Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Chimborazo: SUMMIT
Yeah!!
Yesterday afternoon I was picked up 1-ish to go to the Refugio Whymper on the Western flank of Chimborazo and give the sucker a shot.
This mountain happens to be an extinct volcano, with a summit 6310m above sea level, and is the furthest point from the centre of the earth short of being airborne. At noon local time, presumably, it's also the closest point to the sun. It's higher than everything in North America - Denali is 6194m, Logan is "only" 5959m. In fact, it's higher than everything on any continent other than South America and Asia. It's a big objective, but with the advantage that the logistics are straight forward. There is no long approach (like the 2 day walk-in to Aconcagua) or complicated transportation (weather-dependent flights to Patriot Hills for those attempting Mt. Vinson in Antarctica). You drive to the Carrel hut, and walk 30-45 minutes to the Whymper hut 200m higher. This is not a multi-day expedition with a couple of bivouacs or high camps. The mechanics are similar to Cotopaxi and some other volcanoes in Ecuador: idiculous alpine start (in this case midnight) and hopefully a summit at around dawn, returning before the sun turns the glacier into an angled lake.
The plan was to climb this with a new guide, Cesar, a more competent replacement to Carlito. I get picked up by... yet another guide. This is good news; the guide at question was on Cotopaxi during my near-summit, and I was rather impressed by him - he had an air of competence. Freddy's the name. My mood improves.
Freddy is experienced. He has climbed all over the world, though not Canada. He's heading to Switzerland in April and talking about climbing the Eigerwand. He's attempted Cerro Torre twice. He's climbed in Peru, and in Colorado. He says he probably has around 80 summits on Chimborazo alone. And he's been guiding for 13 years. In other words, he's not the wet-behind-the-ears Carlito. He also speaks very respectable English, an asset when it comes to guiding an English-speaker in a somewhat risky environment.
We made it to the Carrel Brothers hut at around 3 PM, and up to the Whymper hut shortly after 4 PM. These huts are named after the first people to climb Chimborazo in 1880, Louis Carrel, Jean-Antoine Carrel and Edward Whymper. Whymper is also noted for the first ascent of the Matterhorn.
Also, it was Whymper who said (in Scrambles Amongs the Alps):
I was not expecting much activity on the mountain that night, but it turns out that more Germans invaded Ecuador, and there was a relatively large expedition - I believe 8 or so climbers - were about to lay siege to the mountain. Their first mistake: beer, wine & rum ahead of a midnight start, and at 5000 meters elevation, to boot. I guess you can't take the booze away from some people...
I ate, went to bed at 7 PM, slept a bit, and up at 11 for a midnight start. This time, no major issues with altitude - in fact, I felt great and ate with gusto, something I can't say happened on Cotopaxi. That may have been part of the issue behind my rather brutal cardiovascular performance on that mountain...
It also serves to mention that the weather the day before the climb was terrific - not a cloud in the sky, no percipitation. This is a huge step up from the Cotopaxi attempt, which was unfortunately loaded with snow.
Aside: I spoke with the head of the German expedition and he mentioned that his team turned back on Cotopaxi at precisely the place I turned back, for precisely the same reason. I feel somewhat more validated.
Freddy & I left camp at 12:15 AM to attempt the "Normal route" aka what I believe is the North-West ridge, also known as the "Castillo" route after a big castle-looking rock in the vicitity of where you get on the ridge proper. The route is 1300m vertical over rock (at first) and snow (for the last 800m or so). According to SummitPost and people I've spoken with, it's typical to take 8-9 hours to ascend, and another 3-4 to descend.
Point 1: At least three teams departed from the Whymper hut that night, including a Japanese pair with a guide, the Germans, and Freddy & I. We were definitely the last. Being last did not prevent us from immediately overtaking the Blitzkriegers, who were moving with not too much Blitz. We made good time, and I believe we passed everyone who had started from Whymper and not from the bivouac site on the ridge near the Castillo.
We climb up to the Castillo (more precisely, just above the Castillo) through a mixture of moraine-like crap, ice, snow and mud. In crampons. It's a delight, but we get on the ridge and start climbing.
Point 2: It's windy and cold as all hell. Now, you occasionally hear about hurricaine-force winds in different places like Florida, Louisiana, etc. If you follow the climbing world, you may hear about high winds on K2, for example. You rarely hear about really high winds on the North-West Ridge of Chimborazo. Guess what? They're there. I thought I was going to get picked up by the wind fairies and get thrown into the nearest active volcano (incidentally, Tungurahua, which is belching smoke about 8km from where I'm sitting and typing this). I've never experienced anything like this, but hey - that's part of the adventure. You can't expect fair weather, and to be fair I haven't had fair weather on any of the three alpine climbs I've done here thus far. Illiniza Norte had the cloud/fog/rain, Cotopaxi had the cloud/fog/rain/snow, and Chimborazo had no cloud, rain or snow - but ridiculous winds. Using my highly scientific tools, I estimate the wind to have been somewhere around 40-50 knots, and the temperature no warmer than -10C.
