(printed in The Beachcomber, 12-14-1983)
By Michael A. Wong
While I was researching different climbing companies, a close friend and
fellow climbing partner recommended the American Alpine Institute.
There are only a few places in the world with mountains 20,000 feet plus.
Bolivia is one. I knew I would see those mountains after putting down my
$250 deposit. I already had most of the necessary climbing equipment, but I had to purchase warm clothes, be innoculated for just about everything, and get my registered birth certificate and a passport. During all this, I found myself more and more excited.
I was even a little scared getting on the plane which flew via Houston to
Miami. My final destination was to such a far-away place. But when I linked up with two of the other climbers, I felt a little relieved. From Miami we flew to Lima, and caught the flight to Cuzco, where we met our guide, Peter Getzel, and discussed our acclimization program. By the second day I felt great, and we hiked to some spectacular ruins, one of which
was Sachahucaman - those Incas could really build!
We continued to hike high above Cuzco to other ruins where I photographed and talked to the Indians along the way. One family even offered their some what crude home made alcohol drink; Was glad I don't drink. But the next day I knew something was wrong with me as l got into the van to ride down to the once-a-week marketplace in Chincero, an ancient lncan city with Spanish architecture.
I slept the rest of the day at the hotel in Ollantaytambo, getting up only for some soup, and slept again until morning, despite the train which ran literally under the balcony window, and some happy drunks singing in the street below. This little inn is situated about halfway between Cuzco and Machu Picchu.
We left that morning, but had to fight for seats on the train to Machu Picchu. After passing many small lndian villages, we arrived early the next morning to see the spectacular ruins of Machu Picchu. The layout and stonework of this ancient city on top of a mountain were incredible, and as I roamed through it, photographing this boulder city, it was hard to imagine what life was like so long ago.
From the plane, Salcantay, a 22, 574 ft. mountain seemed to be at eye-level, and that was only a preview of what was to come. Even the La Paz airport at 13,000 ft. seemed to rise up to greet our plane as we landed in La paz we met our next guide, Geoff Bartram, and said goodbye to Peter, who was off on a climb called Ancohuma (23,012 ft.) with other clients. Both guides were professional, and I soon learned the difference between myself and them. In La Paz, I also learned the difference between the U.S. and South American countries.
The food in Bolivia was good, although you couldn't find beef at times, Bolivia was suffering from a bad drought which forced the proud Quechua people down into the city every day to sell or otherwise earn a few cents. Transportation is terrible, and people were standing in quarter-mile long lines to get back to their villages. From my "Hotel Gloria" window I saw people still waiting at midnight for busses.
We are really spoiled here in the States. Ninety percent of Bolivia's food is imported. For an American traveler, South America can' t be beat, but inflation is running wild. When we arrived, the exchange rate was 680 pesos to the dollar. When we left it was 800. An American can't help but feel a little uncomfortable about the exchange rate when you can eat a good dinner for $2.50 or buy an Alpaca wool Sweater for $5 that would cost $100 in the States. We could only hope that spending our money would help a little.
Yet, surrounding these human conditions in town were the most magnificent mountains in the world. I couldn't wait to start climbing, although I realized the importance of proper acclimatization if I wanted to make a successful summit climb.
Hasito then took us to the beautifuI Lake Titicaca, we visited an island where reed boots are made. We learned that these people were hired to build the Raww II in Egypt for a National Geographic Special, they sailed it across the Atlantic to prove that ancient men could have traveled here. I was honored to photograph two of the boat builders. This villiage could have existing hundreds of years ago. People were farming, weaving, and of course, buiding their boats. The people seemed to be in harmony with nature. It was very peaceful - such a contrast to the people of the Altiplano. I would like to have stayed for a few more days. The view of the whole Cordillera Real mountain range looming up before us. I could see Huayna Potosi as plain as day, although you can see this peak and others no matter where you are, because of their huge size.
