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The Cordillera Huayhuash Circuit Part II – Free Donkeys and Hot Springs

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by Anita in Peru, South America

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Hikes, Mountains, Tours

Better weather on Day 6

Better weather on Day 6

By day six, the weather started co-operating with us and I awoke to brilliant sunshine.  However, trouble was brewing as evidenced by the worried and perplexed looks on our guides’ faces.  “The donkeys are gone”, were the first words said to me in response to my “Buenos Dias”.  “What do you mean they’re gone?  Where did they go?  Or were they stolen?  And what does that mean for our group?” (of course, this conversation happened in Spanish)

Our group at mealtimes

Our group at mealtimes

As it turned out, nobody knew what had happened to the donkeys – 6 of ours and 3 from another group camping close by.  Mario, our donkey wrangler, was besides himself as they represented his livelihood and he claimed that they’d never just wandered off before.  Without the donkeys, our trek could not continue as we’d have no way of transporting all of our equipment and fuel.  Javier, Julian and Mario set off on foot and horseback to look for the donkeys and we were told to stay put, worst case scenario being that we’d have to stay another night in the same camp.

Given how awful I felt after the day before, I was quite happy to have a morning of rest.

After about 3 hours, Mario returned convinced that they’d been stolen in the night by one of the local communities.  He was inconsolable.  Javier and Julian were still out looking.

Then, about an hour later, someone spotted the donkey dude from the other group, on horseback, corralling 9 donkeys back down the valley from literally what appeared to be at least 2000 feet up the mountain.  What the hell?

The man explained that he’d “found” the 9 donkeys in a CAVE way up the mountain side where they must have spent the night.

Seriously?!

Our horse, Luis Pajon.

Our horse, Luis Pajon.

From this point on, throughout the rest of the trek, we all decided that the donkeys had decided to go have themselves a good party that night.  Lots of laughs were had describing the lead donkey saying “You gotta check out the grass up there…it’s the best grass you’ve ever tasted” and the obvious double entendre.  While in the cave, we think the donkeys decided it was time to revolt from being human-load carriers- they were going to be Free Donkeys!

This became our toast of choice from this point forward.

Hot Springs and Cold Beer!

Hot Springs and Cold Beer!

Despite our late departure, we had another soul soothing experience to look forward to.  Our camp for this night was located directly next to a natural thermal pool!  After that many days without my skin touching water, it was an unbelievably wonderful feeling.  Add to that the fact that they were selling 1/2 litre bottles of beer for $2 and we had ourselves a fantastic afternoon soak.  It’s amazing how trekking can really help boil life down to the bare necessities, and have you appreciate them so much more.

The only other drama we sustained throughout the rest of our journey was losing 3 members of our group on two separate occasions.  On the first, I was one of the 3.  Since our guide was still way behind us walking with the older slower couple, the 3 faster walkers decided to just keep heading downhill after the highest pass, Punta Cuyoc, until we saw our campsite.  Unfortunately, we just kept going and going and never saw our tents.  I started feeling suspicious because Javier had said that the campsite should be reached within an hour of the pass?!  Eventually we stopped to discuss what to do, and we saw Julian walking towards us yelling.  Turns out, we’d walked at least an hour too far and now faced that same hour of walking uphill after what had already been a very difficult day of asent!  I was so disheartened I could barely speak until I collapsed in my tent.

At Punta Cuyoc, 5000m

At Punta Cuyoc, 5000m

2 days later, the older couple announced that they were leaving the trek.  It was getting too hard for them and we had descended to a village at 3200M where it would be possible for them to pick up a series of buses to get back to Huaraz.  I respected their decision and was secretly and selfishly glad to have our guide back.

Waiting for the rest of the group: turns out we'd walked an hour past our campsite

Waiting for the rest of the group: turns out we’d walked an hour past our campsite

The last three days were by far the best from a group and scenery perspective.  Unfortunately, I was sick again – the Cipro I’d taken hadn’t killed my strep infection and it was back with a vengeance.  The fact that I could still manage 1400m of ascent and high passes during a fever told me how fit I’d gotten with these miles of walking over the better part of two weeks.  I managed to buy more antibiotics at the general store (without prescription is perfectly normal in Peru) and hoped this would stamp it out for good.  I’d also lost a considerable amount of weight and my pants were starting to fall down (a good problem, I think).

