It’s time to adventure again…!

Nearly five years. That’s how long it’s been since I last traveled by plane, for fun. Bonus: I’m leaving North America. My adventure travel muscles - Advenductors? Adventozoids? Adventurous Maximus? - are sore and stiff, but muscle memory prevails nonetheless. Packing for efficiency and carry-on-only is a long-acquired skill of mine, and it comes back, despite the extra luxury item or two I added to the pile. But everything for my 11-day trip fits in my 33L backpack.

My friend Dan contacted me last spring and asked if I wanted to go to Cambodia, with him and our common travel friends, plus his son and grandson. I didn’t ask for an itinerary or even the price. I just said yes. Dan and I have known each other for over 20 years. I met him while working for a small company that was delivering software to his big company. He had a picture of Mount Everest in his office, he told me he had taken it himself. We started talking about adventures and mountains and discovery and exploring. Twenty years later, we’ve traveled to Nepal, Chile (mainland AND Easter Island!), met up in Seattle a few times, and now we’re all connecting in Cambodia (I sadly missed out on a trip to Bhutan because of work one year - never, ever say no to an adventure “because of work” - it’s never worth it). 

Dan has always been an inspiration. He embodies joie de vivre, curiosity, a desire to learn about the world, history, and most importantly, people. Dan makes friends, for life, wherever he goes. He can tell great stories from anywhere around the world. He writes fun songs, leads the way with ease, and smiles. Traveling with Dan never goes wrong. His favorite question? “What chu got there?”, always a fantastic conversation starter. Add to the mix Maggie, our energetic friend who is a world traveler by profession, and who’s always in a good mood, I’m thinking this trip is going to be a hoot! Can’t wait to get reacquainted with Chris and Jack as well. We’re missing Janel and Michael, who couldn’t join us after all, and sending them good thoughts and much strength to face some challenging times back home…

I’m writing this first entry sitting on a park swing (impeccably designed I might add), in the Incheon suburb of Seoul, Korea. I wasn’t supposed to wake up here this morning, but thanks to a volcanic eruption somewhere in Russia, my flight from Toronto yesterday took an unprecedented (well, for me at least) 17:30 hours to get to Seoul. I’m grateful for the airline points that allowed me to upgrade to Business Class. Even then, 17:30 hours is a long flight. Very long… I missed my reunion with Dan and Maggie, and my connection to Phnom Penh. Sadness. But, silver lining - instead of getting right back on a plane for another 6 hours, I got to take a shower and sleep in a proper bed. Hurray for exceptional Korean organizational skills, a warm and efficient greeting by the ground agents at the airport and at the hotel that welcomed us stranded passengers. 

So this morning, I’m doing what I always do when I travel. I stepped out for a walk. It’s not an area that tourists would ever plan to visit. But it’s a lovely, yet very ordinary residential neighborhood, with big parks, in close proximity to a highway and a commercial area servicing the vicinity of massive Incheon airport (which, by the way, is laid out exactly like Pearson airport in Toronto. Exactly.)

The air is warm, the breeze stiff, and the clouds heavy. But fresh air, after a total of 19 hours on a plane (YUL -YYZ - ICN), and a night in a rather warm hotel room, feels heavenly. The walk through parks, watching doggies play, joggers jog, and older folks chatting in the morning, reminds me of my old neighborhood in Japan, near Osaka, 30 years ago. Only three differences really convince me I’m not in Japan: the Hangol writing on buildings, Korean being spoken, and cars driving on the right. That’s it. Change those three things to Hiragana/Katakana/Kanji writing, Japanese spoken, and cars driving à la British, and voilà, it would be Japan. Right down to the series of apartment buildings that look exactly like the Danchi I used to live in. I’m sorry, Korean and Japanese friends, if my comparison offends either of you, I understand your sentiments, really I do. But I mean it with affection. Being here has flooded me with happy memories. 

And onward… more flight time this evening, onto Phnom Penh and the happy reunion I’ve been awaiting! 

Everyone back home (Mom, Sunny, family and friends) is doing well, so my heart is light and I am relaxed. A happy camper indeed.

Aconcagua: The Long-Awaited Story of Summit Day

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!

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.” 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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”. 

There was a feeling of urgency, as it was already 5pm, and no one wanted to linger on the summit much longer. Waves of clouds were moving in. Many of our teammates had already been there nearly 30 to 45 minutes waiting for me, Dawa and our teammate. Patti had chosen to go down with Craig and his client, when they came past her earlier. I was sad she was not standing with us on the summit, but thought of her and her husband, and felt like they were right there with me. 

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.

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! :)

Aconcagua Post #2

The sun has been shining bright for two days, the sky is the color of deep azure, with only the occasional puff of clouds floating by. We’re now in Camp 1, at 16,300 ft (or 4,968m approximately), after completing our move from Base Camp yesterday (Monday, Feb 4).

The luxuries of Base Camp - showers, dining tent, cook staff, privies... - are behind us now. We are mountaineers, and our camp life for the next week to ten days will be more primitive. This is not camping by a lake with a bonfire over a long weekend... This is camping on rocky terrain, at altitude, with the guides having to spend hours boiling water and making food for us. Toilets are now “wag bags” that we get to use in a privacy tent. I must say, at least, that it is a room with a view, that privacy tent!

Dinner last night was delicious. Patti and I are benefiting from our GF diet, which means more work for Peter, Dawa and Picante. I’m very grateful that Peter took such care to plan a healthy menu. I haven’t had any GI issues to date, and I still have a strong appetite at this altitude. I’m eating as much up here as I do down at sea level. 

The landscape is superb. Mountains all around, in some areas covered with snow, but mostly scree and rock and sand - a little lunar or Martian, and definitely spectacular. Aconcagua is also famous for its “Penitentes”, naturally-carved snow peaks that can stand as tall as several feet, side by side like “pilgrims” lined up to pray. The color of the earth tends to be reddish to brown, and the dust flies no matter where we step. The climate is dry, and with the sun beaming down harshly, even if the ambient temperatures up here at Camp 1 hover around a maximum of 8-9C, I sometimes seek the cover of the tent to avoid burning. 