We climb on. I nearly lose one of my gloves to the wind and Freddy points out that it's very common to lose gloves and that he carries extras for that reason. 10 minutes later, we pass by the Japanese team from our camp (I only found out who it was once I got down), which is standing immobile with a woman clutching her hand. She lost her proper Gore-Tex glove and is wearing something wooly and otherwise inappropriate. Ordinarily, there is no easy out from this situation; it's cold & windy, and we've now been climbing for at least 3 hours. Exposed skin in this kind of environment does not stand much chance against the elements. Going higher is totally out of the question. And yet, if she turns back to camp, by the time she gets to warmth she may still suffer pretty severe frostbite. Freddy to the rescue: he has extra gloves. Phew! I'm not sure I've ever seen someone be as appreciative as this woman, and express it so mutedly...
It's worth noting that the first ascent of Annapurna, by Maurice Herzog and Louis Lachenal in 1950, had glove issues. Specifically, Herzog put his gloves down. They blew away. He lost all 10 fingers and 10 toes. If memory serves, Lachenal only lost his toes. Charming, eh?
We climb on. The snow is good. Unlike Cotopaxi, where we were climbing on largely high-angle wet snow, Chimborazo is in great shape. The snow has a nice crust ("neve") underneath which is large ice particles. It's very easy to make steps on this stuff, as long as you're not going over a snow bridge and your leg falls through - which happened a couple of times on the descend to my immediate concern. The angle is also friendlier than Cotopaxi, with fewer stretches of 45-degree hell on earth. The flip side is that the route is longer, but somehow doesn't feel that way.
At around 6:30 PM we reach the first summit, the so-called Ventemilla Summit at 6270m (this mountain has 5 individual summits). From here it's a traverse through a minor dip to the true summit, the Whymper Summit. As we head to the Whymper Summit, we cross paths with a team climbing ahead of us who topped out shortly before us. We summit at 7:05 AM, as the sun is rising and we can see some of the gorgeous peaks nearby: Cotopaxi, Cayambe, Antisana, the Illinizas, Sangay, El Altar... and clouds far below. The panorama is unbelieveable. Obligatory summit shots later.
We descend from the Whymper summit, by way of the Ventemilla summit and the route we took up (with a few shortcuts plainly visible in daylight). We see no one heading up as we are heading down, including the German team. They made it to 5500m, but obviously for whatever reason turned back. I can only suspect that it was the high winds that scared them off; not sure why, exactly, but that's my guess. There were two teams, totalling 5 climbers (2 of them guides) on top of Chimborazo today. I think another team made it to the Ventemilla summit, but turned back from there.
It's not a lot of fun to go down these snow fields, but at least now we can see them. When you climb at night behind a guide, you look at where you're going to put your feet and have no real concept of the route or the surrounding panorama. On the descent, you see everything. Man oh man was it ever a lot of snow - and some very steep parts, too! We eventually make it down to the early section of mud, scree, snow & ice that must be tackled in crampons, and what a joy it was all over again. Descending scree in crampons is unnerving at best. Descending scree covered with a small layer of snow, at a steep angle, is even less fun. However, there's no choice. I make it down to the Whymper hut at 10:20, a few minutes behind Freddy.
One snag: I left my trekking pole (my spare, given one of them broke on Illiniza Norte) hanging on a hook inside the Whymper hut on the correct hunch that I would not need it, nor want it. I come back, and it's gone. Why? Where? My suspicion is that the Germans mistakenly took it - they were all equipped with a pair each, and probably grabbed it by mistake in their hurried departure (they were gone by the time I came off the mountain). I don't think I'll ever see the pole again. Both Illiniza Norte and Chimborazo have taken one of my trekking poles, and if that's the price I have to pay for a safe and enjoyable climb, then so be it.
So, short of actually being there, this is the story. I have a new personal altitude record (6310m, topping the Stok Kangri record of 6137m as measured earlier this year). And I'm very, very tired.
After a bit of R&R at the Whymper hut, I picked up my transport and made my way to Baños, a touristy resort town near the active volcano Tungurahua, which was belching smoke as I was driving in. I can't see the volcano now, as it's obstructed by other mountains despite being only 8km away. I suppose it's comforting that there's something in the way in case this thing starts spewing lava or something...
I'm looking to spend the next few days here in Baños, returning to Quito either on Thursday or Friday, in time to go to Otavalo for the Saturday morning market - apparently the largest artisan market in Latin America. And on Sunday, the trip is over, just as I'm getting into it and finding out all kinds of cool places to visit and gorgeous mountains to climb.