Back to La Paz, and after a few more days of acclimatization and a couple of nights out on the town, one at a folk music nightclub, my wishes to get to the mountains were beginning to come true. After spending many hours preparing our backpacks and equipment for the llamas to carry, we loaded it on Hasito's taxi, and took off past serene lakes, through beautifulcountryside with Indians and llamas. What I thought to be a trail from the taxi window turned out to be the narrow switchback road we were to take. The drop from the narrow road was 200 ft. and was scarier than any climb because I had no control over anything. At 15,200 ft., we met our Quechua people - a man and wife and seven children who live in a stone house with very little firewood. I still don't understand how they survive, but I know that the American Alpine Institute works with them a lot. As we had lunch and played with the kids, the equipment was loaded onto llamas. The oldest son and his mother, carrying a baby on her back, started out around a lake, and up a pass. This was the highest I had ever been; previously it was on the peak of Mt. Whitney, which is 14,495 feet above sea level.
We started out and, needless to say, everyone else was quite a bit ahead of me. By the time I arrived at camp (16,850 feet), all of our tents were set up and ready for the evening. Surrounding mountain peaks were more than 18,000 feet high! In the morning, we awoke to hot tea made by our guide, had breakfast, and then we were off to a 17,400 ft. mountain. After reviewing basic techniques on some rock walls, we hiked toward the g]acier. It's a lot of work putting on the crampons and getting ready for six hours on ice.
After pushing hard all day and taking pictures. my first peak was under me. Our second day of climbing started about the same way except for the results of an avalanche the night before, fortunately not too near our route. Even after observing the mountain for two days, I still couldn't see a moderate route until Geoff said, "We're going up the middle." From a distance a mountain may look impossible. When you are on it, you'll see a lot of details and it isn't necessarily as steep as you first thought, not to say that it isn't steep. Avoiding the crevasses as we climbed, the views became more grand. The ice was fluted with millions of sharp points we had to walk between, we always try to keep as many points of the crampons as flat as possible on the ice, always quite a strain on the ankles. As we climbed the last 45-degree angle pitched dome, I'll never forget stepping onto the top of this 18,100 ft. peak to marvel at 360 degrees of magnificent view. Looking across the valley, we could see our Indian friends hauling our equipment down on llamas. They looked like ants. We descended from another side of the mountain which turned out to be more difficult than expected. The glacier was badly broken up toward the bottom, and finding a route was like being in a maze. Once on rock again I scrambled down quickly even though exhausted. After a good sleep, I arose to see the sun creeping into the valley next to a beautiful lake. I took a hike to the top of a hill to photograph the rare sights before Hasito in our taxi came chugging up the mountain pass. Our llamas and their masters were already on the trail through the mountains to meet us at the Condoriri Lake area. We took the worst dirt road I'd ever been on but finally met our lamas and Indian friends at road's end. On the far horizon was Huayna Potosi, looming to 20,000 feet, its summit shrouded in clouds. Our llamas packed up and our stomachs full, we set off toward Condoriri Lake.
As we started our journey, we passed a water supply canal, peaceful Indian dwellings, llamas and cows grazing and beautiful country. At one point a Quechua man ran past me to talk to Geoff, who seemed to be a little irritated. We continued hiking on the trail that followed the contours of the hillside. The further we walked into this magic valley, the more beautiful it became. We were now looking down on a deep blue lake with a small island in the middle. In the distance was a huge mountain with a giant hanging glacier, I was getting more excited. Condoriri (the Condor) has what appears to be a head and two spread wings. The head was covered with clouds as we looked at it. Soon to be seen was Lago Condoriri and with it, a whole glacier system made itself known. I am a slow hiker, so when I arrived at camp the tents were again all set up at the end of the valley with walls of glaciers nearby.
The plan was to climb Pequeno Alpamayo (17,800 ft.) in two days, We were to set up a high camp and go for the summit the second day, but our luck ran out when it snowed all day. I did get up that morning to photograph the sunrise and the reflections on the lake. There were other climbers in the area, mostly Germans. They had been trying Condoriri itself, but the ice was of such poor quality, they did not succeed.