Team Ramrod has become a team, with expected quirks and dysfunctions, but mainly with good collaboration, strengthening friendships, evolving team spirit, and awesome leadership, both by our guides and from some of our team members. At this point, there is no telling whether everyone will be along for the whole trip. The variables - altitude, health, strength, training, weather - are too numerous to know if all of us will summit and finish the expedition. But it would be sad to lose any member of the team. I know I’ve already made lifelong friends in this group, and I wish them all very well. I hate to see any one of us suffering - whether it’s because of blisters or altitude headache or a cold. So keep your fingers crossed that all of us find the success we are looking for on this mountain, whatever our individual motivation may be. 

That last point is important, as everyone’s motivation is clearly very different. Mine is multi-faceted, with a huge piece being tied to the fundraising campaign I’m conducting for the Société Alzheimer de Laval. But there is more to it than that. This is a way to reclaim myself, my own identity, the person I want to be and that I believe I continue to become. I am with special people here too, and in such an intense environment and context, their presence is immediately impactful and felt. Without going into specific details about any particular individuals, being in their presence generates strong emotions (positive and negative) that require effort on my part to maintain equanimity. More on that farther below.

Today (Tuesday, Feb 5) we climbed to Camp 2, to go drop off group and individual gear that we will need higher up. The climb (we are too high and it is too steep to call this a “hike”) took us to a whole new level of beauty. The first part followed the steep valley carved by the fast-flowing mountain stream, and the trail then turned towards the summit of Aconcagua, affording us yet again magnificent views. After about 4:30 hours of climbing, we reached our destination, Camp 2, at just below 18,000 feet. We stashed our stuff, rested for a while, laughing our heads off at silly jokes, and I realized it was my highest altitude in twelve years, since my climb of Chachani in Peru in 2007. I felt well all day, only a little lightheaded in one section on the way up. This was quickly remedied by drinking water with electrolytes and eating some snacks during our rest break. 

Coming down was easier than the last descent (Camp 1 to Base Camp), and we returned to Camp 1 a few hours ago to wrap up the day. Peter, Dawa and Picante are figuring out menu options and preparing a gourmet dinner. It might be another early night. Tomorrow is a rest day, to allow us to continue our acclimatization process before moving up to Camp 2 the next day. 

——

Good morning! It’s now Wednesday, February 6, and we are spending the day resting here at Camp 1. The sun is shining HOT and bright, the sky is a deep deep blue, and other than the odd gust of wind, all is calm and quiet. Team Ramrod enjoyed another phenomenal breakfast of French toast, scrambled eggs, tortillas, bacon, and coffee. Patti, Peter and I did a bit of laundry in the very cold creek. I even “washed” my hair - at least I rinsed the dust out of it and it smells peppermint fresh now. Don’t ask how it looks however... ;) 

There is talk brewing of a bet between one Ramrod member, Sebastian, and lead guide Peter. As this becomes more real, I will reveal more details. It will be one to remember...

I mentioned above the notion of “equanimity”. Walking uphill in increasingly thin air at a very slow pace requires mental strength different than what one experiences when exerting oneself in a gym workout or doing other sports. I’m not arguing it’s harder (although it’s certainly not easy), but it requires a different mental approach. It’s not about winning or losing, or beating a competitor. It’s about sheer endurance and maintaining a positive attitude. Sounds easy? Get on an inclined treadmill at the gym, set the pace to ultra slow, shoulder a heavy pack, and walk for 2 hours. Tell me what your mental state is at the end. Walking super-slowly uphill in scree, breathing with every single step in an effort to keep your heart rate under control takes mental strength. I’ve used several tools over the years when hiking and climbing, to fend off boredom, and more importantly, to fight off negative self-talk. My favorite tool is repeating a mantra. There’s something very soothing about the rhythm of a mantra, the mental repetition of a phrase or series of words. A walking meditation like no other...

Yesterday, as our uphill pace was slow, I focused on six words that I repeated over and over. I tried this mantra during the trek to Base Camp in previous days, and found it effective. My six words are, “Strength, resilience. Love, compassion. Gratitude, equanimity.” I start with strength on the left foot, resilience on the right, and so on. In-breath on strength, out-breath on resilience. Repeat at infinitum. I focus on the words as I say them in my head. When my mind wants to deviate and go somewhere else - in time, place or context - I acknowledge it, and return to Strength, Resilience, Love, Compassion, Gratitude, Equanimity. Once in a while, I direct those words to specific people in my life. 

Before you think I’ve gone soft, well, actually, yes... I’ve gone soft, to get much tougher. 2018 was a difficult year on top of two more difficult previous years. In addition to getting through my own “life trials”, I witnessed many loved ones and dear friends go through their own personal hell. I became determined to help them, starting with my parents, to the best of my ability. I came up short many times, failing to provide the assistance I felt I should have. But - I did the absolute best I could, and came out the other side stronger. 

The physical and mental training for this trip helped me gain a focus that was outside of everything else, enabling me to maintain some external perspective. I know that when I get home, a challenge that awaits me is to find the “next focus” to train for, whether it be job-related, travel-related, sports-related, along with maintaining the same strong focus on family and friends.

My mental fortitude so far on this trip has been leaps and bounds better than on any previous challenge. I don’t find it “easy”, it isn’t. I don’t know if my fortitude will last, I can’t predict when it will fail me. But I’m ready to face the challenges, one by one, as they come, step by step. 

I had a few moments of weakness the other day, not caused by the actual physical hardship of the climb, but because I let my mind wander where I can’t afford to let it go. I’ve had a vision for how this trip and this climb are supposed to unfold, for over a year. This vision was suddenly jeopardized by unexpected circumstances, and I found myself having a strong emotional reaction to that possible setback. It took a day to recover and regain control. I still feel fragile, as the “threat” to my vision is still present (and will remain until the trip is actually over). But I feel a greater ability to deal with that setback if it does become real in the days to come. 

