Aconcagua Summit Day - Feb 9, 2019
The wind was howling. The tent was shaking violently, threatening to come unmoored. Barely able to sleep all night, I was wide awake at 4am. I suspected my tent mate Patti wasn’t sleeping either: she had been fidgeting earlier, and turning over in her bulky sleeping bag more than once. The noise outside suddenly changed, and I thought I heard a panel of the tent fly flapping in the wind. Bad news. I said to Patti, “I think the fly is coming undone… we’re going to have to go outside and fix it.” She looked at me, and screamed, “WHAT?!? I CAN’T HEAR A THING YOU SAID!” I realized the noise of the wind drowned out any possibility of normal conversation. Just as I was trying to muster the willpower to get out of my warm and cozy sleeping bag into the bitter cold, I saw the glow of a headlamp outside, and heard more rustling noise on my side of the tent. “Is someone out there?”, I shouted as loud as I could. I heard Peter’s voice, barely audible over the wind, saying he was out there fixing tents. Damn… Guilt and relief, all at once: I didn’t have to go out and fix the tent, but poor Peter, our lead guide, who was sick as a dog, was out there securing everyone’s tents to ensure they wouldn’t fly away.
An hour or so later, my alarm went off. Already awake, I wasn’t sure if we would be starting our journey to the summit of Aconcagua, or if the winds were too strong to allow us to proceed safely. But again, Peter’s voice outside our tent told us he “was coming in!”, as the vestibule was unzipped and gusts of wind suddenly blew antarctic-cold air in. Peter plopped down on the ground, delivered a thermos of hot water to Patti and me, and confirmed that we were to get ready as soon as possible: eat breakfast, layer up, make sure to carry water, food, helmet, crampons, more layers. Keep moving, don’t stop, just get ready…
Our team of ten clients guided expertly by Peter, Dawa and Martín (aka “Picante”) had proven over the previous week that it was not the most efficient at getting ready, and it took over an hour and a half for everyone to come out of their tents, shoulder their packs, and be all set to start climbing. Our guides were getting impatient, some of us were waiting and growing cold, and the sky was already threatening to turn pink with the dawn of a new day. The wind was still howling, but outside of the tents, it seemed a little less daunting. Still, the occasional gust would nearly knock me over, and I saw my teammates also fighting to keep their balance. How… exciting?! Yes, definitely exciting!
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| Windy Camp Cólera |
We finally got going around 6:30am, slowly walking uphill from Camp Cólera, up towards the old Independencia refuge on our way to the summit of Aconcagua, the tallest summit in all the Americas, the tallest mountain outside of Asia. Standing proud at 6,962 meters, Aconcagua is somewhere between an alpine climb and an extremely challenging walk-up. Significantly higher than Kilimanjaro, it is much more demanding physically and mentally, and is subject to violent winds and weather mood-swings. Yet, compared to glaciated alpine climbs like Denali, or even Rainier (which is only two-thirds of Aconcagua’s height), Aconcagua is not “technical” and does not require the same level of mountaineering skills as those climbs. No need to rope up or cross crevasses, although crampons, ice axes and helmets are required on several sections.
Our summit day, originally planned for February 11th, had been moved up to February 9th to take advantage of a weather window which was rapidly closing. The winds were strong on February 9th, but nothing compared to what was expected for the coming days. Our summit attempt would be on the 9th, or not at all. Our planned climbing schedule, which included rest days at Base Camp, Camp 1, and Camp 2, was suddenly shortened. We moved directly to Camp 3 (Cólera) without a rest day at Camp 2, eliminating the “up and down” day of a double-carry between Camp 2 and Camp 3, along with the actual rest day. The implications were two-fold: by accelerating the schedule, we could now be in position to climb to the summit on a day with good weather (February 9th); it also meant that we had two fewer days of acclimatization, and less rest. But those are the variables involved in mountaineering. Some clients (who did summit but had challenges) would later comment that “If only we could have rested more, or acclimatized longer…”, but those wishful thoughts ignored the fact that no one at all was able to summit for several days after February 9th, due to hurricane-force winds and significantly colder temperatures at Camp Cólera (6000m) and above.
So there we were, our team of ten clients plus three guides, occasionally seeing a few other people above and below us, heading up the mountain by headlamp. We crossed paths, like we had several times before, with Craig, another guide who was with a private client. I knew Craig from my climb of Mount Rainier in 2016, and was really glad to see him again on Aconcagua. I confess that, of the first long section of the day, I have only very hazy memories. I put one foot in front of the other, staring at the trail. I remember repeating one of the mantras I used, borrowing from champion mountain biker Rebecca Rusch: “I can. I will. I won’t be denied.”