Siula Grande!

Siula Grande!

Our group became very cohesive with just four clients and we had more intimate dinners and social times together.  The most incredible day was when we walked face to face with the magnificent Siula Grande mountain and there was not a cloud in the sky.  By far the most stunning mountain scenery I’ve ever had the grace to witness.

Jumping into the river to cool off

Jumping into the river to cool off

On our penultimate day, the weather actually got pretty hot- and we were all convinced to jump into the glacially cold river to cool off and clean up.  It was super fun.  That day was so relaxing and wonderful, though I’m sure it was aided by the knowledge that all we had in front of us was a five hour, mostly flat, walk out the next day to Llamac and our waiting bus!

The Cordillera Huayhuash Circuit – Part I – Guts and Glory

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by Anita in Peru

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Hikes, Mountains, Tours

View from Day 1

View from Day 1

I returned last night from one of the most physically and emotionally arduous walking journeys of my life. The Huayhuash circuit is legendary for its grand peaks that are close enough to touch, and its sheer unspoiled wilderness. I’d first heard about it through reading the book “Touching the Void” about the perilous and ill-fated attempt of two British climbers to scale Siula Grande for the first time.

I honestly can’t believe how much happened in these past ten days, but it will surely take some weeks to fully sink in. Just the appreciation of a real bed and the chance to rest today, and connect again with friends via the internet has been overwhelming. Doing this circuit really meant being completely cut off – and in my case, being cut off from anyone that could have a real conversation with me in English. It’s been a trying and demanding experience.

Our stunning campsite on night number 2

Our stunning campsite on night number 2

As you will recall, I began this journey with trepidation about whether I should even be getting on the bus. I’d just returned from my four day Santa Cruz trek and had developed a nasty sore throat and temperature. This turned out to be Strep, and for the first 3 days, I hiked and camped through a nasty fever and very weak disposition.

Javier and I - together again

Javier and I – together again

Our group was a huge surprise for me because it consisted of 4 Poles, 1 French Canadian, a Peruvian client and 3 Peruvian staff. I couldn’t believe that I was going to be in Peru for 10 days talking in Polish every day (and as it turned out, serving as somewhat of a translator between the Polish clients and our guides). So, bizarre as it was, I was relieved that I’d at least not be completely left out of every dinner conversation and could understand about 90% of what was being spoken. However, moving constantly in my brain between Polish, Spanish and French was very demanding and I longed to have a conversation in my mother tongue.

Our bumpy six hour ride to the trail head was soon relieved by the knowledge that we’d be camping right where the bus let us out. Our nice dinner however, was soon interrupted by a huge storm rolling in and our equally huge discovery that none of our tents were waterproof. Commotion and moving all of our gear into the cooking tent soon had all of our spirits dampened along with our gear. Upon waiting out the storm all smushed into one tent, the rain subsided and after drying out our tents, we trepidatiously agreed to try a night of sleep in them – the plan being that Javier (incidentally the same guide that I had on the Santa Cruz) would head out on horseback at 5am to get to the nearest town where there would be a signal and call Galaxia, our agency, and request that they send our group of 7 some new tents.

Rainbow on a chilly wet morning

Rainbox on a chilly wet morning

Javier returned around 11am with the assurance that new tents were on the way and we could get started on our day’s climb. Each day of this trek involved going over a pass that was in excess of 4500m, the highest one being 5030m or 16,500 feet. Still feeling very unwell, I paced myself and was very grateful when we arrived at our next campsite…that is, until we discovered that our agency had only sent 2 new tents – leaving 3 of us in the same predicament as before.

Seething, but with no other choice, the crew did what they could to patch up the best of the worst 3 tents left over with tarp and tape, and we prayed each night that it wouldn’t rain too badly.

