Huascaran Although the preceding days were the most physically challenging of my life, the actual pinnacle of this prolonged exertion came on the summit. Where most would be posing for photos with ice axes raised triumphantly overhead, I was getting my ass kicked as my out of control glider dragged me across the icy snow. Struggling as if my life depended on it (which it may have) I hauled on the C risers until I managed to de-power the wing and slow my wild skid. Eventually I dug my crampon-less boots into the hard snow and stopped myself completely. Lying on the snow my heart pounded and I panted as hard as the wind was blowing. Gasping for air, I laid my head on the snow and waited for the gust to pass. It did. I stood up. And with no finesse what so ever, launched from the summit of the highest mountain in the Peruvian Andes. It had more than a month since we first arrived in the Callejon de Huaylas and first been intimidated by the imposing bulk of Huascaran. Its two peaks make up the centerpiece of the Cordillera Blanca, a mountain climber’s delight of icy challenges that run north to south in central Peru. Of Huascaran’s two summits, the southern one, at 22,205 feet (6768 Meters) is the highest. The mountain towers some 14,000 feet over the valley below. Look up from just about anywhere and it’s hard to miss. And even harder to get used to. As we prepared for our climb, we made long treks, climbed smaller mountains, practiced hauling each other out of crevasses, and made many memorable flights in different parts of the huge valley. Slowly but surely we acclimatized to the altitude but the sight of Huascaran was something we would not get used to. In fact, it just looked bigger every time we looked at it. After the first couple weeks at altitude I no longer experienced the headaches or the nauseating sensation of impending vomit. After four weeks I could blow up my air mattress at 18,000 feet without feeling as if I had been inhaling nitrous. When I could finally keep up with Stefanie, we decided that it was time for the big one. Never before did the mountain look so damn huge as during the approach hike. The thought of the day was "What the heck are we thinking?" The walk to base camp was just that, a walk. With burros carrying our packs we strolled up to 14,000 feet and made camp. That night I enjoyed my only sleep of the climb. In the morning Jaime, our porter, arrived to help us with our loads to Camp One. With all our climbing gear, food for ten days, our gliders, and photo and video gear, we had a ton of crap. Huascaran is normally a 4-5 day affair but we had supplies for ten. We wanted to be able to wait out bad weather if need be, hence the big loads, hence Jaime. Getting to camp one at 16,500 feet was an acceptable day’s work but Stefanie and I turned it into a grueling one by making a carry up to 19,200’. Even after the long day, sleep was not for me and I did not need the alarm to know it was 3:00 A.M. Our early start was because we had a dangerous avalanche zone that, due to our extra load, we would have to cross not just once, but twice. Our hope was that everything would be solidly frozen during the cold early hours. The roar of an avalanche ripping through the dark night just after we started, proved our plan was not failsafe. Despite the lack of Zs and Stefanie’s worsening cold, we made good time and by 10:00 A.M. we were pitching the tent under an overhanging serac that protected us from the wind but shadowed us from the sun. It also looked like it might topple over but this is where everyone else camped so we did too. At 19,500 feet, Camp Two was a harsh place to be. The cold was incredible and the thin, dry air had us wheezing and coughing. Resting heart rates were near 90. Sleep was scarce for Stefanie and impossible for me. The next morning’s wake up call was actually that night as we planned on leaving before midnight. Other climbers had been reporting 5-7 hours to the summit. We wanted to arrive at dawn when our chances for light wind would be the best. At 11:30 P.M. we were roped up and crunching across the frozen snow. The wind had come up in the night, exacerbating the cold. Stefanie, normally the strong one at altitude, was losing her voice because of her cold. Separated by 30 meters of rope, we could not speak and the wind and our crampons on the ice was all we heard. We were climbing the most popular route on a popular mountain, so we had a good trail to follow. The snow conditions were excellent and we were making good time but the cold was getting to us. The higher we climbed the worse the wind became. We needed to stop to drink and eat but as soon as we did so our feet would immediately grow numb. We pushed on, denying our bodies what they so desperately needed. At 4:00 A.M. I lost the route and we found ourselves wading through thigh deep snow. We knew we were near the summit but in the moonless night the way there was a mystery. We tried to find a place protected from the wind where we could wait for the sunrise but the wind and cold were everywhere. Stefanie’s voice was completely gone. We were done. A spectacular sunrise did nothing to lift our spirits. Shortly after we climbed into our tent and, fully clothed, into our sleeping bags. It