An account of a trip that Joe Lyons, Dermot Wall and Sé Ó Hanlon made to Mercedario in the Andes in 2004
(by Sé O’Hanlon, 2004)
In August 2003 a planned journey to the Indian Himalaya had fallen through so I started to plan an alternative. The question was, to where and with who?
(by Brian Rowe, from IMC Newsletter Spring 2004)
Climbing Alpamayo and Quitaraju.
Earlier in the day Juan’s assistant had a bruising encounter with a gringo posterior, which had catapulted from on high knocking him off his feet. A cowering heap on a small mountain ledge, he had managed to struggle on but his nerves were shot. Now on Juan’s descent, he encounters the accomplice to the feared posteriored one, a bedraggled character to be sure with bruisings all over his body and a weary expression. The scoundrel has belayed to Juan’s fixed rope fixing and was bringing up the posteriored one. She was getting dangerously close. Juan and his assistant had been employed to fix this rope all the way up Alpamayo’s Ferrari route for a group of middle-aged Gringos (Austrians) and the last thing he is interested in is other people getting in his way; now his efforts are being hampered by the presence of this pair of gringos. Juan gives the gringo a piece of his mind but he does not seem that repentative and barks something back in English, something about ice showers and delay. Juan kicks the gringos’ rope off the small stance in rage and abseils out of there. On the way down he tells the posteriored one to bring his gear back to camp when they are finished with it.
Several hours later back in camp, Juan monitors the two gringos as they descent the mountain and is there to meet them as they reach camp as he presumes there is a high chance they will run away and hide his gear!!! He is speechless when to his horror, out of their rucksacks, they pull out his gear; what where they thinking?, the ice screws, sling and carribeaners were part of the fixed rope system. A vital link that should be now 3/4 of the way up the mountain, what imbeciles!
Yes indeed, Martina and I arrived back to camp after a long day, carrying down gear that we thought Juan wanted returned. He wanted something returned, I still do not know what as there was nothing else there (after much fuss it turned out that this piece was not that vital after all). Our day had started well after setting out at 3am behind a guide and his Chilean client. They made grand tracks for us through the knee-deep virgin snow. We reached the bergschrund at 6 and waited while they surmounted the awkward overhang. We waited for 2 hours. As we readied ourselves for our attempt a young French pair arrived. "How long have you been waiting?" "Two hours" "Can we go ahead?" "NO". I struggled over but Martina got stuck, and could not surmount the problem, making several attempts and finally landing down on top of the poor Peruvian (Juan’s assistant) who tried to help. The French had forged a bypass to the overhang not being prepared to wait for us and while Martina and I struggled with the overhang, four more climbers used this bypass, including Juan and his assistant who were setting up a fixed rope. Two hours later and we were at last on the main face of the climb, 350 metres of 60 to 70 degree névé and ice in a single gully line to the summit ridge. The problem was that we were now last behind 8 climbers; 8 climbers who were knocking down lumps of ice that smashed down on every part of our bodies, our knuckles, our knees, shoulders and faces (it was very dangerous to look up). The main culprit of this rock-hard shower was the Peruvian pair who carelessly chopped out large areas to fix their fixed rope gear. We very nearly retreated off the route altogether as we were so battered and bruised. It was at this point that I belayed to the fixed rope gear; I reckoned they owed me one!
Two days later, after another day of run-ins with gringos (a friendly American pair, Tim and Gabe) and Juan and his team are on top of Quitaraju. They have been waiting at least an hour for their ancient clients to top out up the fixed rope. The last one appears over the crest and at last they can go, but what is this? another body; it cannot be, but yes it is, the accomplice to the posteriored one and he is climbing up the fixed rope. Speechless again, look at him, broad smiles and buenas diases.
What a beautiful morning that was as I climbed to the summit to be welcomed by 4 gaping mouths, clear skies, my first 6000m peak, Alpamayo, silhouetted against the reds and oranges of the breaking day. Horizontal bands of colour low in the sky with the black mountains prickling through and the vast dark sky above, stars still to the west. Martina had to turn back with a sprained muscle, so I had accepted the offer of this handrail to the summit from Hansi, the Austrian leader of a group (an old style alpinist and a gentleman). A face climb averaging about 60 degrees, Quitaraju was about twice as long as Alpamayo and completely different in character (ying and yang). While Alpamayo had been cold and foreboding, an enclosed gully, and consequently a funnel for ice and snow bulleting down from on high, Quitaraju was an open mountainside with spectacular views of the surrounding mountainscape. Climbers were well spaced and there was little icefall. Additionally, the Alpamayo climb was west facing and was in shadow the whole day, while Quitaraju faced east and caught the sun full on from 7am in the morning. The snow was in beautiful condition from top to bottom.
