SPACE BALLOON

SPACE BALLOON - 2010

Flight projection:

Actual flight path:

The recovery climb (I am up in the branches):

The launch:

Landing spot:

Flight shots:

In early October my sister sent me an email with a story about a guy who had sent a camera into space and captured amazing photos on a shoestring budget. I immediately wanted to try it myself. Not only would this be an interesting challenge, but it would also be a great project for kids.

After a bit more reflection, however, I realized that this would not be such a breeze to pull off. The mission was to send a camera attached to a weather balloon outside of our atmosphere to capture the blackness of space. Eventually, the balloon will expand due the lack of atmospheric pressure, burst, and the “payload” will float back down to earth via a parachute. The electronics involved would have to survive 100mph winds, hours of flight in a wet environment, temps near 60 below, and the real risk of a water or hard landing. In addition to the camera, we would have to receive GPS tracking coordinates via a SPOT locater beacon. Needless to say, there were a few variables to overcome.

My friend Kevin Spence and I ordered the weather balloon, borrowed a SPOT tracker from another friend, Chris Bailey, and watched the weather to find a suitable launch date. I also took a cheap digital camera and loaded aftermarket firmware on it. This was basically a script that booted when the camera turned on and controlled the basics (shutter speed, flash, display, etc.), but also allowed us to create a time-lapse program that took a picture automatically every ten seconds until the 4GB card was full. We also used some chemical hand warmers to keep the electronics from freezing and hopefully to extend the life of the lithium batteries.

We had some nerd fun with the physics involved, as you can see from Kevin’s notes below:

Question: How full should we fill the balloon initially to get it up to 100,000 ft given its bursting diameter of 15 feet?

Analysis: Universal gas law: PV=NRT, P= Pressure (kPa), V= Volume(m^3), N= Mols, R= Gas constant (8.314 J/KMol), T=Temp in Kelvin

At 100000ft, P=1.10 kPa, V= bursting volume of 15 feet diameter or 50.03m^3 (volume of sphere 4/3*pi*r^3), N = ?, T =-46.5 Celcius (229.5 K) So we are looking at .0288 Mols of Helium will cause the balloon to pop at 100,000 ft. At 500ft elevation, .0288 mols of gas would be a volume of .685 m^3 (V=NRT/P). A volume of 685m^3 translates into a diameter of about 3.28 feet.

Answer: Filling the balloon to a diameter of 3.28 feet will get us to 100,000 ft. Unfortunately, I don't think this will lift our chicken as this volume of helium can only lift half a kilogram of weight which is how much the balloon weighs.

Question 2: A bottle of Helium will fill 70 12" balloons. How high can we get on one bottle of helium? (insert high school pot head joke here).

70 12" balloons represents a gas volume of 1.04 m^3. At sea level, 1.04m^3 of helium = .04376 mols. Bursting volume is the same at 50.03m^3, assuming it is around -56 degrees celcius (this temp seems to be the same over a large range of altitudes) so do the math and..... the pressure of this gas at the bursting volume = > 1.63 kPa. Look at the atmospheric charts and this is a little over 90,000 feet. (Interesting note, the atmospheric pressure drops by almost half between 90,000 and 100,000 feet)

Answer: One bottle of helium that will inflate the balloon to about 4.12 feet diameter will get the balloon up to 90,000 feet.

Question #3: So... how much will we be able to lift with a balloon that is 4.12 feet in diameter?

One litre of Helium can lift 1 gram of weight. We have about 1040 Liters of Helium so we can lift about 1.04 kg or 2.2 lbs. The balloon weighs .5KG so we have about a pound of weight to lift.

Answer: No chickens in space, we can only lift an additional pound of weight.

Anyway, based on the weather patterns and balloon projection models, we were certain that the craft was going to leave Eugene and head northeast. Our estimate was a flight of 50-80 miles and a 3 hour flight time. Our ship actually flew 70 miles over 4.5 hours.

