This post is the second in a two-part series where I recap climbs from the past that were never posted. This installment is going back 1 year ago to 2017 when I ventured alone to Bolivia to scale Mt. Illimani and Sajama, the two highest peaks in Bolivia. They are posted in the present so they do not get buried under previous posts. Much of the language comes from my journal at the moment.
June, 2017
This trip started in the worst way possible. We didn't get the house we made an offer on. Then I dropped my phone, cracking it. We drove to the airport and got stuck in 1.5 hours of traffic, only to find my flight delayed, then delayed again so that I would miss my connection. I flew to Miami on a later flight and missed departing to Bolivia by 15 minutes. I was put up in a terrible airport hotel for 24 hours until the next plane left. Little did I know that check-out was at 11am, so by the time I got there and laid down, I had to leave and park my butt in the airport for most of the day.
Upon arriving in La Paz, I made my way to my hotel, albeit a day later than planned. Thankfully, they amended the reservation and didn't charge me for it, which was nice, and warranted since the room didn't have hot water, an English-speaking television channel, or decent wifi, but they did have an ok breakfast. The elevation of La Paz is around 3,500m, which meant I had to arrive several days before my climb to acclimate. On my second day, I wandered the streets up to the highest ridge around town, and scrambled over crags, nearly falling to my death on the rocky outcroppings before heading back down, avoiding hordes of stray dogs.
The next day I walked about 3 miles to the minibus station and figured out how to get on the right bus that took me to La Cumbre, a high point about 15 miles from the city. The elevation there is 4,400m so it was a good chance to acclimate some more. The bus was crammed with people, babies, and supplies, we headed up, stopping for food for most just outside the city. 30 min later we arrived and I was dropped at the side of the road with odd stares. I hiked up for about 5 min but the wind was hammering and the temps far colder than I anticipated so I basically sat huddled for an hour before deciding to go back down. I had a hard time hitching a ride back but a guy finally stopped and took me to town, for a fee, of course.
I walked 5k back to town and stopped in Wild Rover, this "Irish" hostel where I was to stay the days after my climb. It was gross: a bunch of 20-somethings all drinking and trying to hook up. At 1:20pm. On a Monday. They had no rooms for earlier than my date but I stayed for lunch anyway, getting through a BBQ burger and a salad as I hadn't had vegetables in three days. Tomorrow, we go up.
June 27
With the anticipation finally over, I packed up my gear and met my guide. We threw my bags into the car and piled in with a driver and headed out of tow. Long, winding roads took us up and out, some of them dirt, some of them paved, all of them with dangerous curves that every driver felt entitled to hug as tight as possible. I remain entirely convinced the greater danger in climbing mountains is the trip there and back. It took several hours, all of it with Illimani in the distance, to reach the massif itself. Luckily, there was new road put in due to some filming and research in the area. Otherwise, the climb would have taken an extra day and a hike of about 4 hours from the road.
Instead, we pushed on, crossing not-so-small streams and weaving through some hefty rocks. We bottomed out many times, scraping the car all over the so-called road. But eventually we made it up to the fast plain that is base camp, just at the foot of the mountain peak itself. There is not a prettier sight in the country, I am sure.
Our driver dropped our gear and took off down the mountain with a promise to return several days later. After unpacking the loot and setting up the tent, there really wasn't much to do but drink tea and stare at the mountain. I took a wander down the road and headed up a valley lined by rock walls. There were llamas everywhere and waterfalls coming off the mountain. I went up for quite a while, scaling some rock walls and hiking far, hoping to push acclimatization.
Temps dropped rapidly as dusk drew closer, and after glancing at the lights of La Paz and El Alto in the distance, I retired for some rest, of which I could get little of in a tent. My borrowed sleeping pad had a hole in it so I felt every rock of the plain. We woke early and tried to get warm as the sun was still working its way up. Breakfast and a late start with a full pack up the trail. My guide and I shouldered decent-sized packs, but a porter grabbed the bulk of our load. I cannot believe how much weight I still had and it was a good thing I could carry some. These guys show up from miles down the valley, come up in sandals, shoulder huge weight, and still beat most people up the mountain. A ranger showed up at the last second and collected the climbing fee, which was about $3.