There are still many other zones where I can’t let my mind venture just yet, as my ability for equanimity is not strong enough yet. But it will come, after this trip...

And now, as I sit in my well-ventilated tent under the blistering noon-time sun, with my tent mate Patti, I send all my teammates, my parents back home, all my friends and all those following and supporting the Alzheimer cause my best wishes... May you be well. Love you all! 

Aconcagua... Post #1

Hi all,

I’d meant to write more often and capture the adventure better, but between the acclimatizing process, the physical exertion, not wanting to use up all my battery power, and just plain not having time, this is the first occasion I’ve had to write about the trip.

It’s hard to believe I only left home 10 days ago. It feels like it could be months ago. A lot has happened - a little bad, mostly great - and I am now sitting at Aconcagua Base Camp at 13,800 feet, on a rest day. The sun is shining, the breeze is a bit stiff, and the temperature is cool. But it’s all great for our rest day.

Let me recap the trip so far. I flew through Santiago and landed in Mendoza in January 25th, where my good friend Peter picked me up at the airport. I checked into the Park Hyatt Hotel, got to meet Todd Burleson (founder of Alpine Ascents and famous mountaineer), then went to dinner with Peter and his friend Fernando. We walked through Mendoza, a city I found to be charming, with a nice relaxed vibe. Less metropolitan than Buenos Aires, Mendoza is still Argentina’s second largest city with a population of over 2 million.

Saturday started with a nice breakfast on the terrace with Peter. We got to catch up a bit more, sitting in the quiet tropical weather of Mendoza. He then went to work while I went for a walk, hunting for a Nalgene bottle and a phone charger. I spent the afternoon by the pool, enjoying the heat and sunshine. Peter was able to join me for a while, and we continued chatting and catching up after a year and a half of not having seen each other.

We connected with two members of Team Ramrod for dinner. That was... interesting... Seeing people’s attitudes when traveling around the world is an eye-opener. Their respect (or lack-thereof) for people from a country different from theirs can sometimes be shocking. Still, it was an enjoyable evening and a learning experience. It made me wonder a bit what the group dynamics would be like, but we would find out the next day, when all of Team Ramrod would come together for the official gear check. 

On Sunday morning, I went for a nice long walk to Parque San Martín, a beautiful park in Mendoza. It was great to be walking in the early sunshine and warmth, exploring more of this beautiful city. I came back to the hotel for another lovely breakfast on the terrace. I then spent time going through my equipment to get ready for gear check. I had time for a quick plunge in the pool, then several of us met in the lobby in anticipation of our 2:30pm Gear Check. 

All 10 clients, plus guides Peter and Dawa, and AAI ops manager Dani met in a large room and started emptying all our duffels and packs, each of us client laying out our gear. Peter then went through the gear list, and each of us showed the item in question. Dawa, Peter and Dani went around the room to verify items and confirm the number of each we should take on the trip. 

Our group consists of Americans, two Canadians, a Norwegian and a Nicaraguan. Father-and-son Scott and Ryan, my future tentmate and only other female client Patty, pilot Darhl, dry-humour master Jason, wonderful newlyweds Reed and Preben, and laid-back Ben are all my fellow teammates on Team Ramrod. I would come to know them all quickly over the coming days.

Gear Check took a few hours, as every item on the long list was inspected. We all then went out for an amazing dinner of Argentine steak, a traditional “asada” at a great restaurant called “La Barra”. Live vines loaded with ripening green grapes made for a beautiful overhead decor. We all began the process of getting to know one another over dinner conversation. Some are more worried about the climb than others, some are better prepared and documented than others. Overall, the mood was jovial and friendly, and some teammates already started emerging as new friends to be made during the trip. 

Monday morning, I needed to visit the central post office in Mendoza, before our group’s departure for the little town of Los Penitentes. I arranged to be at the post office around 9am when it opens. I then had to take a number and wait 30 minutes to buy two stamps. Worried I’d miss the 9-ish bus departure, I ran all the way back to the hotel. I found our team just beginning to enjoy their breakfast. I had another coffee with them, then we all loaded the bus, and got on our way to Los Penitentes, via Ushpallata where we stopped for a delicious lunch (more asada) at an estancia. The weather was sunny and very warm, and seemed set to remain that way for a while.

We made a stop to drop off our duffel bags at the “mule terminal”. Mules would be carrying our heavy duffels throughout the three-day trek to Base Camp. 

Arriving at the Hotel Ayelen in Los Penitentes later in the afternoon, we discovered a ghost ski resort. In the summertime, the slopes are bare of snow, and the hotels seem only half-maintained. But our hotel was nice and welcoming, the hot shower functioned very well, and the beds were comfy. I was able to trade steak for salmon for dinner and I admit it was a nice change after all the red meat of previous nights! I got to see Craig Van Hoy who had been my guide on Rainier. Craig is on Aconcagua with a client, following the same climbing schedule as our group. 

I got an early night’s sleep. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to start our day, only to realize it was just 12:30... I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, wasting previous rest hours.

After a solid breakfast and the last hot shower for a few days, we got on the bus with our gear. We made the short bus trip to the entrance of Aconcagua National Park, where, after taking the obligatory picture, we finally started our hike towards Base Camp. 

Our first day of hiking proceeded in the hot sun, with no shade and very little in the way of vegetation. The scenery was stark and desert-like. The day brought us to Pampas de Leñas campsite, where we received instructions on how to set up our tents. Wind is a major factor on Aconcagua, and knowing how to secure the tents and prevent them from flying away is critical. 

Our tent setup was followed by a delicious dinner of steak and corn and grilled vegetables. We made an early evening of it, ready for the next day’s trek. 

It’s difficult to describe the stark beauty of the trek towards Base Camp. We followed the Vacas Valley, with its limited greenery and complete absence of trees. We made periodic rest stops, leading to lunch, during which our guides pulled out sandwich making ingredients, bread, coldcuts, avocado, tomato, soda... A nice filling lunch for hungry hikers! 

