The closest point on earth is about 3 and half hours away from Quito. Diego brought the big 4WD car for us to get there comfortably. Driving down portions of the Pan-American highway, we were greeted by the playful Vicunas right as we entered the Chimborazo Nation Park.
As we were driving towards the shelter, Diego started mumbling to me “the snow does not look good, the snow does not look good.” I followed up asking why. He just said “it’s too much snow. We will see when we get to the shelter.”
Sunset gave Chimbo some coloring
Stuffing some chicken in my belly, Diego started to brief me. The shelter manager told Diego that this month only one person reached the Whymper summit, the higher of the two summits on top of Chimborazo, driven by the dangerous snow condition. Many were actually turned back due to the chance of avalanche en route to the Ventimiglia summit. Even though the Whymper summit was only 30 meters or 100 feet higher than the Ventimiglia summit, I still want to try for it. Diego seemed to be very worried, he just said: “I will let you know if there might be a chance of avalanche, then we HAVE TO turn around.”
“Just let the weather hold for one more day!” I prayed. Knowing that April is the worst month to climb in Ecuador, I still signed up to climb the volcanos; I wanted to take advantage of my prior acclimatization in Nepal. The higher shelter of Chimborazo is not open due to the off-season, but I was confident. I was sure that the 4700 feet summit nigh climb from our lower shelter would not be a problem.
Climbers enjoying the sunset in front of the lower shelter
We jumped into bed, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before the 11pm alpine start. And then, it was 10pm, time to get ready. Eating some “breakfast” and taking some Diamox, I started fashionably late as usual. Half an hour into the climb, my stomach started to react. Nausea and aching just got worse and worse with every step I took. I had to tell Diego what I was experiencing. Not a fan of the weather to begin with, Diego for the next hour, continuously said that I should turn around if I am not feeling 100%. He was worried that I had altitude sickness. However, I was not feeling the headache nor the drunkness. Recalling what I ate the night before and the “breakfast” before the start, I realized I ate cheese. The single thing I cannot eat at high altitude. Throwing up would certainly make me feel better, but then I would have wasted my altitude medicine too. It was at this time that Diego insisted that I either throw up or turn around.
“Woah” I made myself threw up everything I ate the prior two meals. Immediately feeling better, I rushed Diego to continue on with our journey. But you are never too far from trouble when you are climbing. During one of the breaks, I lost my ice ax which did not come with a secure loop. If we could not find the ice ax, then we would have to go down. After all that throwing up, I was determined. Luckily for me, my ice ax only slid 30 feet away from us, stopped by a sudden bulge on the mountain. “How lucky!” I said to myself. Now there are no more excuses not to make it, I thought.
Then we got above 6000 meters, and my body knew it too. My fatigue set in as the snow got softer and thicker. For every 200 steps I counted, I stopped and rested for a few seconds. And on and on I counted. Even though I could see the Ventimiglia summit, I just had not done enough to reach it. I can’t remember how many rounds of 200 steps I counted. Then, we were met with the hard-packed snow; a sign of approaching the summit. Knowing victory is near, I stopped counting my steps. I raised my head and straightened my back.
Then it was flat, the summit. I ask Diego whether we could continue on to the Whymper summit. He took a look at the snow between the summits, replied “no, this is where we will have to stop. I don’t like the snow right now.”
“Could we at least try?”
“No. Didn’t you see the snow coming up this summit? Too soft, too thick.”
I pleaded “but are you sure? should we at least walk half way and check it out?”
“Yes. I am very sure,” said Diego as he started to take off his pack.
I back off on asking any more questions. A victory none the less. Even though I could barely smile in this picture due hours of strong wind and snow blowing against my face (it felt frozen, I had a sheet of ice formed on my face), I was happy.
On the way down, Diego told me that he was in an avalanche at Chimborazo before. A likely reason that he had been extra cautious with the snow condition throughout our climb. He and along with two other guides were buried in the snow while checking the snow conditions. Diego was only buried a meter below the surface with a breathing hole which helped him survive. His fellow guides, however, were buried too deep and died on Chimbo that day. One of them was his good friend.
His story reminded me of my guide in Nepal, Nigma. One of his biggest regrets was to lose one of his porters, also a relative of his, on the way down from the Everest Basecamp. We all know that high altitude climbing and trekking are serious business. Many things can go wrong, and guides have to tackle them head on every day. Often times, they have seen death and injuries comparable to that of the combat soldiers. These men showed real strength in coming back to their jobs and the places where they had traumatic memories. At the same time, I wondered if anyone had taken care of their psychological well being before coming back to earn their livelihood?
Smiling on the way down