got to said aloud “whoever did this knew what the fuck they were doing”! One of them was a self-equalizing anchor on the same cordellette with multiple V-threads; I’d never seen that before. I made about 12 rappels, landing onto the glacier at noon exactly.
I got back to camp, an empty camp, at 1p. I laid down but could not rest. I had no food.
I rested my spine and shoulders prone as I melted more snow and used my last electrolyte. I decamped listening to Grace Slick and the Great Society on my phone, later some Iguanacondas. A hawk-like fellow came to visit me and we talked.
At 2p I crested over the saddle toward the lower glacier. It was a bit complicated getting down with my one rope. Anchors were setup for two. I found three anchors which I rapped, making two intermediate rappels on Abalakovs, with a pack lower somewhere in there. I reached the moraine two hours later, utterly exhausted. I had some food stashed and made a delicious pasta which disappeared in front of eyes I don’t know where it went. It was remarkable how everything I did from arrival to high camp through the moraine was so effortless and without a conscious will. I descended in Twighlight, reaching basecamp at dark. I poked my head into the big cook tent from the Swiss expedition and was greeted by half a dozen local guys and in the middle was B, the Swiss guide, smiling wide.
I asked if he could relay a message to my girlfriend, to let her know that I was safe and enjoying the solitude in the mountains and pretty scenery. He said they had wifi. “Damn Swiss”, I thought. I connected, was flooded with 10 days of Whatsapp messages, only sending one message off to my girlfriend. I quickly disconnected my phone.
I then thought “wow, people care about me”.
I started thinking of all the ways I am cared for and how I care for others.
I reflected on how I recently led this yoga event and how each person, one by one, approached me afterward and in detail described how this afternoon event had touched them. How in the past 6 months I have watched my coaching client undergo these incredible shifts in life perspective, transformative, lasting changes for him. How my partner has asked me if I can feel the love she gives me, often blanking, and at times increasingly glimpsing past the fear into the feelings she talks about.
I was invited to dinner, a three course meal the the Swiss team. A tall beer, soup, rice and veggie and beef plate, delicious fruit. The Swiss were generous, and in Swiss fashion. The guide asked if I was more of rock climber or a mountaineer and I responded that I like mountains, that at heart I am skiier. The male client, whose 64, designs ski bindings. I learned that like how Japan is known for it’s powder, Chile is known for my favorite- corn. Before leaving the Swiss woman told me she saw me up the face before the clouds covered me. She wasn’t very logical with what she was saying but she didn’t need to be because I understood exactly what she was saying as she teared up. “Take care of yourself”.
The truth is, I am not here to discard my body or off to do the next hardman thing. I am out here to feel. Every day I have grieved, and moreso now the tears are welcomed on my dry skin.
I’m back to the fire now and will enjoy a tune on my flute before sleep.
Search and Rescue
It is now thrusday night and I am laying on a bed, in Caraz (the nearest town below the village that accesses the valley/quebrada). A few hours ago I arrived and took my first shower in 10 days. I have been shoveling in food. I took 1g of motrin but it didn’t effect me seemingly at all. My mood is undergoing intense swings; one moment I’ll feel really happy and then calm, five minutes later I will feel angry, and the next five minutes will be overwhelmed by a volatile discharge of grief. My body feels warm, and my personal interactions with people have been strikingly light and friendly.
I last wrote by the fire three days ago and after I set my pencil down I thought that might be the last I would write about this solo adventure. I covered the fire with dry cow patties, a trick to hold in the embers with the intent to cook over it in the morning. The mountains had other plans.
I woke at base camp to an intense freezing rain, with a dramatic temperature drop. After a window of partial clearing I summoned myself to go retrieve my stored climbing gear I left on the moraine. Having come down from the climb two days ago, I didn’t have the energy to consolidate everything into my pack, so I stashed it up there. After being tent bound all morning by dreary conditions, when I stirred up I realized my wrist was hurting something terrible. My left hand was contracted as well as my forearm. Anyhow, with a labored breath I made my way back up to the moraine, much slower than before. It was quite challenging packing my pack with all my climbing equipment- rope, harness, 5x lockers, 3x slings, 3x screws, 3x ice tools, 2x snow pickets, crampons, boots, a few misc items. I did this in a mix of hail and freezing rain and snow, but managed just fine and returned to my camp in the dark, and after removing all my wet clothes- went to bed.
The next morning just about everything was wet, and like always I did my best to protect my down apparel- bag and puffy. My sinuses were slowly improving but was still under some head pressure and expelling mucus every 10 minutes. My throat continued to be an annoyance, as it had for the previous eight days. Decamping was a laborious task, using my teeth instead of my left hand and had to use a lot of creativity to get everything into/onto my pack. The mix of low pressure and cold was amplifying the pain in forearm and in some moments I realized I was tearing up from the pain. I had been running out of food and was down to cheesy, buttery, polenta which I discovered is an excellent backcountry meal! “How am I just discovering this? This is amazing”.