What a way to start a 9 night trip in the high alpine.

Each day brought new highlights and lowlights. The scenery was absolutely stunning, though cloud and rain did obscure some views those first few days. We had a stunning sun break at our second campsite which was situated almost directly below towering white-capped peaks covered in glaciers that you could hear calving throughout the night. Our food was wonderfully prepared by our chef, Julian, and our guide, Javier did the best he could with a group that was easily split into 3 when it came to the speed at which we walked. A slightly older couple from Poland were the slowest, and what took half the group to cover in 7 hours, took them 11. This meant that for the most part, we were walking without a guide and relying on the cook or the donkey porter, Mario, to tell us the direction to walk.

Weather started to get bad on the way up the pass

Weather started to get bad on the way up the pass

This was all fine and good until day 4 when the weather became exceptionally bad and it became impossible to wait for others to “catch up”. I was trying to get to the top of the pass to catch up with Shirley and Janusz who had been in front, since half of the group with the guide were over an hour behind me. When I got to the pass, it started to snow – heavily. I waited as long as I could except that it soon became obvious that if I waited any longer, hypothermia was going to be a real problem and I had no emergency shelter with me. I started walking down the path hoping that the way would be obvious to the next campsite.

Unfortunately, the weather worsened and I soon found myself in a white out and started to panic. I had no map, no compass. I didn’t know which way camp was. I could start heading back up where I came from, but when I turned around the visibility was so bad I couldn’t re-trace my steps. Walking in whiteout conditions and hoping for the best, I spotted two figures in the distance and started yelling. It turned out to be two Australian independent backpackers who were kind enough to wait for me and show me the way down (at least as best they could with the visibility, but at least they had a map)

Weather has turned to snow and I have no idea where I'm going

Weather has turned to snow and I have no idea where I’m going

About two and a half hours later, I arrived in camp and promptly burst into tears in the cooking tent.  It was still raining.  Half way through the trek and that day didn’t feel safe by a long shot.

The Santa Cruz Trek – 4 days of spectacular scenery and suffering

23 Monday Jun 2014

Posted by Anita in Peru

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Hikes, Mountains, Tours

Santa Cruz Trek, Cordillera Blanca, Peru

Santa Cruz Trek, Cordillera Blanca, Peru

Despite some initial trepidation about needing more time to acclimatize, I booked my 4 day Santa Cruz trek with the Galaxia Tour Company in downtown Huaraz to leave the following morning. Marco, the very jovial owner, explained that it really was a trek designed to help a person acclimatize and should definitely be attempted before doing the Huayhuash Circuit. Since I got a nice discount, I booked both treks, knowing that I’d get a day and a half to recuperate between the two.

Entrance into the National Park

Entrance into the National Park

The first day went very well. Apart from a sleepness night, I managed to get a few hours of rest on the four hour bus ride to the trailhead. We had a five hour ascent to our first campsite. It started in a village and followed a lovely creek through a canyon that finally opened out into a beautiful meadow. Our guide, Javier, was delightful and I basically got a five hour Spanish lesson on that walk! He was very “amable” and I liked him a lot. The rest of our group comprised an retired French lady, a couple from Spain (who incidentally rarely stopped talking-ever) and two lovely young friends from Germany in their late twenties.

First lake

First lake

Our first campsite was at 3600 meters and we started the climb at 2900 meters. I could definitely feel it, but I was feeling ok all the same. The view from the meadow of the white-capped peaks was very impressive. I had my own tent and after a cozy dinner served in our private “mess tent” – I settled in for my first night in my own Eddie Bauer 0 degree sleeping bag: which I was so grateful I had brought along.

The next day the trail got interesting. First we passed several alpine lakes with plunging waterfalls descending from glaciers hanging overhead from towering peaks. Then we entered a wooded area followed by a desert like wide expanse of sand which made for difficult footing. I was starting to really feel the altitude, but so far, so good.   After lunch, we were heading up to a lake at 4400m. This was starting to get serious, altitude-wise. I should have done at least 2-3 acclimitization hikes before ascending this high and I’d only done one. My fingers were crossed.

