After breakfast, we loaded up with the group gear and whatever we needed at Camp 2, and by nine-thirty, we were on the trail. It was so warm, even at 16,000 feet, that I wore only my thermal underwear, a pair of shorts, and a bandanna. It was soon evident that I had chosen wisely, as within fifteen minutes of leaving camp, the others were stripping off their fleece and shells.
The Route Up to Camp II
The trail alternated between loose scree and fields of snow. A light breeze cooled us as we ascended the steep slope. After an hour, we stopped for a break, and by this time the wind had picked up a little, so I broke out my fleece, and continued climbing. Our pace was slower than it had been heretofore, due to the noticeably thinner air we were encountering.
As we crested the saddle between Aconcagua and its neighbor, Ameghino, the wind suddenly increased, and I was forced to don my shells and a cap. The icy wind stung my face, and I wished I had brought my balaclava, which was sitting uselessly in the tent far below us.
We were now higher than most of the surrounding peaks, and the view of the neighboring mountains and their glaciers was breathtaking. That is, had there been enough breath to take. We were now taking two breaths per step, and it was clear to us that our bodies were beginning to rebel. My muscles felt fine, but I could feel my heart pounding, and my breath came in quick gasps. There was no conversation between us, and the light-hearted banter that had been evident at all of our previous rest stops was replaced with gulps of water, and the forcing of food into our rebelling stomachs. We had no appetite, but our bodies needed fuel to sustain the effort we were making. Still, nothing tasted good, it was all just bulk we were forcing down our throats.
At about twelve thirty we stopped for our final break before reaching Camp 2, and by now the icy wind had forced us all to put on every item of clothing we carried with us. Connie, who had been lagging badly since early in the climb, didn’t make it to the rest stop before we shouldered our bags and began the last stretch.
This final leg was through a deep snow field, and our boots often sank knee-deep into the snow. It is much less difficult if we move at a steady rhythm, but every time our boots sank into the snow, it took an exhausting effort to dislodge them and continue on. Every time I looked up, the big rock which hid Camp 2 never seemed to get closer, so I resolved to keep my head down and just keep climbing. Still, it seemed an endless struggle to get there.
Finally, at just before two o’clock, we rounded the rock and saw the tents from Expedition Inspiration, who at that moment were on their way to the summit. One of their members, who had turned back at 21,000 feet, and one guide were waiting for us, and after exchanging greetings, we dropped our packs onto the snow.
It was at this point that I realized that all was not well with my body. I simply could not get enough air into my lungs, no matter how hard I gasped. I started to feel a touch of panic. Resolving not to show anything, I emptied the contents of my pack into the group pile, and sat down to chew on an energy bar, and gulp some water. Gradually, the panic subsided, but I still didn’t feel very well.
Robert seemed intent on getting us back down as soon as he could, so we got up and put our packs back on. I looked around to see if I could see any signs of my symptoms in any of the others, but if they had them, they masked them well. It was at this point that I realized that Connie was not among us, and after asking about her, I was told that she had stayed at the last rest stop. I didn’t think too much about that, I had my own problems to worry about.
Going downhill, even with an empty pack, is no pleasure at this altitude. My wobbly legs couldn’t seem to find purchase in the snow, and I often had to brace myself with my ski poles to avoid falling down. Robert was setting a fast pace, and my feeling of discomfort increased as we raced down the hill. Our group split up, so I decided to keep a pace I could handle, and let some of the others get well ahead of me. We stopped briefly to take off some of our warm gear as the temperature rose, but soon we were racing down the hill again.
We fanned out across the slope, and I followed Robert, Bruce, and Robert, the dog-beating Brit, across a snow field. This turned out to be a big mistake. The snow was deep and very light, covering a hidden field of Penitentes, and we quickly sank up to our hips. It was an exhausting struggle to extricate ourselves, and it happened so often that I could barely breathe after a while. The panic reemerged as I floundered about, trying to stay upright. Finally, I gave up and just stood in the waist-deep snow until I had recovered. There was a scree field about fifty yards downslope from me, but I didn’t think I could make it without passing out, so I tried to slide down on my rear end, and this worked a little better, but still was very tiring.
Finally I made the scree field and stood up and panted for what seemed like minutes. Bruce, who was caught in the same predicament, made it along side me and said something about what a struggle that had been. Not stopping to consider that Bruce is a devout Mormon, all I could pant was, Fuck!
