Saturday 2 March 2013

1st March 2013




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...