Misti Volcanoe (Carmen)

Picture in front of Misti the day before the ascent attempt

On the morning of our first day of two days, Andy (the cool Canadian Ariana and I met in Aguas Calientes with Amanda), Dominic (another really cool guy, a Brit who, at 21, already has quite a bit of mountaineering experience) and I met our guide José, who was really great! After 1.5 hours, our jeep dropped us off at 3415m to start the 4 hour walk (plus about 2 hours in very appreciated breaks) leading us to base camp at 4600m.

The walk itself is the easiest in the world, nothing nearly as hard as the Putukuci walk Ariana and I did in Machu Picchu, but the altitude made it laborious, so José set a slow pace.

The first part of it was also through absolutely amazing flowers in the brightest yellows, orange, and reds. Quite a contrast to the earth tones around, and the large amounts of dust and volcanic ash!


And unfortunately, my body picked the day before to start a cold! What a time to get sick! I started coughing up stuff the same colour as all my clothes! (which are green...) José looked a little worried when he saw my hacking sessions, and Andy none too thrilled about sharing my tent with me! I, in the meantime, did not find it fun to have both this and the altitude hinder my breathing. It got colder and windier the higher we went, and so the layers kept on coming on.



Arriving at base camp was a relief. Setting it up was slow, just because every one was slowed down by altitude-induced headaches and fast-beating hearts,
but then José fed us and gave us warm tea, which we drank watching the absolutely fabulous sunset over the Chachani volcanoe and the sprawled city of Arequipa below lighting up (it is Peru's second largest city) and then we were all in bed by 6pm, trying to rest up for our 2am departure.


The night itself was far from restful. It is my first experience at this height, and sleeping at 4600m (about 16,000 feet) is strange. I checked my heart rate for fun. It was around 120 for much of the night (I woke up many times), which is odd lying down. I was plagued by the vague feeling that I should be very anxious about something. And of course, I kept on coughing away. Poor Andy. The wind became stronger and stronger.

There were 3 teams setting out the next morning, 10 people in all plus the guides. José, hoping that the wind would start dying down, woke us up as late as he dared, a full hour later than planned. Setting out in the night is a very common practice in moutaineering; as the weather usually deteriorates in the afternoon, summiting way before noon is preferable, making it possible to then descend safely. We all stumbled into our boots and mitts. José greeted us with breakfast and tea, but tea was all I could handle. We had to scream our good mornings over the raging wind. I took my bag with a litre of water, camera, sunglasses and sunblock (although, in the pitch darkness, the sun seemed like such a remote possibility) and set about following José. My world shrank to the circle of loose scree lit up by my headlamp and José's boots in it. Everything else disappeared, enclosed in the screeching wind. Three steps forward, and a breathing break, 3 steps forward.... I was trying hard to get into a rhythm but failing. And this slow pace made it impossible to actually warm up. The wind kept blowing hard, knocking me off balance, my head pounded, my dizziness made me disoriented. In my mind, I tried to recite bits of books by some of my favourite mountaineer writers to encourage me; they'd all been through this before, and sometimes their lives depended on their continuing. But less than an hour after leaving, with the strongs winds blowing us all over the place (it was about -10C, no idea what that is in F, but it is way below freezing anyway) I thought I would not make it and told the others I would go back down. This is not an easy decision to make. At that moment, I still had thoughts that I might make it, images of summitting and happily taking pictures in the morning light, it was only two hours to sunrise, that would surely help, and then another 3 to the summit. But another part of me thought that I would not, and that if I delayed the moment of making the decision, I would become a liability to the team, as I could not get myself down. So, with a constricted throat, I gave my camera to Dominic, got a hug from Andy, and José rushed me back to my tent (which took about 10 minutes) before rushing back to the other two, barely taking the time to note the splendour of the city lights spread out below our camp and the stars in the pitch black night above.

As soon as I managed to get myself in my sleeping bag, I was aware that it was the right decision; unknowingly, my feet had become numb and I had a hard time moving them. The nausea, dizziness and strange feeling of disconnection from my body had prevented me from noticing it. I could have suffered frostbite without even seeing it coming. I cuddled my sleeping bag (I love sleeping bags!!) and after an hour, the sun rose, warmin up the tent. The following two hours were wonderful and warm, and I slept, hearing the wind that was still raging, seemingly even more strongly than when we set out.

Meantime on the mountain, an hour after I left, Dominic could no longer go forward. Nausea, pounding headache, feeling dizzy, apart from freezing... he could not fathom another 4 hours of it, of feeling like you are running full speed although you are barely progressing, and in the lighter sky, he made his way down too. When I woke up and saw him, I was, if anything, more disappointed than I had been for myself that he did not summit. At a strong and fit 21, with a lot of experience in the moutains (although not at this altitude), I felt his success was a given.
But he was less acclimatized than us, having only been in Arequipa (at 2300m m) whereas Andy and I had been at around 4000m at Lake Titicaca already. But he was great about it, and felt, as I did, that it was a fabulous experience nonetheless.

Andy kept going the 6 hours it took to summit, and by the time he got back down, everyone else (4 of us did not make it up) was feeling much better and looking forward to hearing the stories. Which he only provided once he's beelined straight for a pile of rocks that provided shelter from the winds, from which he smiled at us looking intensely relieved.

By that time (lunch) the sun was warm, and our water bottles were melting enough to let us drink. We hammered away the ice from the bottom of our cups and drank warm maté de coca to his success!



Going down was fast, and the headaches lifted just as quickly.

Dominic and I joked with José that we would meet again next year and try again. This time, with an extra day, just to make sure the acclimatization is perfect. And then, why not? Chachani volcanoe, a bit higher, much more snow, and, bonus, 4 peaks! Sounds like an excellent joke to me!