Our route traveled up and right across the mountain. The going was easy at first but became more and more steep as the day went on and the heat increased. More rests were needed as we inched our way up the difficult and sandy single track toward the high camp. Moments of doubt began to creep in as the mountain loomed high above us; I looked back down and was amazed at how far we had come, but looking up, there was much more to scale. Since we didn't have our tents in our bag, there was no sense in going higher without the porter. We paused just shy of the high camp and rested until the porter arrived. Other than being hungry and thirsty, I was feeling alright and not effected by the altitude. Usually, within 2 min of stopping, I had my breath and was itching to go. The stopping and waiting was the most frustrating. My endurance is good but my patience is not. I just want to plow on and get it done. This, however, is not a hurry-up sport.
High camp was a sketchy place. Not bigger than about 30-40 feet wide and long, it was perched on the ridge just at the snowline. We were at 5500m (18,200ft), the Nido de Condor "Condor's Nest" and it was a precarious situation. My tent was on a shelf not wide enough to hold it, and ropes were strung to keep it tied down. A strong gust of wind looked to pull it down the huge gully to my left, with me wrapped inside. The entire place smelled of fecal matter and urine as there were no other options for doing your business. I had a pounding headache that abated after some hydration, Tylenol, and rest. Our time here was brief; we would make dinner and try and sleep, but we were leaving at midnight.
I, of course, could not sleep. My Swiss cheese Thermarest was worthless and I felt every one of the rocks. My rest on the tundra last night was a gift compared to this place. My head is pounding and I have a 12-14 hour trip ahead of me when today's 3.5-hour trip was enough to put me in this state. I think about the mountains as Cheryl Strayed said in "Wild", you may come to find yourself, and find meaning, but what you find, at least initially, is nothing but suffering. The summit may be bliss, but the journey is ripe with discomfort. If it wasn't the rocks beneath me keeping me awake, it was the flapping of a tent-like kids' with a parachute in gym class - that sealed the deal. I stayed warm with two hot water bottles tucked in my bag, but no rest for me, again. At 1am the alarm went off and I pulled on whatever clothes I was not already wearing. Getting plastic boots on in a tent is a chore. I choked down "breakfast" which was basically chocolate and tea. Crampons, helmet, and 2:05am - we were off.
The route starts from high camp by hugging a rocky ridge. It didn't seem like it at the time, but this was some of the most difficult footing, as I would see coming down in the light. Instantly I was too hot and stopped to pull off my Goretex jacket, which was under my impressive down jacket. I ate some Gu and drank water but Andreas kept chirping about the power of cocoa leaves and how they make you strong and help stomach issues and headaches. I took a couple of rounds just to appease him. I don't buy it, and it feels like you are chewing a handful of leaves you have raked in Fall time only you have to hold them in your lip, like dip. It tastes like sucking on an unused tea bag.
On we slogged making switchbacks across the mountain face, though it was hard to gauge distance when only 3 feet in front of me was illuminated. But it was probably best, because as I would later find out, the route is surrounded by cliffs and crevasses, and it was terrifying. After about 2 hours we were going well but my new crampon popped off. This was not a problem as it was not too steep, but elsewhere this could be an issue. Then it came off again! Andreas helped me get it on, which was nice, but I felt like a bit of a wad. Would you believe it? My other crampon came off. I don't know if I was having a boot or crampon issue but it wasn't good. Andreas checked his watch and it was 5:00am. He said we would be on the summit in 1 hour. This was good news but since the sun rises at 6:30, it would be hard to get a good summit picture. My mistake, like in an ultra, was taking this opinion as fact. Spurred on by the finish, I felt good, yet after an hour I could now see the peaks across from me, and they were higher yet - a problem since I was on the tallest peak around. My hopes sank, the headache peaked, and my stomach went south. I couldn't go 5-10 min without needing a rest. "30 min" Andreas would say, and then 15 min later, "30 min." I started to bonk hard; his concern started to rise. We rounded a corner and popped out onto the summit ridge. "30 minutes," Andreas said. I sat in the snow. "Todas bien?" he asked. No, I said, feeling poor. I considered turning around at this point. The summit was only halfway (and since we had to go to base camp, not even halfway). I decided to press on. We arched around the dome in a cloud, with a swirling wind obscuring the view. Eventually, it relented and we stood, unceremoniously, on the unassuming summit, 6438m (21122ft). Andreas hugged me and I posed for a picture. We left quickly with me in the lead and on belay. However, the wind obscured the view, and not wanting to walk into a crevasse, I sat in the snow while Andreas wandered around for 10 minutes looking for the route.
