TR: Aconcagua (long)

[Henry]

Cerro Aconcagua, Argentina. 6962m
Polish Glacier Route.

December 14th, 1997 - January 1st, 1998

This isn't (even in my own mind) a story about desperate feats of
technical climbing on heroic routes touched only by the chosen few.
Instead it is a story about mediocrity, inexperience, altitude and
weather, a story of personal insight, perseverence and patience. Like so
many of the people on Aconcagua, this was the first time that we had
attempted such a high mountain, and our first exposure to high altitude.

For many months Jim and I had been talking about a trip to the Andes in
December, but by mid November we still had nothing but a dozen half-baked
plans. We finally chose Aconcagua for a number of reasons, firstly because
it would be in season - unlike further north in South America, secondly
the weather is more reliable - unlike further south in South America where
four weeks may not be long enough to find a good climbing window, thirdly
the logistics of access and route information couldn't be easier - which
was important since we only had a couple of weeks to prepare, and finally
(yes I admit it) for the numbers - 6962m. After reaching the top of this
it would never again be necessary to consider altitude as a reason for
climbing a peak anywhere on the globe outside of a region slightly larger
than western China.

The scale of the mountain first began to become apparent as we looked at
the pile of food in the trolley at the supermarket in Mendoza. Back at the
hostel we already had packs that were bursting with gear and more weight
than we wanted to carry any distance. Add three weeks food to that and it
became clear that this was going to be no Alpine walk-in, hiring mules to
carry it all was not just an expensive luxury, but a necessity. On the bus
up to the trail-head we met two American climbers and to cut costs agreed
to share a team of three mules between the four of us up to base-camp.

The approach to Plaza Argentina (base-camp for the Polish Glacier) is over
40km long, and usually covered in three days hiking. With beasts of burden
carrying all but our day-sacks the miles went past unnoticed as we walked
up the semi-arid canyon of the Rio de Vacas from Punta de Vacas (2200m) to
the ranger station at Las Leñas (2700m) where our permits were checked. In
contrast on our way back down two and a half weeks later this same
lanscape was to seem lush and green even though there had been no change
in the vegetation. The following morning we were aided across a
potentially dangerous river crossing by the mules to where the canyon
widens out into a large plain. On the gentle slopes of the large debris
fans washed out of creeks running down off the valley sides wild
llama-like guanacos could be seen. Unfortunately after a particularly
harsh Winter many of them had not survived and we came across many more
carcasses, half preserved in the clod dry air, than we did live ones. At
the end of the day when the campsite at Casa de Piedra (3200m) was already
in sight a surprise view down the Relinchos Valley to the left gave us our
first glimpse of the mountain we had come so far to climb. The world's
biggest scree pile, the slag-heap of the Andes... words often used to
describe the mountain, which may be appropriate to describe much of the
climbing, but from this angle were definitely not suitable epithets for
the view. Looking almost directly onto the east face of the mountain the
view of it's towering precipices and shining glaciers leading up into the
sky above us filled us with inspiration, and not disappointment. The final
day of the approach leads up the Relinchos canyon and eventually across
the moraines to the camp at Plaza Argentina (4200m). This is the altitude
of a sizable Alpine summit, and I felt the altitude as if I had just
topped out on a peak and it was time to go down for some air. But there I
was stood not at the top of the mountain, but at the bottom with the peak
towering above us, not Alpine but Himalayan in size, and I was staying for
the night; I'd have to live with the headache. A group of Italians were
the only inhabitants of base camp when we arrived, and we busied ourselves
building stone walls around the tent to provide some shelter from an
incessant wind.

We spent a rest day at base camp repacking kit for the climb. We had come
hoping to do the more technical East Glacier route, but were not naïve
enough to assume that we could do it without acclimatization. We had
considered climbing Ameghino (6000m) for acclimatization, but we then
decided that number-one priority was getting to the top of the big one, so
we'd go straight onto the Polish Glacier, and then if all went well and
quickly we'd follow it with another more technical route, either the East
Glacier, or something on nearby Cerro Ibañez (5662m) - we never were to
try a second route, we had our hands full just climbing the mountain once.
We packed food for eight days above base-camp: 2 nights at camp I, 2
nights at camp II, two nights at camp III, and 2 nights for good measure -
this plan was also to change radically with time.