Dan, our 48-year old climber from Colorado, and I spent the day climbing smaller peaks a few miles from camp, although it continued to snow heavily and photo conditions were very poor. By the time we returned to camp the weather had cleared, so I took a hike to the main glacier, knowing we would be going up it on an all-out attempt the next day.
Four in the morning came - way too soon, as we chowed some food down, and put on our miner-style headlamps. Two hours or more of hiking brought us up a fair distance on this giant glacier. Two of the climbers stayed at camp, but nothing would stop Dan and me. I kept thinking of some of the German climbers, a little jealous of some of the ascents they had made while we sat around camp or climbed at
lower elevations.
As we approached the top of the glacier, Alpamayo was still not visible. After climbing a steep fluted peak to its summit, we caught our first view of this powerful pyramid-shaped, glaciated peak. By this time I was a little psyched- out. It was still so far, and since we were already on top of a mountain, it could have been enough to be satisfied. Our guide asked us to make a decision. Sensing that he almost didn't want it himself, I said, "If you lead, we'll follow." We then climbed up a rock peak and down the side onto another glacier. We followed a thin ridge connecting the two mountains, along very steep ice. Roped together, we tried to keep the rope taut, tossing the rope over ice pinnacles for protection. At the angle we were approaching the mountain, I could see a rock band (not the Rolling Stones) spiraling toward the top, but couldn't tell if it actually led to the top.
Geoff is a purist; he tried several times to set ice screws on one of the steepest ice walls, but the ice was too brittle. After bringing the possible rock route on the other side to his attention, he agreed to try that it. We descended steep ice to a rock platform, where we took off our crampons and rope. Rock climbing is my specialty so I went ahead while Geoff made sure Dan got up safely. We did approach some difficult rock pitches toward the top but I had no problems. As we climbed we could look down into ice caves with giant icicles hanging inside. Geoff was again in the lead, and when I heard him beginning to chant an ancient Indian word, I knew we had made it. At the top he always left candy or other food for the gods.
Pequeno Alpamayo was under us now, and I was extremely proud and happy. The weather was closing in on us by now. The nearby mountains were giants jutting from the valleys. The terrain was much more jagged and intense than on previous climbs, and so steep that we remained roped together in case of a slip. It snowed harder and harder as we rappelled down to safety, then down the rock route back onto the glacier. From the glacier we were still miles away from our cozy lakeside camp, but I couldn't help thinking that we had accomplished a climb the Europeans hadn't even considered.
In the morning, we packed out in freezing temperatures and were brought back to where we started, our equipment dropped in the middle of nowhere while one of the boys who had lost the llamas went to find someone to take us to La Paz. We looked really "cool" sitting around with all that equipment among hundreds of llamas, none of them ours. It was also quite a sight to see all our equipment in a giant pile in the lobby of Hotel Gloria when we arrived there.
Low camp was set up at 14,000‘, and the next day we were to set up high camp at 18,000‘. Just to give you an idea of the physical shape of Geoff our leader, he left for high camp with 80 pounds on his back, dropped his load at 18,000’, came back down to low camp for a second load, as we were leaving for high camp. He then passed us up before we had even reached the glacier. This is the difference between a pro and an occasional climber. I had my hardest day that day, because it was the first real load I had to carry. I did take a lot of photos, even though I pulled a muscle in my chest. Every breath was as deep as it possibly could be as to extract as much oxygen as possible, and it hurt.
Was last in line, and as I approached high camp I unroped and stopped to rest. I heard a yell from ahead, and looked up; to my surprise, a tent was gracefully floating through the air down the mountain. As it came closer, I noted it was our tent! I jammed my ice axe in the snow, ran back about 40 feet and grabbed it in time to pull it down. I was so exhausted by then that I couldn‘t move, just leaned on the tent. waiting for Geoff to come down. If it had kept going we would have been in serious trouble.