I felt good heading down for an hour or so. My battery died so I took no pictures of the amazing ice walls. I grew tired and started tripping on my own leg often and would sit in the snow to recover. We could see high camp but it never seemed to come. The last hour was painful and riddled with stops. I crawled in and the waiting porters laughed at me while I stripped off each piece of clothing an chucked it aside. Sweaty and exhausted, it was 9:45am. It took 5:35 to get up and 2:05 to get down to high camp but I swore it was twice that. We were hustled out of there within a half hour for the long, dusty descent to base camp. The craggy rocks and precarious footing were made all the more tenuous by wasted legs. The extra weight on my back made cutting switchbacks difficult. I was roasting from wearing my fleece and Goretex pants still. We were down in about 2 hours but it was a tortuous route that felt like it took all day.
We drove downhill on twisting, rocky roads for about 4 hours. I faded in and out as it was too bumpy to drink. We had to switch cars once and then drove around downtown for about 40 min. I thought they couldn't find my hotel but the cab was restricted from certain roads (traffic control rules). We ended up at the company headquarters and switched cabs again. 25 minutes later I was at my hotel and on the phone with Expedia for the next 2 hours. On the Illimani, I had made the decision to leave Bolivia without climbing the second mountain, Sajama. Each call would drop; I would call back and repeat my story to a new representative. They would ask me for a number to call back, just in case, and I would repeatedly tell them I was in Bolivia. They called my mom (the number on my account) many times. $725 later I got a new flight, 3 days on. I just wanted to go home. The summit was bittersweet; I made it but felt disappointed with the adventure.
This trip started in the worst way possible. We didn't get the house we made an offer on. Then I dropped my phone, cracking it. We drove to the airport and got stuck in 1.5 hours of traffic, only to find my flight delayed, then delayed again so that I would miss my connection. I flew to Miami on a later flight and missed departing to Bolivia by 15 minutes. I was put up in a terrible airport hotel for 24 hours until the next plane left. Little did I know that check-out was at 11am, so by the time I got there and laid down, I had to leave and park my butt in the airport for most of the day.
Upon arriving in La Paz, I made my way to my hotel, albeit a day later than planned. Thankfully, they amended the reservation and didn't charge me for it, which was nice, and warranted since the room didn't have hot water, an English-speaking television channel, or decent wifi, but they did have an ok breakfast. The elevation of La Paz is around 3,500m, which meant I had to arrive several days before my climb to acclimate. On my second day, I wandered the streets up to the highest ridge around town, and scrambled over crags, nearly falling to my death on the rocky outcroppings before heading back down, avoiding hordes of stray dogs.
The next day I walked about 3 miles to the minibus station and figured out how to get on the right bus that took me to La Cumbre, a high point about 15 miles from the city. The elevation there is 4,400m so it was a good chance to acclimate some more. The bus was crammed with people, babies, and supplies, we headed up, stopping for food for most just outside the city. 30 min later we arrived and I was dropped at the side of the road with odd stares. I hiked up for about 5 min but the wind was hammering and the temps far colder than I anticipated so I basically sat huddled for an hour before deciding to go back down. I had a hard time hitching a ride back but a guy finally stopped and took me to town, for a fee, of course.