The following morning we set out for the long hard slog up to camp I. Soon
after leaving camp we lost the trail, and finding the scree to be too
tiresome for words we opted to climb up the Penitente field in the bottom
of the valley. Penitentes are snow features common in the central Andes
caused by local differential melting rates of the snow under a high
sub-tropical sun, producing pinnacles of ice up to 2m tall, huddling like
penguins in the remaining Summer snow-patches. Picking our way through
these obstacles and squeezing through the small gaps between them we made
slow but positive progress, until out the other side we joined the trail
again which would have avoided almost all of the interesting but pointless
penitente experience. The route then meanders across the moraines and
small fields of penitentes to the foot of the East Glacier at about 4600m
where it then went sharply up a long snow slope. The change in gradient
felt like an extra ton of bricks had been added to my pack. I started out
by counting every 50 paces between resting, but after 1000 I was reduced
to 25s and was spending more time resting than walking. Then after I'd
lost count numerous times, but I swear it must have been somewhere near a
million, we reached the top of the snow slope and entered the valley
above, six hours after leaving base-camp. A savage wind was blowing down
the valley, and the only shelter was offered by a couple of large boulders
- this was the site of camp I (5000m). The site was empty so we tucked our
tent in behind the biggest boulder and improved the stone walls as best we
could before disappearing inside for some well earned rest and dinner. My
appetite had left me and I had a hard time eating my dinner, I also had a
slight headache, but otherwise felt fine.

By the time morning arrived my slight headache had turned into a major
brain injury. With the low air pressure the body can't take in enough
oxygen by breathing at a normal rate while sleeping and will periodically
(roughly every minute) wake up gasping for breath. Needless to say I
hadn't got a lot of sleep. I had drunk over a litre of water during the
night, my bottles were empty and I was still parched. I staggered out of
the tent to the frozen 'stream' and hacked off a pile of ice, took it back
to the tent and melted it for breakfast. Jim wasn't feeling any better,
and we decided we had to go down for the day. Our plan had been to climb
slowly upwards in a single push without ever going back down until we
reached the top. But once again our plans would have to be changed to meet
the mountain on its own terms, and within 2 hours we were back in
base-camp with clear heads drinking tea.

Next morning we went back up to camp I with a couple of extra days food
and a modified plan to spend an additional day to stock each camp with
food and gear before climbing up to sleep there the following day. We also
decided not to even try staying at camp III, but to go straight from camp
II to the summit, avoiding the need to sleep at even higher altitudes in
what is a very exposed campsite. Arriving at camp I we were relieved to
see that the tent was still there despite the battering it was recieving
from the wind. The weather deteriorated during the afternoon and it spent
al the following day snowing, fogged-in and, as always, windy. We waited
in the tent for the whole boring day.

The walk to Camp II starts out mostly on snow, which I climb in sets of 25
paces all the way, to the base of a prominant pinnacle (5400m) after which
it is all on tiresome scree. The scree is much more tiring underfoot than
the snow, and my pace slows and slows and slows until I am only counting
to ten before stopping to rest. I try to force myself to only rest for a
count of ten as well, but this led to me just taking smaller paces, and
since I'd lose 6 inches of ground to the scree sliding every pace it
became self defeating as my pace approached six inches itself. Eventually
after 5 hours I was climbing for ten and resting for twenty, and still not
sure that I could keep it up much longer and was considering stashing my
load of gear and going back down, when Jim came back down the hill towards
me. Assuring me that the camp was only just round the corner a couple of
humdred metres away he spurred me on to continue. An hour later I rounded
the corner, climbing for five and resting for up to a count of twenty, to
see a final 20m scree slope rise steeply up to the camp (5900m). It seemed
to take a lifetime to cover that distance, a distance that even in my
weakened state I could literally throw a stone to. Downhill and with an
empty pack the return trip took less than one quarter of the time. The
next day was an exact repeat of the previous day's journey. As much a
mental effort at having to slowly re-live every one of those painful
drawn-out steps as a physical effort of having to climb it all again. I
reach camp II only minutes ahead of a storm cloud. Jim has already got the
tent set up and we crawl in for the night.

I had a slight headache when I arrived at camp, and by dinner time it was
thumping. I am known to have problems with altitude even at the moderate
altitudes of the Alps, and it has been suggested to me that I might want
to investigate whether drugs like Diamox might help. However, I feel that
if I need drugs more sophisticated than tea, sugar and chocolate to
sustain me on a mountain then it is a sign from my body that the mountain
is beating me and that I really oughtn't be there. That night I took some
paracetamol for dinner - once again the mountain was winning. Since this
was to be our high camp it should be the last headache of the trip.

