The ceiling of Ecuador

Cotopaxi. The second highest mountain in Ecuador and the tallest active volcano in the world. The summit rises to 19,347 ft, and the top 5,000 feet of the mountain is permanently covered in glacial ice and snow. Another summit attempt without proper acclimatization. Hey, I never said I didn´t like a challenge. Unfortunately, this would be more challenging than I ever could of imagined. We drove to within an hour and a half of base camp and already at plus 15k feet, just the hour walk from the car to the refuge was a challenge. This was not going to be easy.

On the way to base camp. Before crampons and ice axe.

Once we arrived at base camp we did a review of our equipment and practiced some techniques for climbing the glacier; how to avoid injuring yourself with the crampons and ice axe, how to rescue a fellow climber, and how to slow yourself down with your ice axe when you are sliding down the mountain uncontrollably. All useful skills. After training we sat down for dinner and tea around 6:30pm and headed to bed by 7:30pm, as we would be waking 5 hours later for our ascent.

I spent the night in the familiar grip of altitude sickness. No sleep, fever and chills, and a paralyzing headache. Without any appetite, I forced down two handfuls of granola for breakfast, and begin getting prepared. The temperature was in the teens and with the wind chill, it was surely below zero. We gathered our gear, special fleece pants and jacket, gloves and mittens, hat and face mask, hiking boots and crampons, harness and head lamp, and of course our ice axe. We each brought one bottle of water and a chocolate candy bar. Why I thought it would be enough to sustain me as I hiked 8 hours straight up into the darkness, I don´t know.

Five us begin the climb, but only three of us would make it to the summit. The climber from Portugal didn´t make it out of base camp. The Brazilian turned back after two hours. The other American, Frenchie, and myself would push ourselves and each other for the next ten hours testing the limit of stamina, endurance, and willpower.

The climb takes between 6-8 hours and begins at midnight in the pitch dark, for two reasons. Number one, without the sun, the ice and snow remains frozen and is (supposedly) easier to climb. It also reduces the risk of avalanche during the descent of the mountain, as we will be hopefully descending around 8am, allowing only a few hours of sun exposure to the ice and snow.

We were roped in as a group of four. The guide, myself, the American, and Frenchie bringing up the rear. It was slow, slow going. No step was wasted, no movement not planned or thought out. Each step was a kick as hard as you could manage up and into the ice with your toe. It was as steep as climbing a ladder. With your crampon safely wedged into the ice, and pushing off with your ice axe, you would lift off that foot and repeat the action with your other foot. Fail to kick hard enough and when pushing off, you slide back down two steps.

Step, take two breathes, step, take two breathes, step, take two breathes. This was our rhythm. Break it, try to take two quick steps, or only one breath in between steps and you would be laying down gasping for air. It takes 20 to 30 seconds to get your wind back, and in that time your body temperature drops significantly. Your legs and and torso start shaking uncontrollably, you begin to lose feeling in your fingers and toes, and you know this is what freezing to death feels like.

Back on our feet, we set off again. Back to our rhythm. Back to the climb. Back to the pain. A tug on the rope indicates someone needs a rest or a drink of water. No words our spoken, it uses up to much energy. Only the occasional grunt or swear word indicates we are still capable of speaking. I take a bite of my chocolate bar, it´s frozen solid. I sip from my water bottle. I watch another climber throw up. I accidentally drop my water bottle, and can´t imagining backtracking two yards to get it. I´ll be drinking snow from here on out.

The clouds parted and we spent the last four hours of the climb under a clear sky. The stars as bright as spotlights at 18k feet, helped guide us we continued our march upwards. The Sun soon began to break the horizon, and as it did one side of the mountain remained as dark as night, with the stars and moon still dominating the sky. The other side was streaked with pink and orange as the sun begun to make it´s presence felt.

We were within an hour of the summit and I was done. I couldn´t take another step. I was freezing, I was sleepy, I was sick, and I was exhausted both mentally and physically. I couldn't convince myself to go any further. I wanted to close my eyes, I wanted to sleep, I wanted to be off the mountain.



