Reaching New Heights

This is my tale of climbing a mountain. Considering London has very few mountains, this was a personal first. The mountain in question was Cotopaxi, an extinct volcano and Ecuador´s second highest peak. I had originally investigated climbing it through a company in Quito two months ago, but I quickly discarded this idea for the following reasons:

1. I have no climbing experience
2. My fear of heights
3. It looked like bloody hard work

But on the journey back from Quilitoa, I saw the mountain in it´s full glory. My view was the first photo on this page. Something stirred inside me and I thought "I´ve gotta climb it." But at the same time I was a bit scared and kept coming up with excuses. The main and most pathetic one was "lip salve". I had been at altitude for 5 days in Quilitoa and my lips were chapped and cracked. I thought "I can´t possibly climb Cotopaxi without any lip balm". As I was taking my backpack from the pickup truck, I spotted something in the back. A single, lonesome chapstick which must have fallen out of someone´s backpack. That must have been a sign, so Cotopaxi, here I come!

My expedition was with two guides and two other travellers who were both older than me and had previous climbing experience. I was clearly the weakest link. But this was not a technical climb apparently, and no previous experience was neccessary. Plus all equipment and clothing was provided. And the other two climbers knew I was a first timer and said they´d help me whenever they could. (such as advising me later to put sunblock on the inside of my nostrils as well as your face. The sun can reflect off the snow and burn your nostrils!)

The first step was to reach base camp. We drove as high as we could and then took an "easy" route to the refuge at 4,800m. It was just a steep walk, but the altitude had me huffing and puffing, especially with a backpack full of climbing equipment. Quilitoa had only been 3,000m and I certainly felt the altitude difference. The rest of the day was spent aclimitising in the freezing cold refuge and learning basic skills. We had hot tea, bread and jam to keep our energy levels up. We got a few hours sleep in the icy-cold bunkhouse at 9pm, because we had to be up at midnight for a night ascent. That´s right, a NIGHT ASCENT! The peak of Cotopaxi is 5,800m and it would take between 6 and 7 hours to reach the summit, and then 3 hours to get back down. It has to be started at night because once the sun is out, the snow/ice becomes slushy, ice-bridges become potentially unstable and avalanches are possible. So at midnight I got out of my industrial-strength sleeping bag which was the size of a small car, and got dressed in the chilly mountain air. Meanwhile, our guides preared a huge high-energy "breakfast" illuminated by headtorches. It really was bone-chillingly cold, and I hoped my clothing would be sufficient. On my lower half was

1. Thermal leggings (sexy!)
2. Boxer shorts
3. Fleece trousers
4. Thick waterproof/windproof pants
5. Gators
6. Rigid boots similar to ski-boots
7. Ice-crampons which clamped to the base of the boots

On my upper half I had

1. T-shirt
2. Sweatshirt
3. Fleece
4. Waterproof/Windproof jacket

On my hands were a pair of thermal gloves, with a second pair of thermal mittons over the top. I had a thermal hood, headtorch, a safety harness and a serious looking ice-pick. In addition, I had a large water canteen filled with hot water, and encased in a thermal sheath. This was to prevent the water freezing on our ascent. Finally, waddling like the Michelin Man, I was ready! It was a cloudless night with a full moon, so perfect for visibility. The first part of the journey was over dirt and rocks, so no crampons were necessary. But once we reached the ice, the crampons were on, and I was leashed to my guide with a strong rope. Base camp was 4,800m and the peak was 5,800m. So we had the equivalent of a vertical kilometre to climb. It would mainly be a steep walk varying from 45 to 60 degrees. Imagine 60 degrees! Tough. I was putting one leg in front of the other, one slow step at a time, making sure I dug the crampons into the ice each time. My ice pick was at the ready in case of slippage. I was having to take a break to breath every ten steps. Without a doubt this was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. All around me, all I could hear was the heavy breathing of the others, and sound of crampons stabbing into ice. The guide kept checking on me and asking me how I was feeling. It wasn´t enough to give up when your legs or lungs are exhausted. You had to make sure you were capable of making the return journey (which if you made it to the top would be another three hours of hard work). It made me respect the mountain. This wasn´t something to be trifled with. It was high altitude, below freezing and a long way from any real help. People DO die on mountains, sometimes through lack of common sense.

After a few hours of ascending, I had a slight headache and started to feel dizzy and naseous. The guide made me rest, then forced me to head back. It was the start of altitude sickness. It doesn´t matter how fit or how strong you are. Once it hits you, that´s it. Game Over. Possibly an extra day aclimitising at base camp would have helped. I had made 5,400m, 400m short of the top. I was proud of my effort but also disappointed. I was a statistic. Only 50% of people make it this far, and only 20% of people make it to the top. I met people coming down in the morning who had failed by only 100m. And by that altitude apparently, you are only climbing a metre a minute, and taking a break after every step. My two climbing companions made it to the top with the second guide, but were almost collapsing by the time they made it back to the refuge at 10am the next morning. I didn´t make the top, but I made a fair effort. And Cotopaxi will always be there so, who knows, I may try again some day

---

---