The campsite is tucked right into the base of a steep cliff and is quite
sheltered from the wind, but nevertheless the wind gusts and swirls round
the tent all night shaking it violently and filling the rear vesibule with
spindrift burying all our kit. For the first time we have a problem with
condensation in the tent, and I wake up with my sleepimg bag covered in a
thin coat of ice. However, my headache had almost gone, and the sun was
shining and it was Christmas Eve. Well the sun wasn't shining on the tent
because it was tucked into the back of the hollow too far, so we moved the
tent into a sunnier spot, and because the wind had died down sat outside
in the warmth watching the awesome view that had now unfolded north to
Mercedario (6670m) and the beautiful glaciated peakes of the Cordillera de
los Penitentes between. This was the first time the wind had been still,
and would have made excellent climbing weather. In fact, I believe it was
this day that the first person made it up the normal route for the season.
Unfortunately we desperately needed to acclimatize some more, and weren't
going anywhere. The Italians and a couple of French Canadians were camped
just round the corner. That night a couple of Danes and an English lad all
sharing one small tent joined us at our campsite and after the sun went
down there was a brief session of competitive Christmas carol singing
between tents before we settled down to listen for the sound of
sleigh-bells. Instead all we heard was the sound of the wind picking up
again and rattling the tent. Santa's not dumb, he doesn't go to such
places unless you can stop the milk and cookies from freezing.

Christmas day dawned grey and horrible, but we determined to leave the
tent and walk up to the glacier to look at the conditions. The wind was
cold and strong such that we could hardly stand up, and looking into the
wind for any time gave a serious risk of frostbite to noses and cheeks.
The view up the mountain to the glacier was straight into the wind, so we
didn't spend too long sizing up the possible climbing options. The glacier
had large areas of exposed ice and only patches of snow. The normal
variation would require crossing one or two patches of ice, but the direct
variation looked to have slightly more continuous snow. We didn't worry
about it too much and scuttled back to the safety of the tent. Christmas
dinner consisted of instant polenta, fried Salami and a small Christmas
pudding which Jim had smuggled up and a box of Swiss chocolates which I
had hidden.

Boxing day wasn't any better. We waited, and waited... Until Jim pulled
out an even larger Christmas pudding and we cooked that for dinner. It did
seem a bit extravagant to be up at 6000m preparing a meal with a two hour
cooking time, but it was Christmas, and we had plenty of fuel and all day
to waste.

Dec. 27 - Just as windy, just as boring inside the tent. We are now
starting to get a bit restless, and we have eaten almost all of our tasty
food, we resolve that we are not going down until we have at least made an
attempt for the summit, however feeble that attempt might be. Our decision
is to traverse across the north of the mountain to the normal route the
next day and then try the other side of the mountain. Unless ... there is
a miracle with the weather and the wind drops. At mid afternoon the
Itallians approached our camp looking for a more sheltered tent site. They
had had their tent shredded by the wind the previous night, and had to go
back to camp I to collect their spare tent. At about 6pm the weather
starts to clear, and the wind drops until it is almost still, we pack our
bags for the Glacier set the alarm for 2am and go to bed optimistic. As we
go to bed the temperature inside the tent was -20C, it was probably colder
in the morning when we got up, but we didn't look at the thermometer.

During the night I hear the tent rustle occasionally, and I hope that it's
not the wind picking up again. By the time the alarm goes off the tent is
only not rattling in the wind occasionally, nevertheless it's still not as
bad as it has been, and we are psyched to go. We make a fairly efficient
start and are underway before 3am. The lower part of the glacier was an
irregular surface of low angle ice that made it difficult to maintain the
all important steady-pace, and in the dark it was difficult to choose the
line that would maximize the amount of snow we were crossing. The angle
gradually steepened, mostly on hard, brittle ice that dinner-plated
horribly at the swing of an axe. Moving together over this ground, despite
the easy angle (25-30 degrees), became stressful as we both wanted to move
quickly over the nastier ground and rest where possible at different
rates, and we eventually placed a screw for a belay and resorted to
pitching up the ice. I wasn't feeling too good and was wondering if we
were wasting our time, the wind was still making things pretty unpleasant,
but pitching it actually speeded up our progress since it was possible to
move for 50m and then rest while the other climbed 50m all at your own
pace. Another couple of pitches and we were on snowier ground, firm neve
that accepted axes cleanly and firmly, with nice solid front pointing for
the feet. The lines of small crevasses were all covered with solid bridges
and made comfortable ledges for belays. The great rock of Piedra Bandera
(6400m), the only landmark on this section of the climb, was now visible
above us in the pale light just before dawn, and we were making slow but
acceptable progress towards it. Jim's toes were cold and beginning to
concern him, but now that we were moving at a steady rate we were hopeful
that they would start to warm up. Finally, after two weeks on the mountain
we were actually climbing, despite the wind it was almost even fun, and
for the first time on the trip the summit seemed within our grasp.