After the kids made some drawing on the side of the ship and wrote a note explaining that it was not a danger, we slapped the components all together and let it fly on a overcast Saturday morning. We watched the craft sail out of sight and then followed it online via the SPOT tracking website. It steadily flew north for two hours and then (we presume) got well above 50,000 feet and was no longer able to pick up or transmit GPS signals. There was a long hour of complete darkness and then finally the track picked back up near Detroit Lake. Twenty minutes later we received multiple readings from the same spot . . . the craft had landed near Breitenbush Hotsprings, roughly 70 miles from Eugene.

Imputting our coordinates into Google Earth, we immediately saw that the ship was only a few hundred yards away from an unnamed logging road spur. It looked like the recovery was going to be a breeze. This was dead wrong. The recovery turned out to be ten times more involved than anything else. Despite clearcuts and young trees all around, the ship had landed in the top of some GIANT douglas firs. They were not old growth, but they were as close to that as they come for a second generation forest. We couldn’t even see the ship from the ground without binoculars. The tree was easily 200ft tall and the ship was about 150ft up. To put that in perspective, that is about the equivalent of a 12-15 story building just to the ship. The tree was simply a beast. We were clearly unprepared to get the craft down on our first visit.

After talking to a few arborists and doing some quick research, we decided to return with a full tree-climbing assault kit. I do a fair amount of climbing and mountaineering so I am quite comfortable with rope systems, but I had never attempted to climb a living, swinging thing like this before. Our plan was to use a giant slingshot to send a 60# monofilament fishing line over a strong branch, then drag a climbing rope over the branch, secure it, and ascend it as a fixed line. I would also be trailing a second rope that I would anchor through slings every 15 feet as a back-up. This second rope, my trailing line, would also extend above the fixed “top rope” and I could lead climb above the “top rope” using double rope pulley techniques or by climbing the branches and anchoring around the trunk.

It proved to be quite difficult to get the fishing line in place, because the lowest suitable branches were at least 100ft up. The line would get tangled, the drag would prevent it from descending back down to the ground, or the shots would simply be too far from the trunk (which I needed access to while climbing for additional protection). Even once we got the line in place it was equally hard to pull over a heavy, wet 80 meter 9.8mm rope. The weight and drag of the rope was immense. We also discovered that the 60# fishing line was not strong enough, so we pulled over nylon cord first, and then the climbing rope third. Eventually, after a lot of trial and error, we got the fixed line in place.

The lower part of the climb was difficult, the swing on a 100+ foot pendulum is huge and I had to keep myself near the trunk to tie on protection slings. Kevin was trying to belay me on my second rope while also keeping me in place on my fixed line. The fixed line was also super bouncy. The branches, while strong, did move when I tried to step up on the rope. It got easier as I got higher and was anchored in to the lower slings. It was definitely a gut wrenching ascent.

I eventually hit the canopy of the tree and all of the branches. This allowed me to almost place protection at will. I reached the top of the 80-meter fixed line which was at about 130 feet (Yes, we used every inch of the rope!). I removed my ascenders and began simply climbing the branches, setting anchors every ten feet. I finally reached the ship at about 150 feet. I swung a long sling with a carabiner out and pulled it in. I cut the remnants of the weather balloon free and finally had the payload in hand!

Some quick downclimbing and I was back to the fixed line. I put the free line through an anchor and got my rappel device on the fixed line. Kevin was able to belay me down while I simultaneously rappelled on the other line. I recovered every sling on the way down and finally touched sweet dirt again.

The electronics inside the ship were remarkably dry and we got over 2,000 pictures (although at least 600 of them are of a tree branch). A number of the shots are in the upper stratosphere and clearly show the blackness of space and even a bit of the curvature of the earth.

There were a ton of things that were sub-optimally designed or executed, but in the end we pulled it off for under $150. My son Boden seemed to love the pictures and the parachute, and who doesn’t like balloons? All in all, it was a cool, quirky adventure that may just have to be repeated!

Bolivia Mountaineering - 2010

Bolivia Mountaineering - 2010

I know . . . another long report. I have found that these write-ups help me remember not just what I did but also how I felt at the time. I don’t know if it is old age, lack of sleep, or what, but I am starting to appreciate just how fleeting memories can be. Plus, it was a 35-hour trip home and I had nothing else to do. Videos are at the bottom if you want to spare yourself the blathering.