Quatchi and the sand/desert section

Quatchi and the sand/desert section

Around 4100m I started to get a stomach ache. Next came bouts of nausea. Then the whole world starting to feel strange, as if the mountains were moving and I wasn’t. I felt panicked and sat down next to a stream. To make matters even worse – I realized that my period had started (6 days early and I’m usually regular) and I only had enough “stuff” to last about a day. From that point on…I stopped and asked every woman I passed if they had anything to spare. This managed to see me through most days…when it didn’t- well, I’ll spare you the details 😦

Sitting by that stream I started to cry. Javier came by and gave me some paracetomol telling me it would help. Did I want to continue to the lake or sit there and wait for him? Stubborn as I am and as much of an achiever as I am, I elected to continue.  Stupid, I know.

At the high altitude lake: found strength to jump right after being sick

At the high altitude lake: found strength to jump right after being sick

That next 45 minute ascent was as tough as the last 45 minutes on Rainier. I struggled for air and felt sick to my stomach. The view at the lake was worth it, and I collapsed onto a rock to take in the view…but felt worse by the minute.

Pierre and Malte, both having had AMS themselves on a previous trek, suggested I go down as soon as possible. Pierre asked “Maybe you’d feel better if you just puked?”

That did it.

I don’t know what it was- but that word did the trick and everything that I’d eaten or drank that day came back. After, feeling a little better, I started the descent with Javier who stayed with me despite my now dinosaur pace.

Beautiful Alpamayo

Beautiful Alpamayo

Getting into camp, it was all I could do to drink a little soup and then crawl into my sleeping bag. That was a really rough night. My heart felt like it was beating right out of my chest. I took some diamox and drank over a litre, getting up to pee at least 3 times. I felt so anxious and there was no-one to talk to about how I was feeling. So, pretty tough all around. Decided to take some Ambien so I could get at least a few hours of sleep.

In the morning, I felt pretty rough. My secondary womanly issues were not helping matters and I was emotionally overwrought. It was, of course, in this state of mind that I now had to face the toughest part of the 55 km circuit – the ascent to Punta Union at 4750 meters, which incidentally, is 15,583 feet – over 100 feet higher than Mount Rainier. Deep breaths.

Feeling ill on the way up to Punta Union

Feeling ill on the way up to Punta Union

It was slow going, but after 2 and a 1/2 hours of struggling with breath at every step, I made it. The next section, our guide wanted to try his “new route” that was supposed to be more beautiful. That’s great, but he didn’t mention it would include traipsing through thigh-tall grass and sinking into mud to your ankles. It made each step even more tiring. This was a 15 mile day, and by the time we walked into camp I had literally fallen over asleep mid-stride.

I crawled into my tent and set up my mattress and sleeping bag. No sooner had I crawled on top, not even bothering to remove my muddy pants, but I noticed what sounded like an entire school of children had decided to play a game of soccer, screaming simultaneously right outside my tent. This campsite was not the wilderness, we were in the midst of local villages. There was not going to be any rest for me before dinner, which was me forcing down some broth again. Our “bathroom” was this distant deserted looking building which I was assured was manned through the night. I trudged over there and found myself walking through a small river which I hadn’t seen with my headlight. The only reception I found was two barking dogs and no-one answering the door. Creeped out in the night, I miserably trudged through the field and found a place to dig a hole, to um, do my business (sorry – but that’s the reality of camping sometimes)

At the highest point on the trek

At the highest point on the trek

Our last morning was supposed to be super easy – only a 2 hour hike out before we would catch our bus back to Huaraz. I woke up feeling so much better and refreshed. We were told to wake up at our normal 6:30am so we could hit the trail at 8am. The ascent was actually steeper than I was expecting, but the prospect of a bus ride and a shower made it easier. We passed lots of interesting villages full of small smiling children waving greetings as we passed them by.

