first taste of big mountains, Cordillera Blanca, Peru

Cordillera Blanca, Peru, June 2010

Direct West Face, Tocllaraju, TD

Normal Route, Yannapacha, D+

attempt on the Jaeger Route, Chacraraju Este, ED1

sunset on Pisco and Chacraraju from Yannapacha base camp

It was something of a ridiculous proposition, to take my fresh ice climbing skills, gained that winter in Ouray and Rocky Mountain Natl Park, and apply them in the vast arena of the Cordillera Blanca.  I figured every alpinist started somewhere, so in June 2010 I stumbled off a bus in Huaraz, Peru as an obviously misoriented gringo with a bulging backpack, shiny new twin ropes, and no climbing partner.   Luckily, Huaraz has been dubbed the “Chamonix of the Andes” for a reason, and my first night in a hostel I was offered a spot on a rope team attempting Nevado Pisco by a Czech guy sporting a rank nest of dreds.  Not impressed with his sketchy vibe, I cruised around Huaraz looking for climbers and soon found myself in Café Andino for happy hour, where I was invited to join a table of Europeans who were plotting a trek up the Ishinca valley in three days’ time.  I figured 5 days of acclimatization in town at 12,000 ft might be just enough; at least I could accompany them to base camp. 

 Ishinca base camp, host to dozens of climbing parties.  Tocllaraju sits in cloud on the upper left.

 Tocllaraju.  The NW Ridge, a popular moderate climb, sees a lot of traffic.  We aimed for the direct W Face.

We arrived at Ishinca base camp representing 7 nations and pounded coca tea while admiring the gleaming white face of Tocllaraju looming in the distance.  I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the 400 meters of consistent ice up the headwall, and awoke inspired enough to join Nelson, a French-Canadian, and Sebastian, and French-born Austrian, in the torturous trudge to high camp.  Arriving in a sleet shower, we strapped on crampons and headed off into a near-whiteout to scout a line through the heavily crevassed glacier.  With Nelson in the middle translating between my English and Sebastian’s French, we successfully navigated a path through gaping crevasses and across a few dicey snow bridges to the within sight of the headwall.  

Nelson and Sebastian on the glacier

descending from our recon

That night, sandwiched between two men in 2-person tent with my pulse pounding in my temples, I had my first taste of Cheyne-Stokes breathing, a horrible condition which soon had me afraid of falling asleep so I wouldn’t wake up in a gasping panic.  At one am the alarm rousted us to don our boots and follow yesterday’s tracks, and at daybreak we started ascending an icy groove up the headwall, finding little use for our snow pickets as the face was mostly ice.  Unfortunately, the weather deteriorated quickly and when snow started sluffing down continuously onto our shoulders we reached a unanimous decision to cut v-threads and rap to the safety of the glacier below. 

 

Looking back at Nelson and Sebastian after crossing the first snow bridge
on the Tocllaraju glacier approach

at work on the face

A week later I met Nelson in the market to enjoy a one dollar meal and watch a World Cup game.  Food gave way to beer and the conversation soon turned to another attempt at Tocllaraju’s west face.  The next few days had a great forecast, so we agreed to meet the next morning to attempt a 2-day blitz of the mountain.  Now acclimatized, we easily hiked the 8 miles to Ishinca base camp, ate lunch, and ascended the 3,000 ft to high camp.  At midnight we stepped into our waiting harnesses and followed our old tracks across the glacier.  This time we had a strategy honed by our previous mistakes: fewer pickets and a dozen ice screws so we could simulclimb the face in a few massive pitches.  I was pulling the bergshrund at 2 am and soon lost myself in the steady rhythm of pick…pick…step…step, learning that it’s easy to run it out when you can’t see your last screw.  This time speed was on our side, and dawn found us well up the headwall beneath the first cliff band, which we navigated successfully and in 2 more simul pitches we gained the summit ridge.  Here I learned a harsh lesson about the effects of altitude, as that summit, 200 meters away at most, took us well over an hour of pure suffering to reach.  Trudging through sugar snow at 19,790 ft, I could only walk in 10-step bursts, after which I would bend over gasping.  Soon enough, however, we were standing on the summit taking in the panorama of the Cordillera surrounding us, and I knew that the sacrifice was worth it. 

Nelson ascending ice runnels towards the cliff band

 
cold morning at 19,000 ft

Having ascended the S face, a maze of seracs and steep sugar snow still guarded the summit

Unfortunately, a miscommunication on our two-day blitz plan resulted in neither of us bringing food for a third night, so we descended the NW ridge in a blur of exhaustion, crossed the warming snow-bridges on the glacier as quickly as possible, and ate our last cheese and bread while we broke camp.  We set off to descend the 3,000 ft to base camp in hopes of finding a mule which could pack our massive packs out to the road, but we arrived at dusk and found that the muleros had already left.  The only commodities for sale in the valley were warm cans of Cusqueña, Peru’s famous underwhelming pilsner, so we each sipped a can while watching the pink hues of evening fade on Tocllaraju’s distant summit, where we had stood only 5 hours earlier. 

 

High on the face, Nelson following

What followed was a hike I never want to repeat.  Our voracious hunger overcame fatigue and we booked it through the dark for several hours before the bare facts of 10,000 ft of vertical travel at high altitude took their toll.  The last miles ground away slowly in an agonizing blur of exhaustion until we finally stumbled into a farming hamlet, where a man called us to his house and graciously offered us tea while he called for a taxi.  Sitting on his corn-cob mattress in mountaineering boots, sipping tea and watching Mexican wrestling crackling through static fuzz on his TV set, the only appliance in the room, I tried to ponder the absurd intrusion of technology into this farmer’s home before waves of drowsiness overcame me.  I woke up an hour later as the taxi pulled into Huaraz; Nelson and I unanimously instructed the driver to drop us off at Polleria Diana, where we walked in with our packs and boots and each sat down to a roasted half-chicken and devoured it in blissful silence.  

Sunrise on the Cordillera from the S face of Tocllaraju


Looking down into the Ishinca valley from the summit ridge of Tocllaraju


Chopicalqui bathed in moonlight

Paul Wherrey, the nutty Aussie, on the approach to Chacraraju

sloppy conditions at our 1st camp

 waking to blue skies, the Jaeger Route, a continuous gully that passes the summit cliff face on the left, looms above our camp

 We lost hours trying to pick our way through the tumult of seracs and cravasses on the glacier.  Due to extreme glacial recession in the past 20 years, what was once a nice snow-walk is now a tortured maze of melting ice.

 In the afternoon conditions deteriorated again and we got socked in by wet clouds, still fumbling on the glacier.  A low rumble caught our attention and we watched a massive avalanche clear the whole face of Chacraraju's west peak.  Being that our route climbs a similar, adjacent aspect, we quickly agreed that today was not the day, and turned around for the long trek back to the Llanganuco valley.

As we hiked out, tired and supposedly "defeated" by the mountain, we were rewarded with a glorious sunset. In the presence of such beauty, the idea of defeat, and all frail human needs, simply faded into insignificance.