I was just about to start up the final pitch of snow to the last patch of
ice that we would have to cross, when fate made me decide that I wanted to
take my pack off, a decision that was probably to save my life in a few
minutes time. However, whatever had made me want to take my pack off was
forgotten before the sack ever left my back. In order to take off the pack
it is easier if my mitt was removed from my axe leash. Mitts being the
bulky things that they are I had to cinch up the little slider on the
Charlet-Moser leash to its furthest point making the loop as big as
possible. This revealed that hidden beneath the slider was a nice clean
cut through the whole leash except for two or three thin strands, the loop
would have had almost no strength- probably unable even to hold body
weight! The cut probably happened when I was chopping ice with the adze
without wearing the wrist loop. I don't know when it happened, but it was
probably the morning at camp I when my axe-leash was of far less concern
to me than my headache and thirst. Altitude sickness almost claimed
another casualty in an unusual way. I took one of my prussik slings and
improvised a new leash, and moved on up the snow to the start of the ice.

I had reached the ice having run out almost the full 50m of rope, had
secured a good placement for the axe in my right hand, and had a
comfortable stance for my left foot, while my right foot remained on
front-points. Before I could even look for a suitable placement for a
screw, the rope went tight. my right foot was pulled out of the ice and my
weight came off the left foot as I was dragged completely onto the axe and
the weight of two people pulled directly onto the prussik loop that was
now improvising for a leash. Simultaneously I found myself looking upwards
at the brittle ice that the axe was placed into and downwards to the fall
line beneath me. If the axe placement were to have failed we would have
slid down 300m of 30 degree ice and neve to the Seracs that overhang the
east face and followed that with over 1000m of free fall in which to say
our last goodbyes.I don't think that I have ever before truely thought "Oh
my God, I'm going to die!", but that must be the thought that summarized
that split second in my mind. With the axe holding fast, and my right foot
back in the ice I waited for Jim to get back on his feet and unweight the
rope. I waited, but nothing happened. At this point I still wasn't worried
about what happened to Jim, I was standing on my front points with a 150
pound sack of potatoes dragging at my waist and my calfs were beginning to
burn. I fumbled around for an ice screw, and without the use of my axe to
torque it in, I could only screw it into the hard ice half-way, but I tied
it off and clipped it to the axe for back-up, and relaxed in the relative
safety and managed to shift my weight back onto my left foot. My first
thought was then something like "Damn you Jim, you almost killed me. I
deserve an explanation, and it had better be good" - an explanation that I
was never to get. Even after this time Jim's weight was still not off the
rope and I began to seriously wonder what had happened. I had climbed past
a slight bulge, and so could not see below and was wondering if a crevasse
had swallowed him and he was unable to climb out. It's not like Jim to
just fall off a mountain while standing at a belay. OK so the belay was
just an axe planted in with the rope looped over it, but the stance was
good and the ground was easy, we needed speed more than redundant
security, although it was seeming less redundant now. Before I could get a
second ice screw in the rope finally went slack and Jim staggered into
view. He had lost his head-torch in the fall, and was carrying no axe.

"Are you alright Jim? What happened?"
- No response. He looks around him with a bewildered look and holds his
head in his hands.
"How did you lose your axe? What happened?"
- Again no response. Just the confused looks and holding his head in his hands.
"Your holding your head Jim. Are you all right?"
- no response.
"Jim, can you hear me?"
- no response.
" Are you OK Jim?"
- no response. I was starting to get worried. One thought that crossed my
mind was could this be Cerebral Oedema? His mind had certainly gone, but
the onset seemed awfully sudden. Here we were at 6300m in a cold icy wind
and I had a zombie for a climbing partner, at least it was daylight now.
There was no doubt that we had to go down. The altitude was hardly keeping
me in peak form, and now I had to do all the thinking for both of us.
"I just lost it man. There was nothing I could do." At last he spoke. I
bombarded him with questions again, but got no responses. Eventually he
just repeated "I just lost it man. There was nothing I could do." and then
he added " I think we should go down".

