Cotopaxi

Working on the lungs - hike to the refugio on Chimborazo

Train station where we stayed the night to acclimatize

At 10pm I felt Erin tug on my sleeping bag. I begrudgingly turned on my head lamp and began to pile on the layers. Emerging out of the bunk room with snow pants, jackets, helmets, and boots in tow, we choked down a bit of 'breakfast' and hit the road at 11pm. A half hour up the road, we came to a hill of unknown proportions, made up of a loose, soft, rocky ground that daylight would later prove to be a maroon mixture of volcanic rock and dirt. The five of us - Erin, Jake, our two guides Paul and Jaime, and myself - stepped out of the car, clipped on our helmets, and began our climb of Cotopaxi.

Cotopaxi is the second highest peak in Ecuador and one of the highest active volcanoes in the world, sitting at 5,897 m or 19,347 ft. To summit Cotopaxi you need a guide (regulated as one guide for every two people), crampons, an ice ax, and very warm gloves. Despite it's height, the climb is remarkably straightforward and known to be a good beginners technical climb.

With clear and stern instructions to follow Jaime's pace, we started walking. Every so often lightning lit up the horizon and the stars were the brightest I had seen in Ecuador. Aside from the celestial pyrotechnics, it was pitch black and my peripheral vision offered me nothing, allowing me to hone in on the foot steps of the guide in front of me. After half an hour, we took a quick breather. Erin was breathing very shallowly and looked very faint. We all expected to have trouble with the altitude, but not this early. The guides quickly decided that she needed to go back down, that this wasn't a fleeting feeling of nausea, but instead difficulties that would persist. Jake and I continued on ahead, reluctantly leaving Erin to rest with Jaime. Another fifteen minutes of walking brought us to the under-construction refugio (bunkhouse) at 4,800 m, where climbers normally spend the night.

Rest stop

A bit farther, and we began to see snow. We wrangled our crampons onto our boots, armed ourselves with our ice axes, and began laborious and intentional steps up the glacier side. The mountainside was steep, but it was so dark, scale was only shown when the lights of other climbers appeared above and below us. Two groups hopped ahead, and their lights moving up and up served as hopeful motivation as my legs were still pretty energized with adrenaline. Later a group would come up from behind, their lights portraying them as spotlit insects in a dark hole, and their presence serving to emphasize that we really were in fact on the side of a very steep and snowy mountain.

We rested, we walked more, weather changed and so did our moods. At 3 or 4 am, huge clouds rolled in, bringing chilling winds, nerves and doubts. The assured 6 am sunrise energy boost kept me focused, until I realized that the cloud was now a lighter color and little had changed except for increasing fatigue. Roped together, Jake was subjected to my ever-so-motivating inconsistent and increasingly lethargic and unbalanced gait. We were treated to exquisite ice formations, but each rest brought less and less energy.

At the top!

The drop dead hour to reach the top is around 8 am, depending on the weather. Worse than having to turn back for health reasons or fatigue would be to get close and be told we were too late (ie going too slow) to reach the top. Even with that knowledge I couldn't make myself go any faster.  I felt rather helpless, though encouraged by the intermittent crawling and complaining of much more experienced climbers in our midst. About an hour from the top, Paul asked us what we thought Erin had done. The next rest brought the news that she and Jaime were on their way up. Within reach of the summit and knowing that all three of us would be there together, we huffed and puffed and continued. The last portion being the steepest, calling for real use of the ice-ax and the adrenaline that thankfully comes from being within spitting distance of one's goal.

We got no views. A couple times the clouds cleared enough that we could see other clouds, but I was more easily convinced we had gone to another planet than that we should be seeing other mountains and vistas. The socked in conditions contributed to the surreal nature of the whole experience. We reached the top at 8:10 am. In a fraction of the time, we skidded our way down the mountain. I'm definitely loosing a toenail from the hike, but it is an exchange I'm more than willing to make for such a unique, difficult, and empowering 12 hours.

Cotopaxi on a clear day (not my picture!)