The epic. One of climbing's most well-known, even feared, experiences. What makes an epic? You tell me...injuries, getting lost, running out of food/water/fuel, an unplanned night out, etc. Sometimes epics create adventures out of nothing, sometimes they create tragedies. I'd say you always learn something, though (if you live to tell about it), whether its wearing a helmet or just bringing sunglasses. Well, I've got a story for you...(wow the first trip report?)
I studied abroad in Ecuador from last June to December, 7 months of learning Spanish and being awestruck and annihilated by high altitude volcanoes. Walk-ups, almost all of them, but altitude is something else. We climbed Cayambe, 4 feet short of 19,000 in elevation, and we wanted to go big. Chimborazo, the highest mountain in Ecuador, called us. My good friends Brayton and Conor (the Cayambe partner) and I decided we wanted to be on top of a mountain higher than Denali (by ~300 feet), so we got after it. The usual stifling approach in a public tour bus, locals gawking at us with our huge packs and expensive gear, and a bumpy taxi ride took us to the base of the mountain, at a refuge around 16,000 feet (most mountains in Ecuador are high, but are relatively simple, especially because of refuges at the base).
[The ride in- beautiful paramo landscape and the giant rising up]
[Standard route follows the left hand skyline, middle summit is true summit at 20,700']
We all looked at each other with nervous excitement- this was a huge mountain after all! After checking into the national park and arriving at the lower refuge, we hiked a little ways to the upper refuge (where most spend the night). Alpine starts are especially important for Chimborazo, because the lower part of the route is exposed to serious rockfall, and getting back to the base after 10am or so means you're gonna have rockfall problems (this happens at all times, actually, because there's no ice/glue holding the choss together). The plan was to leave the refuge at 10pm, climb all night, get back in the morning and have a victory night in Quito (pass out from exhaustion). We knew we were out of shape, only acclimatized to Quito (9300'), and so we decided leaving at 10pm would be foolproof. By the way, looking at recent-ish photos and guidebook routes made the mountain seem like there was actually snow there-unfortunately climate change has radically changed this- half the route is now a choss-fest, and the mountain is certainly not what it used to be!
[Foreshortened view of the chossy beast from the refuge, normal route hits the notch on the ridge then heads up from there]
Back to the story. Made a dinner of gluey, tasteless mac and cheese with hotdogs (the only redeeming factor of the dinner), and hung out talking with Europeans (Germans, a Scot among others) until they went to bed, and we geared up. It was cold and windy as we started, but kept us cool in our layers. Upwards and upwards, we aimed for the notch in the ridge, distinguishable (with headlamps off) in the clear night as a dark spot on the horizon. It was about as fun as scrambling up steep gravel (in plastic boots) could ever be at 16,000+ feet, which is to say we wanted to hit the snow desperately. Once we gained a little elevation, we slowly began traversing to the Castle, which is what the notch is called (El Castillo if you insist). Eventually ice and snow began to show up, freezing parts of the choss together and making travel just tricky enough to want crampons but have no use for them yet.
