The catching-up post of our first 5,000 meter peak

How about a happier post about a past experience? This happened weeks ago...

We (PCV Caro and I) summitted both mountains - El Corazon (15,718 feet) and Illiniza Norte (16,818 feet) right in a row. Both pummeled us with bad weather, they challenged our endurance, they tested our route finding skills, and they let us summit.

The more I do this, the closer I feel to knowing myself.

PART I

The hike to the top of El Corazon begins generally at the new but unused railroad station in Aloasi. At the very start of the trip we could see all the mountains around us completely clear - Cotopaxi, Ruminahui, Sincholagua, Pasochoa - except El Corazon, which had an ominous gray crown of stormclouds. We began later than we would have liked, around 7:30 or 8 a.m., and set off on a cobbled road to look for a dirt road turn off. Neither of us seemed very positive we'd summit and were resolved just to enjoy a nice day of hiking. The first dirt road was wrong and we just met a bunch of mean dogs. The second dirt road was right, and it led to a big gate operated by some random guard who wanted $2 from each of us to pass.

The dirt road climbs up and into farmland where suddenly we reached a hub of paths not described in the guidebook. We had four options besides the way we came, and decided the direct path was right. Sure enough it kept climbing up, then took us alongside a potato field. At the top of the field the path ended with a T intersection - we could go right or left, but not up in the way we wanted. We went right, and this road slowly began switchbacking up the hill.

At this point we were more enthusiastic we might make it to the mountain - the switchbacks were easy and brought us to the top of the hill feeling not so bad. Then one more switchback around the hill gave us a perfect view of Corazon rising up between the notch in the hill we were hiking. It was...shocking. A perfect resemblance of Strawberry Peak in New Mexico, totally perfect. And it was still really far away.

One more switchback and we came to the 'plateau', the hilly base of the actual mountain. Clouds rolled in and out, at once covering the mountain and then in a second completely gone. They weren't yet to the point of being a threat - no rain, no snow, no lightning. So we went on towards the saddle of Corazon and minor peak, here losing a great deal of enthusiasm and energy until we popped out of a long gully and saw again how much closer we were. We rallied each other to push ourselves to the saddle and eventually made it, though by this time a cloud had settled over the mountain for good.

We followed the path from the saddle up into the fog, through pincushion plants and eventually scree. We had a rough idea of where we had to go but it was a lot more difficult not being able to see our next move. Cairns were everywhere...reassuring and not so much. The scree lasted ages until finally we reached the base of a ridge and followed that around to the left and soon gained the rocks. Much easier to follow. Faded white arrows sometimes appeared to point the way. The summit was supposedly guarded by a 30 meter high class 3 scramble so when we reached a rock scramble we thought maybe we'd arrived...but it was too short, and the route continued on. Freezing rain began falling and the wind picked up. At this point I really wanted to be off the mountain.

We came up to 5 or so false summits, each tricking us into thinking it was finally over and we could turn back. At one "top" we left our bags, and shortly after we finally reached the true scramble section and left our poles. The scrambling wasn't hard but I worried about finding our way back the right way. Beyond that was a bit more easy walking on sloping gravel until the ground became flat and wide. All the rocks were covered in yellow graffiti...and then we spotted the giant summit cairn with exhausted relief. We took some pictures and began descending. I was freezing cold and wanted nothing more than to be safe.

Following the way we came wasn't too hard but we ended up getting off the ridge too fast and descending the scree too soon. We ended up locked by cliffs unable to go down. It turned out we weren't far from where we should be, and I used my GPSr to help us get exactly back to our familiar route. From there we let it guide us back to the other few points I had, significantly reducing the time it would have taken trying to get back blindly in fog. We reached the saddle soon enough and followed the trail back to the road. Except near the road the trail branches into dozens of possible pathways - luckily again, the GPSr led us right to where we needed to be despite heavy fog.

