An Ascent of Ojos del Salado (6893m)

Day One (24 December 2008)

When the 4×4 left the tarmac road, it was already early afternoon. I had spent the morning buying provisions in Fiambala, packing, re-packing and fuffing around. Before our departure for Ojos, we had to pass by the Argentinean Gendarmerie to get the necessary permit. I was there the evening before. A self-important, muscular sergeant had studied my passport carefully, spending a lot of time studying each page – stamped or unstamped – carefully and asking me questions from time to time: “Do you have a satellite telephone?” ¨Yes¨ (a lie) ¨Do you have GPS¨ ¨Yes¨ (another lie – I was afraid that the permit would be refused if I told him the truth). Today, we went through the same procedures again and the sergeant asked a subordinate to prepare the papers. When he gave me the papers with the stamp of the Argentinean Gendarmerie on it, he started talking to me in Spanish. I could hear two words very distinctly: ¨muerte¨ and ¨responsibilidad,¨ from which I concluded that the Argentinean Gendarmerie would not take any responsibility if I died on the mountain. Not a nice thing to be reminded of as a Polish climber who ascended Ojos from the Chilian side a month ago was still missing. In Puna you don’t fall to your death; you get lost and eventually die.

After leaving Fiambala, we started to gain altitude rapidly. It was a strange feeling. Usually, gaining altitude means swirling roads and a gradual process. But the road was direct and I could clearly see the inclination on the ground – a large flat surface gradually rising on both sides of the road.

The driver of the 4×4 continued for another 10-11 km after leaving the tarmac, on a solid surface of gravel and sand. We arrived at Quemadito (3600m) and stopped. He asked me if he should come after ten days but I told him that I didn’t know how long it would take me to finish the ascent. He helped me with putting my rucksack on. I asked him how heavy he thought the rucksack was. ¨30 kg?” he replied. Myself would guess that it was 25kg. 25kg or 30kg, this bloody rucksack was going to be one of the factors that would put my mental and physical stamina to test during the next two weeks.

I said goodbye and started walking along the valley of Cazadero. I was not going to see any human being for the next two weeks – another source of mental strain. After walking for about an hour I started to feel the altitude rather heavily. According to my guidebook, I should have been at 3600m. My altimeter corroborated this. Rather than pushing my self, I decided to set up camp for the night. While erecting the tent, a sudden gust of wind suddenly blew away the canopy of the tent like a kite. I started running after the tent. It was heavy going and I was panting. I blamed the altitude for this rather than my lack of training during the last six months. The canopy fell into the riverbed and stopped rolling after one or two hundred meters. Luckily, the bush that grew up on the banks of the small river caught it. I undid the poles and placed a huge rock in the middle of canopy. I got back to the initial spot where I had intended to erect the tent and carried everything to the place where the canopy was firmly placed under the rock. This involved jumping over the little river. I missed and got a properly wet foot. First lesson of the trip learned: After opening the tent, put everything under heavy rocks, keep the doors of the canopy open and chuck your rucksack into the canopy as soon as possible so that the bloody thing doesn’t fly away like a kite.

 

Day Two (25 December 2008)

The day started with a non-serious event. After packing, I had to cross Rio Cazadero, once again to its north bank. I noticed that I wouldn’t be able jump over the river with the heavy rucksack so I decided to throw it over the river. The rucksack didn’t reach the other side and fell into the river and started to float. I had to jump into river to catch it, which I did. After rolling the sack to the other side of the river, I pulled myself out. The only casualty of the incident was Robert Fisk´s 1000 + pages book. It spent the rest of the day, strapped to the outside of the rucksack, drying in the wind and sun of Puna de Atacama.

