Whenever I prepare for a mountain climbing expedition, there is always this lingering fear that something will go wrong. I don't necessarily mean the obviously scary stuff, like I will fall into a crevasse or get pulmonary edema. There are a zillion things, scattered along a spectrum of annoying to tragic, that can go awry.
The best way to sum up my trip to Nevado Juncal is to say that everything that could go wrong, short of being tragic, did go wrong. The trip fell on the annoying side of the spectrum, so I returned physically well and pleased I went, but whiney. If you don't like whining, skip this post and come back for an update of my upcoming trip to Mount Everest.
Whine #1: It started the day before Thanksgiving, about three weeks before my Santiago departure date. I went to swim laps before seeing my family for the long weekend. At around length 32, I started feeling a little strange, so I stopped swimming. The strange feeling slowly turned into nausea and within five minutes, I was vomitting in the women's room. The rest of the day was spent in bed hiding from my family while I shivered with a fever.
I was ill off and on until about a week ago (yes, well after returning from Chile), when I finally went to the doctor, who told me this whole time I'd likely been suffering from an unusually bad case of acid reflux, something I've been battling, apparently unsuccessfully, since last March. He proposed I get what is called an upper endoscopy. I could write a blog just about acid reflux, vocal cord dysfunction, nasal issues and anxiety... Lovely. I thought I had a virus, so I drank tons of orange juice. I should have just poured gasoline down my throat.
The week before leaving for Chile, after returning from a business trip to New York with no voice (my brother, Burke, told me I sounded like death), I looked into the prospect of cancelling the trip. It seemed unlikely that I would recover in time but even if I did, I certainly didn't have the strength or the desire to go mountain climbing. When you don't feel well, you want to be where you feel comfortable, especially during the holidays. But cancelling meant throwing my money away.
So I flew to Chile with the thought that I'd make the most of it, even though I secretly wished I was going to a health spa.
My flights went from San Francisco to Los Angeles (LAX), then from LAX to Santiago, Chile. If you ever fly internationally through LAX, leave plenty of time between flights to get to the Tom Bradley International Terminal. You have to walk outside, catch a shuttle, and then check-in and go through security.
Whine #2: I barely made the connecting flight after my seat was given away. It was an emotional day - I was tired, I didn't want to be there, and the LAX shuttle driver closed the door in my face without an explanation, so I had to wait 20 minutes for the next shuttle. Afraid I'd spend the long flight to Santiago in an awful middle seat, I frantically called my travel agent, who told me if I smile big and am nice, they might give me a business class seat. If I don't, they will give me another seat and take the person who was already there and put him in business class.
The folks at the LAN front desk gave me a window seat in an exit row - that was cool - but I found out they gave the gentleman who was already there a business class seat (whine #3). Lesson learned.
I arrived in Santiago but my luggage didn't (whine #4). Luggage for a mountain climbing trip is important, especially if you wear a size 5.5 plastic boot. There's not a huge market for small size mountaineering boots, so they're not always easy to find, especially to rent.
I've heard of people not getting their luggage before. In 2002, I climbed in Peru with a very strong female Danish climber who had to skip Tocllaraju, the highest peak, because she never got her luggage and precious boots, and she didn't feel comfortable with the rentals she was wearing (she was flying KLM - they are notorious for lost luggage).
Maybe I should have carried my boots on board. Panic.
After two sleepless nights (whine #5), wondering why I was away from my family for Christmas and New Year's and what I was going to do if my gear didn't arrive, LAN delivered my luggage to the hotel just in time to meet the team and head over to the mountain. You may notice every whine has some cheese.
The team included four climbers - Andres Zeger, 38, our Chilean guide (pictured above in his home in Santiago); Joel, 35, a Swiss computer programmer living temporarily in Buenos Aires; Mark, 52, an English oil drilling engineer living in Perth, Australia; and me, 26. ; )
One of the first things I learned about my fellow climbers, Joel and Mark, is that they had spent the previous week trekking and acclimatizing. Great. I was immediately intimidated (whine #6).
We drove two hours from Santiago, parked the car, unloaded our luggage for the mule driver who picked it all up, and hiked to base camp at around 9,000 feet. The hike was beautiful; the weather, sunny and warm.
