Subject: now THESE are mountains Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2001 19:56:45 -0700 (PDT) From: Evelyn Dean First of all, I must let everyone know that I am safe and sound in Huaraz, far from the disastrous earthqake that struck southeastern Peru. Many of the friends I've made are from Arequipa, which took the brunt of the damage, but have all confirmed that their families (if not there homes) are fine. Now, with the previously scheduled edition of Evie in the Andes... I have finally found a cure for that Rocky Mountain elitism every Colorado native aquires: La Cordillera Blanca. No more bragging about 14ers after you've beheld these babies. Nearly a month after my last message, I am still in Huaraz. My various attempts to leave, in pursuit of that lofty senior thesis research goal, have been in vain. It's those darned mountain majesties that tower above, silently taunting, "there is still much more to explore, come and get us..." And I, a sucker for a challenge, take them on. When I arrived I was lucky enough to find a friend from my Bolivia program, a generally adventurous rock climber from New Hampshire. But he had his own itinerary, and was set on making it to Colombia as soon as possible. After some considerable begging, I got him to agree to climb Mt. Pisco with me. Because it is one of the shorties, i.e., less than 6,000 m, it would be a quick three day trip (the bigger ones take at least four). 6:30 a.m. sharp, we started the bumpy three hour bus ride up the valley. Where are the burros?" one local bystander asked as we strapped on our packs. "We're it!" I assured him. No porters this time. The hike up to the base camp was short but steep, and we were shrouded in fog the whole time. It wasn't until a few hours later that the clouds partially cleared to reveal the massive snowy splendors all around, stained watermellon pink by the setting sun. We enjoyed the view from the Italian-built alpine lodge as we sipped hot spiced wine, while a nearby table of boisterous French climbers slurped spaghetti. Despite this available comfort, we cooked our humble meal on a camp stove and slept in tents like true outdoorspeople. 2 a.m. the next morning, our guide practically dragged us out to begin the ascent. The first leg was to cross the moraine, or boulder field created by a glacier that receded thousands of years ago. Fortunately for me, whose cheap K-mart headlamp had quickly drained its batteries the night before, the full moon provided us with more than sufficient light. The snow-dusted boulders from which we leapt sparkled white, and the mountains cradling us took on a spectral quality in the moonlight. I felt like we were treading on the lunar surface itself. Suddenly, an eerie thunderous "whoosh" disturbed the perfect silence. The guide answered my raised eyebrows in one word: "avalanche." So that's what those big horizontal cracks on the mountainside were... The sun rose by the time we reached the glacier. We strapped our cramp-ons (metal teeth for gripping snow) to the soles of our plastic mountain boots and slid a rope through our harnesses to connect us, just in case one of us might plummet into a crevasse. Ice pick in hand, we began trudging up the mountain. My trudge got progressively slower, as even the magnificent landscape failed to motivate my oxygen-starved muscles. As we neared the top, the weather turned ugly and the view dissappeared. All my eyes could conclude, shielded as they were by green glacier goggles, was that I was enveloped in a Mountain Dew-colored cloud. I felt like the plastic figurine in one of those souvenier snow globes, being mercilessly shaken by some bored kid visiting his grandmother. At some point (which looked like every other point so far), our guide insisted we had reached the summit. We took his word for it, snapped a victory picture and started tromping back down the hill. Some Germans following us had a better idea, and sailed down the glacier on skis as soon as they could see more than their hand in front of their faces. "Quite a climb, eh?" I offered in typical small talk before they descended. "Yeah, we are doing it to aclimitize for one of the 6,000 m peaks." Just to aclimitize? I really did try to shield my ego and be satisfied with my accomplishment, but after several groups told us the same thing, I couldn't help myself. "I think I'll stay and do another one," I casually mentioned to my friend on the ride home. But Columbia was calling him, he was sorry but he couldn't join me. I'd have to find others to share the next adventure. Lucky for me, I inherited my friend's rock climbing friends, most of whom are aspiring mountain guides and qualified to lead climbing trips. One week later, we had another crew ready to go up Tocllaraju, 6,034 m (almost 20,000 feet). It was me, 3 mountain guides, an Israeli woman rock climber living in Huaraz, and a hard core indoorsman from Lima who, despite no experience whatsoever, swore he'd make it to the top. The sky was cloudless as we started; a good sign. I was feeling the familiar rumblings of a stomach bug; a very bad sign. While my companions merrily jounced about in the back of the pickup truck to the trailhead, I opted for the cab and prayed for the medicine to kick in. Trying my hardest to enjoy the beautiful hike to base camp, I fixed my sight on the mountains and envisioned a succesful climb. Thanks to postive affirmation or antibiotic, the next morning I was ready to go. First was the hike to Campo Uno, past the steep moraine and in the glacier itself. We nestled our tents in a narrow corridor formed by a huge snow drift and some piles of boulders. After a fitful four hours sleep (my pounding heart and cold back at these snowy 17,500 feet kept me awake) we rose just after midnight and started at 2 a.m. No moon this time; only a multitude of stars. I really have experienced nothing like being on a mountain in the middle of the night. You don't know where you are in the world, but are simply lost on this endless expanse of cold, white POWER. Nothing imposes humility like a frozen wall rising before you and completely filling your view. And I, an arrogant speck daring to tread this surface where Nature never intended me to be. On one of the final slopes, the sun slowly bursts from beneath a bumpy sea of clouds. Surrounding peaks begin to take shape below. Just an easy walk up to the summit from here, my friends the guides tell me. Or at least it was last time... Today, however, we have what is known as a Really Big Crevasse separating us from the summit. The snow which covered it last year is here no more. After careful searching, we find a narrow bridge and start hacking our way up the slope, which is too steep to simply walk up. "Slam one of your ice axes into the snow above your head, then the other . Now kick in the toe of your left boot...then the right" This is what my friend shouted to me from above as he pulled my rope and I inched up the wall, grunting every now and then to enhance the macho-ness of the experience. Yup, I felt pretty hard core at this point. The summit, of course, was awesome. I felt like an ant on a topo map on the highest of all the surrounding bumps. After some celebratory chocolate bars and peanut butter, it was time to repel back down the wall we had climbed up. I was having so much fun hopping along backwards that I didn't look down until I was already hanging over the edge of that darned crevasse. All machismo dissapeared and I just screamed. No danger, of course; I was firmly secured to the top and soon was dragged out by people who knew a lot more than I did. Needless to say, I made it down in one piece. Since then I've filled my time in Huaraz with equally exciting rock climbing and paragliding attempts (only got off the ground for a few seconds), and slightly more relaxed day hikes and hot spring soaks. I've made a lot of incredible friends but the party has to end sometime, so it is back to Bolivia next week to finally do start that research. Hopefully the same stars that witnessed my mountain ascents foretell my return to this magical place. Hope everyone stateside is enjoying their summer, and saving me some watermellons and hamburgers! All the best, Evie