I had deliberately avoided knowing the time, but now it was obvious - we had to hurry. It would be dark in an hour. We speedwalked down the road and over the edge of the plateau, began switchbacking for an hour and half or so until the light really faded. We tried hiking as long as possible until it was really dark, and decided to bring out the headlamp. Except, there was no headlamp. Really panicked, totally freaked and unwilling to spend a night outside, we nearly ran in the twilight. We still had a few long switchbacks to go, and now the brush alongside us was just black outlined slightly against a deep black-blue sky. We reached the T-intersection and made a left, following the field down, then the road, until the tunnel-like path. It was solid-black now, and I brought out a crappy $1 flashlight I bought from a bus salesperson. It got us beyond the tunnel and a eucalyptus forest before it began fading. The road turned back to old cobblestone, and we reached the guard shack. It was totally dark, not a light on, and worried I called out "A ver!" when two guards hiding in the shadows called back. Creepy! But they let us through.

Streetlamps lit the way now and the dirt road again turned off to the main cobblestone road, and then another, leading right to the Hosteria La Estacion where we ended the day with the most amazing cup of hot chocolate ever.

PART II

We spent the night in El Chaupi, in a hostal called La Llovizna ("the drizzle"). The family was just putting up Christmas decorations, but without a fire in the fireplace, it didn't feel quite there. They had a large flatscreen mounted on the wall playing Timeline in Spanish, and a gas-powered slightly terrifying but wonderfully warm furnace was lit. It had the feeling of a rustic lodge, but no one else was staying there so it felt a little lonely.

At 7 a.m., our guide (required by Peace Corps) showed up at the hostal and waited for us to finish breakfast. We piled into the hostal owner's new truck and made our way up to La Virgen, the high parking lot. Pretty long, rough road. At this point all the surrounding mountains were visible.

Feeling good, we took off hiking. The guide set a great pace and liked to talk and chisme, and pointed out things of interest. When it got to decision point about what route we'd take - the "normal" route that takes the ridge to the summit, or the "direct" route that climbs up in steep scree - the guide decided to go direct. The normal route would be wet and slippery, and the direct route would be wet enough to make scree climbing not unpleasant. So... around and up we went through the scree. It was normal going until we reached the large gully to the top which suddenly went straight up - just like the scree on Cotopaxi, only without any kind of switchbacking. It was just ridiculously steep scree. This part took us a while but with relief for our legs we finally got on rock.

We hiked a bit and then stopped to rope up the guide and Caroline together - he had me climb free. At this point with total shock I realized my camera wasn't in my bag. My good camera, the one I use to sell prints and such...I was suddenly numb. How could I have been so stupid...? The guide assured me no one else was climbing this route today and we'd find it... but where? I wanted to go back but I wanted to go on and trust that it would be somewhere, waiting. So I pushed it totally out of my mind because this was the hardest part of the climb. Thunder began rolling around us and hail started falling. Scrambling got a bit more difficult but it wasn't anything too bad for me. But the hail got bigger and the thunder closer. Our guide kept listening to metal objects for humming sounds and told us that if we didn't make it to the summit, it wasn't the end of the world. We kept on, though, and it felt like we were close as the route began turning tighter and tighter...and then I saw the summit cross! And I admit it, I squealed for joy and surprised Caroline, who hadn't seen the cross and didn't realize yet we had done it. Our guide took our picture and we began down immediately.

It wasn't as frightening as I thought descending some of those rocks. For me, actually, it wasn't bad at all. The bad part was the weather. Our guide nearly had us sliding down the rocks when suddenly he heard a buzzing in his ear. Shortly after, a loud, short crack told us Illiniza Sur was just hit by lightning...suppose that's what it feels like to be genuinely afraid of being struck by lightning. A thick layer of snow had fallen, making the descent ever trickier. But with each foot lower the mountain calmed and soon we were on safer ground with snow lightly falling around us, the summit behind us clear and coated white.

It was fast going after that, and now I could only think of one thing. I nearly ran along the path, hoping my camera was beyond the turnoff from the main trail so no one else would come across it. And sure enough...there it was. Relief washed over my immense feeling of stupidity and I just wondered how that could have happened.

Back at La Virgen, both peaks were completely clear and covered in a new mantle of snow. Really gorgeous.

So that's how we finally reached the summit of our first 5,000+ meter peak. It's really a sentimental thing; Illiniza Norte to me will always be an extra special mountain. It's funny too because that first mountain was supposed to be Cotopaxi.

But there's always 24 January 2012 for that. YES.