The next day we carried a load to camp 1 at 12,300 feet, and the next day, Christmas day, we packed up our stuff to leave at base camp, and moved up to camp 1. This is a typical way to move up a mountain - climb high with a load one day, sleep low, and then move up to the higher camp. It allows climbers to carry gear (food, fuel, etc...) up the mountain and acclimatize.
The move to camp 1 was not steep, but the terrain was tricky and icy and we did not wear crampons. On Christmas day, carrying a heavy pack, I followed Joel's leap across a crevasse but lost my footing on the ice on the other side and slowly started sliding down toward the water. Andres scrambled like mad to grab me, but Mark quickly put his ski pole within my grasp so I could stop my slide.
So thanks to Mark, there was no water in my boot...yet. That was the first time I ever took a fall on a mountain because of my own poor footing (whine #7). Unfortunately, it wasn't the only time I fell on Nevado Juncal.
That night at camp 1, we celebrated Christmas with boxed wine (whine #8). I'm taking back that whine. It actually tasted pretty good and I thought it was thoughtful of Andres to pack the box.
Camp 1 for Nevado Juncal is at 12, 400 feet. It lies at the foot of a moraine, next to a glacier that looks something like the Khumbu icefall. In fact, the glacier goes all the way down to 10,000 feet, which is unusually low.
After our move to camp 1, we did a carry to camp 2, at 15,400 feet. The beginning of the climb was hard dirt and rocks but the terrain quickly turned into what a Brazilian climber called "mucho penitentes."
Penitentes, also called spiked ice, are common on high-altitude glaciers in the Andes where the air is dry and the sun's rays can turn ice into water vapor without melting it first - a process called sublimation. Some parts of the snow sublimate faster than others, so depressions develop. The curved surfaces then concentrate sunlight and speed up sublimation in the depressions, leaving the higher points behind as forests of towering spikes.I have navigated through penitentes before during two trips on Aconcagua, but the penitentes on Nevado Juncal made everything I'd previously seen on Aconcagua look like popsicles. On Juncal, the penitentes were humongous-er, steep in areas, and seemed to go on and on. I sounded like Rod 4-letter-word Blagojevich on my way up but as far as I know it wasn't bleeping recorded (so I can still run for public office).
It was a tough day. We were carrying heavy packs up varied terrain from dirt to snow to ice to penitentes. Finding a rhythm was nearly impossible.Normally while ascending a mountain in high altitude, climbers do what's called the rest step - the front leg moves forward in a relaxed motion while the rear leg remains vertical and the knee locked. This rests the weight on the skeleton and so relieves the leg muscles of exertion. It allows a mountain climber to ascend at his/her maximum but steady pace. If the terrain is smooth, it is relatively easy to ascend. But when it is varied with large steps, as we encountered on Nevado Juncal, the climbing is much more strenuous.
Good technique while walking up a mountain, with or without crampons, on varied terrain like hard dirt, snow, scree, ice, etc... will conserve energy and enable climbers to ascend for long lengths of time. As the terrain changes, the technique also changes. Because I only go mountain climbing once or twice a year, it takes a conscious effort for me to get back into the groove. I know that if I don't, I might use too much energy and fail. I felt pretty clumsy at first because it has been an embarrassingly long time since I last went mountain climbing.
I know what you're thinking: "SHE'S going to Everest?" or even more, "She's BEEN on Everest?" The answer is YES. SHE freely admits that every time she is on a mountain she has to reacquaint herself with technique because she knows how important it is (I feel like I'm on Facebook). But it usually comes back quickly, sort of like riding a bike... a mountain bike on a steep mountain in the pouring rain with gigantic slippery rocks and mud.
Andres and Joel made it to camp 2 first. Four Spanish climbers were there as well. When I reached them, I asked Andres to give it to me straight. Was I in any condition to climb this mountain?
Andres responded that my five hour, 10 minute ascent was fine, not too far behind them and very close to the time the Spaniards took of five hours. In fact, I ascended faster than they did because they left from a higher camp (about one hour climb above us) and acclimatized before coming to Juncal. That should have made me feel better and more confident, and it did, but I couldn't help but think that Andres, Joel and the Spaniards did not feel nearly as wiped out as I did (whine #8).
Mark came up after six hours of climbing. It seemed to me that he was also in line with a timely ascent, but Andres didn't give him the same reassurance he'd given me.