After this incident, I walked slowly along Rio Cazadero for almost 7 hours, staying high above the north bank. So far, I was outside of the scope of my 1:100:000 map which had 50m contours and which would later prove to be practically useless (I would never be able to pinpoint my position exactly by relating the featureless Puna hills to the map; but would have a general idea about my whereabouts, thanks to the photos of high mountains and my compass – sometimes I would have to climb the nearest hill to be able to see the mountains and navigate).  Vertical altitude gain was not more then 200m, but being unaccilimatized, it was a bit of struggle for me. Finally, I reached the confluence of Rio Cazadero and Rio Aguas Clientes. There were already tent shelters there, so I set up camp in one of them and ate noodles. So far, I hadn’t given a thought to the fact that my food stocks only consisted of my favourite Korean noodles (which I thought would solve the problem of being able to eat at high altitude – simply because they were my favourite noodles), Tang (an Argentinean orange drink powder, excellent for making tasteless undrinkable water drinkable), a bit of leftover chocolate cake, tea and sugar. Later, especially towards the end of the trip, I would regret that I didn’t have fast carbohydrates such as chocolate and raisins.

 

Day Three (26 December 2008)

This was a short day – in terms of ascend. After walking for four and a half hours along Rio Agua Calientes, I arrived at the designated camp spot in the guide book called Agua Calientes (4200m): a beautiful spot, where water springs from the dessert-like wilderness. I saw two ducks flying over the springs, had a very good night’s sleep. At one point, I stuck my head out of the tent to see the skies of Puna, which I had heard about: billions of stars in the sky…. But, this is also when some childhood fears about being kidnapped by extra-terrestrials in desolate places (usually in South America and close to historical remains from the Incas) haunted my mind. Some side effect, I thought, of being in such solitude for the first time in my life.

 

Day Four (27 December 2008)

I filled all my bottles and platypus with the knowledge that there would be no water from here (at 4200m) to El Areal (5500m). So, with the addition of 6 litres of water, my rucksack became very heavy. I started ascending, slowly, in a dessert-like environment, with the vegetation becoming more and more sparse. The path was faint. Later, I lost it altogether. I tried to figure out where I was on the map. It was possible to have a general idea about my position but it was impossible to visualise the map: it had 50m contours and was at a scale of 1:100 000. After almost 12 hours of walking I stopped at a point that resembled the second campsite, Agua Vicunas. According to my best guess from the map, I should have skirted a hill, first to the north and then to the east. I set up camp for the night. In the featureless landscape of Puna, nothing indicated that I was in Agua Vicunas; but nothing indicated I wasn’t there either. There was a hill on the north and I could see snow on it. Getting water would involve 400-500 meters of ascent. With great effort, I bravely ate another package of noodles and went to sleep.

 

Day Five (28 December 2008)

Today, I stayed at the same spot. During the day I went up to 5393m (according to my watch) to melt some water – luckily there was a little stream just below the snowfield so I didn’t have to use the stove. Back in the camp, I tried to change the reference of my altimeter and in the process the battery of my brand new, state of the art Suunto died out. For the rest of the trip, I was not going to have any altimeter or watch; I wouldn’t know what time it was. I would try to figure it out from the position of the sun – just like ancient people. I thought that the watch of my digital camera could be useful but it was not adjusted to the Argentinean time zone – or to any other time zone for that matter. In any case, I started taking notes for my logbook on the basis of the watch of the camera – just to have a general idea about how long I will be walking and so on. Later, after the trip, I would figure out in the valley that the watch of the camera was approximately 4 hours later than the Argentinean time zone. Guidebooks always recommend you to take extra batteries for your head torch. I don’t recall anyone mentioning your altimeter.

 

Day Six (29 December 2008)

Another long day consisting of a10 hours long walk from Agua del Vicuna to El Arenal (5500m). Once again, I couldn’t find a proper trail but only sporadic footsteps. The description of my surroundings fits the contours of the place on the map – but it does not fit with any high precision. Most importantly, there was a stream running in front of me.  “Water is not a problem anymore” I thought. From that day on, I would develop the feeling as if I was together with other people; continuously discussing my decisions with someone else; someone else’s voice echoing in my mind and telling me what I should do. I wasn’t losing my sanity but I was unable to understand why I should be thinking aloud through other people’s speech in my mind.