wasn’t until noon when the sun hit our camp did we discuss our options. Stefanie’s voice had returned but her cough was much worse. It was obvious to both of us that we needed to descend but this was our last chance at something we had worked so hard for. I wanted to try again. Stefanie said that she felt she could handle another night at 19,500 feet but going for the top again was out of the question. She did feel that she could descend alone in the morning. We knew this was a bad plan. It was crazy for Stefanie to descend alone through the crevasse ridden "Canaleta" and it was downright stupid for me to go solo to the summit. Hardly anyone solos in this part of the Andes. There are just way too many crevasses. I went to the tent of some local porters and guides looking for support of my plan to go alone. It wasn’t there. My desire to reach the summit was far greater than my common sense. Stefanie was happy with having climbed so high, close to 22,000 feet, but I felt as though we had completely failed. I made up my mind to try again in the morning. Stef coughed all night. Neither of us slept. I left camp and my beloved oedemic girlfriend at 1:30 A.M. Like the day before, the snow was frozen hard and the sky clear. A sliver of moon soon set and the night was as black as the previous. Unlike the night before, there was no wind, absolutely no wind. It took a little while to find my pace but when I did, I was amazed at how strong I felt. Despite no sleep in nearly 72 hours, I felt better than I did on the unburdened hike to Base Camp. My lightly loaded pack (I had brought just the bare minimum) definitely had much to do with this but the real reason for my strength was the potpourri of emotions ragging through me. First and foremost came guilt. With every step I thought of Stefanie, alone and sick with a tough descent ahead of her. (I know - what an asshole!) Right behind guilt came fear. The route as often as not seemed to run right along the edge of a bottomless crevasse and there were more snow bridges than I could count. Roped up it had been scary. Alone it was terrifying. Following fear came excitement. An excitement that had not been there the first time, when we had been fairly certain that we would not be able to fly because of the wind. This time the weather was perfectly still and climbing higher did not bring an increase of wind. I was positive that if I could make the summit I would be able to fly and I was positive that I could make the summit. This was my day. I knew it! The hours passed quickly. No wind meant much less cold. Although I did not want to slow down, I forced myself to stop to drink and eat every half hour. With regular nourishment I did not weaken and kept up my fast pace. I could not believe how great I felt. I had fully expected this to be the hardest effort of my life. The days before had been, yet now, at over 20,000 feet, I was climbing at almost 1,000 feet an hour. I had tapped into deep down reserves that I had never known existed. In less than three hours I reached the point where I had chosen poorly the day before. The reason for my mistake was obvious. The route split. One way slanted sensibly upwards in the direction of the summit. The other way dropped down into a dreadful crevasse. Everyone must have made the same mistake, as there were an equal amount of tracks in both directions. Knowing not to go left, I went right, into the crevasse. I did not get far when the tracks stopped. I searched hard but the tracks vanished. Thinking that this could not be right I climbed back out of the crevasse and looked for a third option. I could not find one and went back to the crevasse. I found the route. And it made me gasp. On one side of the crevasse was a hanging serac that came within couple feet of the bottom where the trail ended. My heart jumped when I saw the steps cut into the 80 degree ice wall. For most climbers, this 20 foot wall would not have been as big of an obstacle. But for me, unroped, alone, in the dark, and with my limited experience, it was something. I got out my second ice axe and made the big step onto the wall. With the front points of one foot in, I sank in both axes and started climbing. Five minutes later I was on top. Piece of cake. This was the crux of the climb. After that it was easy snow slopes and a half and hour later I was on the summit. Stefanie and I had been so close. I hoped she was alive, I mean ok. As I had neared the summit the wind began. Now it was blowing quite strong but I believed taking off to be possible. It was 5:00 A.M. I had made it from the high camp to the summit in three and a half hours. The sky was just starting to lighten. I started getting ready. It took more than an hour before I was ready to launch. Everything took so long since I could only expose my hands to the cold for short moments. By the time my glider was laid out and covered with snow to keep it from blowing away, the sun was just popping over the mountains to the east. I burned off a roll of film and clipped in. One of the last things I had done in my preparations was change from the big gloves I had been wearing to a pair of fleece mittens. These mittens, although not as warm, had removable fingers so that I could easily work the