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| The sun beginning to warm us up on the way to the summit |
I occasionally glanced up, long enough to note the beautiful sunrise, gorgeous views, and less angry wind. The temperature was cold, but not overly so. I was comfortable in my layers, and felt great. I don’t remember how many breaks we took, or where. I do remember stopping at the Independencia refuge, a small wooden structure that has apparently been falling apart for a few seasons. It contained the remnants of someone’s primitive camp, and I do remember Craig making a comment about the state of disrepair of the refuge. However, whether he said that there, at that time, or said that later, even in Mendoza after the climb, I could not say! I don’t know whether it was the effects of altitude or lack of sleep, or merely what I call “trail hypnosis”, but I do not remember any distinct feature or event from that first part of the day.
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| Independencia |
Around Independencia, or shortly after (?), Peter came to see me, and told me one of the clients needed to go back down to Camp Cólera, and that he, Peter, would be the guide accompanying him. He hugged me good luck, told me I could do it, and I knew in that moment that it was up to me to get to the summit anyway. Peter and I had planned and discussed this climb for a year. He had been instrumental in so many different ways in getting me prepared and ready for it. Thinking back, both of us knew that this one year of preparation built on the previous four years during which we became friends and went on several trips and climbs together. On every one of those adventures, I learned more from Peter, acquired greater skills, and built my own confidence through additional solo trips closer to home. When I left for Aconcagua in late January, I felt as ready and confident as I have ever felt on any big trip. Of course, I had visualized Peter and I taking a picture together on the summit. Yet, when he told me that because he was sick, it made sense for him to accompany the client back to camp and give Dawa a chance to reach Aconcagua’s summit for her first time, I felt calm and confident. He had done everything he could do to help me be ready. The rest was up to me.
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| Still a long way to go... |
Peter admonished all of us remaining clients that from here on out, there was to be no arguing with the guides: if Dawa or Picante told a client he or she should turn back because they were not “doing well” (too slow, not feeling well, behaving or climbing in a way that indicated an altitude-related health issue…), that client needed to turn around without argument. Dawa and Picante would know how to coordinate between the two of them and accompany clients down appropriately. There was a reason for that speech by Peter. One client had already shown signs of ignoring the guides, and had previously demonstrated his unwillingness to follow the rules… and he was not expected to have the strength to summit…
A few minutes later, Peter and one of our teammates had started down the mountain back to Camp Cólera, while the rest of us proceeded upwards. And… another section of the trail remains absent from my memory, until I vaguely remember being aware of the mention of “the Cueva”, a perfectly-located cave and relatively flat area at the base of the final steep climb to the summit. The whole team was to take a break there, drink some water and eat, before proceeding onto the long last section leading up to the summit.
Before arriving at the Cave, I mentioned to Dawa, who was climbing with me, Patti and another one of our teammates, that I needed to use a Wag Bag (aka “go to the bathroom”). She indicated a big rock behind which I could partially hide while she blocked “the entrance”. This was a repeat of my Mount Rainier scenario in 2016, when I had to use a “blue bag” (different terminology but same purpose) on the flanks of Rainier, in the middle of a blizzard. Except that here on Aconcagua, the sun was shining, and other than a need to use the bag, I was not feeling sick or uncomfortable in any way.
As always, I experienced some kind of “performance anxiety” tied to having to hurry and use a bag, while there are other climbers around, and I’m on a timeline. So of course, it took forever… The actual duration of this “event” has been debated (!), and no official conclusion was reached (!!). Suffice it to say, by the time Dawa, Patti, the other teammate and I reached the Cave, where the rest of the team and Picante were already taking a break, they were just about ready to get going again. Sigh. Just like getting dropped on a group bike ride at the base of a big climb: when you get to the top, relieved to have made it, everyone else is ready to start down while you hurry to catch your breath…
Dawa made sure that Patti, the other client and I took a break, re-hydrated and ate before we started up once more. The terrain changed: steeper, with a large patch of snow leading up to a snow gully in the first part of the Canaleta (the ridge that leads to the summit). Climbing the snow gully was not difficult, but required doing crossover steps in crampons, which kept me alert and wide awake. Nearing the top of the gully in front of me, Patti suddenly lost her balance and toppled backward, sliding several meters towards a small patch of rock against which she came to a stop. Trying to grab her foot in a futile move as she slid past me, I fell on my butt, ensconced in the gully with nowhere further to fall. Dawa gave me a hand up, before going to rescue Patti who was in a slightly precarious position. Fortunately unhurt, but a little shaken, Patti regained her feet, and climbed back up with Dawa, to reclaim her spot at the top of the gully. It was not a major fall, but could have been, and luckily, no one was hurt. But… it revealed a chink in Patti’s armour. Strong and extremely determined, Patti had done very well every day of the expedition, and despite a bit of fatigue, had climbed strongly even while carrying a full pack. At the top of the snow gully, however, she looked and sounded a little less confident after her fall. Still determined, she discussed with Dawa how she was feeling, and for the time being, decided to keep going up.