Arriving in the village of Vaqueria, we settled with some cold drinks to wait for our bus. The wait turned into 3 hours, with my questions regarding when the bus would arrive being constantly avoided. Welcome to Peru. Around 11:30 – they did serve us some lunch, but not before several of the group had given into their hunger buying themselves some lunch. Of course, no-one had told us we were going to be fed.

Sigh.

Towards the end of our trek

Towards the end of our trek

Then once we finally got going, we were told we had to stop at the trailhead for Laguna 69 to pick up some day hikers. “No te preocupes, solo 20 minutos”. Whenever a Peruvian says this, you know you should start worrying. 2 hours later, we finally hit the road and didn’t get back to Huaraz until after 7pm. I’d been reassured that we’d be back by 2, so I was pretty disappointed not to have any time to relax. I literally showered, ate some fruit, and passed out. Unfortunately, I’d also developed a sore throat and a fever which has continued into today…And I’m supposed to leave on the Huayhuash trek tomorrow morning!

Here’s hoping I feel better soon.

Climbing Mount Rainier: A Bittersweet Adventure Part I

14 Thursday Jul 2011

Posted by Anita in North America, United States, Washington State

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Mountaineering, Mountains

Climbing to Camp Muir

Clear skies on the climb to Camp Muir

After months of training-filled, REI-obsessed, anxiety-filled days, our weekend to climb Mt. Rainier had finally arrived.  It meant more than just the $1244 we had spent on the 3 ½ day trip, and the nearly $2,000 on gear.  It was about the almost six years that I had gazed at this mountain every time I drove across Lake Washington.  Each time I saw it haloed in a pink sunset as I drove south on Rainier Ave.  Every time it exclaimed its presence in a made-for- postcard photograph of downtown on a clear day.

The mountain had been calling me for a long time, and I had finally answered.

“I am ready.”

We arrived in Ashford, WA on a beautiful and sunny Saturday afternoon for our group gear check.  We were introduced to our lead guide, Josh, who seemed competent, professional and very mild mannered.  The kind of guy you like to have around in an emergency.

I learned a great deal that afternoon about gear, and more specifically- how to pack it.  My tips will be highlighted in a future post.

At the Camp Muir Hut

Our first night’s accommodation: a communal hut at Camp Muir

The morning we set out for Camp Muir (We were taking the standard Disappointment Cleaver or “D.C” route) was a blue-bird day, with bright sunshine and not a cloud in the sky.  The guides set a nice, slow, but steady pace on the ascent- which really helped to allay my fear of being the slowest member of the group.  We took five minute breaks every 60-90 minutes, and you made the most of the time by grabbing a snack and water quickly then resting your legs by sitting on your pack as soon as possible.

I was feeling very good about my fitness as this point.  All the workouts had paid off, and compared to when I had first climbed to Camp Muir over six weeks ago, my conditioning had surely improved.  The climb itself is about 4500 vertical feet of gain over 4.5 miles.  Arriving in the late afternoon on my first attempt, I remember truly struggling during the last hour to keep my legs moving; collapsing in a giant heap on arrival.

This time around, I was even able to chat to my fellow climbers on the ascent, and before I knew how much time had passed, I looked up to realize “oh, we’re here!”

Despite my ease with the ascent, a short rest before dinner was definitely in order and we all retreated to the hut that was to be our overnight accommodations to unpack necessary gear and take a nap.  I was happy I had brought earplugs along, as Gordon (who we thought strongly resembled Sean Connery) showed himself to be a very loud snorer almost immediately upon closing his eyes.

Phil Erschler, Co-Founder of IMG and climbing legend

With Phil Ershler, Co-Founder of IMG and climbing legend, whom I had met on my trek to Mount Everest the year before

International Mountain Guides, Alpine Ascents International, and RMI make up the three guiding companies that have permits to lead trips up Mount Rainier.  IMG and AAI “trade off” the nights that they use the hut at Muir, and the tents at Ingraham Flats – our destination for tomorrow’s second day hike.  They also have a cozy semi-permanent tent structure used for group meals, where everyone sits on plastic gear containers while the guides show off their impressive culinary skills.  That first night we were treated to some rather delicious burritos; though everything tastes better on a mountain, especially after a hard day of climbing.