camera. Since I expected to soon be at warmer altitudes, I thought they would suffice. Small mistake. As I had prepared to take off, I had assumed that launching from the gently sloping snow would be a simple and I had not worried about laying the glider out perfectly. When I was ready to go, I waited for a lull in the wind and tried to inflate the glider. Unbelievably, the lines caught on the frozen ice and the glider would not come up. As I fussed with the lines, a gust hit and knocked me on my ass in the fore mentioned struggle. On my second try, lines near the tip of the wing hung up and the glider came up standing on its wingtip. In an act of desperation, I kept trying to make it work. Amazingly the glider flew forward then came over my head. Sometime during the process I left off the ground. My first thought after taking to the air was "Holy shit, I am going up!" I don’t know why it came as such a surprise. A 25 mile and hour wind blowing straight into the 6,000 foot, nearly vertical east face should create a bit of lift. I guess I just thought ridge soaring at over 22,000 feet wouldn’t be possible. I was obviously wrong and was soon higher than the summit. Unfortunately I could not enjoy the unique flight for long as my second thought was "Holy shit my fingers are frozen!" Just before launching I had pulled back the tips of my mitts, exposing my bare fingers so that I could easily handle the lines and risers. I had not expected to flail on the snow for such a long time and, in doing so, all the fingers of my left hand frozen. It was a shocking discovery to find them with absolutely no feeling and as hard as blocks of wood. To thaw the frozen digits I shoved them into the warmest place I could think of, my mouth, then got back to my flight. Since my LZ was on the west side of the mountain and I was now on the east side, I had some traveling to do. Thinking how spectacular it would be to fly through the col between the two peaks of Huascaran, I flew to the north. After ten minutes or so I had to abandon this plan as I was flying into a head wind and didn’t know if I would have enough altitude to make it through the col when I finally reached it. I did a 180 and made for the south side while I still had plenty of height. Flying back in close to the east face I found the lift again and was soon almost as high as the summit. The entire time my fingers had not left my mouth, they wouldn’t until landing. The scenery below helped me to forget them but I could not forget my camera. With my left hand in my mouth it was one handed shooting. Not too tricky since I often didn’t even bother looking through the camera. I figured with such awesome surroundings it didn’t really matter where the camera was pointed. Flying around into the lee side had me a bit concerned. The ride had its rough moments but for the most part was peaceful, a good thing considering that at most there was just one hand with a brake in it. Once on the west side of Huascaran I could see all the camps but was too high to see if anyone was watching. I really wanted Stefanie to know I was ok as I knew she was as worried about me as I was about her. Either that or she was wishing I would die. Which would have been understandable. I arrived over the town of Musho with thousands of feet of altitude. By then feeling was coming back to my fingers. The feeling was pain but nevertheless, it was welcome. I could have continued on and covered even more ground but I chose Musho as my LZ as it was where the trail back up the mountain started. Although I had planned to wait a day before heading back up to recover the gear left at the high camp, my feelings of guilt and invincibility during the climb and flight had been the source of a new plan. I crashed into a soccer field after nearly an hour in the air. I was completely out of sorts after the exertion and 12,000 foot descent. I could hardly fold my glider despite, or maybe because of, the entire town’s help. As fast as I could, I gathered my wits and gear, stashed what I didn’t need, and started back up the mountain. I was not only going to go meet Stef, once I knew she was ok, I was going to keep going all the way to the high camp where I would spend the night then bring the gear down in the morning. This meant I would be climbing another 9,000 feet after having been on the go since 1:30 A.M. and following three sleepless nights. It sounds absurd now but at the time seemed totally plausible. Shortly after I started hiking, my power started to drain and it wasn’t long before I was really suffering. The distances seemed triple what I remembered and what had been a stroll to Base Camp was now an extremely painful ordeal. Still I pushed on, devoted to my love I would not rest till I knew she was ok …. And had forgiven me for abandoning her at nearly 20,000 feet as she fought for her breath in the sub zero temperature. After climbing 5,000 feet new energy surged through my veins when I saw Stefanie walking towards me. An enormous weight of worry disappeared and I was able to run the final steps to be in her arms, so thankful that she was ok. That moment was the true highlight of the entire climb. Or that is what I am telling her anyway.
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