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| A break with a view |
By then, the rest of our team had built a good advance on us and we could see them progressing smoothly above us in the Canaleta. Several climbers from other expeditions, including one group from the Mendoza Police Force, and other independent unguided climbers were interspersed between us and Picante’s group. I passed Dawa and Patti, followed by my other teammate, and the two of us soon pulled ahead by several minutes. I heard Patti tell Dawa that she wanted to try for the summit, and knew Dawa needed to decide whether she would turn Patti around, forcing the other teammate and myself to go back down with them, or continue up with all three of us. It was a tough call, no matter what, and I didn’t envy Dawa’s position… Shouting up to Picante, she signaled that we were still continuing up. I heard Picante yell something that sounded to me like, “No… turn around!”. I stopped. I thought, “Oh well, the guides have spoken. This is where my climb ends. It’s been grand, I could have kept going, BUT these are the rules, and I’m not about to go rogue.” I took a selfie, checked the altitude (6,799m), and paused to look around and take some deep breaths. Then… I heard them. I looked up towards Picante and the rest of our team, and heard him distinctly this time, shouting “Keep coming up!”, and saw Picante and our other guys waving me up. I confirmed with hand signals and a few shouts, and they said, “yes, come UP”. I didn’t question it further, and kept climbing, my other teammate not far behind. Dawa was still working with Patti a little further back.
The Canaleta was sunny, dusty, rocky, cold, dry, not too windy… What I remember most from it was making sure I found good foot placements, to allow my big boots and crampons to rest securely where I stepped. I needed to avoid hesitant, irregular steps. I wanted to keep moving and never stop, knowing that climbing steadily, even if slowly, was key. But every few steps, I found myself stopping, trying to regain a normal breathing rhythm, trying to slow my heart rate. What I don’t remember, is how long those pauses were. They might have been ten seconds, or five minutes. I don’t know and don’t remember. At one point, the climber behind me, who introduced himself as Bubba from Kyrgyzstan and told me he “loves Montreal!”, was the one encouraging me to get going again when my pauses were presumably too long. While I wasn’t hallucinating (I have clear and vivid memories of the sunlight on the rocks and trail in front of me), I did have very weird daydreams in that whole section! Those will remain my own undisclosed memories, if you don’t mind…
Sensing that two climbers were coming down towards me, I looked up to recognize Craig and his client. I congratulated them on their successful summit, and asked Craig if I still had time to reach the summit at my pace, or whether it would be wiser to turn around. It was 4pm. We had not discussed a turn-around time, but I knew we still had 4.30 hours of daylight (to summit and go back down to camp), I felt great, and there were many others around me still heading up. Craig told me I had about another hour of climbing to reach the summit, that I would run into Picante soon, and that all was well. I asked him to check on Dawa and Patti, who had now fallen farther behind. My other teammate was still relatively close to me and climbing at my pace.
Reassured that I had time, I kept going up. Nearing the last few meters before the actual summit, the rest of the team, already up there, all shouted their welcome to me. One of them offered a hand, but I waved him off kindly, telling him I needed to finish this on my own. I fought a sob that nearly took my breath away before I stepped on the summit. Once the last step up was taken, I folded in half briefly, fighting off tears that threatened to overwhelm me. Instead, I hugged each of the guys, welcomed Dawa and my teammate who were suddenly right behind me, and got a big hug from Picante, who told me Peter was also sending me “un abrazo”. 
We took pictures, including a few of me holding my sign that says I climbed for the “Société Alzheimer de Laval”. It was deeply satisfying, and profoundly meaningful, to reach the summit knowing I had done it for such a personal and important cause. There are 62 people (at last count) who have donated money to my fundraising campaign. I knew every name, and thought of every person, during the climb. And now, standing on the summit, well… it was all about Mom and Dad, and me. All the training last year, all the hard work, all the sacrifices, all the changes in our lives, everything brought on by this blasted disease… I faced it all, and I reached my goal. We spent mere minutes on the summit, but the knowledge that I stood on it, that I succeeded in reaching it, will be with me forever. 
