Trip Report Six: Aconcagua February 26 - March 9, 2001 February 26 - The Aconcagua trip begins ominously. The empanadas I purchase at the Santiago bus station are stuffed with hot dogs (not cheese) and in a possibly related inicident the young woman in front of us vomits on the bus floor. Her mother abuses her until hoarse for this 'vice' - bulimia? The crowded bus is hot, smells like puke, and the windows don't open. After four hours of travel, we are herded through a degrading passport and customs control at the Chile-Argentine border. The bus then descends into Argentina and we are finally dropped at Punta de Vacas, a dusty Argentinian community on the edge of Route 7, halfway between Santiago and Mendoza. The temperature is about 85 degrees farenheit -- comparable to the weight of our backpacks (food for 14 days, cold weather gear, and climbing equipment). We are too proud (read stingy) to afford mules and I can already anticipate painful and unsightly hip hickeys. Aconcagua towers more than 4200 meters above the trailhead. Our base camp (for the Polish Glacier Route) is 55 kilometers distant. Resigned to several days of pain, we hoof it 18 km to our first camp, located near the Pampa Las Lenas ranger station. We arrive at dusk to discover that contrary to our sources (Chilean mountain guide friends), the ranger station is still inhabited at the end of February. We camp within eyesight of the Pampa Las Lenas park rangers and discuss lies that might enable us to procede up the mountain the following day without the official entry permit. Our preferred choice of lies is this... our third (imaginary) member of our climbing party, who has already acclimatized on other (imaginary) peaks in South America, has gone by himself to Mendoza to procure our permits and later catch up with us at base camp. picture: Punta de Vacas trailhead February 27 - It doesn't work. Despite the sympathy of the guardaparques (park rangers) and their attempts to radio park headquarters to plead extenuating circumstances (the lie we have concocted), we are eventually told by the boss's boss's boss that we must BOTH descend to Mendoza for climbing permits or we can expect a fine of five hundred dollars. We leave our packs with the congenial guardaparques and jog 18 kilometers to the road, just in time to miss the last regular transport to Mendoza. After three hours in 90 degree heat, we are at last able to hitch a ride for the 160 kilometer trip to the city. At the tourism office in Mendoza it takes us five minutes to show our passports and exchange eighty dollars for a piece of paper which grants us access to Aconcagua Provincial Park. I cannot resist the temptation to suggest (in the most polite terms) to the Mendoza tourism office that the park entry procedures are CRAP and should and could be carried out at the actual entrance to the park (instead of 160 kilometers downhill). The pencil pusher in front of me takes slight offense at my observations and offers a slew of reasons for a mandatory visit to Mendoza: Most importantly, people might climb Aconcagua from Chile and not spend tourist dollars in Argentina. Therefore there is the everpresent danger that Chileans would begin to think that the Aconcagua summit belongs to Chile (the summit is actually a healthy 15 km from the border). Furthermore, there are banks in Mendoza in case prospective climbers need to exchange traveler's checks to pay climbing fees checks. Taber and I leave the tourism office confused, unconvinced, and poor, but with permits in hand. To add insult to injury it is raining in Mendoza. We are told that it is raining for only the second time in the previous six months. Mendoza is the self-proclaimed miniskirt capital of the world, but due to the weather, we have no way of verifying if this is true. pictures: The Aconcagua Provincial Park permit and what I think of it - The Tarantula on Punta de Vacas approach   February 28 - We take the midnight international bus from Mendoza and this time disembark at Punta de Vacas at three in the morning (we can't bear to repeat the hike in the daylight). We hike the 18 kilometers to Pampa Las Lenas by headlamp and arrive at dawn. We sleep six hours, show our pieces of paper to the guardaparques, and continue hiking up the Vacas Valley to our next camp at Casa de Piedra (22 excrutiating flat, endless kilometers). pictures: Taber drinking mate at Pampa Las Lenas ranger station - Hangin out at Pampa Las Lenas - Crossing the Rio Las Vacas on new footbridge - Approaching Casa de Piedra in the Vacas Valley March 1 - We ford the shallow, braided Vacas River and hike up the Relinchos Valley to base camp at Plaza Argentina (4200 meters). The camp is deserted except for two lonely guardaparques who are eager to end their 90 day stint on the mountain. pictures:Casa de Piedra camp with Relinchos Valley and Aconcagua in the background - Aconcagua and Relinchos Valley - Crossing the braided Vacas River - Hiking up the Relinchos Valley March 2 - We sleep late and read books all day in an attempt to acclimatize. Our friendly guardaparques, Daniel and Miguel, invite us to drink mate and dine on pizza with them. After pizza, they share canned peaches with us. Canned peaches are a luxury reserved only for guardaparques and those who approach Aconcagua with the help of mules. Daniel and Miguel tell us that 95 percent of climbers who use the Vacas Valley approach hire mules. picture: Daniel and Miguel (guardaparques) preparing dinner for us March 3 - We carry a load up to the Col Camp (5300 meters). Taber feels good until about 5200 meters when he abruptly pukes. We descend to base camp and Taber crawls into bed immediately. I stay up until two in the morning, drinking mate, and listening to the guardaparques' crazy stories of Aconcagua climbers. They tell me about the 25 middle-aged Japanese men who attempted the summit earlier this year. The group spent more than fifty days at base camp and higher camps, fixing rope ON THE NORMAL ROUTE for over three thousand vertical feet. Amongst other possessions, their field inventory included 200 kilograms of toilet paper. Ironically, none of the Japanese succeded in gaining the summit. After laughing about and criticizing the Japanese group, the guardaparques tell me more