¨I got nothing left¨ I said, I was ready to accept to defeat.

¨I know, I don´t know if I can go any further.¨The other American replied.



And for some reason, someone else acknowledging how hard it was. How difficult it was, gave me a lift. I would make it, I convinced myself. That was before the 90 degree wall of torture showed up however.

It was the last major obstacle to the summit. A 40 foot climb straight up, climb the wall, and from there it was a relatively easy 50 yard hike to the summit. The guide went up first, and I was up next. My crampons wouldn´t stick into the ice, and for every foot I puled myself up with the ice axe, my feet would just slide back down. I was creating a cave into the wall every time I took a step.



The sun was shining directly on me, and the ice had lost it´s firmness. One step up, two steps up, then slide back down 4 or 5 steps. I couldn´t do it. I slide all the way back down to the bottom and moved to my left 10 feet. The same thing. A wave of frustration and anger washed over me, as I continually couldn´t get my feet to stick in the ice. What was I supposed to do? I was exerting energy I didn´t have, trying to push threw the wall that was both literally and figuratively in front of me. Was this as far I would go?



With tears of frustration in my eyes, I gave it one last go. I was nearly climbing sideways, searching with my feet for the firmest ice way off the left or right of my hands. I was making progress, with one last burst I pushed for the top. Pulling myself up by the rope in one hand, the other hacking away with my ice axe, and using my knees to guide me up. I crested the hill, rolled down it and immediately feel asleep. I have never in my life been so absolutely gutted. I had nothing, nothing left. I was woken up once Frenchie crested and we walked together the last 30 minutes to the summit, where the most spectacular views awaited us.







At the summit. Close to death.

Video taken at the summit.

Alive and well a couple days later.

Special fleece jacket and pants, gloves and mittens, special snow hiking boots with crampons, and of course our hanresses, as we would be roped together in teams of 3.

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power

Breath taking...

Hearing talk of one of the most incredible sights in Ecuador, hidden deep in the mountains, surrounded by indigenous villages, and not another tourist in sight, led me on quite a journey...

First I had to take a bus from Banos, where I was jumping off bridges and trekking down to waterfalls, to Latagunga. Where? Exactly. In Lataguna, I was dropped off at a random corner in town. No bus terminal exists. An hour after wondering around and asking people for directions, I found the corner where the bus for Zumbahua picks people up. Huh? Exactly. 5 hours after starting out from Banos, I was again dropped off on a random corner in the small town of Zumbahua. There was nobody in sight and I had no idea how to get up to the tiny village of Quilotoa 15 kilometers further up the mountain. So, with no options I took a seat on the corner and waited for someone, anyone, to appear.

(Side note: These buses that I were on were not normal tourist buses. They were filled with native indigenous people. Many of whom brought their animals on the bus with them. One little girl, despite herself, couldn´t stop touching my curly blond hair. I don´t think she had ever seen anything like it. Every time I would drift off to sleep I would wake up with her hand on my head, or peaking at me from her seat. I snapped a couple pictures of her.)

It wasen´t long before a kid pulled up in his pickup truck and asked if I needed a lift up the mountain. An hour later, and 6 hours after boarding my first bus of the day I was dropped off in Quiltoa, a tiny indigenous village of about 80 residents, where everyone speaks Quechua, some Spanish, and of course no English. I was met by a nice woman who offered a bed in her house, dinner that night, and breakfast the next morning for $8. I hastily agreed, dropped off my backpack in my room, grabbed my coat, as it was quite chilly at 15 thousand feet, and walked the 20 yards to the crater rim for one of the most absolutely incredible sights I have ever seen.

Almost 800 years ago after a major eruption, the cone of the volcano collapsed, leaving a perfectly symmetrical crater surrounded by mountains on all sides. Dissolving minerals and sulfuric content cause the water to become an astonishing turquoise color. The lake is over 800 feet deep.

My host for the night.

Incredible.

Deep thoughts.

Couldn´t hold the serious face for long.

It was really big!