This was definitely an odd summer for me in terms of outdoor pursuits. Unlike previous years when my summer has been chock-full of events, this year was pretty much an open slate. This was not by design; the cancellation of several major events and the arrival of a new family member slowed things down.

After competing in the National Rogaine Championships I had my eyes fixed on Raid the North Extreme, an expedition-length adventure race in the Canadian Rockies. This race was “postponed until next year,” so I scrambled to find something else. What I fell upon was a ~110-mile ultra-run through the Bolivian Andes. I was intrigued by the remote terrain, high elevation and self-supported nature of the event. I passed on a few other shorter sponsored adventure races throughout the summer to focus on this event. With about a month to go before the race, with my airline tickets purchased, vaccinations done, and vacation time squared away, the ultra-run was also “postponed until next year.” So my plan A fell through and now my plan B was gone. My teammate for the race in Bolivia decided to go race on another fully sponsored team in Costa Rica and I was left with a non-refundable ticket to Bolivia with no firm plans and no one to go with me.

After life had tossed me a few lemons, I was determined to make the most of it and see what could be done to make some “adventure lemonade” this year. It turned out to be half sweet and half sour — just the way I like it.

While Bolivia is definitely growing as a tourist destination, the rating as a “high crime” country by the U.S. Department of State, the continual political instability and the country’s general dislike for the U.S., and our “anti-drug” policies make it a somewhat unpopular spot at the moment. Additionally, U.S. citizens get the special privilege of paying a large entry visa fee. For me, however, the general lack of infrastructure made things easier in a way. There are no permits, fees, or restrictions in almost all of the wilderness areas. Unlike most of the major mountain ranges in the world, it seems that you can just camp and climb wherever you want. This is exactly what I wanted to do. With several 20,000ft+ peaks within striking range of each other, my new plan was to head down there and bag three major peaks: Pequeno Alpamayo, Huyana Potosi, and Nevado Illumani. All three are in the Cordilla Real range, with Illumani being the highest in the range. With just 14 days I figured all three was a long shot, especially since I would need almost a week just to acclimate. September is also the very end of the climbing season there, but our chances of decent weather and stable conditions were still fair.

A friend recommended a climbing guide who could speak Spanish, English and some of the very common indigenous languages there (Aymara and Quechua). We discussed the schedule and he seemed excited about the plan. Everything I had read stated that you absolutely need someone local with you, not just for safety, but to deal with road passages, porters, food, etc.

Arrival
Landing in La Paz was a rush for several reasons. Not only is it the highest commercial airport in the world (at about 12,500ft), but the runway was lined with the skeletons of old abandoned airplanes, trucks and other debris. I knew right away that this place was going to be quite different. To put all political commentary aside, I will just say that Bolivia is an amazingly “colorful” place, in both beautiful and inspiring ways and also desperate and ugly ways. I also could not help but take a step back and analyze just what I was doing. I was spending substantial time, energy, and money towards something that really did not benefit anyone in any way except perhaps my own personal psyche. The term “conquering the useless” came to mind. This point was hard to ignore, as I was surrounded by so much poverty and so many people struggling to just survive(Bolivia is the one of the poorest countries in the western hemisphere, second only to Haiti). I did feel good about spending money on a local guide, local food, and lodging. It was also cool to know that my modest tips could be more than a typical month’s salary for some. However, there is no debating the point: outdoor athletic pursuits are simply a selfish endeavor. I felt guilty for sure and could totally understand the general disgust for our gluttonous, myopic American ways. There are certainly many more altruistic pursuits out there. Perhaps another time once I mature a bit more . . . .