Our arrival into our second night campsite at Casa de Piedras gave us our first view of beautiful Aconcagua. Wow. Breathtaking... Impressive... And yes, a bit daunting... 

Our dinner of asada was once again tasty and entertaining. The “arrieros” (Argentine muleteers and camp staff) were singing and grilling at the same time, adding an extra touch of authenticity to our Argentine adventure.

We got up before dawn for an early breakfast by starlight. We broke down the tents and packed up everything, then walked the first 20 minutes or so to the edge of the river we had to cross. A mule train showed up, and two by two (plus the mule driver), we crossed the river on muleback. 

We resumed our walk on the other side, and were treated throughout the day to spectacular views of Aconcagua and Almeghino. Our lunch spot that day was in full view of the mountains... 

We arrived at Base Camp Thursday in the late afternoon, pitched our tents, and rested. Aconcagua Base Camp is the first “real Base Camp” I’ve ever stayed at, and it’s definitely cool! We’re late in the season so there aren’t many other expeditions around. But the staff of Aconcagua Mountain Guides (the local outfitter for AAI) is wonderful. The food is delicious. Thanks to Peter, Patty and I are enjoying the kind of food we both eat at home (generally GF for me), and that makes all the difference in the world to stay healthy and feeling good. 

The next day (Friday) was a rest day at Base Camp (13,800 feet). Most of us took advantage of the hot showers (for a price!), some got on WiFi, others just napped and rested. But in between all that, two main tasks awaited us. A visit to the BC doctor and a short acclimatization walk in the afternoon. Things went well on both counts. 

Saturday (yesterday) was our first big day on the mountain. It was a “carry day”, where the team was to carry a load of personal and group gear to Camp 1, at nearly 16,000 feet. Months ago, on the advice of Peter and based on my own previous experience, I chose to pay for porters. That means that I won’t have to carry 50-60lbs of gear on my back. Now, some might judge me for not “truly” climbing the mountain on my own and for “cheating”, but I acknowledge my own limits, and I want to enjoy this trip as much as possible. So I’m very comfortable with my decision to hire a porter. 

My teammates for the most part chose to carry their own gear. We headed up towards Camp 1 expecting a climb that could take 6 to 8 hours. It was steep, with mixed rocks and scree most of the way. The last 20 minutes proved the most difficult but we all made it. I felt great, truly.

We took 8:30 hours however. We are not a fast group... Once at Camp 1, we stashed our gear and equipment and headed back down as quickly as possible. It took two hours to reach Base Camp. The whole day, the weather was iffy, with some light snow occasionally, some wind, low clouds, lower temperatures that we had experienced to date.

After our first long hard day, dinner was delicious, and we plunged into our tents last night in need of rest.

Today, we have been enjoying the sun and warmth in Base Camp, for our final rest day before we officially move up to Camp 1 tomorrow. It’s been nice to do “nothing” - except charging electronics, doing a bit of laundry, eating, drinking and writing. 

I would have posted pictures with this blog but the WiFi connexion at Base Camp is too slow and unreliable so you’ll have to made due with less-than-poetic prose :) 

It’s unlikely that I’ll be able to post again for several days. I’ll keep making short Garmin posts, but won’t be able to share much. But... stay tuned...! More to come for sure!

Thanks for reading and for following my adventure :)

Aconcagua, here I come...! Aconcagua, j’arrive!

Le français suit...

It’s the final countdown! Four days to go before I fly to Mendoza, Argentina, to join my Alpine Ascents International expedition to Aconcagua. I’ve thought of this trip for over a year. I was on the fence often during that year, not knowing whether I should or could go. But I did as much as I could to set things up the right way to enable me to go. And now, I AM going! 

It’s been a good year but also a difficult one. I’ve been looking forward to regaining a little bit of my “normal”, which includes travel and adventure. At the same time, I found a new me during this past year. A new me who is more resilient, stronger, more compassionate, more determined than ever. 

I can’t wait to be in a foreign land again, to experience the wonderful feeling of being abroad, to join a mountain climbing expedition, to be with other adventurers for a few weeks, and to spend time with a close friend along the way. 

Come along for the adventure, my friends. I’ll keep you all up to date as much as possible, so stay tuned...! 

———

Le compte à rebours est commencé! Dans quatre jours, je m’envole pour Mendoza, en Argentine, où je me joindrai à l’expédition de Alpine Ascents International pour aller escalader le mont Aconcagua. Il y a plus d’un an que je pense à ce voyage, un an aussi que j’hésite - est-ce que je peux y aller, est-ce que je devrais y aller? J’ai fait tout ce que je devais faire (du moins je crois...) afin de mettre en place ce qu’il fallait, pour que je puisse m’absenter pour près d’un mois. Et maintenant, j’y vais, pour de vrai...

Ce fut une bonne année, mais une année un peu difficile tout de même. Mon « normal » inclut habituellement des voyages et des aventures à l’étranger, ce qui n’a pas eu lieu depuis un bon bout de temps. Par contre, je me suis « re-découverte » en cette dernière année. Une « nouvelle moi », plus forte, plus résiliente, plus compatissante, plus déterminée que jamais.

J’ai hâte de me retrouver à l’étranger, d’avoir la sensation si distincte d’être dans un autre pays, de me joindre à une expédition et d’escalader une montagne en compagnie d’un très bon ami et d’un groupe d’amateurs comme moi.

Venez avec moi, virtuellement! Suivez-moi sur Facebook, je tenterai de vous tenir au courant le plus souvent possible! Merci de m’accompagner...!

Backpacking in Glacier and Waterton Lakes National Parks - August 2017

With 2016 and 2017 proving to be a little more challenging than I would have preferred, the choice of a one-and-only adventure planned for 2017 had to be strategic. Where to go, what to do, when to go... Much went into this very important decision!