Shortly after this, out of nowhere, we hear rocks zinging by. How did this happen so suddenly? Conor is higher than Brayton and I, and ushers to us to keep heading upwards to a small cliff, where we can take cover from the escalating barrage. Somehow, all of a sudden, we were in the shitter. One minute we were slogging through dirt, the next, rushing upwards as projectiles whiz by. Tink, tink, slam- one hits me in the arm. "Ouch! Shit!", we're all profanities as our adrenaline takes over and rocks slam into us. I look at Brayton and tell him urgently to hurry- this is rockfall, otherwise known as objective danger, and within seconds we may be safe, or dead. "Don't look up, don't look up!" I yell to the others, "keep your head down and make a shield with your pack and helmet!". This may protect your head, but the rocks slamming into our arms only put more fear into our hearts. Brayton looks to me, then looks up. "FFUUUUCKKK!!!!" I hear him scream. Jesus christ, I think to myself, we're fucked, he's dead, oh shit....I look at Brayton. His hands are on his eye, he doesn't respond when I ask him what's up. I yell at him to keep moving, we'll deal with this later, keep moving or we're going to die. He looks at me, his right eye has just been slammed by a good sized rock, and he's pretty out of it. At that moment, the worst noise I've ever heard zooms by. It could have been the size of a tv, or a compact car, all I know is that we almost shit our pants in fear. This noise puts Brayton into realization that we're on the edge, and we both run upwards to the cliff which Conor is now at. No more rockfall, the cliff is our safe haven for the moment...how to get down? No, not right now, how is Brayton is the main question. Brayton is acting funny, kind of stupid and not on the verge of panic like Conor and I. "Brayton man, how ya feel? What happened back there, you okay?" I ask him. "Man...I kinda feel...I feel like a zebra". Like a zebra. We're getting the fuck off this mountain. (Later on, we joke about that- funny how that happens). Conor and I look at each other with fear in our eyes, for Brayton and for our sorry asses beneath a cliff as rocks fly over us. "Conor, its over, we're out of here- lets get back to the refuge, now", I say to him. He checks Brayton out and determines he has a concussion, retreat is the only option now. But how...we decide traversing down and under the cliff band on the steep iced up scree is our best choice for now, after that we'll just book it down as fast as we can. I'm up, Brayton's in the middle so Conor can take up the rear. I traverse down quickly, nearly slipping on the frozen-together pebbles- the rockfall hasn't stopped and I cry out in pain as I'm struck in the leg and arm (mostly in fear, the adrenaline was going full-on at this point). They make it over to me, and I propose downclimbing as fast as possible until we can plunge-step/run in the scree, heading for the faint lights of the refuge far below. We do just that, and it seems that the wind has calmed down a bit and the rockfall has stopped. We hurry down until the angle eases up anyway, especially to treat Brayton. "Hey man, you like...saved my life back there, man...thanks man" Brayton says to us absent-mindedly, as we slog down the endless scree, still in the middle of the night. What time is it anyway? It's 12-something...the realization that a cold night in the refuge awaits us isn't something we want to consider before it has to happen. Finally we're at the refuge, the heavy door creaks open and we lay our gear down and take a minute to consider what just happened. Appreciations for still being alive go around, they seem well-needed. We take a look at Brayton's eye, this is what we see:
Ouch. The fast-and-light mantra had suddenly left us wishing for bivy gear- turns out neither rockfall nor a concussion were in the plans, and the hope to be climbing overnight turned into sitting in the cold overnight. At least the refuge had a fireplace...we spent the rest of the night trying to start a fire, nevermind keep one going, and once it was well-stoked and barely warm, some Germans came down and tell us we were smoking them out of their sleep. Oops...the night continued to be a surreal, cold experience that never really ended, eventually we drank coca-leaf tea and managed a few hours of fitful, cold sleep. The moment sunlight hit the earth, we headed down- opting to hike down to the main road instead of wait hours for our transportation (which was a fantastic idea). The morning was foggy, with mist hiding the martian landscape and vicuñas (cameloid similar to a llama)...after the experience we had just been through, this was a welcome path home.
[Frozen Chuquiragua jussieui, or Flor de Andinista (Andes-climber flower)
[The martian landscape]
[A brief clearing yielded this-next time!]
[Vicuñas- truly a NatGeo-like experience]
[Nearly to the road]
After we got to the road, we waited for a bus, which passed us, so we waited some more. It began to rain, but we were too delirious to care about being cold or wet anymore. Right at the point of walking out on our own, another bus came and took us 'para Quito', as they say.
Overall, I've never been more scared in my life than that moment when Brayton got hit and we heard the terrible sound of falling stone mere meters away from us- mere seconds away from certain death. That's my epic story...Adventure? Like no other. Tragedy? Nearly. Learning experience? Without a doubt- I'll do anything I can do avoid rock/icefall now, and thinking of the noise of that rock screaming by still gives me shivers. Here's hoping your next epic ends with a good story!