Yesterday afternoon I was picked up 1-ish to go to the Refugio Whymper on the Western flank of Chimborazo and give the sucker a shot.
This mountain happens to be an extinct volcano, with a summit 6310m above sea level, and is the furthest point from the centre of the earth short of being airborne. At noon local time, presumably, it's also the closest point to the sun. It's higher than everything in North America - Denali is 6194m, Logan is "only" 5959m. In fact, it's higher than everything on any continent other than South America and Asia. It's a big objective, but with the advantage that the logistics are straight forward. There is no long approach (like the 2 day walk-in to Aconcagua) or complicated transportation (weather-dependent flights to Patriot Hills for those attempting Mt. Vinson in Antarctica). You drive to the Carrel hut, and walk 30-45 minutes to the Whymper hut 200m higher. This is not a multi-day expedition with a couple of bivouacs or high camps. The mechanics are similar to Cotopaxi and some other volcanoes in Ecuador: idiculous alpine start (in this case midnight) and hopefully a summit at around dawn, returning before the sun turns the glacier into an angled lake.
The plan was to climb this with a new guide, Cesar, a more competent replacement to Carlito. I get picked up by... yet another guide. This is good news; the guide at question was on Cotopaxi during my near-summit, and I was rather impressed by him - he had an air of competence. Freddy's the name. My mood improves.
Freddy is experienced. He has climbed all over the world, though not Canada. He's heading to Switzerland in April and talking about climbing the Eigerwand. He's attempted Cerro Torre twice. He's climbed in Peru, and in Colorado. He says he probably has around 80 summits on Chimborazo alone. And he's been guiding for 13 years. In other words, he's not the wet-behind-the-ears Carlito. He also speaks very respectable English, an asset when it comes to guiding an English-speaker in a somewhat risky environment.
We made it to the Carrel Brothers hut at around 3 PM, and up to the Whymper hut shortly after 4 PM. These huts are named after the first people to climb Chimborazo in 1880, Louis Carrel, Jean-Antoine Carrel and Edward Whymper. Whymper is also noted for the first ascent of the Matterhorn.
Also, it was Whymper who said (in Scrambles Amongs the Alps):
There have been joys too great to be described in words, and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared to dwell; and with these in mind I say: Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.Sage advice for any mountaineer.
I was not expecting much activity on the mountain that night, but it turns out that more Germans invaded Ecuador, and there was a relatively large expedition - I believe 8 or so climbers - were about to lay siege to the mountain. Their first mistake: beer, wine & rum ahead of a midnight start, and at 5000 meters elevation, to boot. I guess you can't take the booze away from some people...
I ate, went to bed at 7 PM, slept a bit, and up at 11 for a midnight start. This time, no major issues with altitude - in fact, I felt great and ate with gusto, something I can't say happened on Cotopaxi. That may have been part of the issue behind my rather brutal cardiovascular performance on that mountain...
It also serves to mention that the weather the day before the climb was terrific - not a cloud in the sky, no percipitation. This is a huge step up from the Cotopaxi attempt, which was unfortunately loaded with snow.
Aside: I spoke with the head of the German expedition and he mentioned that his team turned back on Cotopaxi at precisely the place I turned back, for precisely the same reason. I feel somewhat more validated.
Freddy & I left camp at 12:15 AM to attempt the "Normal route" aka what I believe is the North-West ridge, also known as the "Castillo" route after a big castle-looking rock in the vicitity of where you get on the ridge proper. The route is 1300m vertical over rock (at first) and snow (for the last 800m or so). According to SummitPost and people I've spoken with, it's typical to take 8-9 hours to ascend, and another 3-4 to descend.
Point 1: At least three teams departed from the Whymper hut that night, including a Japanese pair with a guide, the Germans, and Freddy & I. We were definitely the last. Being last did not prevent us from immediately overtaking the Blitzkriegers, who were moving with not too much Blitz. We made good time, and I believe we passed everyone who had started from Whymper and not from the bivouac site on the ridge near the Castillo.
We climb up to the Castillo (more precisely, just above the Castillo) through a mixture of moraine-like crap, ice, snow and mud. In crampons. It's a delight, but we get on the ridge and start climbing.
Point 2: It's windy and cold as all hell. Now, you occasionally hear about hurricaine-force winds in different places like Florida, Louisiana, etc. If you follow the climbing world, you may hear about high winds on K2, for example. You rarely hear about really high winds on the North-West Ridge of Chimborazo. Guess what? They're there. I thought I was going to get picked up by the wind fairies and get thrown into the nearest active volcano (incidentally, Tungurahua, which is belching smoke about 8km from where I'm sitting and typing this). I've never experienced anything like this, but hey - that's part of the adventure. You can't expect fair weather, and to be fair I haven't had fair weather on any of the three alpine climbs I've done here thus far. Illiniza Norte had the cloud/fog/rain, Cotopaxi had the cloud/fog/rain/snow, and Chimborazo had no cloud, rain or snow - but ridiculous winds. Using my highly scientific tools, I estimate the wind to have been somewhere around 40-50 knots, and the temperature no warmer than -10C.