 

Day Seven (30 December 2008)

I decided to move to the high camp for my summit bit. The attempt was moderately successful. My aim was to reach the confluence of two streams at 5800m, but made a navigation mistake and had to ascent and descent a couple of hundred meters unnecessarily. I did find two streams that resembled the features of the confluence in the map after 8 hours of walking and erected my tent. Bravely forced my self to eat another package of noodles.

 

Day Eight (31 December 2008)

After another 4,5 hours ascent, I found the real place of the high camp at 5800m. Going is painstakingly slow. Tomorrow is the summit bid. Ate (rather swallowed) some noodles. My favorite Korean noodles tasted disgusting. This is what very high altitude makes to your favourite food. I started having fantasies about helicopters delivering “baklavas” and “lahmacun” freshly bought from the Turkish restaurants of Green Lanes in London. Had the fantasy became reality baklavas and lahmacun would be added to my list of favourite-dishes-turned-hated-dishes thanks to high altitude mountaineering.

 

Day Nine (1 January 2009)

In the guide book mention is made of two high camps at 5800m and 6000m. I doubt that the difference between the two is only 200m. It took me 6 hours – tired and altitude sick – to climb the couloir (scree slopes – very tiring) that stretched high up between two snowfields. When I arrived at the top (the presumed spot of the 6000m camp) and saw the top of Ojos still farther away, I noticed that I wouldn’t be able to summit the mountain in reasonable time and get back to the base camp. I decided to return. Not having access to an accurate watch may have resulted in me being too conservative in my decision-making.

They say that all generals fight their latest war. Perhaps, all climbers climb their latest climb. It was only natural for me to return at that point after what happened during my climb of Matterhorn – we were late and had to spend the night on the mountain; on the Shoulder at 4000m. I don’t recall not being able to summit a mountain because I didn’t have fast carbohydrates in my rucksack – hence the absence of chocolate among my provisions.

On the way back, I was disheartened and demoralized. I was continuously vacillating between two decisions. Returning to Fiambala and coming back after a couple of days of rest or carrying the camp to 6000m the next day. I was rapidly running out of time and I was worried that my sister and my girlfriend would be worried (I later learned that they were very worried). When I went to sleep my mind was inclined towards returning the next day – I even packed my down jacket in its compression bag.

 

Day Ten (2 January 2009)

I woke up after a good night’s sleep and felt strong. Pulled the down jacket from its compression bag, packet up the tent and started going up the same route as yesterday, first crossing the streams, then skirting the penitentes fields and then the laborious work of climbing up the scree slopes of the couloirs. Ten hours of hard going ascent. With hindsight, my decision turned out to be the correct one – in terms of mountaineering; not in terms of being considerate towards one’s loved ones. Given the amount of time it took to descent from the top, I would never have had the time and the energy to do the whole thing again.

 

Day Eleven (3 January 2009)

I started my summit bid as early as possible. Not being obliged to drag a heavy rucksack had a positive effect, and after ascending the slopes rapidly, I found the summit block in front of me. Putting on my crampons and leaving my rucksack there, I dealt with the last bits of scree slopes and reached the summit after five and a half hours. Yes, it was done. The summit was a strange place, no cross, a pyramid and a spot with ribbons and wine bottles that made the place look like a sanctuary of an alcoholic rather than a summit of a volcano. The whole place reminded me of a derelict football plane in the middle of a problem area. The views were gorgeous although the clouds were starting to concentrate on the horizon. Just like in Aconcagua last year, I couldn’t see the Pacific Ocean.

On the way back it started to snow. I had taken off my crampons so it was now more time-consuming to cross those snowfields, where snow had turned into ice. The snowing turned later into a blizzard and in the ensuing whiteout I had difficulties in finding my tent. I had to search for it for a while. At last I found it. Dropping everything, I went to sleep immediately.