Holyyyyy Shiiiiiiiiiittttt

My travel rule number 1. Say yes to things I would normally say no too. Despite this rule, I didn´t hesitate to immediately say no when asked if I wanted to ¨bungee-swing" off the bridge we were standing on.

Looking over the bridge into the river some 100 plus feet below, scores of scenarios went through my head, most involving a trip to the hospital at best. A small crowd began to form as it was obvious I was thinking of jumping, and they all wanted to see the action up close. I kept hearing a voice over and over in my head. Do it. Don´t be a whimp. Do it. Don´t be a whimp. Wait, that wasen´t a voice in my head, that was my friend Drew with some "positive" encouragement.

I asked Drew what he thought the chances of me dying were. I told myself if he put the odds at under 15% I was going to jump. He answered with a reassuring 7%, and shortly thereafter I was getting strapped into the harness and was stepping over the railing of the bridge. My harness was connected to a bungee that was connected to a higher bridge directly in front of the bridge I was standing on. So once I stepped off the bridge, I would free fall until the slack tightened on the bungee, at which point my momentum would swing me forward- and back and forth I would go.

My heart was beating 1000 miles an hour, my legs were shaking uncontrollably, and I couldn´t stop smiling. Eyes closed, hands clenched in a death grip on the rope, I stepped off the side of the bridge into nothing....

Watch this video...

After surviving the bridge jumping incident, we continued exploring further into the Ecuadorian highlands searching for waterfalls. Here is some of what we found....

Peru in the rearview...

A country that has provided many firsts. To name a couple:

In Peru I am tall. I have to duck to see myself in the mirror in bathrooms, I crouch down to be seen through peepholes in doors, and if I want to wash my hair, you got it, I have to bend at the waist in the shower. I have slept on beds where my feet hang of the end and ducked going through doorjambs.

In Peru I can speak Spanish. I always felt hopelessly handicapped unable to speak Spanish. I tried buying books, CD´s, and downloading podcast. Didn´t work. Scoured the web for a pill I could take that would enable me to learn Spanish. Couldn´t find one. What about a direct upload to my brain like in the Matrix? Dosen´t exist yet. What does work though, is complete immersion. When you need food, a place to sleep, or something to drink. You learn how to say it. When you are cold, need a bus ticket, or want to thank someone for going out of their way for you. You learn it. When you need to buy more stomach medication from the Pharmacy, ask someone what the name of a fruit you just ate is so you can find it again, or negotiate a cab ride. You learn it. When need the ball passed to you because your open, want your picture taken in front of gigantic rock, or want ask someone to dance. You learn it. It´s an amazing feeling to be able to communicate, be understood, and understand a new language, and it´s accompanying culture.

In Peru I successfully sweet talked and bribed a border guard. With an expired Visa, I new I would I need to pay $1 for each day I was late leaving the country. What I didn´t know was I was supposed to do this at a Bank and bring the recite to the border patrol office. Sitting in the corner at 1:30 in the morning, while the rest of people on the bus sailed through immigration and facing the possibility of my bus continuing on to Ecuador without me, inspired some quick thinking. Sweat dripping down my forehead, "I understand I need to pay the bank $1 for each day I was late leaving the country, but I also heard (Strong eye contact here) I could pay double at the actual border, and everything would be okay." Hint of a smile on his face, "You know what son, I heard that too. Why don´t we get you back on that bus."

In Peru I have eaten Chicken hearts on a stick, scooped up a chicken foot that was hiding at the bottom of my soup bowel, and tasted a chicken kidney. Chewed on an Alpaca, and had french fries with my Guinea Pig. I have accepted dinner invitations from strangers, gotten into cars with people I barely even know, and partied for two days in a row with people I did. I have learned to tell time by the sun and clouds, have lost all desire for hot showers, and can´t finish a meal without a cup of tea.

A view from my Hostal in Mancora, Peru where I have been for the last few weeks. Yes, the ocean is that close. Yes, you can throw a rock at it it´s so close. Yes, you can hear the waves at night while you are sleeping. Yes, they served fresh cerviche everyday for $1.50