On reaching the top my only regret was that I had not soloed as it would have been easier than dragging a prussik up behind me and climbing with one axe (I had no proper ascender). It was wonderful to get to the top on such a beautiful morning but getting to the top of a mountain on a fixed rope is just not the same. When we were kids, my father used to set a party game that consisted of racing around the garden with a curtain ring on a tight string. It was a timed race and because you had to return your ring, you had to follow the exact route of the string, no straying off, no short cuts possible, no chance of getting lost. This is what I had in mind as I followed the fixed ropes to the top. Sanitised climbing, no risk, no apprehension as to what is ahead or whether descent is possible, no consideration about route finding and not much about weather; attached to this umbilical cord, what can go wrong? All that is left to do is to lift one foot and then the other for 14 pitches, until you reach the top. Then abseil back down in less than an hour, back in camp in 2.5 hours from the top.
Note: Juan, although technically proficient, was an unpleasant and impatient guide. This was unusual as most of the Peruvian guides and porters that we met were friendly and good humoured.
We spent 3 nights at Alpamayo base camp. It was beautiful; Alpamayo to the east, Quitaraju to the west and a beautiful panaroma of lower mountains to the south, white glacier stretched below us breaking away at its edge and falling down a wide valley. The skies were perfectly clear giving picture-postcard sunrise and sunset. Every evening, everyone would stand and watch the red sun melt into the embers and the black cols of the endless mountains, then they would hop into their down sleeping bags as the temperatures plummeted to minus 20. It’s 6.15pm; nothing to do but sleep for the next 12 hours unless of course you had to get up at 2am for your mountain ascent.
Climbing in the Corderrilla Blanca out of Huaraz is easy, that is to say, logistically easy; it is easy to get maps and guides, easy to get provisions, easy to arrange transport or get public transport and easy to arrange donkeys or porters if you need them for the treks into the high camps. After that it is up to you. Not so easy is getting up-to-date mountain and weather information. Walk-ins are picturesque and there is also wonderful trekking in the region. Time you do need. Lower mountains (up to 5500m) take at least 5 days. We were 8 days climbing Alpamayo and Quitaraju.
We have now sent home 55kg of excess baggage that constitutes our climbing, hiking and camping gear. From now on we travel light.
The front page of national newspaper El Comercio, some weeks ago, was one of those visual extravagances; big colour drawings, plans and sections, numbered bullet points. The subject of all this attention was a mountain and depicted in graphic detail was an avalanche sweeping away a bunch of helpless climbers. 8 dead and 10 injured. That mountain was Alpamayo, and we were climbing it 8 days before. It turns out that we met one of the victims several times, a young Israeli girl who worked in a trekking agency helping her Argentinean boyfriend. Her boyfriend had promised to take her up Alpamayo and when we arrived back from the mountain they were all set to go. She was very excited and wanted to hear all about our climb; we told her conditions were good and wished her well. She is dead now. The paper blamed the extreme temperature differentials for the unexpected avalanche. Temperatures were swinging from +15 Celsius during the day to minus 20 at night.
That is not why we offloaded our climbing gear; that was in the plan from weeks back but I am glad that we have moved on.
(by Sé O Hanlon, from IMC Newsletter Summer 2004)
An attempt on a South American peak.
This is not the story of an expedition but rather of a mountain journey in early 2004. The distinction is important.
Most of us believe subconsciously that Expeditions are the preserve of godlike people like Chris Bonington and Reinhold Messner and that inferior people like us will never make it into an Expedition.
Don’t be codded. Your chances of going on an Expedition may be quite small but you can have a high altitude mountain journey any time.
Mountain journeys are the same as Expeditions but carried out by ordinary mortals who can just enjoy the experience without having to write books, make films or satisfy sponsors.
Try it, you will never regret it.
In August 2003 a planned journey to the Indian Himalaya had fallen through so I started to plan an alternative. The question was, to where and with whom?
My first choice was Tupungato, 6500m, on the Argentina/Chilé border. I had read the book of the first ascents of Aconcagua and Tupungato by Fitzgerald; it seemed possible and interesting.