I spent my first two days just trying to acclimate as quickly as possible. I hiked to some ruins on the first day and took a shuttle to an abandoned “ski area” to hike around the second day. I couldn’t really sleep at all given the altitude, but I could move around slowly and didn’t have much of a headache. I was optimistic at this point because I had felt much worse at similar altitudes in the past. Public transportation was quite a trip; we were so packed into one small bus one time that I had someone’s child on my lap and my legs were intertwined with an elderly lady. What made things worse for me was my height. I was about a foot taller than everyone so things really were not built for me.

I also came down with some stomach problems on the second day, which apparently is completely unavoidable. For the most part, they don’t have any water sanitation systems. If someone flushes a toilet at a higher altitude than you, your tap water is going to be comingled with that water. Furthermore, all the agriculture uses human waste and much of the livestock lives on human waste and trash. Basically, you can’t touch anything fresh, and even cooked stuff could be dicey. There were a few streets in the outskirts of La Paz that almost made me gag because it smelled like I was walking in a sewage system. If the wind blew the wrong way I had to hold my breath. Dysentery is a major problem in Bolivia. In some areas over 1/3 of the kids don’t make it to ten years old and lack of sanitary conditions is big part of that.

My guide, who only lives in Bolivia part time, actually came down with an even more severe form of dysentery. He was shitting blood and had to go on antibiotics. This freaked me out for many reasons, but mainly because I thought my chances of climbing were done. Luckily, he had a friend who was willing to take me, who was also a certified guide, but here’s the catch . . . he spoke no English. My Spanish was decent about ten years ago, but it had all but disappeared since then.

Climbing is a very intimate act. Not only are you sharing a tent with someone and spending day and night in close proximity, but you are also working as a team and quite literally trusting your life to someone else. While the routes we had planned were not exceptionally technical, there were many serious components. I knew we would be facing long slopes well over 50 degrees, crossing a number of crevasses, and — on Illumani — climbing a large ice wall over a bergshrund. But expecting the unexpected is what made me worried. If one of us was hit with severe altitude sickness, if the weather got really bad, if someone got hurt, if we got lost, etc., I was not confident that we would be able to collectively make the right decisions if we couldn’t properly communicate. Needless to say, I was quite nervous. I was about to undertake some of the biggest climbs of my life in an area with no safety nets (rescue, patrol, helicopters, etc.) with someone I had a difficult time speaking with and didn’t really know at all. I also knew that sound judgment is notoriously scarce at altitude when your brain has limited oxygen to work with and I wanted everything to be routine, not novel. As a result of my fears, I ended up always carrying more water, food, and clothing than I needed. I also always moved more slowly and methodically than normal. I figured safety trumped efficiency.

Pequeno Alpamayo (Condoriri Range)
Our first objective was Pequeno Alpamayo, an absolutely gorgeous peak nestled in a very diverse collection of peaks known as the Condoriri Group. After hours and hours of driving down a horrible gravel road we reached a tiny, remote farming village that had a few burros we could use to haul our gear up to our base camp. We loaded up and spent a day hiking towards base camp. The hike was amazingly beautiful. We followed a steep valley and passed a number of alpine lakes on the way. About three hours in we came upon a herd of alpacas on the edge of a lake with one farmer trying to lasso a particular one. Apparently, one of the neighboring family’s alpacas had gotten mixed in with his herd. It was quite a sight and I got a little video of it. I was surprised to see anyone out there. We passed a few small stone structures along the way. There are nomadic farmers who follow the best grasses based on the time of year and temporarily use the huts. They were all empty at this point, but it was interesting to imagine life in such a remote area.

We eventually, reached what would serve as base camp on another beautiful alpine lake. It was nestled right in the middle of a bunch of towering peaks. We had the whole place to ourselves and maybe it was just the altitude (we were at about 15,500ft), but it felt kind-of magical. I just couldn’t believe that we could have such a spectacular place all to ourselves. I had this same thought many times throughout the trip. I guess solitude is the upside to vacation travel in a politically unstable destination!

