Ups and Downs...part two "Chopicalqui"

As aurora brought us to wake, we quickly ate breakfast and packed up camp.  Although the last two days were fairly difficult, they would surely seem feeble in comparison to what was lying ahead of us.  

On our feet, we moved on down to the next valley and began our accent.  The day was clear and we were all in good spirits as we manuvered through the dwarf forests and into the pampa.  With an exceptionally high hunger for our next objective, we quickly found ourselves at the moraine.  

Climbing up and around the boulders of landslides past, I was marveled at the view of our next "port of call".  To add to the excitement, we spent the day witnessing numerous avalanches (most definitely in the double digits) on neighboring mountains, as well as on the one we were soon to ascend.  Nonetheless, we pressed on.  We skipped base camp, deciding it best to just push on,  and arrived at the moraine camp with dusk in the early evening.  

There we spent our evening, wedged between enormous boulders and tremendous rock wall.  It was a rather relaxed evening for the following day we would only have to ascend about 600 meters to camp on the glacier.  We watched the sunset reflect off the opposing glaciers and continuously admired the peak we were hoping to meet in two days time.  

As we dined in the brisk air under the shadows of our headlamps, we were blessed with the most remarkable exhibition of stars that I have ever laid eyes upon.  On a clear night, at about 16,500 ft, there was a bowl of stars which seemed so close that they were just out of arms reach.  Words cannot describe the countless glints of light on the blackest pallete.  However, soon enough we were forced into our tents under the iniquity of the first snowfall I've encountered in Perú.  

Morning's light brought us promise and a slow pace through the moraine and onto the glacier.  As soon as the sun broke through the tops of the eastern mountains, we were once again blessed with the fervor of the tropical sun.  Seemingly well rehearsed, we once again drew our ice axes and strapped into our crampons when we arrived at the base of the glacier. 

Thus, we ascended in a fairly uneventful manner.  The novelty of jumping over crevices, passing couloirs, and staring into infinite ravines had somewhat worn off.  Now, more than ever, I was focussed on the end result.  I yearned for that feeling of standing on top of a mountain.  Although the views were nothing short of spectacular (to describe them as marvelous would be a goss understatement), I necessitated that sense of accomplishment of which I had been robbed on the previous mountain.  

And just like that, we pushed on until we climbed the final wall which brought us to a the flat area where we would set up camp...on the glacier at about 18,700 feet above sea level.  And there I sat, sitting on the rain cover of my backpack, using my bag itself as a backrest, until my butt was well beyond frozen.  Under the screaming silence of our thoughts, the following day's summit attempt lingered heavy in the thin mountain air. 

That evening, two of our five team members were bold enough to admit that the would not be carrying on in the summit attempt the following day; that brought us down to three.  However, that also meant that we would be going up in one solo team as opposed to the two we had been moving in prior.  Therefore, if one of the remaining three couldn't continue, we would all have to return.  

That night we did our best to relax our overwrought minds and bodies as we dined and enjoyed the sunset from on top of the glacier at 18,700 ft.  As the sun left, it took with it what little warmth was left in the air, and we quickly filed into our tents to get whatever little sleep possible.  

Throughout the night, I regularly woke up short of breath, cold, and anxious.  Nonetheless, the 12:30 AM wake up time arrived rather quickly.  Under the light of the stars, moon, and our headlamps, the three of us geared up and forced food into our uneasy stomachs.  Already out of breath from what little work it took to strap into our crampons, we bid farewell to our two friends and started toward the summit.

Immediately after leaving camp, we found ourselves trudging up a very steep and lengthy incline.  It was a prompt reminder of just how hard this summit attempt would be.  We pushed on silently, focusing on our steps, our breathing, and doing our best to be aware of our present condition.  

As we hit the first ridge, our climb turned into more of a hike up a gradual slope.  However, at that altitude, every step takes a great deal of energy.  We had been moving for a couple of hours, and we were still under the night sky.  Off in the distance, the lights of our department capital came into site and served as a reminder that most of the world was softly in bed, warm, relaxed, and comfortable.  

We tramped on through the dark, noticing only the shadows of crevices and gaping holes in the glacier.  When climbing in The Tropics, the sun softens the snow severely.  Although we were unable to enjoy the views through the darkness, it was the safer option.  More so, I was growing too exhausted to pay heed to the panarama.  

Hours passed and the sky finally began to shake the encumbering darkness.  We were able to switch off our headlamps just as we approached the famed 120 meter (nearly 400 ft) wall that contemptibly rests at an outstanding 19,685 ft above sea level.  The misery I was dealing with a few hundred feet lower was now gone.  This last gigantic barrier became the focal point.  Filled with dynamism, we conquered the wall in two 60 meter sections.

I was first to arrive at the top of the wall, and rolled over with exhaustion.  A few seconds passed before I finally raised my head and saw it.  In the not-too-far distance stood the summit.  It's cone shape was majestically soaring above the background.  The end was in site.

After a couple minutes of catching our breath, we ardently maneuvered towards the obstacle.  Upon reaching the base, we cut around the right side.  Hugging the wall firmly, standing on a mere six inch ledge, I did my best to ignore the plummeting drop bellow.  Finally, with one more step, and a large stretched, my axe connected with the ice in the final narrow shoot.  After a mere 30 more feet, I found myself there, on top of it all.  In great elation, we admired our view from on top of the world at 20,850 ft above sea level (6,354 meters).

So, what do you do when you reach a summit of that magnitude?  Well, first you have a group hug.  Then, you take a few pictures.  After that, if you're anything like me, you take a seat, enjoy the view, and eat the cheese sandwich you've been toting to the top.  

Sitting up there, we were all in great spirits as we seemed to have already forgotten the burden we bared to arrive.  With an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, I admittedly felt very emotional.  Nonetheless, our stay on the summit was short-lived as we had to make our way down before we found ourselves in foul weather or before the snow became dangerously soft.

Of course, navigating back down the mountain was a lot easier than the ascent.  Not having to battle gravity, we kept a good pace and rapidly repelled down walls which were once so painful to go up.  In spite of all that, we managed to find ourselves in a whiteout at about 18,000 ft for a little over an hour.  It became so severe that I couldn't see my partner in front of me, nor the one behind.  Again, we were robbed of the view on that stretch of the mountain.  In addition, we had an episode while repelling down one of the walls which certainly caused a bit of a stir.  In spite of all that, we safely converged with our other two friends waiting back at the glacier camp under blue skies.

As we descended together, we were attacked by a rockslide off a nearby mountain.  Myself and a friend both had to literally dive out of the way, and one fairly large rock came very close to taking my head off.  Regretfully, I had already removed my helmet...that was a very poor decision, kids.  Other than that, the descent was fairly uneventful.  

We arrived for one more night in moraine camp, and hiked out of the valley the next morning; holding our heads high as we passed a group just leaving base camp and on their way to their own summit attempt and wishing them well.  Afterall, we knew exactly what they were getting into.  And that's the funny thing about climbing mountains..."To the sober person adventurous conduct often seems insanity"(~Georg Simmel)