For a number of reasons, I needed to limit risk on this adventure, so no epic bike trip, no mountain climbing, no crevasse-crossing, no exposed summits. Essentially, nothing scary. And considering my lack of fitness at the moment (ahem...), I was looking for something comparatively "easy". Like... a good solid backpacking trip amongst mountains and lakes and forests and wildflowers, and maybe the occasional wildlife sighting. The "Mountains 101" online course I took last winter (produced by the University of Alberta and available on Coursera) introduced me to Glacier National Park, and Waterton Lakes National Park. I got in touch with my favourite guide and friend Peter, and we started planning. 

After a bit of back and forth via email, trying to figure out a decent itinerary, we settled for a 3- to 4-day thru-hike "from Montana to Canada", starting in Glacier National Park and ending in Waterton, Alberta. The logistics proved a little challenging to organize, surprisingly. But in the end, we were able to plan as much as we needed before departure. The rest would be up to our adventurous spirits, and maybe a little bit of luck.

Saturday, August 19, 2017
Peter picked me up at the airport in Bozeman, Montana, around 9:30pm. It was so great to see him! I was also joyfully reunited with Peter's girlfriend Becca soon after, and even got some puppy love from Sky Dog. Becca and Peter gave me a tour of the garden and the Bozeman Handyman's workshop, we briefly talked bikes, and then all three of us proceeded to pack gear and food. Becca was off on her own "solar eclipse adventure" the next day, so all three of us were getting ready to travel. We went to sleep at 11:30pm for a two-hour nap, before a very early wake-up call for Peter and me, ready for the 5-hour drive to St. Mary Visitor Center in Glacier National Park.

Sunday, August 20, 2017
We left Bozeman at 2:15am, and Peter drove all night. I'd say the scenery along the drive was beautiful, but there wasn't much to see until sunrise, at which point it really was breathtaking... Once the sun came up, I was able to appreciate just how beautiful and vast Montana is - Big Sky Country indeed. Wow... We got to St. Mary around 8am, tired and eager for some rest, as soon as we could fill the gaps in our plans.

Our intended itinerary had us starting our hike from The Loop (one of the Going-to-the-Sun Road shuttle stops), spending our first night at the Flattop backcountry campground (BCCG), ideally a second night at Fifty Mountain BCCG, and arriving at Waterton River BCCG, near Goat Haunt (southern end of Upper Waterton Lake), at the end of our third day's walk. However, thanks to the US National Park's somewhat complex reservation system online, we only had our first night at Flattop guaranteed.

We needed to book two extra nights in Glacier National Park: one campsite for our second night on the trail, and one for this very night after driving all the way from Bozeman. At St. Mary, we got the help of a NP Service employee who helped us figure out the possibilities.

We couldn't get a night at Fifty, which had no vacancies, but we were able to secure another night at Waterton River BCCG, which meant we would have to walk 17 miles (30km) on our second day. We would get to Waterton River a day early and decide what to do with that extra time. 

The view from Rising Sun Campground

We also booked a spot at the Rising Sun Campground (5 miles west of St. Mary on the Going-to-the-Sun Road) for that same Sunday night: one night of luxury car camping! We got there just after 9:30am, very tired. We made camp, and promptly took a 2-hour nap. In the afternoon, we drove to Logan Pass and did the Hidden Lake Trail hike. 

The Hidden Lake Trail Boardwalk

An "accessible hike", with the first mile or so on wooden boardwalks, Hidden Lake is still a gem of a hike, with beautiful rock bands of various colours, a landscape of faraway peaks, blue lakes, tall trees, and with a welcoming committee of ground squirrels, mountain goats and big-horn sheep. 

Hidden Lake nestled amongst the mountains

Overall, it proved to be a nice little 6-mile hike (10km) to wake up our tired legs. Pete tried his luck fishing in Hidden Lake, but his minimalist Tenkara line (a Japanese purist style of fly fishing which I could appreciate for its simplicity) was a little too short to reach the deeper parts of the lake where the fish were hiding. We had plenty of food to eat on that first night, so no worries, other than Pete's disappointment with not catching anything.

Monday, August 21, 2017
After a leisurely morning and a delicious pancake breakfast, we drove to St. Mary where we planned on leaving Peter's vehicle (Clifford by name) for the week. We watched the solar eclipse from there, using the free glasses handed out by the Park Service. With about 87% coverage at our latitude, we experienced a gradual "darkening" and temperature cool-off. A fascinating and beautiful phenomenon...

We caught the Going-to-the-Sun Road shuttle to The Loop, had lunch quickly, then officially started hiking to Canada, down the dry, dusty side trail that connected to the main Flattop Trail. As the afternoon wore on, it became a slow, steep climb for me, very hot and dry. I probably suffered from a touch of heat exhaustion... It was only 6 miles (10km) but it felt more challenging. We walked in a burn zone which had resulted from a devastating fire back in 2003. The views of blue skies and distant peaks were beautiful, since there were no trees to block our line of sight. The regrowth looked healthy and lush, but the stark contrast with burned-out tree trunks was a harsh reminder of the power of wildfires.

We (mainly Peter...) ate our fill of fresh berries: thimbleberries, huckleberries and currants. I'm not sure Peter left any for the bears! Fresh fruit, even tiny berries like those, were tasty and refreshing, even as the temperature was increasing and I was generally losing my appetite with the rising trail. 

We arrived at the Flattop BCCG around 5:30pm. Two other groups were already camped there so we took the last site farthest away from the food preparation area. It was dusty but flat with no rocks, and the tent went up in a couple of minutes. I dove in and was almost immediately asleep, while Peter went to hang the food out of bear reach, and meet our neighbors. 

There were two young German guys, and a young couple from Prague. They were all very nice, and the conversation over dinner was interesting and lively. All of them were carrying large heavy packs filled with canned and jarred food, and big plastic containers, while Peter pulled out little pouches of a most excellent beet and kale risotto he had made (and dehydrated) at home. It was delicious! Since I'd lost my appetite during the hike, I really needed to consume some calories at dinner. I ate very well (gourmet cooking at that!), and felt much better after dinner. We went to bed just around sundown, knowing we'd have a long 17-mile day (30km) the next day. 