I quickly realized why people travel with burros around here. While they couldn’t get up into the steeper parts of the mountains, they allowed us to set up a base camp with two individual tents and a kitchen tent. I had never camped in such luxurious conditions, let alone at that range of altitude. My guide, Eulogio, and I settled in for the daily rituals of camp life. We boiled a lot of water, set up tents, sorted climbing gear and cooked dinner. Edible food was tough to find near the cities, but out here things were made quite simple. We usually had rice with a can of tuna, sardines, or various “Bolivian” luncheon meats on top. It is hard to eat up high, but it is especially hard with such unappealing food. The one thing I did eat a lot of was quinoa soup. This soup is basically some type of animal fat boiled in water with quinoa and spices. I also had quite a bit of coca mate. I also resorted to my classics, Clif Bars and Pringles. The first time I opened a can of Pringles however, the top shot off like a cannon from the change of atmospheric pressure. A cloud of Pringles dust settled all over my gear scattered throughout the tent. It is funny now, but was kind of annoying at the time. With the exception of one heavenly half frozen avocado with salt, the food in the mountains was quite disappointing. With the lack of appetite and increased metabolism from the altitude, the exercise, plus the unappealing food, I probably lost about 10 pounds over the course of the trip.
I couldn’t sleep a lick that night at base camp. Partly nerves I guess, but also the altitude was rough. My heart rate as I just laid there trying to sleep was close to 100bpm. Also, oddly, whichever part of my head was touching the ground seemed to ache. I guess my brain had swelled a bit. To make matters worse, I made the mistake of drinking a ton right before going to bed and I totally filled up my pee bottle and had to go again an hour later. It sucks getting out of a warm sleeping bag and stepping into way subfreezing temps. From then on, I brought two bottles with me to bed!

Anyway, the next morning at 1:00am we headed off for Pequeno Alpamayo, a 17,618ft beauty. We had about two hours of easy rock hopping and hiking before we hit the base of the first glacier. We roped up and began the ascent. All was going well. We had to jump a few small crevasses and skirt a few larger ones, but the first two hours of climbing were rather uneventful. The snow was nice and firm. We then hit one larger crevasse with a dicey snowbridge and then a five foot step on the top side. This was the first obstacle that required a full belay. Eulogio and I had practiced all of the commands in Spanish so we moved through things rather quickly. He took the lead on all of the more difficult features. Not only was he way more technically proficient, he also was not absolutely smashed by the altitude. There were points where I would get totally wasted just coiling rope or running the belay or yelling out a long sentence.

We eventually hit a saddle at about 17,000. I had some continued stomach issues that were exacerbated by the elevation, and I certainly got dizzy and weak rather quickly, but all in all I was feeling good. We crested one of the ridges and were sitting on the top of a rocky outcropping with our first full view of Pequeno Alpamayo. She didn’t looked “pequeno” to me at all. This was a big, damn sexy mountain. In fact, if you ever saw the Everest IMAX movie, they actually used this mountain in the background of the title shot because it is so stunning — a perfect pyramid top. I know this is not a totally obscure climb, but given that we had not seen a soul for a day and half and that there was not another footprint on the mountain, I had a great sense of wilderness and adventure while we were out there.

We scrambled down the 3rd class rocks (which were tough with crampons and a light head) and began our assault on the summit via an airy ridgeline. This is where I had my first encounter with nieve penitentes, which are amazingly beautiful thin blades of snow and ice that orient towards the sun. They can be as big as a person and were a real trip to walk through. They also do amazing things with sunlight, ice, and shadows. The final summit push had a few steep, icy sections that exceeded 50 degrees. The climbing wasn’t too rough, but the exposure was gut wrenching. Eulogio led two long pitches and protected them with ice screws. At this point my head was just banging with the altitude. It was like a troll was playing drums in head. My heart would not slow down and I could hear every beat rattling in my head. I felt as though I had just finished a 100 yard sprint after every few steps and it took forever to recover. The atmosphere was just empty, and breathing hard just didn’t seem to help. After the steep slopes we had a windswept spine of exposed rock and snow that was mostly easy scrambling but had two sections of 4th class moves that required protection. Each one exhausted me. Even just belaying Eulogio took all my concentration. Eventually, though, we reached the top. The summit was about the size of a dining room table and had one of the most amazing views I have ever seen. There were countless jagged peaks in every direction. The weather was great and surprisingly warm (maybe in the teens?). We could also see a slight electrical storm over the Amazon basin as some of the clouds randomly flickered.