Next I had to get some information. www.jmilne.org/mntn seemed interesting, a US citizen who went alone and climbed Tupungato and another peak 100km to the north, Mercedario, 6750m.; two for price of one.
First on the agenda was the recruitment of company. Joe Lyons ignored my first cast but quickly returned to the fly and snapped it, also bringing along Dermot Wall.
We needed to get maps showing how to get to our mountain, decide how much time we would need, book plane tickets and local services, assemble the gear and go.
We drew up a schedule, which showed that we could do what we wanted, if there were no hiccups, in about 24 days and we booked to leave in late January and return in mid February. In December we discovered that the 3-day approach from Punta de Vacas was no longer possible for mules; the alternative approach would take 5 days each way. Given our skin-tight schedule we had to pick one or the other. So it was Mercedario we decided on, probably because it is the fourth-highest peak in South America.
Our Chiléan contacts recommended San Juan Aventura, describing them as "climbers, good people"; this is one of the greatest understatements of all time. They were magnificent people.
Leaving Dublin on Thursday afternoon we were in Mendoza at 17.00 on Friday after stops in Milan and Buenos Aires.
Saturday was spent shopping and sorting food and at 9.30 on Sunday we were on the road to Mercedario in a four-wheel drive with Marcos and Rafael from Aventura San Juan.
Our first 100km were on the main road to Santiago in Chilé. At Uspallata we stopped in the strangely named Tibet Bar and had our last sit-down meal. We immediately left tarmac and took to the dirt road which runs up a valley 5km wide between the older pre-cordillera to the east and the younger Andes to the west to Barreal. After about 50 or 60 km, we turned onto a single-lane road; this road followed the Rio de Los Patos and then its tributary Rio Blanco to El Molle where three buildings abandoned by Rio Tinto provided shelter.
Early the next morning the arriero (arriero is the mountain counterpart of the gaucho of the pampas) arrived with three mules to bring our gear to base camp. This was a 5/6-hour tramp up the remains of a mining road, parts of which had completely vanished under scree and boulders.
Eventually we arrived exhausted at our base camp at Guanaquitos (3650m) where we soon had our tents pitched and stoves roaring. Welcome food was quickly wolfed down and we were in our tents by 20.00 to escape the cold as temperatures plummeted when the sun set.
Our day was spent following the Arroyo Cuesta Blanca to locate the site for our first camp, which was at El Salto, 4100m. Quarter way up we passed the base camp of the two Basques and one Chiléan who were further up the mountain.
At first it was a steady walk beside the river following a mule track. Then a steep climb up a moraine brought us to a small nook between a craggy mountain and a moraine. Here we set up camp 1, protected from any wind and beside a stream of clear water.
When we got up in the morning we saw signs that guanacos had visited our camp during the night. These relatives of the llama are almost as common here as deer are in Wicklow.
We loaded up with all of the food and other equipment which we intended to bring higher on the mountain and set off up to El Salto. This time we were much slowed by our heavy bags and the altitude and we were relieved to reach the site of camp 1. We dumped our loads and rested a few hours here before setting off back to base. Our practice was to help our acclimatisation by staying as long as possible at our high point.
When the sun hit our tents we were up and out and packed up a two-man and a one-man tent, plus our cooking and sleeping gear. Then for the third time we trudged up the valley to settle into camp one at 4,100m.
From this camp upwards we had to bring water into our tents at night, as it would freeze if left outside. The great feature of this whole area was that, because it is desert, we could leave surplus gear outside the tent all night and it was always bone dry in the morning.
Here was the highest point at which we saw guanaco tracks. Obviously they were mountaineering guanacos because there was absolutely no grazing for them and no obvious reason for them to be there.
Because our days had been short and easy and we were gaining height at a very manageable rate we decided to continue up to our next camp at Cuesta Blanca.
We started with a steep 200m climb out of camp 1 and then crossed the floor of a higher valley whose walls carried extensive snow patches. It seemed that the glacier which shaped it had only relatively recently receded. Here we picked a site for camp 2 at 4,400m. As we sat there it became clear that we were entering a much colder zone. When the sun went low the duvet jackets came out of hiding.
The barometric pressure at camp 1 that day was 648mb, about two thirds of the normal pressure in Dublin.
