Under (and up) The Volcano
While Colca Canyon was by no means an easy trek, it also
broke no new ground for either of us. Canyons, steep trails, volcanos and
multi-day hikes at elevation were all things we had done in the past, thresholds
we had crossed before. But the next hike promised to push us far past the
limits of anything we had previously done.
I knew that the entire trip would revolve around Misti. Though
not a technically challenging peak, Misti is BIG, and very exposed. Little that
grows on its ashen flanks will stop the wind. Altitude and weather are the
primary obstacles, and while we had some experience with both, this massive volcano
would demand much more. Misti surpassed by over 3000 feet anything I had ever
climbed. The night we would spend at basecamp would be the highest we ever
slept. Wind chills at the summit were consistently below freezing. I had done
big volcanos before, but they were still HALF this size. I knew that Misti lay
near the boundary of what we could reasonably hope to achieve. The question
was, what side of the boundary? The possible, or the impossible?
Could we really hike this mountain?
Misti
The early signs were not auspicious. Our guide for the Colca
trek, Eli, would be coming along with us, though technically not in an official
capacity; she had never climbed Misti. We had yet to talk to the actual guide. We
also kept getting mixed signals from the travel company about the amount of
water we would need. Was it three liters, four, five of six? Each time the
figure was mentioned it seemed to keep going up. And what exactly would the
guide do, and what would be provided and what would not? This is never a sure
bet in Peru. The tour company had promised us one thing; the guide might say
another. Much depended on the guide, whose expertise would bring us to the top of
Misti and (more importantly) back safely.
In Chivay, where there is nothing resembling an outdoor
outfitter, we attempted to do what we could to prepare. We expected to carry 5
liters of water each. This is 11 pounds in addition to our other gear. Reading this,
it probably doesn’t sound like much, but try humping it up a steep slope at
altitude. One of the main challenges with Misti is there are no water sources
at all; if you run out, you are in trouble. And you need a lot of water to
summit a big mountain in a dry climate.
We also added as many warm layers as we could, which meant
visiting the local marketplace in Chivay looking for anything that might
suffice to keep us warm. Fortunately, alpaca wool was not in short supply. We
went to bed that night not really knowing what to expect the next day. If all
went as planned, the next night would be spent in bivouac at 15,700 feet.
At 8 am the next morning we set out with our packs full of
weighty water jugs and hand-knit alpaca gear. Our driver, Esteban, who ranks behind
only Mad Max as the world’s greatest off road truck driver, met us and Eli at
the door to our hotel. The road to Misti crosses the bleak, windswept pass of
Patapama, a viewpoint from which a horizon full of sinister looking volcanos
can be observed. Here we crossed paths again with Peru’s most active volcano,
Sabancaya…this time staring directly at it while it spewed plumes of grayish
ash thousands of feet into the air. You can get a good look at it in the
picture below.
Sabancaya, doing what volcanos do. Note the cinder cone very clearly visible at the extreme right.
From here we dropped down to a truck stop in the remote
desert which presented a fine view of Misti looming like a watchtower over a
desolate plain. After drinking some coca tea, known for making the effects of
altitude sickness less harsh, Esteban roared back onto the highway for our
rendezvous with our guide for Misti, at a police check point so remote I doubt
if it exists on any map. The guide was a man named Angelito who we had yet to
meet. He was coming down from Arequipa to link up with us.
Coca Tea anyone?
But after 45 minutes he did not show, and both Esteban and
Eli began to watch the road with growing unease. We also began to feel apprehensive…he
did not answer his phone. Had he missed the message? Had his ride broken down?
Was this to be the end of our trek?
But eventually Angelito showed up, carrying nothing but an
ice axe (his gear was already in the car, having been brought up by Esteban the
night before.) He greeted us, hopped in and it was on to Misti.
It took a good hour from there to reach the drop-off point,
crossing paths with huge herds of Llama, Alpaca, Viacuna and even a few rarely
soon Guanacos. The dirt portion of the road was in good shape; the truck only
got stuck once in ash (this was in sharp contrast to the “road” we took out,
but that’s a subject for later.)
Once we had started to gear up another miscommunication developed.
Angelito expected us to carry the bulky mountaineering tent to the summit
ourselves. While not an unreasonable request, this was NOT what we had been told
by the travel agency, and all our calculations had been based on this. Burdened
under a heavy tent as well as the water and gear, I was not sure I could make
it.
But Sylvia quickly ironed things out with Angelito and he
agreed to carry the tent for us, probably cursing either us or the travel
agency as he did so. But he was polite about it, and after a short delay while
I managed to impale my fingers on what looked like grass but was more like a
weed made from porcupine quills, we were off.
Angelito had chosen the Northeastern Aguada Blanca route to
the summit (You can read a detailed description of this route written by the
blogger Rick McCharles on his website BestHike.com.) This route is considered
to be the safest and easiest route up the mountain. On the drive in, while we
stopped to view some odd-looking rock formations near the road, he had told me
this was his first trip on Misti this year. He also quizzed me about what had
brought us to Misti and what preparation we had done. Angelito seemed skeptical
of our level of acclimatization, and perhaps justifiably so. His opinion seemed
to be that a week was necessary to fully prepare for Misti, but then, with
altitude you never know.
Angelito set a very slow but steady place; imagine how you
would walk trying to carry a piano on your back. His method was go very slow, but
with no stops, and rest infrequently. There was no trail; we went straight across
dunes of black ask the consistency of Talcum powder, interspersed with tufts of
the porcupine grass. Nothing blocked the wind; when it whipped up, it lashed
our faces crosswise like sandblasting. It was step, step, step, slide backward
and step again.
At the 45 minute mark we stopped for a break, and then again
at about the 90 minute mark. By the second break, which was also the last,
Sylvia was clearly struggling. I had hit my stride, but Sylvia was stumbling
forward awkwardly, reeling from altitude and the heavier than expected pack.
By the time we reached the windswept ridge of the final
approach I was shouting encouragement to Sylvia with virtually every faltering
step, urging her onward toward the rocks that marked the camp. The howl of the
wind grew higher and my slogan shouting became drown out beneath it. But we had
made it finally. I was little worse for wear but Sylvia was exhausted and
quickly went into the tent that the guides had just finished setting up. At that
point, I was entirely convinced that with some rest Sylvia would recover and we
would summit. I pulled out the GoPro for a quick filming of the remarkable
sunset, and then dove into the tent myself to get as much sleep as I could. Angelito
had already stated that most people don’t sleep much at 15,700 feet.
The fun would begin at 1 am when we would be roused for
breakfast/dinner followed by the summit attempt, with us arriving at the summit
in time for sunrise.
See our YouTube video here!
Next Up: The Wrath of
the Volcano
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