The descent was quick and painless. I seemed to get stronger every step we took down. Some of the crevasses seemed a bit scarier now that we could see how deep and big they were, but with the exception of the one mentioned earlier most of them were a simple jump across. We were off the glacier by about 10:00, just when it was really starting to heat up. The temperature swings were a real pain. It could get up to the 80sF during the day and then be around 5-10F at night, or worse if it was windy. I am not sure whether the hot or cold was worse.

We spent the rest of the day eating, sleeping, and enjoying the views.

Huyana Potosi
The day after we climbed Pequeno Alpamayo, we headed off for the two-day trek to Huyana Potosi. I was getting stronger at the altitude and the scenery kept me entertained enough to make the hikes a pleasure. It was also nice not to labor under a heavy pack because of the burros. I would have preferred a rest day or two before tackling another big peak, but the schedule just did not allow it. I did learn one important lesson on the way: if you are staring off in the distance to enjoy the views, don’t walk right behind a burro or you may step in something steaming.

Huyana Potosi is over the 6,000M mark, but less than 20,000ft by only 20ft. I have heard that it is one of the easiest 6,000M peaks to bag because of the short approach and lack of technical features. However, I was still nervous about the altitude. I have read aviation guidelines that state that a pilot has 3-5 minutes of “useful consciousness” at 20,000ft. I was sure hoping for more than that. I had felt like my chest and head were about to explode on Pequeno Alpamayo and this was a full 2,400ft higher.

One nice feature was that instead of setting up a base camp, they had a “refugio” — or small hut — we could sleep in. It was awesome to sleep on something level and not have to listen to the tent rattle in the wind all night.

The next day we hiked up to high camp at about 17,500. It was a long, cold sleepless night at high camp before we left for the summit at about 2:00 a.m. My watch had frozen (maybe literally), so I spent the whole night waiting to leave, unable to sleep and unable to tell how much time has passed. It was miserable. We got into our tents as soon as the sun went down because of the cold, at about 7:30, so it seemed like eons passed before we got up to leave at 2:00 a.m.

We had another rather calm, clear night. Eulogio thought it would take us six to seven hours to reach the top, but we made it in 3:45. There was a steep summit block that required some ice climbing, but the route other than that was pretty much a walk up. I felt great physically. We were able to keep a strong, steady pace, unlike before when I had to stop to recover every ten steps. I was amazed at what a difference a few days had made. We were both feeling so good we were even able to joke around a bit in Spanish as the language had miraculously come back to me. We passed some amazing ice formations on the way and, just like on Pequeno Alpmayo, we had the entire mountain to ourselves.

The top was a very thin spine that we could literally straddle. The opposite side of the mountain was a several thousand foot near vertical wall. Just staring down it made me dizzy.

We bombed all the way back down the mountain in good spirits. I was quite thirsty as all of my fluids had frozen despite being in my inside pockets, but they eventually turned into slush and were amazingly refreshing. We had some fat and quinoa soup at high camp and then packed up to head lower. I was tired, but I knew I couldn’t really recover up high so I was eager to get down.

At base camp we ran into another climbing team and another American. It was really nice to be able to speak to someone in English. Steve, the other climber, was the only other American I met on the whole trip, and he and his guide happened to be heading to Illumani in two days just like us. While we would be climbing on separate rope teams, we agreed to share some resources (stove, tents, kitchen, food, porters, etc.). Apparently, it is also best to have a number of people around the base camp at Illumani to prevent getting robbed.

Illumani
After a shuttle back to La Paz, we had one rest day before heading out for the four-day attack of Illumani. I had not really had a chance to see the city, so I foolishly spent much of the day walking around instead of resting. I also ate a ton. The food was so cheap I could basically eat whatever I wanted for free. That night Steve and I went to one of the nicest restaurants in the whole city and ate well for about $10 each.

