Rock climbing and especially alpine climbing guides have a hard hard job. Imagine yourself as a guide: any Tom Dick or Harry (or Sofía, or Wei, or Rolf, or Bob) with enough disposable income can hire you. I fill out an online form, enter a credit card number, and shazam, you are hired to rope up with me to haul me up a steep, icy, crevasse strewn mountain.
High on Illiniza Sur
You have no way of knowing ahead of time my level of skills, fitness or temperament. For two days, and the intervening night, your job is to keep me from killing myself and taking you out in the process!
I've filled out an online form for the guide company Andean Summit Adventure and entered a credit card number, so on Saturday morning the 27th of January, 2018, a white Toyota SUV pulls up outside of my Casapaxi hostal and I meet my guide, Jaime Vargas. Jaime is certified by the Asociación Ecuatoriana de Guías de Montaña, and International Federation of Mountain Guides Associations. He has a National Guide Certification from the Ministry of Tourism. He speaks Spanish, Castilian, English, French and German. And, we have similar hair cuts, or lack there of. I feel we'll get along fine.
Our first objective is Illiniza Sur, considered a technical climb. It would be a challenge for a hiker but my Cornell Outdoor Education wellness class graduates could easily manage the rock climbing. We could practice the skills at the Lindseth Climbing wall by climbing a 5.6 route wearing clogs and breathing through dust masks partly covered with duct tape. We could practice the ice climbing on a styrofoam coated ladder wearing clogs and swinging a carpenter's rip hammer.
Illiniza Sur from Illiniza Norte
Photo by others
With a summit elevation of 17,267 it's the sixth highest mountain in Ecuador and pretty darn high for me. Those 3,000 additional feet above a Colorado 14er are significant. Five years ago I climbed Illiniza Norte, (about 500 feet lower than Illiniza Sur), and was then turned back by wind conditions on Mt. Chimborazo, so at least that time I was okay with the elevation. Although that's reassuring, one can never tell how altitude will affect you. And, five additional years doesn't help considering I was born in the year that the Micky Mouse Club debut on TV and Disneyland opened in California.
I've been training for this trip with years of the Oxygen Compensation Driver, Schoellkopf Mountain Upward Resource Facilitator training program, ( otherwise known as the OCD SMURF).
For acclimatization, I've been visiting my sister Jeanne in Cuenca (elevation 8,400 feet) for over a week, went on a day hike up to 12 or 13,000 feet, been in Quito at 9,350 feet for three days and climbed up Rucu Pichincha at 15,696 two and a half times (see my story Ecuador? WTF?).
For nutrition, I've stuffed myself with Salchipapas.
Travel tip: any culture worth visiting has discovered the culinary and cardiatric delights of heaping several types of fat on top of French Fries. In the US there are chili cheese fries, Irish have curry chips, and Canadians really excel with poutine. Fries, cheese curds and gravy? Make mine a double! While writing this story, I spent a pleasant afternoon investigating and daydreaming about Fat on Fries Around the World
It takes a couple of hours to drive from my hostal to the Illiniza trail head. We pass through residential neighborhoods and along commercial strips before reaching the freeway. We cross a bridge high above a raging torrent cut through impossibly steep walls of volcanic deposits. Jaime explains how the beautiful cascade below is a sluice of raw sewage. He discusses problems with the Ecuadorian government and environmental policies. He is not just fluent in the English language, his elocution and insight enter my ears and become scrambled in the sponge of my vacuous cranium.
The road to the trailhead has accumulated five years of ruts and potholes since my last visit, without the benefit of maintenance. My brain finishes scrambling from the vehicles concussions. How do Ecuadorian vehicles survive their first month?
At the trailhead, we change into mountain boots, shoulder packs, and begin the hike up to the Illiniza refugio. I just carry my personal clothing and gear, while Jaime is additionally burdened with rope, pickets, and group gear. We meet several guides descending with their clients. Jaime seems to know all of them and I imagine their conversations include information about conditions on the mountains, catching up on family news, and maybe discussing us clients:
Jaime on left
Jaime 'How was your client?' Other guide 'Awesome, very strong and skilled, he told jokes in Spanish and brought home made baklava to share. How about your guy over there?' Jaime 'seems like a dolt with a shaken brain. And he stops all the time to take inane pictures. But he filled out his online form and his credit card went through.'