Our group was a rather merry and cohesive bunch: Arnaud and I made the only “couple”, there was also a father/daughter team who were climbing the highest point in all 50 states together, two friends from Oklahoma, a Microsoft”ee” who was raising money for the National Park System on her climb, and a school teacher from Montana.  Between the eight of us were four guides, so each rope team would consist of two clients and a lead guide.  That is an impressive ratio and makes for personal attention and a great sense of safety.

Josh Smith, Climbing Guide for International Mountain Guides

Josh Smith, our fearless leader and climbing guide for International Mountain Guides

After hearing another very calmly presented brief on the following days’ activities (this got to be a thing with Josh and we teased him about it mercilessly) we all retired around 8pm for a long night’s sleep.

We would need as much rest as possible, since our start time the following night would be at midnight or 1am for the summit.

I slept pretty well, but when we awoke we quickly realized just how unreliable the weather forecast could be.  The wind was kicking up a storm, it was completely clouded over and the temperature with the wind chill had a sharp edge to it.  The forecast had called for calm, sunny skies again.

After a hearty breakfast of bacon, pancakes and coffee, we all put on our crampons for some glacier travel training.  Andy, the German guide (who later helped Arnaud and I form Team Euro trash by being our rope team leader) taught us methods of climbing that would keep the work mainly in the quad instead of the calf muscles: the “Duck Walk” and the “French Technique”, basically a side stepping, flat footed method.  He also had us practice descending on high gradient slopes so that we learned to trust that the spikes on our boots were going to keep us from falling so long as we placed them with force and did not tread in them with trepidation.

Next, we learned how to self-arrest and take a life-saving position should one of our team take a fall.  I found this part to be somewhat difficult, though not for physical reasons.

About a month ago, my guide from the trek I took to Mount Everest last year, Suzanne Allen, was killed in an accident while guiding a team of four on a descent from the summit of Denali.  Suzanne was a fearless leader, and her compassion, humor and generous nature impressed me during the time I knew her.  During our gear check, Josh had pointed out that the majority of falls on mountain climbs were due to poor crampon use, and that a guide had been killed on Denali earlier in the season when one of her team’s crampons had come loose causing him to trip and hurtle down the mountain pulling all four members of the rope team off the mountain with him, tumbling for over a thousand feet.  I got a lump in my throat as he said these words because I knew who he was talking about.

Suzanne Allen, Guide for Alpine Ascents International

With Suzanne Allen, in Thame, Nepal on our way to Everest

Having Suzanne on my mind made it difficult to hear my team mates’ voices calling “falling”.  On summit day, especially during our climb of the Disappointment Cleaver, a narrow ridge of steep rock and snow, I thought intensely about Suzanne and what it must have been like on that fateful day.  This made me quite emotional- especially when I later ran into some of her AAI colleagues from the Everest Trek on our return.

After some snacks, it was time to harness up and get on rope for our 1,000 or so foot climb up to our high camp on Ingraham Flats.  The weather had really taken a turn for the worst, and I felt a fear creep into the pit of my stomach for our summit bid.  We climbed in zero visibility and winds that battered our bodies at every step.

There were moments where I found myself losing balance and felt as though I would be blown off the side of the mountain.  With every step, it was crucial to maintain two points of contact with the ground- so I moved my ice axe up before taking my next step, which was sort of counter-intuitive.

Strange as it sounds, I found that hour and a half climb to be more physically and mentally challenging than the previous day’s climb to Camp Muir.

On arrival at Ingraham Flats, I was cold to the bone and crawled into our tent and quickly got into my sleeping bag trying to warm up.  It was pretty futile, and I grew almost resentful of Arnaud who happily started snoring as soon as he got in his bag.  His ability to sleep anywhere, at any time, makes him a better alpinist, I swear!