Early the next day we began the long and treacherous drive out to Illumani. It was many hours on more horrible gravel roads, often with huge cliffs to one side. There was one spot where there was a horse in the road and no room for us to pass it due to the cliffs, so we had to follow it at about 3 miles per hour for what seemed like forever to find a suitable spot to pass. We skirted by a number of self-sustained farming villages that were quite interesting; we saw farmers plowing dirt using oxen — or in one circumstance three women — while the farmer followed with what looked like a whip. Quite a time warp!

We eventually made it to another small village and rented some more burros for the approach to base camp. It took forever to get the animals because there was a party going on in town. It was my impression that the rural Bolivians are always drinking and partying hard. They played some kind of constant “jazz music” that was going non-stop the whole time we were there. People would come and join or leave as they liked, but the music never stopped. I guess you need a special ear, because to me it just sounded like noise. For the next three hours, as we hiked up a valley leading towards Illumani, we could hear them jamming away in the village below.

Late that evening we made it to base camp, a beautiful alpine meadow with waterfalls and giant mountains to one side and an endless valley to other side. An hour later Steve and his guide joined us, followed by an Italian climber and his guide. I was glad to see some other people, because this is the spot that is reportedly unsafe to be at without a large group. We ate some llama meat and noodles together and talked about the upcoming climb in broken English, Spanish, and Italian. The Italian guy was hilarious in that he would not shut up about the fact that the Scorpions were going to be playing in La Paz and we all needed to go see them together. He even sang us some of the Scorpions hits to get us in the mood. That guy had way too much energy.

A small storm swept through that night and hit us with a few inches of snow and a ton of wind. I was worried about the climb, but I was also concerned that we would never get back to La Paz if those steep dirt roads were covered in snow. It turns out we had one other problem. The porters who were supposed to meet us that morning were all hung over from the party the day before. Only one guy showed up for all three climbing teams. We discussed just bailing on the climb because of the poor weather and the fact that we would have to go super light. However, Steve and I were adamant about just trying to get to high-camp to see what we could do.

We sorted gear and then began the seven-hour trek up to high-camp. It was a long, exhausting trip. The rocky trail was covered with just enough melting snow to make it slick. The last 1,500ft of vertical was along a rocky ridgeline that was half scrambling, half walking. The heavier packs and the thin air made the trip a real pain, but we eventually made it. High camp was a small platform on the top of the long ridgeline along the edge of a major glacier. There was just enough room for the three tents and a small cooking area.

We shared some quick soup and got into the tents for some rest. Steve and I were sharing a tent and we heard three distinct avalanches that night. We gave each other the eye each time but never said anything about it. I also “fired off” another can of Pringles right before we tried to go to sleep. I was exhausted from all of the previous hiking and climbing and my inability to sleep and recover. I was worried that I had taken on too much in too little time and wouldn’t have the energy or strength for the summit.

Also, the wind was ripping that night and I feared that we would not be able to make a summit attempt due to the weather. I slept in short stints and 1:00 a.m. eventually came. I had some coca tea and even chewed on a few leaves for some much need energy.

The Italian had already started his climb and Steve’s team and Eulogio and I left about 45 minutes later. Right from the start we were on some severe 45-55 degree slopes. The footing was decent on the steeper stuff as no snow was able to accumulate. But in some areas we were in very fluffy soft snow about shin-deep that was nerve racking in that we could never fully trust our footing. However I never had to break trail. The local supermen — our guides — took care of that for us. It was a clear night, but with very little moonlight, so we could not see what was below us. It was just a black abyss. We caught up to the Italian team at the base of what would be the biggest obstacle of the climb, a large bergshrund. They had traversed several hundred feet in each direction trying to find a suitable way up. There was about a four- or five-foot gap with a large vertical to overhanging wall on the far side that was maybe ten feet high. I thought we were done for, but Eulogio was confident he could climb it. Even if he could, I was worried that the last person coming down it, without a top belay, would be in a big fall scenario. Eventually the confidence of Eulogio and Steve’s guide, Eduardo, convinced me that we should give it a shot. I belayed Eulogio as Steve and Eduardo double anchored me to the slope. Eulogio made it look easy. One big lunge across with a simultaneous double ice tool swing and he was on the wall. A minute later he was up and dropping in two snow pickets. The step across was even easier for me because I was about a foot taller, with long monkey arms. However, I was nowhere near as graceful as I kicked and pulled my way up the step. Eulogio protected the other four climbers as I caught my breath and managed the ropes.