Pictures taken, crampons removed and packed away, we gulped a bit of water, swallowed a bite or two, and started down. Time was of the essence. Dawa carried my pack down (she had carried it up, combining some of Patti’s and my things to lighten the load, and leaving her own big pack at the Cave). I moved fairly fast (by my standards anyway), with one teammate not too far behind. I could see three of our other guys moving faster ahead of me, increasing the distance, but never out of sight. Looking back, I was shocked to see two teammates (who had been strong and fast to date) and Dawa still far up the ridge, not very far below the summit, and not moving fast. I hoped one of the guys, who had a painful knee, was not having too much trouble. Looking ahead once more, I approached a (literal) fork in the road: the trail split, with one branch going to the left (towards the Cave, I thought), and the other to the right (still down, but not to the Cave?). A man was sitting on a rock where the trail split, and I had seen him chatting with other climbers from the Mendoza Police Force team just minutes before. My tired brain could barely muster broken Spanish by then, but I asked him which trail led to the Cave. With a very worried look in his eyes, the man said, “Helen, is that you?” I suddenly recognized Picante! Reassuring him that I was totally fine and had just not recognized him from a distance, I followed his guidance towards the Cave. But just then, we heard Dawa call out to Picante from above, asking him for help.
Picante headed back up the mountain quickly, while I proceeded down to catch up to my teammates who had already reached the Cave. Arriving there without my pack (Dawa was carrying it), I found the one bottle I had left behind, and shared it with the guys. I had left a few items there but had no pack in which to carry them, so one of the guys offered to take them in his own pack. We initially agreed that the five of us clients would continue down to Camp Cólera, and got started. One of them (who had my stuff in his pack, I later remembered), however, chose to stay back, staring up the mountain to where Dawa, Picante, and our other two teammates seemed to be glued to the rock, barely moving… We were all concerned, but it was clear to me that if I stood around and waited, I would only become another liability. I was tired, and increasingly dehydrated. Without my pack and the other items I had just stashed in my teammate’s pack, I had no food, and no water left (see how quickly little decisions become potentially bigger ones, at altitude, and with fatigue?). One of the guys, who had been sick for several days, needed to go down fast. Another one still seemed fit, but showed signs of dehydration too, and was somewhat less experienced than I was. Perhaps all the books I’ve read about mountaineering came into my mind at once, but I just KNEW I should go down, and that waiting would not do anyone any good. Three of us continued down, followed by a fourth teammate, while one chose to stay and wait for Dawa, Picante and the two clients who seemed to be struggling. The teammate who stayed to help was by far the strongest of the clients, and his Marines’ training of “Leave no man behind” no doubt led him to make this decision, which turned out to be the right one for all concerned. So in the end, everyone was where they should have been…
I continued down with the other two guys (with another one following at a distance behind us - I only realized that later, otherwise, I would have waited to make sure he could catch up to us). The path down was easy to follow, and there was no risk of getting lost on the trail. Nonetheless, the vastness of the mountain, the gradually fading daylight, and the occasionally changing terrain (from dust and rock, to rutty snow and penitentes) kept us alert and moving only as fast as we dared. The guys would probably have moved faster without me, but we all stayed within 30 meters or so from one another, never out of sight or voice range. We took a few short breaks, and I encouraged them to keep moving. We all felt tired and dehydrated, and the only way to find relief was to get to camp. Stopping and resting on the mountain wasn’t going to make us feel better.
I was still feeling good, but had moments when I actually felt lightheaded, and eventually, dizzy. It felt weird. I’d never experienced that before. I knew it wasn’t “the altitude”, since we were descending rapidly. But I was thirsty, and getting quite hungry. I did not feel like there was any “danger”, I knew we were getting quite close to camp, and that there were people expecting us there. I knew there would be water and plenty of food. So the occasional dizzy spells were more of an “interesting observation” for me (“Hey, look at that… I’m dizzy! Actually lightheaded after this long day! Wow, I guess I worked hard for my summit!”).
We eventually saw a camp in the distance, and one of the guys said, “There’s Camp Cólera! It’s the right camp for sure, I see our people.” I’m still not certain who he meant by “our people”, since we were too far away to see anyone and most of “our people” were still behind us. Then, as we got closer, my teammate sat down on a rock and suddenly announced that “it was the wrong camp!”. He thought we’d somehow shot past Camp Cólera and had gone all the way down to Camp 2. I told my two teammates, “If it IS the wrong camp, I’m going to cry!” but that it seemed odd we could have missed Cólera. Regardless, I insisted, we would still continue to the camp in front of us, and they would give us water and shelter. Ten seconds later, I spotted in the distance a permanent structure that I recognized from Camp Cólera and knew we were at the right place. We continued down, and were soon met by the teammate who had returned with Peter earlier in the day. I told him we needed water, and he directed me to the guides’ tent, where Peter had been melting snow for hours. It was exactly 8pm.