The winds were really picking up outside and it proved very challenging to relieve yourself, your butt attacked by the now driving snow and biting wind.  It’s funny now, in retrospect- but it was painful then, and it took a long time to warm back up.

Andreas Polloczek, Guide for International Mountain Guides

Dinner at Ingraham Flats with leader of Team Euro Trash, Andy

We dined in a little tent around 3pm on a bowl of pasta and Italian sausage.  Josh gave us the dire news that they were expecting 35 mph winds at this altitude and 55mph at the summit around midnight.  They were due to begin calming down through the night, but as he explained, we simply wouldn’t know the exact situation until we were in it.  He told the group that he would wake around midnight to check conditions, and wake the group at some point between then and 2am when he felt the weather was optimal.  I have to admit at this point, I went to bed at 5pm with only a little hope left in my heart for success.

But I guess that depends on one’s measure of success- is it reaching the summit of a mountain, or returning home safe and sound with more experience than when you set out?

Find out what happened next in Tuesday’s post.

Climbing Mount Baker & Why I Love Mountaineering

22 Wednesday Jun 2011

Posted by Anita in North America, United States, Washington State

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Climbing, Mountaineering, Mountains

Skiers Climbing Mount Baker

Lots of skiers climb Baker too: you sympathize with them on the ascent, then wish a plague on their houses as they fly past you on the descent

Your brain finally registers that the beeping sound is your alarm clock. You can hear the wind howling outside, battering the tent, and every rational thought tells you to stay snug and warm inside your sleeping bag.  But it’s 1 AM, and it’s time to set out for the summit.  Struggling with heavy eyelids, you start to dress, not forgetting your down parka which will help ease the transition to the cold darkness outside. Gear is checked, crampons, helmet and headlamp are attached.  The team finally assembles on the snowfield to rope up together. One final safety check on each harness — and we begin trudging off into the night.

No sound left except for the crunch of the snow under your boots, and the heaving sound of your breath.

This might sound like an odd recipe for fun, but the night time summit climb is the most magical element of mountaineering.  It’s difficult to imagine unless you’ve experienced it: but the atmosphere created by the cold starry night, the illuminated path ahead, the crunching snow, and the adrenaline pumping through you as you allow yourself to imagine the sweetness of a successful summit bid is wondrous.

I’ve been trekking in the mountains ever since I was a small child, but it was the climb I did in Bolivia of Huayna Potosi (19,996 ft), that got me interested in alpinism.  I love putting my body through extreme physical challenge and finding out what it is truly capable of.  I enjoy the re-discovering of eating food as fuel.  I love the peace I  feel in the mountains, and the scenery that takes me away from the routine of city life. This is where I am most comfortable (when I’m not traveling, of course, although I have tried to incorporate more climbs/treks into my travels as the years go by. I find I now gravitate towards the natural landscapes versus the urban sprawl.)

Climbers ready for summit attempt

Arnaud and I ready for our summit attempt

After returning from my travels in April, Arnaud and I decided to sign up for a climb of Mount Rainier. I have wanted to climb this mountain for six years, but somehow always found an excuse not to do it ‘this summer’.  I think having a partner to train with, and ultimately to share the experience with was a huge part of actually making this commitment easier to make.  It would also give me a sense of focus and a goal to work toward; something that has really helped me with my “away sickness” since returning from traveling.

At 14,411 feet, and a starting point at 5400 feet, this is no easy mountain. It holds the added complication of having to deal with significant altitude gain over a short period time, especially for those of us that live at sea level. Mount Rainier is the most glaciated mountain in the contiguous United States with 26 major glacier as well as 35 square miles of glaciers and permanent snowfields – so being competent traversingr ice is also important.

We started training for this endeavor quite late in the game, at the end of April.  For me personally, this has meant three or four workouts during the week, consisting of a combination of intense cardio like running, stair master, or biking, with strength training like free weights and Pilates.  On the weekends, Arnaud and I have tried to fit in at least one big hike of at least 3000 vertical feet, have gradually increased the weight we are carrying as we climb, building up to around 40 pounds.