 

Day Twelve (4 January 2009)

I packed the tent slowly. I was tired and sleepy. I think days of starvation had started to have its effect on my body. Slowly, I started to go down the gulley that was worse than yesterday or the day before – scree was covered partially in snow. At one point, I gave up and tried to glissade over the adjacent snow slope. This didn’t work either because, the snowfield turned out to be not a snowfield but penitentes covered with snow. So the going down was slow and bumpy. I could notice that I was gradually losing my strength and getting slower and slower. Finally, I arrived at El Arenal (5500m) after 5 hours of very slow descent. For a change I was able to find a well-beaten track – which of course disappeared after a while. The progress to the valley was slow and I was getting late. I thought that my girl friend and my sister would start worrying about me. I was angry with my self, thinking that I didn’t have the right to expose them to this.

 

Day Thirteen (5 January 2009)

According to the map, there is a path going eastwards from El Arenal. I couldn’t find this path – neither during the ascent or descent. I rapidly started to descent the valley, which leads to the south-southeast. After a couple of hours, I could clearly see Ojos behind me, slightly to my northeast. There was no way of making use of the map and probably I was already outside of its scope anyway. At that point, I made a decision, which I would stick to until I got out of the mountain: whatever happens, to go in an easterly direction to reach the road and not to waste time setting up tent and so on. The result was a 36 hours long trekking. The main reason for this was that I was late and had to get back to the valley as soon as possible. Towards the evening, I passed through clear lakes adjacent to penitentes, which made the surroundings resemble Patagonia rather than Puna. I crossed lava fields with large, smooth, black basalt rocks, which made me think of Hejaz region in the Arabian Peninsula depicted in films like Lawrence of Arabia. The feeling of being in another planet was interrupted with the start of heavy winds and another blizzard. I continued towards east, sometimes traversing across mountain ranges. I didn’t’ want to get lost by following a valley going in one or another direction – any direction but east. The sun finally set and a half moon appeared in the sky. Putting my compass in my pocket, I continued east, stopping only to take a bearing and to check if I am moving in the right direction.

 

Day Fourteen (6 January 2009)

I walked all night. The half moon disappeared after a while but my head torch was strong enough to illuminate in front of me and the light of the stars was bright enough to render the contours of the landscape visible. I continued trekking towards east. The whole thing had a Chairman Mao touch: ¨East We Go! East East! East is Good West is Bad.¨ I walked across at least three hill ranges (terrible scree slopes) carefully in the dark, knowing that a minor accident, such as a broken ankle, could be fatal because of the circumstances. My way was cut by a high mountain range so I thought that boxing would be the solution and turned south. I continued walking along a valley whole night, trying to find an opening in the easterly direction. Then, the east started to glow and I could see a range of heights in otherwise plain surroundings. Later, Jonson Reynoso (the legendary guide in the valley) and I agreed that this must have been Aguas Calientes heights. Mistakenly, I started thinking that the road must be very near and started walking rapidly in the direction of these heights. The range became bigger and bigger and raised like a barrier between my self and the East. I tried to circumvent the range, which turned out to be non-feasible, so I decided to cross it directly. It was early morning by now. I was disappointed that the road was nowhere nearby and I was even more disappointed that I was running out of water. So, I started climbing the range to reach the snow level – once again, I lost valuable time in search of water. After several hours, I was melting snow.

The rest of the day was spent traversing along the range of heights with the hope of finding a gulley, where I could cross the range in the direction of east. The evening fell. I found a spot behind a very huge boulder. I thought that the boulder would protect me against possible rock fall (the slope above me was rather steep) and decided that it was a good spot to bivouac (once again discussing with someone in my mind). I stretched the Thermo Rest, pulled by sleeping bag from its compression bag and put on my down jacket. I fell asleep at once. During the whole night I woke up only once and saw the carpet of stars above my head. I slept deeply until the first lights of the dawn.