I was about to fall asleep when I heard something outside our tent. I felt bad but still woke Peter up... I was a little paranoid about bears ("bear-anoid"?), and the darkness, and utter and complete silence all around magnified that paranoia. Peter woke up, we both listened then shooed away whatever was out there. Peter said, "that was the sound of hooves, that's just a deer", and promptly went back to sleep. I took a few more minutes while my heartbeat slowed down after the initial adrenaline rush, but fell asleep soundly as well. 

Not long after, we heard the Czech couple (male and female voices) loudly screaming and clapping their hands, to chase away what they obviously thought was a bear. The thing is, they kept doing that again... All... Bloody... Night... We heard the German guys chime in as well. So we had a fitful night of falling asleep briefly, only to be awakened again and again by panicked hand claps and shouts. Half-awake, I kept expecting shrieks of terror signaling some kind of attack, but fortunately, that never came. Eventually, one of the Germans yelled, "Guys! It's a deer, not a bear!", and things stayed quiet for a couple of hours. Our alarms were set for 5am, but we decided to snooze until 6am. We needed more rest before the long day ahead.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Up just after 6am, we struck camp quickly, ate breakfast then started up the trail at 7:35, aiming for the Fifty Mountain campsite as our first milestone. We saw signs of bears, but no actual bears, and met only a couple of other hikers. The landscape was stunning, as we gradually made our way up and out of the burn zone and entered a vast meadow filled with beautiful fireweed in bloom: blue skies, pink flowers, green sparse forest... Stunning. We reached Fifty in about 3 hours. The campsite was deserted and we decided to take a break and eat an early lunch, and take advantage of the available facilities. I wasn't very hungry again, but managed to nibble, while Peter devoured lots of food (still a growing boy...?). We got going again, knowing we had another 11 miles to hike to get to Waterton River.

I loved the hike. I realized at some point that I was not thinking about much more than what was immediately around me. I was looking at the trail in front of me, inhaling the fresh mountain air (not smoky that day, luckily), glancing at distant peaks, occasionally chatting with Peter, but not worrying about anything. Not thinking about work or home or "next week" or anything that got in the way of a nice long relaxing walk...

Were the Incas involved with this?

The scenery varied, with a gorgeous high plateau below a tall and very wide wall of colorful striated bands of rock. I threatened to break into song and serenade Peter with "The hilllllllls are aliiiiiiive with the sound of muuuuuuuusic...", but was warned that unless I knew ALL the words and could sing it WELL, I should probably abstain. I abstained. We walked past the ruins of a former ranger shelter (we think), which somehow evoked the masonry skills of the Incas: perfectly cut massive stones that all fit in like pieces of a puzzle. 

The hills were alive with the sound of birdsong and summer wind...

Eventually, we started descending toward the valley bottom, which we could glimpse once in a while. We could hear waterfalls intermittently, as we made our way down switchback after switchback, on a trail that was sometimes overgrown and narrow. Berries were abundant on both sides of the trail, leaving me wondering why the bears had missed so many of those spots. We made noise talking or clanging our walking poles periodically, wanting to avoid surprising a bear around a blind corner. But Yogi Bear and Boo-boo stayed out of sight.

After a few hot miles, with our feet starting to ache under the weight of our packs, we reached a great resting spot by the cascading river. The perfect place to soak our hot feet in cold flowing water... Ahhhhhh, did that ever feel great! After several minutes, we also refilled our bottles, put our shoes back on, and got moving again. 

The forest was lush, and we were walking down. I felt sorry for the few hikers we met who were headed uphill towards Fifty, under the increasingly hot sun. Thank goodness we were heading north!

Several miles later, we reached the trail junction to Stoney Indian, once more by the river. We took another long rest, both of us experiencing the pain of hot sore feet. It is amazing what a cold foot soak can do to relieve that pain, cool down core body temperature, and generally invigorate tired hikers. Peter was still scarfing down food, while I could barely eat anything. But I could drink lots and lots of cold fresh (filtered) water from a clear mountain stream. That water tasted of pure goodness...

Our break was longer than usual, but with 3 miles left to go, we didn't really care. We eventually got going again, and I took the lead for a while, with a second wind that I suspected wouldn't last very long. The forest trail was beautiful and we saw a few more hikers. My feet were getting more painful, but we knew we were close. We soon got to Goat Haunt, about half a mile from our destination at the Waterton River campsite. While Peter chatted briefly with a ranger who was checking permits, I was starting to fade quickly. My feet were on fire, and I wasn't sure how much longer I would last standing on them. We started walking again and hit a short patch of paved pathway. Both of us yelled at the same time! That rough, bumpy, rocky, hot pavement was the worst! My right foot felt like it was on fire, and very suddenly, I felt a huge blister materialize under the ball of my foot. Urghhhhh... thank goodness we were almost at camp but I didn't want a blister to wreck the rest of my week.

We could have forded the river right here...

We got to the Horse Ford. I took one look at the river, and too tired to bend down and remove my shoes, I said "let's keep walking along the trail, the ranger said it wasn't much farther". The ranger had also said the food preparation area for the campsite was just on the other side of the Horse Ford, but at that precise moment, that fact failed to register in my tired and heat-addled brain. So we kept walking, with Peter gaining a second wind, and me wilting completely. Feeling faintly nauseous and with feet melting, I plodded on, getting increasingly annoyed at every blade of grass that got in my way, and every insect and occasional mosquito that buzzed around me. What was "not much farther" turned into over half a mile, and I had a blowtorch setting my feet on fire with every step. 

We reached a suspension bridge that spanned the river upstream from the Horse Ford. Peter went across, telling me it was wobbly and to be mindful of that. By then, I didn't know if I was going to throw up or not, and all I could think about was getting to camp. I crossed, barely noticing or caring that the bridge wobbled. We did eventually reach camp, arriving at the food preparation area, and noting that if we'd crossed the Horse Ford, we would have arrived at least 15 minutes earlier, with fresh and cooled-off feet. Oh well, blame the lack of information processing on a tired and hot brain. Also on the fact that the ranger could have been a bit clearer in his explanation...