We continue plodding up the well worn trail until we notice a large group coming up behind us. Jaime asks if I'll be okay continuing by myself so that he can go up to reserve spaces in the refugio. I wheeze an affirmation and he disappears up the slope. I continue to slog along, being passed by other climbers. By this time, clouds have descended and the trail above fades into the mist. A lone climber descends from above. It's Jaime! And he's come back down, to carry my pack up! This feels shameful, but he insists, saying something about his job is to maximize my chance of summiting and it provides a bit of extra conditioning for him. By the time he's done with his explanation, it sounds like I'm doing him a favor by allowing him the honor of carrying my gear. So I continue up, packless, to the Refugio, nestled in the col between Illiniza Sur and Illiniza Norte.
Illiniza Refugio
Illiniza Sur visible above cliff band
Jaime has claimed a low bunk for the two of us, located at the back corner of the refugio. This is more strategic and significant than you might think. It's the most secluded part of the hut, though secluded is a generous description. Here's why I appreciate that Jaime claimed a bed on the fringes of the impending nocturnal hubbub:
Three fourths of the single room is crammed with double decker beds tightly fitted on the sides. Most beds are wide enough for three strangers to lie cozily adjacent to each other, and on busy nights every available square foot might be occupied. Reckless snuggling is not a bad thing for shared warmth in the unheated space. At 15,416 feet, this hut is 911 feet higher than Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous United States.
Aisles are only between the ends of the bunks (presumably to promote continuous cuddling from wall to wall). They are just wide enough for two people to pass, though not without leaning into the bunk space if the climbers are wearing layers of Primaloft and down.
Prime bunk location!
Despite everyone's need for sleep, nightime in the hut is far from tranquil. All through the night: climbers arrive late and search for mattress space; snoozing climbers cough and sniffle due to the altitude; nervous climbers rustle around, get up once or twice to go pee; headlamps pierce the room like dueling light sabers, (a conscientious few use dim red lamps); climbers wake up, double check their summit packs, get dressed in the narrow aisles, lace on mountain boots, and clomp to the constantly banging front door. Through it all, the guides snore blissfully, dreaming of how to prevent their clients from killing themselves on the climb the next day.
I pack and check and recheck my gear, set out clothing to wear, gloves, boots, gaiters, my ever present trusty red anorak, readying climbing harness, ice axe and crampons, over mittens, waterproof jacket and pants, sun glasses and cream... Hopefully I organize enough so that I won't cause too much disturbance when its my turn to clomp to the banging front door.
In the front fourth of the refugio sit two picnic tables placed end-to-end. In an alcove near the bunks is a tiled kitchen. On one burner sits a big pot of boiling water from which endless cups of tea warm and hydrate the guides and their charges.
Dining and kitchen area
We assemble on the picnic table benches and from the hands of the refugio caretaker, a feast issues forth. Bowls of steaming soup, fragrant and sustaining. Then plates of succulent chicken, (or eggs for the vegetarians, not sure if there's a vegan option), topping a mound of rice heaped to the angle of repose, all drenched in luscious sauce. I eat prodigiously, despite shoveling a large portion onto Jaime's plate.
Refugio Dinner attire
During dinner, I notice a guy with a water bottle from the Mountaineer Store in the Adirondacks. I strike up a conversation and learn that he also runs stairs for conditioning. His intimacy with stairs is inspiring and frightening. It is my understanding that he participated in an event called the American Lung Association Fight For Air Climb and climbed 29,029 vertical feet of stairs in 24 hours, the height of Mt. Everest! How can my OCD SMURF preparation possibly be enough?
A guide calls us outside. At the fringes of light cast through the windows of the refugio a few cautious forms emerge. The exotic sight turns all of us clients into zoological paparazzi. The guides tell us the animals come to scavenge leavings from the refugio. Later research suggests they are Andean Fox or wolf.
After dinner, more tea, and a final visit to the bottom numbing toilet, I crawl into my bunk and join the bevy of clients nervously rustling and sniffling in our pursuit of rest.