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| The permanent structure (white, in middle to the left) that became a useful landmark to aim for. |
My two teammates dove into their respective tents, tired, seeking the warmth and comfort of their sleeping bags. I stopped by Peter, whose first question was whether I had summitted. I said, “yes, but I need water now or else I’m going to pass out”. I wasn’t being dramatic, I really felt like I was a few minutes at most from having to lie down to avoid keeling over. I didn’t feel sick, “just dehydrated”. Peter gave me a cup of warm water which I downed in a couple of gulps, and I immediately felt better. One more cup, and I was able to have a conversation. I told him it looked like a couple of clients had issues higher up, possibly a bum knee slowing them down, and that Dawa and Picante were up there. I updated him on the fact that two other teammates had made it back with me, and that one more was on his way (although I confess I’d lost touch with him…). I seem to remember that Peter told me he was aware that clients were up with Dawa and Picante, and had “hit their limits”. However, that’s hazy in my memory, and in hindsight, I’m not actually sure whether I made that up in my mind or not. Ah… fun times with altitude and fatigue!
After that short chat, I made my way to Patti’s and my tent, and was reunited with my friend. We briefly shared our respective adventures after we got separated on the mountain earlier. I sat there, still wearing my warm layers, only changing my socks for dry warm ones. I partially crawled into my sleeping bag, and at some point, Peter brought me hot noodle soup in a cooking pot. It was delicious and totally hit the spot! I felt great, replenished and rehydrated, but tired and ready for bed. I knew I was missing a few things that were still with Dawa and my other teammate who were still not back at camp, so my nighttime routine was a bit off. I ended up staying fully-clothed, with puffy pants and big puffy coat, in my sleeping bag, turning off my headlamp just as the sun was going down. I fell asleep around 9pm.
Waking up around dawn the next morning, I was mindful I’d left the half-empty pot of soup near my feet, and was careful not to accidentally kick it while turning over. The next thing I knew, it was an hour later, and the pot of soup was gone! Peter had come to collect it to boil water, and I hadn’t even woken up.
Getting up felt like a chore. I was wearing too many layers inside my sleeping bag, which counterintuitively was making me colder. I had to start by removing unnecessary layers, and getting dressed properly for our descent from Camp Cólera to Plaza de Mulas that day. The wind was still blowing strong, and getting ready outside the tent, packing bags and preparing to take the tent down was challenging. I wanted to move fast, but couldn’t. We were still at 6000m, and even though we had lost nearly 1000m of altitude since the summit, moving fast was not really an option. Any sudden movement, or “hard effort” (like lifting heavy rocks that were securing our tent, or moving heavy packs around) made me lightheaded. So I moved more slowly than I would have liked, but kept moving.
During breakfast and our preparations to leave camp, I learned that Dawa, Picante and the three remaining teammates had arrived in camp by headlamp at nearly 10pm the previous night. One teammate (who recovered quickly and is now 100% fine) had been affected shortly after leaving the summit by HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema), a potentially lethal condition if the affected person remains at altitude and without treatment. In this case, my teammate was helped down expertly by Picante and Dawa, and given a shot of dexamethasone, medicine specifically for that purpose. After his arrival in camp, he was given oxygen and monitored all night by Peter. By morning, he had made a strong recovery already, and was in good enough shape to continue down towards Plaza de Mulas, where his recovery continued. The incident brought home to everyone the fact that Aconcagua was a very serious mountain, with an altitude that could easily prove deadly. I am on purpose skipping a few details of what happened to my teammates high up on the mountain, but suffice it to say that thanks to the expertise of all three of our guides, who took action on the mountain and in camp, our teammate was fortunate to escape the mountain with no dire consequences…
Summit day on Aconcagua proved to be challenging, beautiful, eventful, long, memorable… It was a deeply meaningful experience for me - from the very first steps I took that morning, to the very last ones that brought me back to camp that night. It was spiritual in some ways, weird in others, and definitely profound in a way I cannot easily explain. I don’t know whether I will ever reach a higher altitude than the summit of Aconcagua. I don’t have any ambitions to climb taller mountains just for the sake of reaching a higher altitude. But I hope to go back to Aconcagua one day - I definitely would enjoy that. It’s become a special mountain to me, a symbol of my own empowerment, determination and capabilities, and it will always have great significance for me and hold a key place in my heart.
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NOTE: this is not my last post about the trip. I will be re-visiting some earlier days of the expedition, sharing about the last two days as we left the mountain, and bringing you a few more anecdotes that occurred during the climb. Stay tuned, and thanks for reading! :)
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