We climb on. I nearly lose one of my gloves to the wind and Freddy points out that it's very common to lose gloves and that he carries extras for that reason. 10 minutes later, we pass by the Japanese team from our camp (I only found out who it was once I got down), which is standing immobile with a woman clutching her hand. She lost her proper Gore-Tex glove and is wearing something wooly and otherwise inappropriate. Ordinarily, there is no easy out from this situation; it's cold & windy, and we've now been climbing for at least 3 hours. Exposed skin in this kind of environment does not stand much chance against the elements. Going higher is totally out of the question. And yet, if she turns back to camp, by the time she gets to warmth she may still suffer pretty severe frostbite. Freddy to the rescue: he has extra gloves. Phew! I'm not sure I've ever seen someone be as appreciative as this woman, and express it so mutedly...
It's worth noting that the first ascent of Annapurna, by Maurice Herzog and Louis Lachenal in 1950, had glove issues. Specifically, Herzog put his gloves down. They blew away. He lost all 10 fingers and 10 toes. If memory serves, Lachenal only lost his toes. Charming, eh?
We climb on. The snow is good. Unlike Cotopaxi, where we were climbing on largely high-angle wet snow, Chimborazo is in great shape. The snow has a nice crust ("neve") underneath which is large ice particles. It's very easy to make steps on this stuff, as long as you're not going over a snow bridge and your leg falls through - which happened a couple of times on the descend to my immediate concern. The angle is also friendlier than Cotopaxi, with fewer stretches of 45-degree hell on earth. The flip side is that the route is longer, but somehow doesn't feel that way.
At around 6:30 PM we reach the first summit, the so-called Ventemilla Summit at 6270m (this mountain has 5 individual summits). From here it's a traverse through a minor dip to the true summit, the Whymper Summit. As we head to the Whymper Summit, we cross paths with a team climbing ahead of us who topped out shortly before us. We summit at 7:05 AM, as the sun is rising and we can see some of the gorgeous peaks nearby: Cotopaxi, Cayambe, Antisana, the Illinizas, Sangay, El Altar... and clouds far below. The panorama is unbelieveable. Obligatory summit shots later.
We descend from the Whymper summit, by way of the Ventemilla summit and the route we took up (with a few shortcuts plainly visible in daylight). We see no one heading up as we are heading down, including the German team. They made it to 5500m, but obviously for whatever reason turned back. I can only suspect that it was the high winds that scared them off; not sure why, exactly, but that's my guess. There were two teams, totalling 5 climbers (2 of them guides) on top of Chimborazo today. I think another team made it to the Ventemilla summit, but turned back from there.
It's not a lot of fun to go down these snow fields, but at least now we can see them. When you climb at night behind a guide, you look at where you're going to put your feet and have no real concept of the route or the surrounding panorama. On the descent, you see everything. Man oh man was it ever a lot of snow - and some very steep parts, too! We eventually make it down to the early section of mud, scree, snow & ice that must be tackled in crampons, and what a joy it was all over again. Descending scree in crampons is unnerving at best. Descending scree covered with a small layer of snow, at a steep angle, is even less fun. However, there's no choice. I make it down to the Whymper hut at 10:20, a few minutes behind Freddy.
One snag: I left my trekking pole (my spare, given one of them broke on Illiniza Norte) hanging on a hook inside the Whymper hut on the correct hunch that I would not need it, nor want it. I come back, and it's gone. Why? Where? My suspicion is that the Germans mistakenly took it - they were all equipped with a pair each, and probably grabbed it by mistake in their hurried departure (they were gone by the time I came off the mountain). I don't think I'll ever see the pole again. Both Illiniza Norte and Chimborazo have taken one of my trekking poles, and if that's the price I have to pay for a safe and enjoyable climb, then so be it.
So, short of actually being there, this is the story. I have a new personal altitude record (6310m, topping the Stok Kangri record of 6137m as measured earlier this year). And I'm very, very tired.
After a bit of R&R at the Whymper hut, I picked up my transport and made my way to Baños, a touristy resort town near the active volcano Tungurahua, which was belching smoke as I was driving in. I can't see the volcano now, as it's obstructed by other mountains despite being only 8km away. I suppose it's comforting that there's something in the way in case this thing starts spewing lava or something...
I'm looking to spend the next few days here in Baños, returning to Quito either on Thursday or Friday, in time to go to Otavalo for the Saturday morning market - apparently the largest artisan market in Latin America. And on Sunday, the trip is over, just as I'm getting into it and finding out all kinds of cool places to visit and gorgeous mountains to climb.
# posted by Alex Perel @ 5:17 PM 