I started descending from base camp around 830a and after two hours of walking under load I was around the same place that the arriero left me on the second morning, when I heard someone yelling. I turned and saw a guy running toward me and as he approached I realized he was a climber. With piercing eyes, T said that he needed service immediately and told me he just watched his friend have a paragliding accident.
Being that I was mostly tentbound the two days prior, and camped a 15 minute walk from the standard basecamp where the climber trail passes through, I had missed them. I thought I was the only one out there, but apparently these two Frenchmen had ascended rather quickly with the intent to climb the same route I had just come from. Waking early at high camp and realizing conditions were too poor to climb, they decided to launch from the saddle on paraglides in poor conditions. P went first, T launched just behind him. He watched as a gust of wind came and propelled his friend hard and left, quickly into a series of buttresses protruding through the glacier where his friend then disappeared.
T landed near base camp and in this time his friend sent out a series of rescue calls from his Garmin. Although T received transmission from his friend, his Garmin was not contacting rescue. This is what I was able to gather from him, while we stood there in a fit of uncertainty together, wondering what our next moves should be.
As I stood there with him, two things occurred to me. The first was the implausibility of a helicopter coming. Conditions were still very poor. The second thing that came was the fact that his friend had made rescue calls. This implied that he was alive after impact, which also implies he may still be up there, alive, and in need of help.
T was compelled downward, to get phone signal and call in a helicopter. I walked with him for a bit, reminding him of what is present to which he welcomed. We came to an arriero with a handful of burros and the man said that the first camp, another 3-4 hours hike down, has wifi. I felt something pulling me back up and told T that I felt a strong urge to go search.
I dumped everything but my warm clothes, sleeping bag and pad, and medical supply into a cave and started to ascend. I met a party of three french hikers who fed me. Before I departed one of the men leaned and said to me “You are courageous, and kind”.
I ascended from there past base camp and into the moraine, in a storm. I was moved by a calm swiftness I cannot describe. Aware of the very small chance he is alive, he will be desperate. Many practical questions passed through my mind as I traversed the edge of the glacier looking for an orange pack and French flag chute. At some point, an interesting feeling entered me and a suspicion “did P fly off”? I oddly began to feel light and smile. I then presumed calling his name, traversing and praying. This went on for about five hours.
As light was fading and no signs of him, I decided I must go down. A headlamp wouldn’t signal in this weather. The glacier was also falling apart and I was venturing into areas around the glacier that pushed my edge of comfort. It’s essential not to compound what is already.
I descended far and right as the sun went down and as the weather surprisingly cleared up. While descending through the loose rock I heard and then saw the helicopter flying into the valley below, landing near base camp, a touch and go.
When I made it down, soaked from the high grasses, I arrived to a guy standing in fresh mountain apparel and a policia ballcap with a calm, attentive demeanor. He was curious where I had just been. As he offered to warm me some water and feed me some crackers, the helicopter returned, as did the rest of the team. As I hydrated I watched the team of eight men organize their equipment and pack their bags. Despite the forecast, the weather was now exceptionally clear. I asked the men if they would ascend and one of them looked at me plainly and said “we have to”. I relayed some info to the team lead, and left.
As I hiked out of the valley another wave of fierce grief overwhelmed me and I noticed how bright one of the stars were in the night sky. I offerred a prayer to P’s family, whom of course I do not know. I gave a good farewell, relating and rejoicing in the transition from this life.
Another hour of walking I found myself somewhere near my equipment but did not bother to retrieve it instead finding a warm, dry, flat section under a caved out boulder, crawled into my bag and slept soundly until the 4’ o clock shivers came- a routine for the past week. At twilight I recovered my stove and made tea, enjoying the beautiful morning glow touching Santa Cruz Peak. I finished off my cheesy polenta, the rest of my food as I watched the helicopter make several passes in and out of valley.
It took a while to get packed up again, my left arm was mostly useless and throbbing. Nonetheless I got going and made a stout pace under load. Passing the lake I enjoyed this wonderful interaction with a native guy. He insisted on using more body language than words asking if I would go swimming, teasing me like a child. I teased him back and we shared a peculiar exchange. I left that interaction energized.
When I arrived to the first established camp, after a few hours of walking, I spoke with an arriendo and his wife. They were very curious about the events unfolding in the valley. I divulged what had transpired in the past 24 hours in to what surprised me as remarkably fluent and clear spanish. The woman met the news with humor. The man was gentle and acknowledging. These responses landed with me as both natural and appropiate- meeting loss with deeper understanding.
This contrasted the interaction with a group of European/ American hikers that were standing around waiting for their things to be loaded by this native couple. I didn’t feel organically compelled to divulge much with them but after being offered a cigarette, which I sucked down, I shared a few brief facts. One of the girls remarked “that must be very stressful, undergoing what you just did alone”. Touched by her acknowledgment I began to cry again under my heavy pack, witnessed by the familiar serious undertone behind vacant faces. I thanked the situation and walked on, pushing on to the final couple of hours to Cashapampa.
Caraz, not far below Cashapampa, is where I am now and it is 330a and I must sleep now. But I am not worried. Tomorrow I will go to the doctor and get a nice meal. Today, tomorrow, however it reads, will be a good day, I already know it.