We descended back to camp 1 with the plan to spend the next day resting and the following day moving up to camp 2.
My feet felt wet during the entire descent, like I was sloshing in water. But I never stopped. When I removed my boots at camp 1, I poured out about a cup of water from each boot. I had never experienced that before! (whine #9)
Sometimes on mountain climbing trips I have funky dreams. I'm not sure if this is a symptom of being in altitude or just being in a strange environment. One night I dreamed that Barack Obama was my boyfriend. I woke up laughing. I like Barack, but I don't care how cool our new President is, he and his job remind me of STRESS. Why couldn't I dream about Ashton Kutcher or Denzel Washington? (whine #10)
After a rest day, the plan was to get up at 4am, pack and move up to camp 2. Early the next morning, I felt fine as I was fumbling around for my things, trying to pack quickly - that's been a struggle for me so I now do the opposite and pack too fast.
At some point I turned my leg a little and felt a twinge in my knee area. It ended up being in my upper calf muscle. I was a little concerned (everyone told me I was strangely quiet during breakfast) because I didn't know how it would feel once I stood up and started walking with a pack on my back. So once we did start walking, I immediately let Mark go ahead of me, which shocked him. And then I fell behind, which shocked everyone except me.
Every step hurt. Five hours of pain wasn't something I looked forward to and injuring my leg even more was not a risk I was willing to take. The purpose of this trip was to prepare for Everest, not physical therapy. I told the guys I am sorry but there needs to be a change of plan because I'm not going up. Inside, I also knew I just didn't have the energy (waaaahhh #11).
When I got home and told my brother, Dan, about my muscle, his response was, “stretch much?” No. Stupid, I know. But I was not in the proper condition for this climb. Pulling my leg muscle, something I've never done before on any climb, was a nice way of making me stop at the most convenient time for everyone. Looking back, knowing what I know now, it was a blessing in disguise.
Since Mark was unsure about his ability to move up the mountain, he decided to stay at camp 1 with me (thank you!). We began scrambling through our packs, moving things around, so Andres and Joel could continue up and Mark and I could go back down to camp 1.
The first thing Mark and I noticed after we set up camp was that the cards were nowhere to be found - Andres must have taken them up with him. We also had no books. They were all at base camp. We were looking forward to eating some sausage, until we realized that all of it was up at camp 2 (all whines #12).
But we made the most of it with endless conversation, fiddling over obscure details in our digital cameras and talking about our lives, books and magazines we read, food we loved (food is a popular topic on mountains; people seem to enjoy talking about the food they crave; I'm no exception, but I tend to crave disgustingly-bad-for-you fast-food while I'm on a mountain) and countries we visited. We decided we would both become rich and famous writers because of all our great book ideas. It didn't matter that neither of us are actually writers.
Andres and Joel returned to camp two days later after a successful summit. The summit they reached is actually called an "international" summit because it is not the "true" summit. The true summit involves much more technical and dangerous climbing, which explains why it has only been reached by six climbers. Most climbers climb the international summit.
So we headed down the mountain, back to base camp and then to the car. My muscle pain had subsided (it was oddly on and off over the next few days) and the descent went okay, except that I fell again - whatever, I'm a pro at that by now. It was New Year's Eve and after a week of no showers, we were looking forward to getting back to the hotel, cleaning up and spending the evening celebrating.
That day, Andres mentioned that December is not a good month to climb Nevado Juncal because of the mucho penitentes. November is much better (final whine).
Things started to change the closer we got to midnight. In my last post I probably jinxed myself by mentioning that 2008 was a bad year. Somehow throughout this whole experience I just knew once we got to 2009, things were going to look up.
I always want to reach the summit and am disappointed when I don't. But it is the tough trips that teach me the most (and please, don't think for a minute that I don't appreciate that I can even attempt this stuff). The purpose of this climb was to prepare for Everest, which right now is my ultimate goal. Juncal was probably the best preparation I could hope for, partly because I didn't reach the summit. My weaknesses were glaringly obvious.
Mickey Rooney said, "You always pass failure on the way to success."
I wouldn't necessarily call Everest 2007 (no summit), Everest 2008 (cancelled) and Nevado Juncal 2008 (no summit) failures, but I will say that SOMEBODY is ready for success.
Next post will be an Everest 2009 update!
