I'm writing
this blog post in Santa Cruz having spent a couple of days in the
sunshine. Its somewhat ironic as my first attempt to get here ended
in my arrival in Sucre whereas this time round I was only supposed to
be here for a couple of hours and I'm stuck here for two days. The
circumstances of my stranding added to my rather low opinion of Santa
Cruz, my first visit lasting only a couple of hours on my way back
from Buenos Aires at which point my impression of Santa Cruz was an
unattractive, unpleasantly hot town and for a lover of La Paz its
relative wealth was visible in the most gaudy, distasteful way with
hummers and luxury coupes speeding through the dusty streets. After
suffering a twenty hour bus journey to get here that should have been
twelve (no fault of Santa Cruz – even though I chose to blame it),
resulting in a missed flight I found myself overwhelmed with a an
almost religious fervour in my hatred of this place. As is the nature
of human intelligence I'd assigning meaning to the patterns I'd
observed. In this case an abundance of unpleasant sensory data
attached to Santa Cruz presenting a pattern that was 100% negative.
Fortunately the story doesn't end there... As all good empiricists
know proof by induction only holds true as long as no contradictory
sense data arrives. And in breaking with my somewhat religious
experience I was ready and able to cast aside my mistaken beliefs on
arrival at a hotel in the central square only minutes after avoiding
most of the costs I would have incurred buying a brand new flight
ticket thanks to Aerolineas Argentinas Handily located on said
square. So what led to the turn around?
First off
the airline sorted me out with a new flight for only $50 dollars
(much better than the $300 I was going to have to spend on a new
ticket) - no SleazyJet / Ryan Air rackets here in Latin America. Next
up the helpful Canadian guy in the square who directed me to the
lovely cafe on the opposite corner of the square where I got some
wifi, next the stroll through the magnificent square itself shaded
with all manner of beautiful trees and a hubbub of happy locals. And
finally the lucky break in finding a boutique hotel right next to the
cafe where I've enjoyed two nights stay for about a hundred quid. I
should add that the hotel's huge bed, amazing views, central
location, rooftop pool, sauna and steam room that no one apart form
me seems to use also help. So there you have it. Santa Cruz ain't so
bad afterall, almost makes me want to listen to that one hit wonder
of the same name by The Thrills that most Californian of Irish bands.
Finally before I get on to my mountaineering adventures I should
quickly mention the women here are beautiful too. I understand this
is a rather well known fact and I'm happy to confirm its true.
Anyway, let me back up to a few days ago and my ascent of Huayna
Potosi...
I was set
to climb Huayna Potosi over my last three days in La Paz and booked
in with the travel agency usefully located in the hostel I stay at in
La Paz (Adventure Brew if I haven't mentioned this before). However,
the day before I was informed the trip was cancelled due to lack of
an available guide! With little time to react I rather dejectedly
headed out to Calle Sagarnaga (the street in town where all the
guides are located). Fortunately my scepticism was quickly allayed as
I found a reputable looking company willing to take me up the
mountain (I should mention Huayna Potosi is one of the highest
mountain in the Bolivian andes clocking in at 6,088m). Spirits lifted
I headed back to the hostel to rest up and make sure all of the
necessary gear was packed and ready to go.
The next
day I met my guide early on an encouragingly bright and clear day.
His name was Pollo (spanish for chicken) - I'm sure he has a more
formal name but that remains mystery to me and he was content to know
me only as Macc so I guess we were even? To my surprise / delight it
turned out that I was his only customer and I'd have his guiding
services all to myself. And after our brief introduction and getting
to know you chat it was time to get fitted out with the required
gear. This included: crampon ready boots, crampons, a down jacket,
another jacket to go over the top, waterproof trousers and ice axe
all of which quickly led me to the realisation that this was gong to
be a pretty full on experience. From there we set off in a typically
Bolivian rickety old toyota people carrier for the mountain. Our
destination was the base camp at around 4,700m. The drive up from La
Paz is only 25kms but the steep and winding road taking us high above
alti plano was spectacular and took almost two hours. As we drove out
of El Alto (city on the high plateau above La Paz) entered a wide
valley lined with different coloured lakes fed by the ever retreating
glaciers that partially shroud Huayna Potosi and past a long
abandoned mine where the graves of miners who fought against the army
during a particularly violent dispute many years ago. As we
progressed the sheer scale of the mountain became apparent as it
occupied more and more of the view. Eventually after passed some sort
of police checkpoint we arrived at the base camp or perhaps I should
give it the more alarming name used by Pollo and most everyone else:
refuge. The refuge was in reality a rather low key compound of four
small stone buildings sitting beneath crags obscuring the white peak
above one of which was manned, well womaned by a local bolivian
cholita called Elvira who greeted us warmly and seemed to enjoying
silently giggling in a girlish fashion.