Looking at my watch, I observed that we arrived in camp *exactly* ten hours to the minute after setting out from Flattop in the morning. Not bad! We had estimated that it could take as much as 12 hours, depending on the terrain and the slow pace I might keep. But at 10 hours, both of us were at our feet's limit, and we were very glad to have reached camp.

To continue the tradition of all my trips with Peter, my stomach finally gave in to the nausea that had plagued it for a while, and I dry heaved for a few minutes. (Peter probably thinks I go through life nauseous every day, but that's only because every trip I've been on with him, he's had to witness some form of upset-stomach event. I swear, it really doesn't happen that often.). The stomach cramps subsided and I immediately felt better, ready to keep walk-- ...nah... I did feel better, but no more walking for the day! 

We pitched the tent, inflated our sleeping pads, crawled into our shelter, and woke up 1.5 hours later, hungry and somewhat rested, feet less sore (but still blistered).

Peter made a fantastic chicken vegetable ramen soup, and while I was hungry enough to eat a decent amount, I still wasn't starving. I ended up walking 17 miles on about 500-600 calories that day, and was barely able to refill the tank at the end of the day. But I still felt much much better, and just happy to have had such an amazingly beautiful, breathtaking day in the backcountry. Each section of the trail presented us with varied landscapes, from flowery meadows to wide open valleys far below us, to colourful rocky walls above us. The sun shone all day, and the multiple creek and river crossings allowed us to rest and soak our weary feet every time we needed it.

We chatted over dinner with a wonderful family from northern Michigan: the parents (Ken and Wendy) and their three college-age children. All were interesting, worldly, well-traveled, and nice company to share a meal with. Back into the tent as the sun set, I fell asleep quickly, hoping no one would shout at imaginary bears during the night.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017
With nowhere to go fast that day, we slept in and took advantage of the nice morning to rest until 8:30. After breakfast, I went back and rested a bit more, trying to take care of the nasty blister under my foot that was making it a bit awkward to walk long distances in my shoes. My flip flops, fortunately, were more comfortable, so hanging out around camp was easy. Peter went scouting for a good fishing spot, and came back after a while to pick up a few more items, having identified where he wanted to go try his luck. He took off and we agreed to meet back at camp later in the afternoon. 

I rinsed some clothes in the river, had lunch by myself, then forded the river and walked over to Goat Haunt. By fording the river, it took 8 minutes, in flip flops, to get to Goat Haunt... all I could think of was, why hadn't we forded the river the night before, instead of walking an extra unpleasant half mile. I spent the afternoon lying on the boat dock at Goat Haunt, soaking in the sun, resting and admiring the view. Just plain chilling...

Sitting on the dock of the bay, total relaxation...

The 2pm ferry from Waterton came in, disgorged a bunch of tourists who were only allowed to walk near the ranger station for 15 minutes (since they hadn't officially been admitted into the US), and then returned to Canada. I checked the schedule, as we were planning on taking the ferry the next day.

Around 4pm, I returned to the campsite, met two new neighbors, then heard Peter whistling up the path. He strolled into camp like Little Opie on the Andy Griffith Show, carrying his fishing pole, and two whitefish for dinner! Success! 

Fixin' dinner

A disparate group of five hikers arrived with a "guide" who looked too young and inexperienced to be a guide, then a couple of other backpackers also showed up. Our quiet little camp was suddenly crowded! After my delicious dinner of couscous and whitefish, I retired a bit earlier than the others. The conversation wasn't that interesting and I preferred the quiet of our tent. Peter joined me a little while later and we chatted for a few minutes before quickly falling asleep. 

Thursday, August 24, 2017
We woke up Thursday to leaden skies... We started breakfast in dry conditions but soon, a light rain started, a harbinger of worse things to come. Wrapping up breakfast quickly, we packed away food stuff and dove into the tent just as the skies opened up. Our plans to hike to Lake Janet were tossed out. Neither of us felt like getting soaked for the sake of a short walk and marginal views. The rain was heavy, and as we lay dry inside the tent, we started discussing our plans to get the ferry at Goat Haunt, to cross to Waterton, Alberta. Our choices were 11:25am, 2:25pm or 5:30pm. With not much to do on either side of the crossing save getting wet, we hesitated and eventually, I fell asleep. Peter woke me at 10:50am with, "It stopped raining! Come on, we're packing up and catching the 11:25!" 

Wait... WHAT...?!? I got up and packed my bag as Pete started dismantling the tent around me. We had to rush, but I knew from the day before that if we left camp by 11:10, we could make that ferry. We threw stuff into backpacks willy-nilly, and then, wearing flip flops, hurried for the last time across the river. We hustled down the short trail, and reached Goat Haunt with several minutes to spare, along with the tourists who were starting to board the ferry back to Canada. Introducing ourselves to the crew, we told them we were on a one-way cruise to Canada, and they instructed us on where to meet the Canadian Customs Officer who would officially let us into the country. 

The nine-mile cruise on Upper Waterton Lake, even with cloudy skies, was magnificent. The majestic views of near and distant peaks, the sight of a bald eagle perched up a tree, the stunning rock formations, and great narration by one of the crew, were a respite from the trail, giving our feet a rest and offering a complete change of pace. Seeing the "border" between the US and Canada, a narrow band of deforested land as far as the eye can see, with no one defending either side, was thought-provoking. Nature doesn't care, the wildlife doesn't care, even those who mind the trail and clean up that deforested space every year, a mixed crew of Americans and Canadians working together, don't care. The border is a line drawn by men, not by any necessity of Nature. And so, we sailed past this line in the forest, and cruised into Canada. 

The border

In the distance, the stunning Prince of Wales Hotel, one of the old CP hotels perched alone on a hill, served as a beacon to mark our arrival to Waterton. The little - very little - town welcomed our boat, and we were met upon disembarking by Customs Agent Lamoureux, who took our names and passport numbers, then welcomed us into Canada. No muss, no fuss... 