After Reconnect

I felt really good during our first in-service training, called Reconnect. My counterpart and I developed some good ideas to start our first project and it seemed we could start on that immediately when we returned home. I enjoyed seeing all my old friends from training, and spent a week living in my old training house with my Tumbaco family that I missed a lot. It was warm, comfortable, and I was surrounded by people I knew and who knew me. At the end of the week, another volunteer and I attempted to climb Cotopaxi and although we didn't summit, and though it was cold and I felt not so great, after the climb I felt fine and wished I was back on it.

On each of the rides back to my site I met someone really friendly and fascinating. On a Quito trolley I met a woman named Flor who asked me a bunch of questions about my ice ax lashed to my bag. On the bus to Riobamba I sat next to a man who loved to laugh and joke - it started when I sat down and took out a ball of yarn to begin knitting some socks. I saw him quizzically watching me and I said in Spanish with a sort of smirk, "Why not?" We talked off and on the entire 3.5 hours and pretty soon he invited me to visit some of the remote Quichua communities he lives by on the slopes of Chimborazo. We'll see if I end up going or not but their festivals sound like a lot of fun... having not lost as many traditions as my own community has.

At the Dolorosa bus station I was buying Cheetos (yes!! Real Cheetos, puffy and delicious and everything!) when my host Maria snuck up on me from behind and poked me with both hands on each side of my stomach. I'd never seen her do anything so impish and to me it was hilarious, especially because she'd just found out how incredibly ticklish I am.

Our bus left in an hour and I'd brought out the beginnings of my knitted sock again to work on. A girl sat in front of us on the pseudo-seat and stared at my work, entranced. Halfway to Pungala she spoke up and asked what I was making, and our conversation continued. A woman I'd met on another bus ride also from Pungala sat next to her with her baby tied on her back and told the first girl all about me - it was incredible what she remembered. I realized again at that moment that I'm no longer usually gawked at, and if I am, there's usually someone around to jump in and explain that I'm not exactly a foreigner anymore... that I live out there in the campo with them too. It's comforting to know that little by little, I'm blending in. Word is spreading.

But now back in site, I felt a little drained. I had all these hopes and ideas but I still wasn't exactly sure how to accomplish them... it's a catch 22 in Peace Corps: you want to do stuff (especially to feel useful and not be bored all the time), but you can only do what your community wants to do. And showing them what you can do and what you want to do is sometimes tricky, especially when you're trying to do something they really don't want to do and are too polite to tell you.

Back here on my first day, I did the usual: made alfredo, knit, read a bit, washed clothes, went for a nice hike up and over the mountain. When I got back, I put a pot of water on to boil and heard a clang on the door. It was Ivan, the son of the (former?) school director who served as his dad's substitute last school year. He launched into a very enthusiastic speech about how he wanted to work on the eco-club with me during the summer but he was too busy building houses, how now he wants to really create this club, the ideas he has for it (backpacking to El Placer and bringing in other Volunteers to help [hint hint, he actually said this, come visit!!!], planting gardens, learning eco-tourism English, drawing, etc.), what more we can do for the community such as technological instruction (he went to school for journalism like me), arts, music (reviving traditional Ecuadorian folk music), etc. I'm pretty sure my jaw was dropped the whole time. Maybe not. But just hearing him talk so excitedly made me really excited too. And the funniest part was when he said, "I've been thinking, and my dad told me I should talk with you, that here you are in the community and we're not even using you." YES. Yes! Use me! That is exactly why I'm here. I told him I would write out my ideas and give them to him soon.

So things keep getting better. "Development work is slow," is the mantra. And it's true. Especially in an indigenous community like mine. You have to get trust, prove you're there to stay a while, get out walking even if you're not walking anywhere in particular (answering the obligatory "?Adonde va?" is tricky), talk to people, go to meetings, visit the school, help with farmwork, learn some Quichua, and then maybe you're in.

Cotopaxi

One of the great things about being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ecuador is that we live in a country saturated by snowy volcanoes, and if you have the requisite experience/altitude adjustment, you can climb them.

Two of us plus a guide attempted Cotopaxi Saturday night to Sunday morning. A driver our guide knows took us into the park and up to the parking lot (15,088 feet) for $30 one way...a bit pricey huh? From there we hiked up to the refuge that sits at 15,744 feet. We unloaded our gear and claimed beds, then made our way up along the trail towards the glacier which sits an hour and a half away...much, much further than it had been in the past. I felt good, enthusiastic, sure we'd be seeing the summit in the morning.