After
getting unpacked and greeting a middle aged couple from Manchester
and Korea by way of Australia and two young former officers from the
Israeli army who were on their own expeditions to the summit we set
off for our initial day of practice on the lower glacier. To get to
the glacier we trekked for around an hour over a boulder field and
into a basin beneath the higher mountain that looked like a
moonscape. Sadly visibility by now was reduced to around twenty
meters as a veil of cloud that wasn't to lift for the remainder of my
time on the mountain had arrived. This was my first up close and
personal encounter with a glacier and it let me know right away that
negotiating such an obstacle is completely different to a walk in the
Scottish highlands. Despite my crampons and ice axe I slipped and
fell from the sheer face within a minute and cut my hand in a number
of places on its steely cold serrated surface. Thankfully the cuts
weren't deep and the cold serves as a great anaesthetic. Continuing
onward before too long I'd started to get the hang of things and
learned a number of techniques, including my favourite which Pollo
termed the “John Wayne” (basically walking down steep slopes in
the manner of John Wayne). After an hour or so on the glacier Pollo
ushered me down a particularly steep slope and off the glacier. My
practice session was complete, or so I thought. In fact we were going
to the edge of the glacier to find an ice wall to practice climbing a
ten meter ice wall! This I was able to do rather better than I
expected and afterwards it really was time to head back to the
refuge, which now felt like it had been given a much more appropriate
name.
A good meal
courtesy of Pollo ( a man of many talents) and a long restful sleep
and it was time to start our ascent for real. Unlike the previous day
our climb today required that we take all of the gear we'd need for
the final climb tomorrow with us. This meant carrying 20Kgs of gear
(no porters here) up to the high camp at 5,200m, although I'm happy
to say there were no glaciers to navigate. The hike took us up to the
site of the lower glacier we'd visited the previous day then up
through a boulder field zagging back and forth up as steep a slope as
I can remember climbing. The portion of the trek usually takes around
three hours and to both Pollo's and my delight we managed to knock it
off in a couple of hours which boded well for the real test that lay
ahead. The high refuge was a substantial if small stone building
perched precariously on the top of the rocky shoulder we'd climbed
looking down onto a vast glacier that blanketed the mountain up
towards its peak. Sadly the cloud cover was still pretty much all
encompassing and there was little to we could see short of the the
first expanse of the glacier that started just below the refuge.
After lunch and afternoon nap, followed by three course dinner it was
time to hit the hay ahead of our ascent that would commense at 2am
(normally people leave at 1am but Pollo felt I was going to be strong
enough to start a little later – I think he also fancied a bit of a
lie in). So before I knew it, it was time to go. A cup of coca tea
and bar of chocolate gear check, head torches on and off we went.
What we went out into was not what I expected or hoped for. Snow was
falling as we started to climb the glacier and it quickly turned into
a blizzard. Pollo cautioned after we'd climbed for an hour as we
began to traverse towards the steepest part of the climb that if
conditions didn't improve we'd have to turn back. My heart sunk and
with it I lost some of the determination it requires to do this
climb, particularly in a blizzard. I can't explain how difficult each
step is, it literally takes your breath away and even if you pause to
regather yourself the thin air provides little sustenance for your
lungs. My dejection only added to this. We continued or perhaps I
should say struggled onwards for another hour climbing an
increasingly exposed and ever steeper slope until Pollo declared we'd
have to turn back. We'd reached around the half way point and even
through on one level the physical relief I felt instantly on
descending rather than ascending I was more bitterly disappointed
than I can remember been in a long time. Pollo could see how upset I
was and assured me that I'd have no problem completing the climb if
it hadn't been for the conditions but it still felt like failure.
By the time
we reached the high refuge an hour later Pollo said we could rest and
finish our descent in a couple of hours. I asked if we could go there
and then. I just wanted to get off the mountain. But he insisted we
stay as there would be no one to collect us for a few more hours at
the bottom so stay we did. I lay and stewed realising I didn't even
have a photo of the highest point we reached (in any event it would
just be me looking miserable peering through a blizzard with a head
torch in the dark). I'm pleased to say that once we got off the
mountain and into the car on our way back to La Paz I managed to gain
some perspective. It had been an amazing experience like no other
I've known and I don't regret it for a minute. I'd done everything I
could to succeed and I'd be able to come back (in a more suitable
season) and do it another time. Still until I do get back there will
be a piece of me that won't be satisfied but that's no bad thing. So
my last blog post form Bolivia I can conclude by definitely saying
that I'll be back. Thanks Huayna Potosi you sealed the deal...