I walked 5k back to town and stopped in Wild Rover, this "Irish" hostel where I was to stay the days after my climb. It was gross: a bunch of 20-somethings all drinking and trying to hook up. At 1:20pm. On a Monday. They had no rooms for earlier than my date but I stayed for lunch anyway, getting through a BBQ burger and a salad as I hadn't had vegetables in three days. Tomorrow, we go up.
June 27
With the anticipation finally over, I packed up my gear and met my guide. We threw my bags into the car and piled in with a driver and headed out of tow. Long, winding roads took us up and out, some of them dirt, some of them paved, all of them with dangerous curves that every driver felt entitled to hug as tight as possible. I remain entirely convinced the greater danger in climbing mountains is the trip there and back. It took several hours, all of it with Illimani in the distance, to reach the massif itself. Luckily, there was new road put in due to some filming and research in the area. Otherwise, the climb would have taken an extra day and a hike of about 4 hours from the road.
Instead, we pushed on, crossing not-so-small streams and weaving through some hefty rocks. We bottomed out many times, scraping the car all over the so-called road. But eventually we made it up to the fast plain that is base camp, just at the foot of the mountain peak itself. There is not a prettier sight in the country, I am sure.
 |
| Base Camp 4,400m |
 |
| View of base camp from higher up |
 |
| Looking back down on my hike |
Temps dropped rapidly as dusk drew closer, and after glancing at the lights of La Paz and El Alto in the distance, I retired for some rest, of which I could get little of in a tent. My borrowed sleeping pad had a hole in it so I felt every rock of the plain. We woke early and tried to get warm as the sun was still working its way up. Breakfast and a late start with a full pack up the trail. My guide and I shouldered decent-sized packs, but a porter grabbed the bulk of our load. I cannot believe how much weight I still had and it was a good thing I could carry some. These guys show up from miles down the valley, come up in sandals, shoulder huge weight, and still beat most people up the mountain. A ranger showed up at the last second and collected the climbing fee, which was about $3.
Our route traveled up and right across the mountain. The going was easy at first but became more and more steep as the day went on and the heat increased. More rests were needed as we inched our way up the difficult and sandy single track toward the high camp. Moments of doubt began to creep in as the mountain loomed high above us; I looked back down and was amazed at how far we had come, but looking up, there was much more to scale. Since we didn't have our tents in our bag, there was no sense in going higher without the porter. We paused just shy of the high camp and rested until the porter arrived. Other than being hungry and thirsty, I was feeling alright and not effected by the altitude. Usually, within 2 min of stopping, I had my breath and was itching to go. The stopping and waiting was the most frustrating. My endurance is good but my patience is not. I just want to plow on and get it done. This, however, is not a hurry-up sport.
High camp was a sketchy place. Not bigger than about 30-40 feet wide and long, it was perched on the ridge just at the snowline. We were at 5500m (18,200ft), the Nido de Condor "Condor's Nest" and it was a precarious situation. My tent was on a shelf not wide enough to hold it, and ropes were strung to keep it tied down. A strong gust of wind looked to pull it down the huge gully to my left, with me wrapped inside. The entire place smelled of fecal matter and urine as there were no other options for doing your business. I had a pounding headache that abated after some hydration, Tylenol, and rest. Our time here was brief; we would make dinner and try and sleep, but we were leaving at midnight.
I, of course, could not sleep. My Swiss cheese Thermarest was worthless and I felt every one of the rocks. My rest on the tundra last night was a gift compared to this place. My head is pounding and I have a 12-14 hour trip ahead of me when today's 3.5-hour trip was enough to put me in this state. I think about the mountains as Cheryl Strayed said in "Wild", you may come to find yourself, and find meaning, but what you find, at least initially, is nothing but suffering. The summit may be bliss, but the journey is ripe with discomfort. If it wasn't the rocks beneath me keeping me awake, it was the flapping of a tent-like kids' with a parachute in gym class - that sealed the deal. I stayed warm with two hot water bottles tucked in my bag, but no rest for me, again. At 1am the alarm went off and I pulled on whatever clothes I was not already wearing. Getting plastic boots on in a tent is a chore. I choked down "breakfast" which was basically chocolate and tea. Crampons, helmet, and 2:05am - we were off.
