Biking down, climbing high (Bolivia)

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(Day 279 on the road)"If you need the oxygen bottle, your climb is over and you are going down". This was the firm stance of the guide at the climbing agency in the centre of La Paz. I was there because I had finally made up my mind to try to climb Huayna Potosi, a 6.088 metre mountain that is very accessible from La Paz.

I had thought long and hard about whether I really wanted to do it. And why, really? I was quite worried about the altitude. Also, the actual ascent starts at 1 am, so there would be little to no sleep the night before. But as a good friend told me on the phone: I had been at the altitude of La Paz / Lake Titicaca for over a month now; I would never be as well acclimatised as I am now.

He was right, of course, and so I booked the tour. To prepare, I did an acclimatisation hike up the ~5.300 metre Pico Austria, a day trip from La Paz. I arrived back in La Paz that afternoon with a terrible headache. But when I told the minibus driver that I had done the climb in two and half hours, he just laughed at me. He said that if I had gone with a guide it would have taken closer to four hours. Going solo made me go way too fast at this altitude. By comparison, when we climbed Huayna Potosi a few days later, the pace our guide chose was a snail's pace. Lesson learned.

I had opted for a three-day trip (you can do it in two) to climb Huayna Potosi. For one thing, it gave me an extra day to acclimatise at the Base Camp, sitting at 4.800 metres. But more importantly, the three-day option allowed me to spend an afternoon on a nearby glacier, practising how to use my ice axe properly, how to walk with crampons, and how to walk when roped to someone else. It was all new to me, and I thought it would be wise to know these things in advance of the actual climb.

After the afternoon practice session and a relaxing (albeit very cold) night at Base Camp, the next day we set off for High Camp, which was already at a lofty 5.250 metres. Actually, there were a number of High Camps, but I had chosen this particular agency partly because they used the highest of the High Camps, shaving 30 minutes off the climb the following night. There were eight of us in the hut that night - five climbers and three guides (no more than two climbers per guide). After an early dinner at 17:30h, we were all in bed by 18:30h. But with the combination of altitude and the early hours, I don't think any of us slept at all. In fact, I was relieved when our guide Iri told us to get ready just after midnight.

The atmosphere in the hut was one of intense anticipation and preparation - three pairs of trousers, two tops, two jackets, two pairs of socks, two pairs of gloves, harness (to attach the rope to later), expedition boots, gaiters, balaclava, extra hat, helmet, headlamp. Also some high-energy snacks, water, first-aid kit, coca leaves to chew, painkillers for the expected headaches and an extra jacket for the summit. It took a surprisingly long time to put everything on. Breakfast consisted of some biscuits and coca tea, but I had to force myself to eat something. I was ready to go!

At 1 am, we were finally all equipped. The snowfield started five minutes walk from our hut, and after putting on our crampons and ropes, we started our ascent. It was a full moon, and it was an eerie sight to see only the headlamps of other climbers, already ahead of us in the black night, slowly ascending the mountain.

I was paired with Japanese Shu, and together with our Bolivian guide Iri we made a very good trio. Iri was only twenty years old, but he had first climbed Huayna Potosi when he was just 14. Since then he has been up the mountain more than a hundred times. He kept us close to two other groups who were climbing at a similar pace to us.

In fact, we were too fast for our own good. Within an hour of starting the ascent, we had overtaken every other group climbing the mountain. Our guides made us walk slower and slower, and forced us to take longer and longer breaks whenever there was a flat place to actually stop and rest. The guides' concern was this: Sunrise was at 06:30h, and the summit is very exposed, with fierce winds and very low temperatures (as we soon found out). For the final approach to the summit, they even took us on a longer route than usual.

Actually, I would have refused to take this particular route if I had actually known (or seen) it - it was pitch black, with only our headlamps illuminating the path right in front of us. The moon had disappeared somewhere. The steep and icy path we had to scramble up was no more than a metre wide, and in many places less than that. I was literally on all fours by now, battling with the snow, the altitude, my ice axe, my tiredness, the world. To the right there was a vertical drop where we could only sense that it was hundreds of metres deep. On the left, there was a steep and icy slope of maybe 60 degrees.

Our guide Iri was in front, I was in the middle, Shu was behind, all roped together. I think if Shu had slipped at that point and gone over the edge, I would have been too surprised to react quickly enough to hold him. I suppose Iri would have reacted better than I could have, but I imagine Shu would have just pulled us over the edge with him regardless. How could I ever hope to hold him on that steep and icy slope? Anyway, as I write this, you know that everything went well.