The rest of the descent into Camp 1 was uneventful, but I thought I tasted blood in my saliva, a sign of pulmonary edema. I realized that I had forgotten to take my Diamox, which helps the red blood cells carry oxygen, this morning, and kicked myself for being so stupid. I also realized that if I did indeed have pulmonary edema, my climb would be finished, and I couldn’t help the feeling of depression that sank onto me. I thought about telling Robert, but the taste of blood could be from my irritated throat, or from my nose, which has been bleeding a little for days now. I resolved to wait until tomorrow, and if the symptoms get worse, then I will tell Robert, and get the hell off of this mountain. Pulmonary edema is nothing to fool around with, it’s a killer. But right now I’m pretty sure I don’t have it. It is usually accompanied by a bad cough, and I don’t have anything more than the usual climbers hack. So far.
Camp 1 to Camp 2
Last night was the worst night of this trip. I lay down in my bag when it was still light, around eight o’clock, and for some reason I didn’t use my ear plugs, as I had done for the entire climb so far. I closed my eyes, but sleep just wouldn’t come. My nose was dry and clogged, and every so often, I would bolt upright in a panic, feeling as though I couldn’t breathe. I would breathe deeply through my mouth for while, until I had reassured myself that I wasn’t suffocating, and tried to sleep again. It was hopeless. Within a few minutes I would jerk up again, convinced I was drowning. I was getting frantic, obsessed with the idea that I had pulmonary edema.
Eventually, I realized that I was just freaking myself out, and I tried to talk myself into relaxing, but it just didn’t work. I kicked myself for being too weak-minded. Just when I needed to keep a positive mental attitude, as we were nearing the goal of this climb, I was allowing myself to become distracted and depressed about all sorts of things. Damn, I hated what I was doing to myself, or rather, allowing myself to think.
I finally did manage to get a little sleep, some time early in the morning, but certainly not enough to make up for the trauma I had suffered yesterday. How could this whole trip be unraveling at this crucial moment?
When the sun rose, I was already awake, and occupied with my mental state. I realized that if things were allowed to continue as they were, I might as well quit now, and hike out. I just couldn’t let that happen.
I’ve never been much of a rah-rah type person. I always figured that if you needed to hype yourself into some activity or belief, then perhaps those activities and beliefs couldn’t stand on their own, and weren’t worth pursuing. But I was faced with a situation that was hopeless unless I consciously adopted a positive attitude, and forced my state of mind to improve. I resolved to try just that, and every time I found myself worrying or doubting my abilities, I chanted a sort of positive mantra to get myself back on track. It wasn’t entirely successful, but it sure beat the funk I had put myself in.
So, at breakfast, when someone asked how I was, I’d say, pretty good. Not great, I figured there was no sense in being a Pollyanna about it, but it did seem to improve the situation. Later when we started the climb back up to Camp 2, and I felt that gasping, panicky feeling, I just kept repeating to myself, there IS enough oxygen to breathe! It seemed to work.
Another thing I tried was to adjust my pace to my own needs. Up until this time, we had all walked as a group, matching our steps to Robert’s pace, but I realized that that was one of my problems. By concentrating so hard on matching Robert’s pace, I was wasting valuable energy, so I just set my own pace. I kept within a certain distance of the others in the group, but I eased up on the difficult stretches, and speeded up on the easy ones. It definitely helped, as I made it to Camp 2 in much better shape than yesterday.
Taking a Break
We’re all hiding out in our tents now, waiting for dinner. As I expected, Connie dropped out this morning, so we’re down to six climbers and three guides. In order to save weight, we are three to a tent, instead of the two that had been the norm until today. I don’t think anyone else is suffering badly at this point, except perhaps Loren, who has been nursing a headache since base camp.
If the weather holds, we will begin our summit attempt at sometime around four in the morning tomorrow. I am excited, terrified, determined, doubtful, strong, ailing, serene and frantic. There’s nothing more I can do at this point to improve my chances other than to get some sleep, which won’t be easy. At 19,000 feet, this is like trying to sleep on top of Kilimanjaro. I have a bit of a headache, but I took some Ibuprofen a little while ago, and it seems to be helping. My cameras are ready, batteries are charged, I have a new set of thermal underwear and socks on, and my muscles aren’t too sore. I’m still working on this cough, but that alone won’t keep me from going. I’m set.
I have no doubt that if I make the summit, it will be the most difficult thing I have ever done. But that doesn’t mean that it will be too difficult. I am on this mountain to test myself, and I won’t give up until I have exhausted every ounce of stamina I have. No one else can help me, but I hope Vilma has checked her calendar, and is sending me good vibes. I’ll need them.