We wake up at 10pm or midnight or 1 am or some other confusing hour. An "Alpine Start". I quadruple check my summit pack, get dressed in the narrow aisle, lace on mountain boots, and clomp to the picnic table. Jaime and I drink cup after cup of tea, eat some bread and jam, shoulder our packs, adjust clothing and helmet and exit the constantly banging front door.
We begin hiking by headlamp. Guides start off at what first seems like a comically slow pace. Lift a foot, move it forward, place it back down. Lift the other foot, move it forward, place it back down. Later on when it gets steep, that same pace takes great will power to maintain. I follow the essence of Jaime: a spot of light and big yellow boots rising and falling, rising and falling.
We arrive at a level area with a few boulders protruding from the snow. We put on crampons and I tie into the rope. We double check each other. Every single time. Even though he is a guide.
Transition to snow and ice
My existence reduces to the familiar meditative symphony of lifting feet and breathing. Step, step, plunge the ice axe, breathe, breathe, breathe. At steep or crevasse-risky places Jaime climbs up, establishes an anchor, and then belays me from above. I like to think that I've established some level of cred by not slipping and falling all over the place.
As we move upward, voices and then head lamp beams rise from below. As I plod up and up, puffing like a steam engine, a pair of unroped alpinists pass us, conversing as though they're strolling along the sidewalk. We wish each other safe climbs, and they vanish up into the dark. Jaime climbs the technical section and establishes a belay. I climb and am surprised and pleased that the ice and rock are not as difficult as I expected.
As we climb, my universe expands from the circle of my headlamp to include a faint separation of land and sky. Beginning as dark forms against the black sky, surrounding masses gain texture. After more minutes of watching my boots rise and fall, the surrounding snow fades into view. I switch off my headlamp and we continue up.
The slope eases and Jaime's big yellow boots pause. I sag onto the ice axe, thankful for the rest. He points behind me. In my absence, Illiniza Norte has turned to face the sun.
Illiniza Norte
Although we remain in the shadow of our destination, the brightening sky brings joy and strength.
I puff my way up another steep section. Ahead, within reach: the sun and gentler slopes of the summit cone.
With renewed energy I continue up, passing glorious snow and rock. Symmetrical Cotopaxi in the distance awaits a future visit. For now, step step breathe.
Eventually, there are no more steep or even upward inclines for my legs to work on.
Summibration with Jaime & my trusty red anorak
Jaime and I hug. Under what other circumstances do strangers hug? Yet for me it feels instinctive to celebrate such an intense experience by showing gratitude and connection. With a hug.
It occurs to me, this is the true reward of guides. To make these life affirming experiences possible for others.
We put on layers, take pictures, guzzle liquids, throw food in our mouths. We congratulate other climbers arriving and departing the summit, Jaime reconnects with his guide friends. I linger to maximize my immersion in the beauty of nature, and the experience.
Eventually, it is time to descend. And descend we do!
On steep parts, I face the slope, kicking in the front points of my crampons while Jaime belays me from an anchored stance above. Then when I get to a safe stance, he climbs down. As he descends, I give him a boot-axe belay though I question whether I could actually stop him if he fell. And if he fell into a crevasse, I question my ability to haul him out. Good thing I've taken the Cornell Outdoor Education vertical rescue training class. Too bad it was years ago and I haven't practiced since.
The slope angle eases and although I am not experienced enough to feel comfortable, we turn to face out because we can move faster. Jaime uses a short rope technique to keep me safe. I plunge step my way down, my confidence only achieved through the slender nylon connection with Jaime.
When we reach safer ground, we unrope...
and I return to the business of putting one foot in front of the other...
We stop at the refugio and devour heaping plates of fried eggs and rice, accompanied by the unceasing cups of tea. Giddy climbers congratulate each other, trying ( and generally failing ) to be mindful of those who did not reach their objectives. The guides congratulate each other for yet again surviving the antics of their clients.
We repack our overnight gear, shoulder our packs, and descend.
Back down to green grass, showers, and Salchipapas.