But it was no good anyway. Even with the longer and more difficult route, we reached the summit at 05:45h, a good 45 minutes before sunrise. But, we could already see the world lighting up below us, and it was beautiful as it was. As you might expect, the summit of such a high mountain was tiny, barely big enough for two or three people at a time. So, after a few obligatory summit photos, Iri led us down the other side to give other approaching groups some space on the summit. But we were not unhappy - it was minus ten degrees up there, completely exposed and very windy.

So we began our descent, which was actually quite enjoyable on the still hard snow and with our crampons. The only treacherous parts were the passages where we had to give way to other groups that were still climbing up towards us long after sunrise.

Thirty minutes later, we took our time to enjoy the most amazing sunrise. Even at the lower altitude, we were still at the top of our little world, and the bright orange colours contrasting with the snow, ice and crevasses was nothing short of spectacular.

Looking back, climbing Huayna Potosi was an amazing thing to do. But it was also perhaps one of the most physically challenging things I have done in my life. Standing on the summit after the difficulty of getting there was extremely satisfying.

But would I do it again? There was a scene that afternoon as my climbing buddy Shu and I sat back at Base Camp after the climb and long descent, sipping tea and waiting for our minibus to take us back to La Paz. A German girl who was about to walk up to High Camp (for the climb later that night) asked us: "Would you do it again"? Without hesitating or looking at each other, both Shu and I answered with a firm "No".

And make no mistake: Despite what the travel agents in La Paz tell you, this is a very challenging (if not technical) climb. We met a fair number of people who didn't make it; many of them didn't even come close. There was a French girl who had to give up at the lower Base Camp because she was already suffering from headaches and stomach problems. Another Israeli guy had to give up just two hours after leaving the High Camp because he was vomiting all over the place.

In fact, my Japanese climbing buddy Shu was on his second attempt. He had tried to climb Huayna Potosi back in February, but had to turn back at 5.700 metres because his group was too slow due to the altitude and the conditions that night. So he came back, and this time he made it. He had just the biggest grin on his face when he finally stood on that bloody summit.

For my part, I was actually surprised how well I coped with the altitude. I have been much worse at even lower altitudes in my life - a trip along the stunning Pamir Highway in Tajikistan a few years ago comes to mind, where I was absolutely miserable for days on end. To be fair, this time I did take an altitude pill and half a paracetamol, as well as drinking and chewing copious amounts of coca leaves.

And with such an adventure behind me, it is almost hard to write about other things that happened at the same time (like getting my laptop's speaker fixed, which had blown out). I did, however, cycle down the famous Death Road the week before - an experience that would probably warrant more attention, but somehow pales in comparison to climbing Huayna Potosi.

I had actually wanted to cycle down this famous road for many years. Before a new, asphalt road was built, there were an average of 300 deaths a year, mostly from drivers going over the edge. A large passenger bus holds the sad record for most people killed in one incident, a shocking 108 poor souls. The number of crosses along the road was astonishing.

Today, the road can still be used by cars (in theory), but is mainly used by tourists on full suspension bicycles. The route is almost entirely downhill - from about 4.650 metres to 1.550 metres. The first part is on tarmac, the second on gravel, and the road is often in pretty bad shape (think landslides, waterfalls pouring down on you, steep cliff on your left). In other words: It was nothing short of spectacular.

The descent itself wasn't too difficult, as long as you adjusted your speed to the poor condition of the road. But I suppose there will always be idiots who overestimate their abilities and underestimate the danger - in our case a Bolivian guy from La Paz who was going at an insane speed. He paid his dues soon enough when he crashed quite badly, bleeding profusely and dislocating his shoulder. His ride was over at that point. Shame for him - and I don't want to sound heartless here, but I guess he had it coming.

I spent a few more days in La Paz, revisiting some of the nice places Suzanne and I had discovered together (breakfast at Cafe Typica, sauna at Aqua Center, vegatarian dinner at Armonia). However, it felt different going there alone, and I was soon ready to move on and discover the rest of Bolivia. Onwards, as always.



My route in Bolivia (so far): Copacabana - La Paz - Copacabana - Isla del Sol - Tiwanako - La Paz - Coroico - La Paz - Huayna Potosi - La Paz.

Next stop: Oruro (Bolivia).

To view my photos, have a look at pictures.beiske.com.

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Comments

[Dancing Dave]

The way down from Huayna Potosi
Far out!!! What a fabulous pic of a stunning locale on a magical mountain of an adventure of the ages. 5 stars for sure!!!

[Dancing Dave]

Happy & Exhausted
Definitely one for the Pool Room

[D MJ Binkley]

Bravo!
What a great adventure. Thanks for sharing. You are amazing.