We moved tents and all to camp 2, a relatively easy affair, and we were soon settled in there. In the mid-afternoon we saw three people coming over the lip of our valley from higher on the mountain. One kept to his left and descended quickly heading lower and carrying a monstrous sack. The other two traversed to their right and then attempted to descend over difficult ground. One of them moved very slowly and soon fell behind in a field of penitentes. He seemed to make no further effort to descend. We figured that they were in trouble so Joe headed up to the left to help the slower of the two while Dermot and I went to give any help we could to the other.
It took Joe nearly an hour to reach his victim who was almost at a standstill. He relieved him of his heavy sack and led him back up and around to the correct descent route. Dermot and I had little to do because our victim made her way down. They had been successful in reaching the summit. The Chilean had a GPS and knew the right way down but her partner insisted on taking another line and ran out of steam.
That evening we were surprised to see a mouse scampering in the rocks near our tents and were amazed that it could live at this height.
The climb to camp 3 at Pircos Indios could only be described as arduous. After a short walk over the floor of the valley we started the steep climb, zigzagging over scree and rock outcrops to skirt penitente fields. Visible progress was very slow and altitude was making itself more and more noticeable. Eventually we reached the site of camp 3, a corrie opening sideways off the main valley. Here, at 5,200m we were very aware that we had stepped up our rate of ascent.
We made our camp at the foot of a small stream. We selected a hollow in the moraine to protect us from any wind but this meant that the outlook from our tents was not one, which could ever feature on a postcard. After resting for an hour we headed back down to camp 2.
This was moving day as we left the mouse at camp 2 to his fate and carried our gear to C3. It was a repeat of the previous day’s trudge and called for a turning off of imagination and just putting one foot in front of the other until we arrived at our destination where we cooked a hasty dinner and soon, exhausted, sought the sanctuary of our sleeping bags. Such are the joys of high altitude mountaineering.
A new feature at this stage was the hallucinations. All I had to do was close my eyes when resting and I could instantly conjure up a vision of what I can only describe as a wallpaper of faces.
We decided to have a comparatively easy day and use it by climbing up the early section of the next stage of our route. This involved a couple of hundred metres up the side of the corrie to a ridge. This would assist our acclimatisation without being too stressful.
It did more than help our acclimatisation; it was a great morale booster. When we reached the ridge we swapped the enclosed world of valleys for a vast horizon where the surrounding mountains were now mostly below us and we could see most of our route to date spread out at our feet.
At this stage we were happy with our progress and we decided that this should be a rest day before moving to camp 4 at 5,900m. We climbed back to the ridge where we were yesterday and where the surroundings were more pleasant. We were, as Joe described us, three tired little mice.
After about an hour Joe decided that he would go a couple of hundred horizontal metres further, why I do not know. Nor did I care why, I just knew that if he was going I was going. Dermot reacted the same way and soon we were walking across the broad ridge in line. Fortunately for me I am not given to following leaders to god knows where so, when we reached the flat at the top of the outcrop, I sat down and watched the Duracell bunnies march onwards and upwards.
It was late afternoon before Joe and Dermot returned and collapsed exhausted into their tents. They had kept going until they reached the site of camp 4 at La Hollada, 5,700m.
It was obvious that Joe and Dermot would need a rest day after their exertions and I had no option but to take a second rest in their company.
We spent the day debating what we would do next. We should have carried to La Hollada today with the bare necessities and headed for the summit the following day. Although it seemed obvious that this would just be put back a day the prospect was no longer popular following the previous day’s activities.
The drudgery of a carry seemed too daunting and the argument was for a single day to the summit from camp 3. Although this involved a height gain of 1500m there was a majority view that this would be easier than doing it in two stages. Such are the effects of lack of oxygen on our processes of logical thought.
We readied our gear for the next day and planned to get up at about 4.00a.m. Ready for a start at 5.00 at first light.
The day started badly. Our alarm had been set for 4.00 but not activated so it did not ring. We slept on to 5.45 and only got moving at 7.00.
We set off at a steady plod up onto the ridge and around into the gently sloping, snow-carpeted valley of La Hollada. Here we passed two mule skeletons and a memorial to an Argentinian army officer who had died on the mountain two years previously. We traversed this valley and started up the ridge, which would lead us to the summit ridge where we would have to cross 6 false summits before reaching the highest point of Mercedario.
Altitude was beginning to take its toll but we still kept up a steady slow pace. At a rest-point at 6,000m Joe decided that the effects of the height were such that he could continue no further. We discussed this for a while and then Dermot and I wished him well on his descent.