High on Illiniza Sur
You have no way of knowing ahead of time my level of skills, fitness or temperament. For two days, and the intervening night, your job is to keep me from killing myself and taking you out in the process!
I've filled out an online form for the guide company Andean Summit Adventure and entered a credit card number, so on Saturday morning the 27th of January, 2018, a white Toyota SUV pulls up outside of my Casapaxi hostal and I meet my guide, Jaime Vargas. Jaime is certified by the Asociación Ecuatoriana de Guías de Montaña, and International Federation of Mountain Guides Associations. He has a National Guide Certification from the Ministry of Tourism. He speaks Spanish, Castilian, English, French and German. And, we have similar hair cuts, or lack there of. I feel we'll get along fine.
Our first objective is Illiniza Sur, considered a technical climb. It would be a challenge for a hiker but my Cornell Outdoor Education wellness class graduates could easily manage the rock climbing. We could practice the skills at the Lindseth Climbing wall by climbing a 5.6 route wearing clogs and breathing through dust masks partly covered with duct tape. We could practice the ice climbing on a styrofoam coated ladder wearing clogs and swinging a carpenter's rip hammer.
Illiniza Sur from Illiniza Norte
Photo by others
With a summit elevation of 17,267 it's the sixth highest mountain in Ecuador and pretty darn high for me. Those 3,000 additional feet above a Colorado 14er are significant. Five years ago I climbed Illiniza Norte, (about 500 feet lower than Illiniza Sur), and was then turned back by wind conditions on Mt. Chimborazo, so at least that time I was okay with the elevation. Although that's reassuring, one can never tell how altitude will affect you. And, five additional years doesn't help considering I was born in the year that the Micky Mouse Club debut on TV and Disneyland opened in California.
I've been training for this trip with years of the Oxygen Compensation Driver, Schoellkopf Mountain Upward Resource Facilitator training program, ( otherwise known as the OCD SMURF).
For acclimatization, I've been visiting my sister Jeanne in Cuenca (elevation 8,400 feet) for over a week, went on a day hike up to 12 or 13,000 feet, been in Quito at 9,350 feet for three days and climbed up Rucu Pichincha at 15,696 two and a half times (see my story Ecuador? WTF?).
For nutrition, I've stuffed myself with Salchipapas.
Travel tip: any culture worth visiting has discovered the culinary and cardiatric delights of heaping several types of fat on top of French Fries. In the US there are chili cheese fries, Irish have curry chips, and Canadians really excel with poutine. Fries, cheese curds and gravy? Make mine a double! While writing this story, I spent a pleasant afternoon investigating and daydreaming about Fat on Fries Around the World
It takes a couple of hours to drive from my hostal to the Illiniza trail head. We pass through residential neighborhoods and along commercial strips before reaching the freeway. We cross a bridge high above a raging torrent cut through impossibly steep walls of volcanic deposits. Jaime explains how the beautiful cascade below is a sluice of raw sewage. He discusses problems with the Ecuadorian government and environmental policies. He is not just fluent in the English language, his elocution and insight enter my ears and become scrambled in the sponge of my vacuous cranium.
The road to the trailhead has accumulated five years of ruts and potholes since my last visit, without the benefit of maintenance. My brain finishes scrambling from the vehicles concussions. How do Ecuadorian vehicles survive their first month?
At the trailhead, we change into mountain boots, shoulder packs, and begin the hike up to the Illiniza refugio. I just carry my personal clothing and gear, while Jaime is additionally burdened with rope, pickets, and group gear. We meet several guides descending with their clients. Jaime seems to know all of them and I imagine their conversations include information about conditions on the mountains, catching up on family news, and maybe discussing us clients:
Jaime on left
Jaime 'How was your client?' Other guide 'Awesome, very strong and skilled, he told jokes in Spanish and brought home made baklava to share. How about your guy over there?' Jaime 'seems like a dolt with a shaken brain. And he stops all the time to take inane pictures. But he filled out his online form and his credit card went through.'