This tiny town with a swelling population of a couple of thousand tourists, maybe, on busy summer weekends, felt like a noisy metropolis, after a mere few days in the backcountry. Too much noise, too many people... back to "civilization"... sigh...

Hungry, and with no set agenda for the rest of the day except for setting up camp, we stopped at Zum's Eatery for lunch. We then headed to the Town Campsite, a sprawling, nearly treeless expanse of car campsites, RV setups, and the odd tent. It took us a while to find our lot, and then, in gale-force winds, we pitched the tent. Under Pete's guidance, we set it up so it couldn't possibly fly away. Bomb-proof, it was... 

We took the afternoon off - really, we had nothing much to do! We walked around town, scouted a few places out, checked the schedule for our shuttle to Montana two days later and for the Crypt Lake hike the next day, and even for movies that night. We walked over to the waterfalls and then hiked up to the Prince of Wales Hotel, but somehow managed to not go inside. I suppose it would have been nice to see it and admire the old architecture and classic design. Yet, I didn't really feel compelled to further break the illusion of being "outside" the whole week. I was quite happy with staying in a tent one extra night, and didn't want the contrast of the richness of a railroad-era monument to break the magic spell.

The Prince of Wales Hotel, built in 1927

We walked back into town, and dined at Trapper's, a full-on Canadiana experience. The smoked trout, I must say, was divine... We chatted away over dinner, and left afterwards wondering what else this town might have to offer for "an evening out". We'd seen an old-style movie theater, with a showing of "Dunkirk" at 7pm, and "Atomic Blonde" at 9pm. We were just in time for Atomic Blonde, and, almost on a lark, decided, "oh, why not...!". The theater was classic, dating back to 1935, with old (uncomfortable, as they turned out) upholstered seats, and a small screen, but it was perfect for an evening out in Waterton! Atomic Blonde offered the right mix of action and entertainment - nothing Oscar-worthy, but fun enough to fill our evening. We walked back to our campsite under a sky filled with stars, me nursing The Blister, and Peter and I discussing the Cold War and the Berlin Wall coming down in 1989. 

One last night in my comfy, airy tent... 

Friday, August 25, 2017
We got up early, on a cool, sunny and clear morning. We packed up camp for the last time, kept only a light daypack for the hike to Crypt Lake, and dropped off our gear at our hotel for that night. We found a good breakfast spot at the Larkspur Cafe, then headed to the ferry for the hike to Crypt Lake. 

The hike was all uphill, and beautiful, even offering a couple of "challenges" along the way, in the form of a metal ladder leading into a narrow natural tunnel, and an exposed section secured with a steel cable (you didn't think I went completely without any thrills whatsoever on this whole trip, did you?). The reward after all that work was a breathtaking, awe-inducing view, and an afternoon spent on the rocky beach of Crypt Lake. 

The tunnel

Despite the crowds, it was still peaceful and lovely and the kind of place you never want to leave... We stayed put, opting out of walking around the lake (I was still trying to protect my foot from aggravating The Blister). Leaning back against flat rocks, we rested, snacked, chatted with a few folks around us, listened to a group of students out having fun for the day, and just took another break from everyday life. Deep breaths of mountain-fresh air were rejuvenating, and I was sad when the time came to head down, with the goal of catching the 5:30pm ferry. If we made good time, we might catch the 4:00, but that was unlikely. 

Crypt Lake

Walking down, we reversed the exposed section with the steel cable, the tunnel and the ladder. Then just a long series of switchbacks downhill. Pete ate berries, of course. We got down to the dock several minutes past 4pm, and realized we'd have to be patient until the 5:30 ferry, as there was not much shade to sit in. 

A few more people arrived, and eventually, a boisterous group of students from the University of Lethbridge came down, led quietly by their professor and more loudly by one of their own. This guy reminded me of Dave Grohl, of the Foo Fighters, and seemed to have the same kind of easy, happy, laughing, mischievous energy. He coaxed many of his friends - along with Peter - into jumping in the lake for a refreshing swim. I stuck to soaking my feet, while Pete took a dive off the dock. We had plenty of time to dry off while waiting for the ferry, thinking it wasn't coming until 5:30. However, the ferry people must have calculated that it would be best to send another boat sooner, because at 4:50, we boarded the Miss Waterton back to town. 

We checked in at our hotel, since the Town Campsite was booked solid for the weekend. The Waterton Glacier Suites was under renovation in the lobby area, but the rooms were fine (thank goodness...). Taking advantage of the first available hot shower of the week, we cleaned up, after days of wearing the same hiking clothes and pretending not to notice how stinky we'd become... Refreshed, we grabbed a few slices of pizza and a beer at 49°N, then tried to decide how else to spend an evening in Waterton. We walked around town - again! - revisiting the shoreline around the campground, and walking down, then up, Main Street  - again! We stopped for ice cream, and headed in soon after. We turned on the TV, and, lulled by the mindless noise, soon fell asleep. I had the big bed, while Pete settled for the couch. Pretty sure both of us would have traded that in for the tent, but all the city slickers from Lethbridge and Calgary had invaded for the weekend...

Saturday, August 26, 2017
Too much town (and down) time... We both knew it. Waking up at the hotel after a decent night's sleep was good. The second hot shower in a span of 12 hours was luxurious, but I would have happily traded that in for another week of trail and dirty hiking clothes, given the choice.

On the way to grab breakfast again at Larkspur, Peter found a cell phone on the ground. He was able to find contact information for the owner, and we delivered the phone to its young owner and her relieved mom on the way back to our hotel. With lots of time to kill, we watched some more mindless TV (some old movie on the Family Channel), and both fell asleep briefly. Too. Much. Time. In. Town...

We rechecked our shuttle schedule at Tamarack Outfitters. That was part of the problem. The shuttle back to Montana was no longer operating the way it had in previous years, and now depended on a Canadian operation out of Tamarack, and an American operator (Suntours) to pick us up on the US side of the border. The shuttle didn't leave Waterton until 2:30pm, bringing us to St. