Trip Reports

Aconcagua - 11 Dec to 1 Jan '12

Written by Leader Greg Coe, January 2012

On Christmas Day 2011 all twelve of my team reached Berlin (Camp 3 at 6,000m): a tribute to their determination and unity and a well-structured programme of acclimatisation. But for a while it looked like that might be as far as we’d be going, and the move itself from the comfort and security of Camp 2 had felt like a gamble. After a week of strong winds and clear skies, we’d awoken to a dense cloud smothering the mountain above us, lenticular clouds over every other mountain in sight and the gloom of bad weather brewing. The debate lasted most of Christmas morning, with the team evenly split on the decision to move up or sit it out at Camp 2, until some new arrivals weighed in with additional forecasts confirming a one-day summit window the following day. We agreed to risk it, hustling upwards with a sense of expectation and some ominously bubbling bowels...

We had gathered a fortnight previously in the Nutibara Hotel in Mendoza, with eight of the team still shell-shocked from their Iberian transatlantic experience and the other four looking fresher, having arrived from other Southern hemisphere jaunts a day or two earlier. A quick arrival briefing, a run through personal kit and a late (early for Argentina) dinner was followed by a morning stroll to the National Park office to collect permits, some last-minute gear hire and a leisurely lunch.

Then it was load up and off and nearly four hours up winding tarmac to the semi-abandoned ski resort of Penitentes, handing over bags to be weighed in for the mules and knocking around in a vast, empty ski hotel. Some took a walk, giving first views of the mountain; Simon had an awkward incident involving Holly’s leaking bladder and the remainder relaxed around the hotel.

It was another leisurely start the next day, before back into vehicles for the short hop up the valley for photos at the natural arch of Puente del Inca, then a right turn off the highway, through the final National Park checkpoint,and on foot at last up the wide lake-strewn valley. Nearly four hours climbing steadily in the afternoon sunshine brought us to the giant fork in the valley and our first night under canvas, at Confluencia (3,395m).

A day-trip up the side-valley to give views of the stunning south face showed all were acclimatising well, but the mineral-rich water was starting to play havoc with a few bellies. With the medical profession well represented amongst the team, and an abundance of lurid imaginations, a numerical scale of consistency was soon devised to keep track of the situation.

So the long haul up the valley next day to Plaza de Mulas (4,365m) was tougher than otherwise for some, but all made it in good time and we settled into the comparative comforts of base camp. All reached Bonete Peak (5,000m) after a well-deserved rest day and soon we were packing loads for our first foray on the mountain.

So far the skies had been clear and the winds light, but as we made our way up to Canada (Camp 1, 5,000m) the temperature dropped and light flurries of snow began to fall from an overcast sky. Luckily it held off long enough to allow us to erect tents and settle in, before deteriorating into a mini-snowstorm and depositing around eight inches, then clearing into a miraculous sunset.

Duped by the previously mild conditions, somebody found himself now high above the snow-line in completely inappropriate shoes. Fortunately some gaffa-tape gaiters were soon customised and unshakeable confidence in the leader’s abilities was once more restored.

So the foray to Camp 2 next day was squeaky with fresh snow underfoot and a chill wind at our backs. We dumped our loads and scuttled down, returning to the sunshine at base camp with the prospects of more pizza and another rest day. By now we had developed a healthy respect for the abilities of our local guides: Lucas with his calm wisdom and experience, and Gordo like a Latin Captain Flashheart and a fund of stories. The base camp team looked after us well too, with delightful meals and the occasional mystery soup.

Then upwards again, bound for the summit this time, with a two-day window forecast to coincide with our arrival with Berlin (Camp 3, 6,000m). Better conditions at Camp 1, and at Camp 2 the spacious tinsel-clad dome of the mess-tent was the hub of festive celebrations. The camp rang with “Happy Birthday”, the morning foghorn, Christmas carols, charades and laughter.

Then came Christmas morning and the great weather debate, (the return of the chocolate waterfalls) and we limped into camp 3 with some walking wounded. But with the remainder pitching in, camp was soon up and secured, and we found ourselves sitting in the afternoon sunshine discussing the next day’s plan, as the clouds began to lift above us, and the wind finally eased. Confirmation next morning, as dawn revealed light cloud on the mountain above, a fading breeze and the temperature at a comparatively mild -10. We left shortly after six as the light strengthened.

Sadly Simon’s lengthier acclimatisation requirements finally caught up with him, and he was forced to abandon his summit attempt. As the remainder marched steadily upwards, Claire’s reaction to her previous day’s debilitating illness also proved too much and after a brave couple of hours, she too returned to Camp 3 with the ever-patient local guide Cabeza.

Meanwhile the rest of us had fixed crampons near the refuge at Independencia and crested the ridge to reveal the full sweep of the mountain glistening with hoarfrost and the rising traverse paved with perfect snow. The final two hours of La Traversa, where it steepens to the Cave gave a hint of the suffering to come and we took a 20 minute breather there and the opportunity to stash surplus kit. Jon debated the wisdom of continuing and despite the lighter loads as we began up the steepening Canaleta, he reluctantly decided to turn back soon after midday.

The remainder of us continued up, dodging the occasional chunk of tumbling scree from other, less competent parties. The two remaining walking wounded were still with us, Jenny showing her grit and resilience and David showing us his breakfast as we paused on the Guanaco ridge with the summit less than two hours above. The final slog was lightened by a cameo from the omnipresent Finn and the antics of the Spanish cramponless clowns.

The first summiteers approached the top soon after 2pm, Holly’s competitive spirit (which was later to terrify opponents on the ping-pong table) putting her there near the front, with Andrew, Jenny, Kirsty and Fiona close behind. Declan, David and Kevin were soon hoisting the green, white and orange and when Kit arrived some twenty minutes later, we huddled for group photos and stuffed down snacks and water.

No views, sadly, but a good result and fond memories of Gordo’s thrash metal on the road home, a barrage of bread and the giggliest wine tour in history. Thanks again to the local guides and support and to everyone for a great trip.

Greg Coe, Expedition Leader « Previous report | Next report »

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