I gave Jim an ice screw and told him to place it when he got to the end of
the rope, and I started to belay him down. He got to the end of the rope
and stood doing nothing waiting for more rope. I waved at him with all
kinds of strange arm movements and eventually he got the message and put
the screw in. At least with him tied to a belay he was unlikely to do
anything too stupid. I had been hoping that I would get a belay down the
pitch, but even his most basic climbing skills had left him and I was left
taking in the rope myself as I went down to him. I hadn't been expecting
much from the screw placement either, and I was right it was screwed into
the snow and not the neighbouring ice, he hadn't even tied in, just
clipped the rope. I gave him another ice-screw and told him to go down
another pitch. He takes the screw and spends a couple of minutes fiddling
with the screw. "What are you doing Jim? It doesn't come apart. Just clip
it to your harness and go down." He's listening to me, but can't follow
the instruction, It seems as if he's trying to separte the screw from the
hanger to clip them to his harness separately. Eventually after
continually asking him to get on with it, I get frustrated and ask him
"Jim, what's 7+3?". He thinks for a few seconds and then says "ten". So he
had to think about it, but he got the answer right, so he was at least
capable of thinking coherently. This was good. It was also bad, because if
he'd have been half his normal self he'd have told me to piss off for
asking such a silly question at a time like this. Eventually we get moving
down the glacier at a reasonable pace, and we are back at camp by 10:00am.
Back at Camp Jim is improving, but still feels very unwell in the head. We
rest for a couple of hours and then pack up camp and retreat to base-camp.

Despite still having a few days food left we decide not to go back up the
mountain for another attempt, but spend a couple of days at base camp to
recover before walking out. The following day the Italians came back down
having made it to the summit via the Polish Glacier Direct, although one
of them (an Everest veteran) had frost-bite on both big toes. They were to
be the only people to get higher than us on the glacier during December.
Without the help of mules to carry our kit for the walk out we shoulder
our 40Kg packs and start the long walk out. Jim wants to be at the ranger
station at Las Leñas, two days walk away, for New Year - it's already
December 31 so we have a long march for the day. 12 hours later we arrive
at Las Leñas, but I am too tired to stay awake until midnight, and just
crash out under the stars without bothering to pitch the tent. The final
day's hike was another 7 hours under the crushing load of the packs as we
finally stagger back to the road and that big meal of pollo con fritas
that we had been dreaming of for weeks.

We will probably never know exactly what happened to Jim up on the
mountain. I wasn't there, and he remembers nothing. We can narrow down the
onset to a very short time, one moment he was chatting to me, feeling
fine, as I was climbing off up the pitch, and a minute or so later he was
gone. The symptoms seemed consistant with a concussion, and he had a
medium sized bruise on his head just above his right temple (although he
might have got this during the fall). The most sensible conclusion is that
he was hit by a rogue block of ice falling down the mountain. Although
some lower pitches had consisted of brittle ice dinner-plating and
showering blocks down below, this pitch was all on snow, and I don't
remember knocking off any blocks of ice. The only real ice placement was
the axe placement that saved us, and that had been made without any hassle
(which is maybe why it was so good). Besides, he was off to the right of
the fall line and should have been clear of any debris. There was no-one
on the mountain above us and the route is free of any obvious objective
danger of rock/ice fall. It will just have to remain one of those
mysteries.

Would we have made the summit if it hadn't been for this incident? Maybe,
maybe not. We might well have had to turn back on account of Jim's toes.
When we got back to camp they were red and swollen showing signs of
incipient frost-bite. The wind was still very strong, and when we reached
the ridge it may have been unmanagable. We still had another 700m of
altitude to go which could have done untold things to either of us. A
local guide we talked to said that the wind was very uncharacteristic, and
everyone was blaming El Niño. Still, we both had a good trip, met some
great people, got 700m higher than we had ever been before, camped 1800m
higher than we had camped on a mountain before, and learnt a lot about
high altitude mountaineering. I doubt I'll ever be going back to
Aconcagua, there are plenty of mountains in the world with more rock, ice
and snow and less scree which seem somewhat more appealing. The mountain
may have won the battle, but not the war: I expect I'll venture back to
the high mountains again some day and next time I'll be ready for some of
the tricks in their play-book.

Henry

--
Henry Lickorish
ETH-Zurich
he...@erdw.ethz.ch

[maohai huang]

nice trip report Henry! this is the kind of stuff that keeps me
reading this group.

[busc...@lanet.losandes.com.ar]

Great report!!!! I would like to ask you if you can post it in our
discussion group at the official home page of Aconcagua. I think could be
useful to others climbers.

Mariano
webmaster
official home page of Mount Aconcagua
http://www.aconcagua.com.ar

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