sobering stories about some of the 62 (known) cadavers that are still on the mountain. Many of them are only barely covered by stones on the normal climbing routes. pictures: Carrying loads up to Col Camp (Taber is in foreground) - Penitente field- Penitentes from up close March 4 - Taber feels better and we climb up to Camp One for the night. It is almost balmy at 4800 meters and I spend the night out under the stars. My sleeping bag is only rated to zero degrees celsius but I am completely warm. The electrical storms to the east (over Mendoza) are phenomenal and we observe lightning flashes at least once a second for more than an hour. pictures: Preparing to leave base camp - Lower Polish Glacier- Hiking up towards Camp One March 5 - Despite the fact that Taber and I are feeling quite good, we make a conservative decision to move our camp only up to the col (5300 meters). At Taber's request, I make a dinner of stir-fried rice and sausage. He claims that my food makes him sick and tries to give me the last few pieces of his cold sausage. At this point I am suffering from a headache and associated grumpiness and yell at Taber that I don't wish to eat his cold leftovers. EVER! The poor guy doesn't deserve the abuse especially because he is starting to feel nauseous again. pictures: Camp One - Col Camp with Polish Glacier in the background March 6 - We feel relatively well and hike up to Camp Two (5900 meters). The Polish Glacier towers above us all the way to the summit. We see that only the direct route is in shape and it involves 60 degrees ice at about 6500 meters. Taber expresses reservations about the difficulty of the route at that altitude and we mutually decide to settle for the Falso de Polacos Route. It is a cheater route which traverses right and joins the normal route at about 6350 meters. Taber suggests that we make the traverse immediately so that we can attempt the summit the following day and return to the Chilean beach as soon as possible. I concur that it is a good plan because I personally hope to minimize the amount of nights spent at altitude. Unfortunately cresting 6350 meters with all of our gear (more than 60 pounds each) is hard work. Taber arrives with energy depleted, unable to eat, and immediately crawls into his sleeping bag. I eat a healthy meal which goes down well, but begin to experience a killer headache. My head feels as though it is splitting in two when it touches anything -- even my down jacket -- and I manage to sleep only one or two hours. pictures: Polish Glacier up close (Falso de Polacos Route traverses to the right) - Doing the Falso de Polacos traverse- Penitentes and mountains from 6000 meters on the Falso de Polacos March 7 - Taber wakes me at seven and says it is time to head for the summit. I tell him to start climbing (without me or the backpack) and I will soon catch up. My motivation is not at all heroic. My head is screaming and I want Taber to go away quickly. The last thing I feel able to do is walk next to a friend, show patience, be conscientious, and say nice things. By the time I catch up to Taber (at 6500 meters) my headache is miraculously gone and I can manage some civility. Unfortunately, Taber has no food inside him, hence no energy. At 6600 meters, he is making virtually no upward progress, and I suggest that he turns around. Moments later his digestive system concurs. Taber reports that his throw-up is nothing but mucous and he reluctantly agrees to descend the route. We split up and I continue up the canaleta, a gully of loose scree. In less than an hour, I reach the summit (6960 meters) together with Josh, a gringo from Montana. The weather is fantastic (no colder than minus ten degrees celsius with only a little wind) and the view is pretty good. Mercedario (third highest mountain in South America) and Tupungato (6500 meters) are visible to the north and south. I have mixed emotions about being here because Taber is absent and we failed to even attempt the Polish Glacier. Though I am sufficiently tired and content, the normal route is really just an unasthetic walk up a big ugly pile of choss. For a peak-baggers like me, its an unending, painful, senseless, but necessary chore. I descend from the summit to our high camp at 6350 meters, collect Taber and our gear, and we continue down to Plaza de Mulas (4300 meters). As we drop in elevation, my head pounds less and Taber's nausea vanishes. By the time we are in base camp we are again happy and pleasant to one-another. Taber eats solid food and keeps it down for the first time in almost two days. pictures: High camp at 6350 meters - Taber beginning to ascend the canaleta - Summit shot (south face is in the background) - View to the north (Mercedario is in the background) - View to the south (notice hiker in red in the foreground) - Photo of Taber and me at Nido de Condores in front of Aconcagua - The descent near Cambio de Pendiente March 8 - We walk the 30 kilometers out to the town of Puente del Inca, where hamburgers and french fries are waiting. At the guardaparque exit station, we meet our four guardaparque friends from the Rio Las Vacas approach. Apparently we were the last ones registered to enter from that side of the mountain and their vacation began the day we climbed above Plaza Argentina. pictures: Plaza de Mulas with Cuerno in background - Taber getting wet on yet another stream crossing - View of Aconcagua from the Horcones Valley - Leaving the trailhead for Plaza de Mulas (Aconcagua is faintly visible in the background)   March 9 - Taber and I catch the international bus back to Santiago, shower in Rene's house, and jump on another bus to Vina del Mar on the Chilean coast. After suffering through Aconcagua, Taber has convinced me that I owe it to him to accompany him to the beach for a few days. Our celabratory beer consumption is minimal but I overdose on hotdog completos (a traditional Chilean fare that consists of hotdog, mayonaise, and avocado). At three in the morning, Taber cuts me off after my forth completo, realizing that I may just become sick. And so our bittersweet Aconcagua trip begins and ends in a sort of beautiful symmetry -- with the theme of hot dog and vomit. picture: Puente del Inca natural bridge and thermal springs << Previous | Next >>