We went until we were in a small col at the foot of the first peak on the summit ridge. It seemed foolish to go over the top of this and then lose height so we decided to traverse to the right and reach the next col with the minimum expenditure of energy. This we did and as we went on we saw the true summit for the first time. Although it is hard to estimate distances in the high clear air, we judged that we had about 3km more to go and another 500m of ascent. The time was now 14.00 and our energy supplies were low. After struggling on for short time we gave in to the inevitable and decided to turn back. It did not get any easier on the descent and we were two very tired men when we eventually reached the tents.
We still had time to make another attempt on the summit but were demoralised by the debacle of the previous days and decided to pack up and head back to base and this we did in one day. Below camp one Dermot and I dumped some of our load and continued on down more easily.
The only task this day was for Dermot and I to climb back up and collect our dumped gear and bring it back to base. It was a luxury to wander up lazily with no pressure but there was also a feeling of disappointment at having botched our effort.
Another rest day. We sat and talked and went for short walks investigating the area around base camp.
When we got up the valley in which we were camped had a new appearance. Clouds were rising and clinging to the sides of the mountains. The arriero was due to bring us down first thing the next morning so some of today would have to be spent packing.
We had a leisurely breakfast and forgot about the weather as we started sorting stuff to be bagged. We were surprised to see three people approaching. When they got nearer we recognised Marcos and Rafael and were soon introduced to Marcos’s brother.
They explained that the arriero would not come up because of a difficulty with bringing mules across a river and that they had decided to come up and replace the mules by carrying our loads down. They had come up from the road head in 2½ hours and explained that we needed to be down by 1.00 so that we could get the jeep across the Rio Colorado before 4.00 after which it might not be possible.
We assembled our gear quickly and the three "mules" sent us on ahead while they sorted it into suitable loads. Three-quarters way down Marcos caught us with a monstrous pack on his back and we were fully stretched to keep up with him till we reached the jeep. The other two arrived within the next 20 minutes.
When everything was loaded we left El Molle on the dirt road which would bring us to Mendoza that evening. We planned to have a free day there and would fly out early on the morning after. We had only gone 3 or 4km on the road when it started to climb above the Rio Blanco. An older road had run beside the river in this narrow part of the valley but was washed out and now we went over higher ground.
We had not climbed far when we met our first problem. The clouds we had seen that morning were evidence of a change in the weather and while Marcos and co. were up the mountain collecting us a torrential thunderstorm had hit the lower valley and washed earth and mud across the road. Although it was nowhere more than 1½m deep it was of the consistency of readymix cement and there was no way to get the jeep through it. In parts the water had washed away part of the road and only barely left enough room to pass.
Rafael drove back to El Molle and in 2 trips brought up enough planks, sheets of steel and even the springs of a bed so that we could get the jeep through the block which only stretched for about 500m. After 2 hours we had passed the hazard and piled into the jeep to go on.
We climbed up on the road cut into cliffs until we rounded a bend and there in front of us was a 2m wall of rubble with a deep gully between it and another similar wall. The floodwaters had surged down the mountain and completely cut and blocked the road. Only a JCB could clear it.
This was a real problem. We had 2½ days to flight time, 30km to travel to the nearest possibility of help, and no communication with the outside world. Marcos decided to walk out in search of mules to come back to the 4WD and move our baggage and suggested that we should camp on the spot. After a pow-wow we decided we would not camp but continue walking to the army post, 30 km away at the bridge at Junta dos Rios.
We packed sleeping bags, bivvy bags and carrymats, but no food, and set out on the journey. It soon became clear that there was no hope of getting the jeep out without major engineering works.
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled in the distance ahead of us as the storm continued on lower ground. On we walked, knowing that there was no hope of us crossing the Rio Colorado in these conditions but resolved to continue towards our eventual destination. We knew at this stage that we had 2½ days to travel 200km to Mendoza, that our baggage was trapped far behind us, that mules to carry it out had still to be found and it was doubtful that, even if found quickly, they could get in and out in the time available.
Sometime late in the night we reached the Rio Colorado, which was now waist-high, and listened to the boulders rumbling as they rolled along its bed. There was no hope of fording it. Here Rafael caught us. Having left his two companions to solve the problem he came ahead to "mind" us.
Up at dawn, we shared a cake which Rafael had brought and returned to the Rio Colorado. It was now only knee deep, even though still a torrent. We crossed it gingerly and set off on the last 5km to the army post at the bridge. Here we sat down to wait and were welcomed by the soldiers.