The route starts from high camp by hugging a rocky ridge. It didn't seem like it at the time, but this was some of the most difficult footing, as I would see coming down in the light. Instantly I was too hot and stopped to pull off my Goretex jacket, which was under my impressive down jacket. I ate some Gu and drank water but Andreas kept chirping about the power of cocoa leaves and how they make you strong and help stomach issues and headaches. I took a couple of rounds just to appease him. I don't buy it, and it feels like you are chewing a handful of leaves you have raked in Fall time only you have to hold them in your lip, like dip. It tastes like sucking on an unused tea bag.
On we slogged making switchbacks across the mountain face, though it was hard to gauge distance when only 3 feet in front of me was illuminated. But it was probably best, because as I would later find out, the route is surrounded by cliffs and crevasses, and it was terrifying. After about 2 hours we were going well but my new crampon popped off. This was not a problem as it was not too steep, but elsewhere this could be an issue. Then it came off again! Andreas helped me get it on, which was nice, but I felt like a bit of a wad. Would you believe it? My other crampon came off. I don't know if I was having a boot or crampon issue but it wasn't good. Andreas checked his watch and it was 5:00am. He said we would be on the summit in 1 hour. This was good news but since the sun rises at 6:30, it would be hard to get a good summit picture. My mistake, like in an ultra, was taking this opinion as fact. Spurred on by the finish, I felt good, yet after an hour I could now see the peaks across from me, and they were higher yet - a problem since I was on the tallest peak around. My hopes sank, the headache peaked, and my stomach went south. I couldn't go 5-10 min without needing a rest. "30 min" Andreas would say, and then 15 min later, "30 min." I started to bonk hard; his concern started to rise. We rounded a corner and popped out onto the summit ridge. "30 minutes," Andreas said. I sat in the snow. "Todas bien?" he asked. No, I said, feeling poor. I considered turning around at this point. The summit was only halfway (and since we had to go to base camp, not even halfway). I decided to press on. We arched around the dome in a cloud, with a swirling wind obscuring the view. Eventually, it relented and we stood, unceremoniously, on the unassuming summit, 6438m (21122ft). Andreas hugged me and I posed for a picture. We left quickly with me in the lead and on belay. However, the wind obscured the view, and not wanting to walk into a crevasse, I sat in the snow while Andreas wandered around for 10 minutes looking for the route.
I felt good heading down for an hour or so. My battery died so I took no pictures of the amazing ice walls. I grew tired and started tripping on my own leg often and would sit in the snow to recover. We could see high camp but it never seemed to come. The last hour was painful and riddled with stops. I crawled in and the waiting porters laughed at me while I stripped off each piece of clothing an chucked it aside. Sweaty and exhausted, it was 9:45am. It took 5:35 to get up and 2:05 to get down to high camp but I swore it was twice that. We were hustled out of there within a half hour for the long, dusty descent to base camp. The craggy rocks and precarious footing were made all the more tenuous by wasted legs. The extra weight on my back made cutting switchbacks difficult. I was roasting from wearing my fleece and Goretex pants still. We were down in about 2 hours but it was a tortuous route that felt like it took all day.
We drove downhill on twisting, rocky roads for about 4 hours. I faded in and out as it was too bumpy to drink. We had to switch cars once and then drove around downtown for about 40 min. I thought they couldn't find my hotel but the cab was restricted from certain roads (traffic control rules). We ended up at the company headquarters and switched cabs again. 25 minutes later I was at my hotel and on the phone with Expedia for the next 2 hours. On the Illimani, I had made the decision to leave Bolivia without climbing the second mountain, Sajama. Each call would drop; I would call back and repeat my story to a new representative. They would ask me for a number to call back, just in case, and I would repeatedly tell them I was in Bolivia. They called my mom (the number on my account) many times. $725 later I got a new flight, 3 days on. I just wanted to go home. The summit was bittersweet; I made it but felt disappointed with the adventure.
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