As our last major training session before the big climb, we got together with a group of friends to attempt the climbingof Mount Baker.  Though only 10,781 feet tall, with a trailhead of 3500 feet, and a similar start time for the summit bid, it was going to put us through a very similar scenario to a climb of Rainier.

 

Climbing Mount Baker on a rope team

The Rope Team sets out into the night, Cory, our leader has the red headlamp

We climbed the weekend of June 4 and 5th, and we were lucky enough to have fantastic weather. Arnaud and I had learned our lesson climbing up to Camp Muir two weeks before, and elected to wear our new ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ sun hats to protect against the rays of the sun beating down on us, and reflecting from the snow below. Staying well hydrated was also key on this trek – once the dehydration headache begins, it is almost impossible to shake, so drinking plenty of fluid is vital.

We took the Coleman Deming route on the mountain, and given the amount of snow pack received over the winter, most of the crevasses were currently covered — our greatest concern as highlighted by the Rangers at the National Forest Service Station was going to be avalanche. As such, we needed to move our summit attempt up from 3 AM to 1 AM to ensure that we were past the most dangerous part of the ice field before the sun’s rays hit with their full daytime strength.

Climbing Mount Baker

Sun hits the slope behind Arnaud

This was the first time I was attempting a summit of a glaciated peak without an experienced professional guide with me. On some levels, I was nervous and felt under experienced.  On the other hand, I knew that we would all turn around if we were faced with a potentially treacherous situation.  Luckily, the head of our team had ample rope experience and crevasse rescue skills; however, in hindsight this mountain should not be attempted unless every member of the team has these in abundance.

We didn’t make it into our base camp until around eight o’clock at night, having learned our first lesson: leave Seattle much earlier. Having not found the flat plateau we were promised for our tents, we elected to set up a camp on a slightly undulating slope requiring us to dig out tent platforms using a shovel. Tensions were high, as we were exhausted and hungry, plus the winds were truly picking up.

The following day, we discovered the plateau was only another fifteen minutes or so of climbing ahead of us.

Rehydrated hot food never tastes as good as it does inside a tent after a long hard day of climbing. We soon passed out, though I went to sleep believing that we would all be too tired after only a couple hours of sleep to go for the summit.  Looking back, this removed my anxiety about getting up so early, and actually helped me get a full two hours of rest.

Climbing Mount Baker Coleman Deming Route

On the Rope Team

Strangely enough, I awoke at 1 AM feeling quite rested and alert. I could hear the other members stirring in their tents.  I dressed, and stepped outside onto the snow.

What I saw took my breath away.  It was a clear night, stars were twinkling overhead, and the lights from the city of Bellingham shone below like a thousand lit up Christmas trees, creating an orange glow in the lower sky.

I was excited.

Once on the move, our team progressed slowly but steadily. Only five of the seven of us were heading out for the summit, and I was unsure about the condition of two of the members who seemed to be struggling.  I was surprised by how good I was feeling despite the lack of sleep… I felt like I could keep climbing forever.

Unfortunately, at about 9300 feet, a member of our team stopped and declared that he could not go any further. He said that his feet were soaked through, and his toes were frozen (I hadn’t realized his boots were not mountaineering boots- Arnaud and I were wearing double insulated plastic boots and our feet were toasty- this is why climbing with the right equipment for the conditions is so essential.)

 

Mount Baker on the Coleman Deming Route

In our 'Lawrence of Arabia' hats: We'll be back to try again

With only about two hours to go to victory, I was deeply disappointed, but I knew we had to turn around since we were all roped up together and one person’s failure would mean the failure of the entire team.   I fought the urge to complain and commiserate with myself out loud, as we began our descent to base camp.

It was still an amazing experience, and I know Mount Baker will be there for me to climb again, this time with more skill and more experience.   And I was very happy that Arnaud got to experience one of my favorite things about mountaineering: the nighttime summit bid.

There really is nothing else like it.

Our climb of Mount Rainier is scheduled for the 25-28th of June.   I will be following this post with a detailed account upon my return.

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anitagotravel

anitagotravel

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