The rest of the climb was long and steep but easy compared to the bergshrund. Like on Huyana Potosi, Eulogio and I felt strong and made great time. We quickly separated from the other teams. There were two slopes of 50-60 degree ice where we ran leapfrog ice ax belays for several pitches, but eventually we reached a long gradual ridgeline to the summit at about 21,125ft. It was really cold with a slight wind that just cut right through us, but physically I felt great. We waited for Steve and Eduardo to catch up and watched the sun light up the world. This area was not a scenic as Pequeno Alpamayo given that the peak was relatively isolated, but the views were still damn cool.

We were getting cold, so shortly after Steve and Eduardo arrived Eulogio and I started heading down. I did notice that my steps were getting sloppy so I really focused on each foot plant to prevent a fall. On some of the steeper slopes Eulogio set up an anchor station and allowed me to rappel down. I then protected him from below, but if he did fall from the top it would be one hell of a whipper. His strength at altitude was amazing and quite humbling for me. I guess that is what growing at up 13,000ft will do for you. He also belayed me down the bergshrund, which was easier to manage in the morning light and now that we had kicked most of the loose snow off the lip. He had used one snow picket and an ax up top and I did the same from the bottom. He down climbed quite well and then made a graceful leap off of the wall and across the gap. I was quite impressed and glad to have this guy on the other end of my rope. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the Spanish word for “badass,” but I did give the “I am not worthy” bow.

In some ways going down on the steep slopes was even harder than going up. Each step was a negotiation with gravity: “I want a little help, but not too much help!” Also, in the daylight I could always see the steep slopes falling away from me and the crevasses and rocks below. It was a constant mental strain and motivation to be climbing above those dangers. A few hours later we finally made it off of the glacier. It was such a good feeling to finally step off the ice, knowing that all of my technical climbing was done.

We had some soup and more coca tea and rested for a while. An hour or so later Steve and Eduardo came down. I never saw the Italian again, but could see his speck way up high on the mountain moving down very slowly. I was eager to get down into some heavier air to recoup a bit. Eulogio and I packed up and began the long hike down to base camp. It was a slow careful process, but about four hours later we made it. As mentioned before, we ate a half frozen avocado with salt that was f*&k%$g amazing and boiled some water to rehydrate.

Our plan was to camp there and recover for a night before leaving the next morning. We slept on the soft mossy ground and washed a bit in a nearby stream. However, the day passed and there was still no sign of Steve and Eduardo. Eulogio thought it wasn’t safe to stay there by ourselves for the night so we packed up and kept descending all the way down to the village we left from a few days earlier. Eulogio knew Eduardo, and he figured that they could sort common gear later. By the time we reached the bottom, I was smashed but feeling quite good about what we had accomplished.

Departure
By the next evening we were all back in La Paz. Steve, Eduardo, Eulogio and I had a fancy five-star meal for about $10 per person. (This trip was cheaper than traveling in the states because once I got to Bolivia everything was amazingly cheap – I’m sure I would have spent more if I spent even just a weekend in any major US city.)

I really wanted to just relax the next day, but while I was gone one of the buildings a block away from my hotel had just randomly collapsed. There was debris all over the streets. Things like that kept me slightly on edge and ready to head home and get back into the soupy thick air at sea level.

All in all, it was an amazing trip. The wilderness and climbing was spectacular, the people were very nice and endlessly interesting, and aside from a few stomach bugs and a batch of altitude headaches, I made it through with no physical issues. I will never know what the cancelled races would have been like, but I was happy with what I done with those lemons.

While there were many moments where I said I would never do this again, with a week to reflect I now definitely think I would go back. Funny how that works.