When we got back everyone was busy preparing dinner, each wood table team retrieving a metal pitcher of boiling water for tea. I didn't realize we had free access to a climber's kitchen - if I had, I would have brought a box of noodles and a mountain of alfredo sauce packets. But luckily I didn't have to get by on packaged snack foods because our guide shared a bowl of quinoa and mushroom soup with each of us.

I was tired and ready for sleep at 8 p.m. But the second I laid down horizontal, I felt the altitude and breathing suddenly felt not so easy anymore. It took a while to get to sleep and when it happened, I'm sure I only slept for winks at a time. The wind often woke me up and made me anxious about waking up and looking at the conditions outside.

At what must have been 11 or 11:30 p.m., a team got up and began noisily gearing up to climb. When they headed out, it was about 12 a.m. and time for us to get up and ready. We geared up, drank water, ate a little, and headed out.

Sad to say we didn't make the Cotopaxi summit due to two reasons. The one I'm most disappointed in is myself - at around 5400 feet I crashed, just lost all my energy. I'm not sure what happened. Breathing was hard, of course, but I don't think that's what got me. But the other reason turned back almost all the other teams: only one team navigated the large crevasse at around 17,700. Our guide told us to get across, we'd need to leap over a gap and land on an ice wall, vertical climb up it, and cross another gap with a wood board...and cross a sketchy snowbridge that our guide believed was in danger of collapsing and might not be there when we returned, which meant commitment to an alternate route on the way down. We said no, and decided to try looking for a way around the crack. But we found other teams probing for the end of the crevasse but they either couldn't find it or it ran out at a spot no one wanted to climb up from. It was a little confounding climbing on the day that this obstacle was discovered to be present or worse than it had been before.

So after scratching our heads for a while and freezing, we turned back. One by one each of the other teams followed and soon there was a long trail of headlamps snaking back down the ice, and then of course the weather turned a bit to ice cold wind and frost. Back at the refuge when the team(s?) that made the summit got back, the guide even told us the crossing was a little hairy and risky.

So... hours later after leaving the refuge where's the one place I really wanted to be? The mountain. I'm taking that as a good sign that being dog tired, freezing and frustrated with a tricky crossing, I still want to go back and try it again. I'm going to make a training plan and stick to it. Like I said, my main problem was exhaustion (beyond a mental block, this physically wasn't surmountable) and breathing. I think my muscles are fine but I'll still work on them... I don't have the slightest ache to indicate I was climbing a mountain yesterday.

Until next time!

Reconnect and a mountain

Hello from the house of my training host family in Tumbaco, Ecuador. We're back in town four months after swear-in for our first in-service training called Reconnect. The idea of the workshop is to learn how to better work with our counterparts (the leaders in our communities) and get some other work done like making fun recycled art (I'm excited to do what I learned even just on my own!) and receiving immunizations and such.

It was very strange coming back to Tumbaco, very much like coming home. I left Monday morning on the 6 a.m. bus to Riobamba, hardly sleeping a wink the night before because I always get a little neurotic when I travel nowadays. I had to do laundry the day before despite the rain, and of course my clothes didn't dry so I had them draped all over my room. They still didn't dry and ended up bringing a backpack of wet clothes to drape around my room in Tumbaco. I piled a bowl of rabbit chow in Moo's cage and stuffed it full of fresh grass... hopefully my host will feed her, but I'm really worried she's not going to be ok.

The trip was easy and fluid but very long. Two hours to Riobamba, four to Quito, one or two hours riding the trolley buses to the right terminal, and 45 minutes to Tumbaco. My counterpart arrived just after me. We took the bus back but in the morning, my little mini cluster of volunteers met on our old street corner, stopped by the bakery we always visited each morning during training, and walked the hour journey to the training center on the bike trail. I thought we'd never get to walk that trail together again...it was just like "old times."

This week of training has flown by and already tomorrow, Friday, is the last day. After lunch, volunteers go back to their sites or on to vacations.

As for me...


I'm climbing COTOPAXI!!!!!

Cotopaxi is Ecuador's most frequently climbed mountain, an active volcano 19,347 feet high. We'll be staying at the refuge (which is located just over 15,000 feet) Saturday night and getting an alpine start on Sunday morning. If we feel good and have cooperating weather, we should be on the summit at dawn. I'm ridiculously excited, but also sanely nervous. Should be fun!