There was no news from up the valley and no news from down the valley until a group of arrieros arrived and told us that the road was cut about 5kms below. The military radioed a post in San Juan and asked them to go down the town to the head man of San Juan Aventura, Aníbal Maturano, and tell him about the problem.
Around 5.00 Marcos and his brother arrived, exhausted. They had met an arriero up the valley who could bring out the load While we were talking Marcos collapsed, out cold for 5 minutes, exhausted by his exertion and the stress of the past 24 hours. We now only had 36 hours to flight time and still had no idea how we would get to Mendoza.
Rafael insisted that a rescue vehicle would arrive to collect us about 8.00 so, clutching this straw, we set off down the road to meet it on the other side of the road blockage.
When we got past the blockage we sat at the side of the road, we sat and nothing happened. Darkness fell and nothing happened. Finally Rafael decided to continue down the canyon seeking a signal for his mobile phone. He left and we sat there and nothing happened.
Eventually a shadowy figure appeared out of the night, stood a few yards away where we could not see him clearly and told us that Rafael said that we should come down the road to where the shadow was camped. This seemed strange, why had Rafael not come himself? We thought for a moment and then picked up our bags and nervously followed the shadow into the night. About 400m down the road he led us into a camp of Argentinian soldiers who said that Rafael would be back shortly.
They assured us that there was no possibility of anyone driving in over those roads in the dark and that we could not expect rescue before the morning. We eventually, reluctantly, accepted that this was true and when Rafael returned, without having found a signal, we rolled into our bags and slept soundly.
The next morning we awoke at 7.00 and there was a pick-up parked amongst the army vehicles. Aníbal Maturano had arrived. He had got our message at 20.00 the previous night and driven the 160kms from San Juan through the night and slept till dawn in the pick-up. The journey to the centre of the city took about 4 – 5 hours and we were back at our hotel at 13.00.
Aníbal and Rafael then turned to retrace their journey to collect our baggage if and when it came out of the interior. When it did arrive by mule they loaded it into the pick-up and brought it to us in Mendoza at midnight, 8 hours before our flight home. They left us immediately and headed for home in San Juan where they arrived at 0300.
Consider that Aníbal spent almost 20 hours out of 36 driving on dirt roads, that Marcos, his brother and Rafael did superhuman work, all to get us and our baggage off the mountain and you will understand why I felt that the recommendation we received that these were "Good people, climbers" was pretty weak praise. "Giants of the mountains" would be a better description.
Our adventure was over. It only remained to return to "civilisation”, which seems much less inviting or civilised after a spell in the high mountains.
(Photos by Dermot Wall)
(by Alan Pope, from IMC Newsletter Autumn 1999)
Climbing 6000-metre peaks around La Paz.
In 1999, I wanted to visit some area outside the Alps and try to climb a 6,000 metre peak, while I still considered I might be able. The Andes seemed the obvious choice as I did not want to be away for any longer than three weeks. At the end of June this year I went with three other wrinklies (Paul, Richard and Dawn) from England with O.T.T expeditions to Bolivia on their Bolivian Alpinist trip. The programme was to climb three 6,000 metre peaks (Huayana Potosi 6,088m, Illimani 6,450m and Ancohuma 6,427m) in as many weeks, I thought this was far too ambitious as it meant we had to be acclimatised to summit on the first peak seven days after arriving in La Paz.
Thirty-two hours after leaving my home the Cordillera Real lay below as the plane descended to land at breakneck speed due to the thin atmosphere. La Paz is at an altitude of just 3,800 metres, and an ideal place to start our acclimatisation. La Paz is an interesting city of over one million inhabitants, situated in a crater. Illimani dominates the city. The streets are full of colourful traders (all female) dressed in traditional costume which includes a small bowler hat. The men dress in old designer track-suits. The pollution, caused by the location, old cars and very colourful ancient diesel buses, was dreadful.