We continue plodding up the well worn trail until we notice a large group coming up behind us. Jaime asks if I'll be okay continuing by myself so that he can go up to reserve spaces in the refugio. I wheeze an affirmation and he disappears up the slope. I continue to slog along, being passed by other climbers. By this time, clouds have descended and the trail above fades into the mist. A lone climber descends from above. It's Jaime! And he's come back down, to carry my pack up! This feels shameful, but he insists, saying something about his job is to maximize my chance of summiting and it provides a bit of extra conditioning for him. By the time he's done with his explanation, it sounds like I'm doing him a favor by allowing him the honor of carrying my gear. So I continue up, packless, to the Refugio, nestled in the col between Illiniza Sur and Illiniza Norte.
Illiniza Refugio
Illiniza Sur visible above cliff band
Jaime has claimed a low bunk for the two of us, located at the back corner of the refugio. This is more strategic and significant than you might think. It's the most secluded part of the hut, though secluded is a generous description. Here's why I appreciate that Jaime claimed a bed on the fringes of the impending nocturnal hubbub:
Three fourths of the single room is crammed with double decker beds tightly fitted on the sides. Most beds are wide enough for three strangers to lie cozily adjacent to each other, and on busy nights every available square foot might be occupied. Reckless snuggling is not a bad thing for shared warmth in the unheated space. At 15,416 feet, this hut is 911 feet higher than Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous United States.
Aisles are only between the ends of the bunks (presumably to promote continuous cuddling from wall to wall). They are just wide enough for two people to pass, though not without leaning into the bunk space if the climbers are wearing layers of Primaloft and down.
Prime bunk location!
Despite everyone's need for sleep, nightime in the hut is far from tranquil. All through the night: climbers arrive late and search for mattress space; snoozing climbers cough and sniffle due to the altitude; nervous climbers rustle around, get up once or twice to go pee; headlamps pierce the room like dueling light sabers, (a conscientious few use dim red lamps); climbers wake up, double check their summit packs, get dressed in the narrow aisles, lace on mountain boots, and clomp to the constantly banging front door. Through it all, the guides snore blissfully, dreaming of how to prevent their clients from killing themselves on the climb the next day.
I pack and check and recheck my gear, set out clothing to wear, gloves, boots, gaiters, my ever present trusty red anorak, readying climbing harness, ice axe and crampons, over mittens, waterproof jacket and pants, sun glasses and cream... Hopefully I organize enough so that I won't cause too much disturbance when its my turn to clomp to the banging front door.
In the front fourth of the refugio sit two picnic tables placed end-to-end. In an alcove near the bunks is a tiled kitchen. On one burner sits a big pot of boiling water from which endless cups of tea warm and hydrate the guides and their charges.
Dining and kitchen area
We assemble on the picnic table benches and from the hands of the refugio caretaker, a feast issues forth. Bowls of steaming soup, fragrant and sustaining. Then plates of succulent chicken, (or eggs for the vegetarians, not sure if there's a vegan option), topping a mound of rice heaped to the angle of repose, all drenched in luscious sauce. I eat prodigiously, despite shoveling a large portion onto Jaime's plate.
Refugio Dinner attire
During dinner, I notice a guy with a water bottle from the Mountaineer Store in the Adirondacks. I strike up a conversation and learn that he also runs stairs for conditioning. His intimacy with stairs is inspiring and frightening. It is my understanding that he participated in an event called the American Lung Association Fight For Air Climb and climbed 29,029 vertical feet of stairs in 24 hours, the height of Mt. Everest! How can my OCD SMURF preparation possibly be enough?
A guide calls us outside. At the fringes of light cast through the windows of the refugio a few cautious forms emerge. The exotic sight turns all of us clients into zoological paparazzi. The guides tell us the animals come to scavenge leavings from the refugio. Later research suggests they are Andean Fox or wolf.
After dinner, more tea, and a final visit to the bottom numbing toilet, I crawl into my bunk and join the bevy of clients nervously rustling and sniffling in our pursuit of rest.
We wake up at 10pm or midnight or 1 am or some other confusing hour. An "Alpine Start". I quadruple check my summit pack, get dressed in the narrow aisle, lace on mountain boots, and clomp to the picnic table. Jaime and I drink cup after cup of tea, eat some bread and jam, shoulder our packs, adjust clothing and helmet and exit the constantly banging front door.