 

Day Fifteen (7 January 2009)

Finally, I found the gulley to the east that I was looking for. The gulley continued ascending to such a height that I could easily summit the highest point of the whole range – and bag another peak, if I cared to do so. At the top, under severe and cold winds, I decided to study the environment and orientate my self. I could see that high mountains to the north and to the west surrounded me. So, my general logic of navigation was correct. Using the photos in the Andes guidebook, I easily identified the peaks of Nacimiento, Cazadero and El Fraile. What must have been Pissis and Bonette were far in the south. Incahuasi was almost directly north of me, which indicated that although I was in the right direction, I was far away from where I thought that I was – the combination of night navigation and a bit of wishful thinking must have confused me. I was at least one day’s walk, perhaps more, from the road to Fiambala. I was disappointed and happy at the same time: happy as I was not completely lost but disappointed as I was still far away from civilization. The very good news was that a broad valley was stretching in front of me towards the east. I started descending. I was lucky. I seemed to have interpreted the givens of my surroundings correctly. In academic life if you misinterpret your evidence your paper would be rejected or you may have to rewrite it. When navigating under difficult circumstances if you misinterpret the evidence you may die.

I walked all day. I was tired and about to hit the wall. My walking became more and more sluggish. I was taking three steps and then resting for a while. In order to discipline my self, I started to take a pause every 200 steps; counting my steps until 200 and taking a break afterwards.

More I lost altitude, more the surroundings changed. First, vegetation started to reappear. Then, I noticed lama spill. Towards the evening I heard voices of beasts from afar. It was cattle. I was happy to see them because cattle means human beings (the owners) and cattle also means water (regardless of whether the bull of the herd would be interested in sharing it with you). The beasts were not particularly happy to see me. They were slightly aggressive and keen on defending their territory. “What if they charge,” I thought. The idea felt funny: me being happy to see the beasts and the beasts attacking me. After a short while a river started to run in the same direction as myself. I filled up my bottle and platypus and put iodine tablets in the water. When the sun started to disappear, I quickly found a bivouac spot that was relatively free of cow spill and went to sleep.

 

Day Sixteen (8 January 2009)

I woke up early and got started at once. After a short while the river and the valley turned south. Once again I had to cross a mountain range. I was malnourished and completely knackered. The gulley that divided the range to my east looked rather short, but this turned out to be illusive. So, what turned out as an attempt to cross a short gulley turned into a formidable effort involving a couple of hundreds of meters of ascent. By the time I reached the top of a very long and winding couloir on the range, it was already early afternoon and I was unable to take more than a couple of steps at a time. I found the sugar bag in my rucksack and swallowed a couple of spoons of sugar and drank some water. It was disgusting. ¨How many ranges like this can I cross before perishing, ¨ I thought. Finally, I was at the top the couloir, on a col looking down at a very wide valley. I was knackered and I was wondering if the road – the bloody road – was in this valley. Was I going to cross the mountains on the other end of the valley as well? I saw a blackish streak and became happy thinking that it must be the metalled road. It didn’t take me long time before I noticed that it was nothing other than a river, which had popped up from a line of vegetation and broadened to look like a tarmac road. I could see a faint line after the river. I was knackered. I had hit the wall. I sat down and checked the guidebook. The features of my surrounding did fit the sketch in the guidebook, according to which there should be a wide valley (Valle de Chasschulli) in which there is first a river and then the road. Furthermore, I didn’t remember crossing such a vast valley on the way up. All evidence indicated that the faint streak was the road. But…. What if I am wrong? What if I still have to cross yet another mountain range? I had been disappointed in the previous days several times. So, I prepared myself for the worst. I decided to sit down and take a nap.

In the middle of my uneasy nap, I opened my eyes and saw a white thing move on the faint streak… It looked like a white van.

 

Ersun N Kurtulus

10 January 2009

Fiambala

 

Epilogue:

Years later and after receiving training in Mountain Leadership and Navigation, I can clearly see that my knowledge and experience of navigation should have been significantly better. I should have been more efficient in reading the map and connecting it to the environment. In the words of the famous explorer Vilhjalmur Steffanson “adventure is a sign of incompetence.”