SIeeping on ice is real fun! Your pads insulate you, but I don't think you ever really get warm. I wore every article of close that I had including my snow gaters. 5 a.m. came awfully early, and the winds had been severe during the night. The granola tasted terrible as I chomped down as much as I could. Jim wouldn't get out of the sack, so four of us were climbing that day. One of the Iess experienced climbers had problems' getting his equipment on, and kept forgetting things. A good climber prepares the night before to be ready to grab his pack and go.
We started up this massive open glacier. avoiding crevasses. Out first real obstacle was a 300-foot, 45 degree pitch that required ice screw protection. As Geoff set all this up. I photographed a sunrise at 18,500 feet.
After the lines were set, I jumarred up the rope with Steve behind me. A chunk of ice came rumbling down and hit him on the side of his face. He became dizzy, and had to descend. He then decided to go back to camp, this mountain had overwhelmed him. It was old faithful Dan and I again. Geoff was a little upset with Steve, because he didn't just shake it off and finish the climb. The three of us went on to make it past this ice obstacle, and continued walking, un-roped, for about two miles at 19.000 feet. I felt pretty good that day. We could see the summit ahead, it looked impossible with 1,000 feet to go, really another mountain in itself.
I set in my mind that I would not go back until this mountain was under my feet. Nothing could have stopped me. After all the preparation and acclimatizing, it came down to 1,000 feet of fluted ice (caused by sun and wind), and rock outcropping. We roped up, Geoff, me, and Dan, in that order, and started kicking those points in and swinging our ice axes. A tremendous amount of energy was spent at this altitude.
As we approached the rock outcropping, it seemed that the boulders were held in place only by ice. It was also getting warmer. Water had started to drip off of the rocks. Geoff went ahead and set up a protection as he belayed me up. As l was climbing, I kept asking Geoff "Are you sure the rock will hold?" But, of course I knew it would, because he had just climbed it. Dan followed as I rested and looked toward the jungle part of the country.
It was all ice climbing now and I could smell the peak. I could hear Geoff chanting his holy Quechua word up ahead to warn the gods that we were visiting. As l stepped up on the ridge to look down the vertical west face, even if I had fallen, I would have died with a smile on my face. We had done it!
We spent about half an hour on top taking photos. I shot one photo of a hole in the glacier that goes completely through the summit ridge. I don't know what caused it. Geoff told us of the vertical west face that he and Peter Getzels had climbed a year ago, as the first party ever to take that route. It literally made me dizzy to look down it.
We followed our own trail down, rappelling down two ice pitches that we had climbed earlier. We hiked down the giant open glacier, finally making it to high camp. The other guys had already packed down to low camp, so we loaded up the rest of the gear. which meant I was carrying an extra fifteen pounds of tent. I was totally exhausted, sore and hungry. My joints, lungs, and muscles were wasted. Finally off the glacier, we descended on rocks and boulders for what seemed forever. I could see our camp now, as the trail got steeper. I kept telling myself: "You're flying home tomorrow, keep pushing". That night, Geoff made a stew which helped, but I woke up hungry in the middle of the night because of the energy spent so I ate lots of beef jerky.
We returned to our hotel Gloria to clean up and pack our gear for flight via Hasito's taxi to the airstrip. The taxi is an old Plymouth with a bald front tire. The bolts on the left rear tire have been tightened so many times they were starting to go through the holes. Hasito always had a rough time shifting, too. We all had to get out a few times to clear dirt humps in the road. A few episodes in this car were almost exciting as climbing the mountains.
Later in the afternoon, we all had coffee and talked of our adventures. Geoff told us of a climb he and others had planned in Nepal; some big sponsors had agreed to finance the expedition. These men were another breed.
It was now time to fly home. During the ride, it looked as though we weren't going to make it to the airport. The car would cut out and stop.
It's a 500-foot rise to the airport, but that old "la bomba" made it. After twenty or more hours in the air and six take-offs and landings later, San Francisco Airport never looked better. As I got off the plane, sunburned around my glasses and tired as I could be, I was getting anxious to see my wife. She was waiting with a rose and we cried on each other's shoulders.
North Palisade Climb