We begin hiking by headlamp. Guides start off at what first seems like a comically slow pace. Lift a foot, move it forward, place it back down. Lift the other foot, move it forward, place it back down. Later on when it gets steep, that same pace takes great will power to maintain. I follow the essence of Jaime: a spot of light and big yellow boots rising and falling, rising and falling.
We arrive at a level area with a few boulders protruding from the snow. We put on crampons and I tie into the rope. We double check each other. Every single time. Even though he is a guide.
Transition to snow and ice
My existence reduces to the familiar meditative symphony of lifting feet and breathing. Step, step, plunge the ice axe, breathe, breathe, breathe. At steep or crevasse-risky places Jaime climbs up, establishes an anchor, and then belays me from above. I like to think that I've established some level of cred by not slipping and falling all over the place.
As we move upward, voices and then head lamp beams rise from below. As I plod up and up, puffing like a steam engine, a pair of unroped alpinists pass us, conversing as though they're strolling along the sidewalk. We wish each other safe climbs, and they vanish up into the dark. Jaime climbs the technical section and establishes a belay. I climb and am surprised and pleased that the ice and rock are not as difficult as I expected.
As we climb, my universe expands from the circle of my headlamp to include a faint separation of land and sky. Beginning as dark forms against the black sky, surrounding masses gain texture. After more minutes of watching my boots rise and fall, the surrounding snow fades into view. I switch off my headlamp and we continue up.
The slope eases and Jaime's big yellow boots pause. I sag onto the ice axe, thankful for the rest. He points behind me. In my absence, Illiniza Norte has turned to face the sun.
Illiniza Norte
Although we remain in the shadow of our destination, the brightening sky brings joy and strength.
I puff my way up another steep section. Ahead, within reach: the sun and gentler slopes of the summit cone.
With renewed energy I continue up, passing glorious snow and rock. Symmetrical Cotopaxi in the distance awaits a future visit. For now, step step breathe.
Eventually, there are no more steep or even upward inclines for my legs to work on.
Summibration with Jaime & my trusty red anorak
Jaime and I hug. Under what other circumstances do strangers hug? Yet for me it feels instinctive to celebrate such an intense experience by showing gratitude and connection. With a hug.
It occurs to me, this is the true reward of guides. To make these life affirming experiences possible for others.
We put on layers, take pictures, guzzle liquids, throw food in our mouths. We congratulate other climbers arriving and departing the summit, Jaime reconnects with his guide friends. I linger to maximize my immersion in the beauty of nature, and the experience.
Eventually, it is time to descend. And descend we do!
On steep parts, I face the slope, kicking in the front points of my crampons while Jaime belays me from an anchored stance above. Then when I get to a safe stance, he climbs down. As he descends, I give him a boot-axe belay though I question whether I could actually stop him if he fell. And if he fell into a crevasse, I question my ability to haul him out. Good thing I've taken the Cornell Outdoor Education vertical rescue training class. Too bad it was years ago and I haven't practiced since.
The slope angle eases and although I am not experienced enough to feel comfortable, we turn to face out because we can move faster. Jaime uses a short rope technique to keep me safe. I plunge step my way down, my confidence only achieved through the slender nylon connection with Jaime.
When we reach safer ground, we unrope...
and I return to the business of putting one foot in front of the other...
We stop at the refugio and devour heaping plates of fried eggs and rice, accompanied by the unceasing cups of tea. Giddy climbers congratulate each other, trying ( and generally failing ) to be mindful of those who did not reach their objectives. The guides congratulate each other for yet again surviving the antics of their clients.
We repack our overnight gear, shoulder our packs, and descend.
Back down to green grass, showers, and Salchipapas.
It's always a special treat to read your stories, Bob. Congratulations.
ReplyDeleteExcellent story Bob. Wondering if you slept 24 straight hours after this adventure?
ReplyDeleteLove your story. In 1982 I climbed Illiniza Norte and Sur, Cotpopaxi, Chimborazo, and Tungurhua with guides from the American Alpine Institute out of Bellinham, WA. We were fortunate enough to be the only climbers in the refugios on Illiniza Sur and Chimborazo. Reading your story brought back many fond memories.
ReplyDelete