Our guides Damian and Martin from Argentina were there to meet us. We stayed in complete splendour in The El Rey Palace Hotel. It feels very odd to have the door opened for you and the lift called when dressed in old climbing gear. After a very easy-going day we set off into the mountains. After three hours driving we arrived at the small village of Plaza de Mulas. Here we met our two cooks Felix and Demession and 3 llama herders. All our baggage was placed on 19 llamas and 1 donkey. From here we walked to camp by Laguna Chiar Khota at 4,600m. This is a beautiful location surrounded by thirteen 5,000m peaks, the most beautiful of which is Condoriri. Because it was winter, darkness fell at 1900 hours when it became very cold (the temperature falling below -10 centigrade). So a good sleeping bag is required and more importantly, a pee bottle, or some other arrangement if you are female. Take a few bottles if you are on diamox. This was borne out by Richard with disastrous results. Richard and Dawn both took Diamox, starting a week before we travelled, drinking large quantities of water as required. Even so, they both suffered from bad head aches and being sick. A chap on the plane home said he would not have got up Sagama, the highest mountain in Bolivia, if he had not taken Diamox. I guess all this proves nothing.
The next few days were spent trekking over high passes with wonderful views especially the west face of Huayana Potosi, until we arrived at the Refuge Zongo to climb Huayana Potosi by the east face. We camped on top of the moraine. The next day we gave up just below the final ridge, as my 3 companions were suffering from bad headaches, and myself short of breath. I believe we would have succeeded if we had spent an extra day moving to a higher camp on Campamento Argentino at 5,450m, two hours above our camp.
The scenery of the first week was rugged with no vegetation. After a rest day in La Paz we now set off on a magnificent four hour drive though a fine canyon to Una to climb the highest peak in the Cordillera Real – Illimani.
We walked with mules through the village of Pinaya, a village occupied for over 1,000 years by people who were supported by farming small fields. The changed vegetation is the result of this area’s proximity to the Amazon basin. Beside all the homesteads stand tall Eucalyptus trees. These trees are to be seen all over South America having been introduced only 100 years ago. Children gathered along the road to see the visitors and, unfortunately, to beg. From our base camp the next day we set up a camp at ‘the Condors’ Nest’ at 5,450m.
The following day, for some unknown reason, we rose late and proceeded to climb the normal route which was very iced, resulting in our proceeding rather slowly. Altitude once again took its toll, with Richard returning with Damien,. We went on and at about 6,100m, time was running out as we had to return to our high camp to meet the porters to return to base camp. So once again we gave up and returned to La Paz. We spent a rest day in La Paz, hiring a taxi to bring up to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca. The road to the lake is across the Altiplana with magnificent views of the whole Cordillera Real. It was in a town on the plains of the Altiplano that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid met their end. My eyes were continuously drawn to Ancohuma, which looked a beautiful isolated peak.
At the fine cathedral in Copacabana an old priest was blessing all the cars. His complexion told me he arrived from Ireland some forty years ago. Unfortunately every time I approached him I was liberally showered with holy water, causing me to retreat.
On return to La Paz our guide told us he had decided to return to the camp at Laguna Chiar Khota. I was very disappointed having spent the day gazing up at Ancohuma, but was consoled with the promise to climb Condoriri instead.
After an uneventful return to our base camp, the next day we climbed two new routes on Piramide Blanca 5,230m which we graded D and D- mainly on 60 to 70 degrees perfect snow and ice.
At 7am on our rest day we were awakened by an Australian chap returning looking for help to rescue his friend who was hit by a stone fall on Condoriri. We rigged up a make-shift stretcher with ski poles and rope and carried him down to the road head, taking four hours where we met a Land Rover. He was a young university student from England who was hit on the head (no helmet) and was suffering from amnesia. It was difficult to keep him from falling asleep. We heard later that he had an emergency operation in La Paz, but was recovering well. Rescue facilities are virtually non-existent in Bolivia.
Damien decided against tackling Condoriri so at 5am the next morning we set off for Pequeño Alpamayo 5,370m. This peak is hidden from view until you reach the summit of Tarija from where Perqueño Alpamayo is viewed as a wonderful snow pyramid with a dramatic snow ridge. From the summit, Ancohuma smiled at me through a break in the clouds. It was a lot more difficult to climb down the ridge, but we were back in camp at 3pm leaving me with some hours trying to photograph viscachas, a cat-sized rodent with a bushy, squirrel-like tail.
After a feed and piss-up in La Paz, I was now ready to tackle 32 hours of travel, dozing and dreaming. The big plusses of Bolivia are the ease of access from La Paz, the very settled weather and the fantastic snow and ice conditions. The area being very underdeveloped means that it is a relatively cheap and not overrun by other climbing parties.
I have at last climbed outside the Alps and discovered there are a lot of other 6,000m peaks to try and climb.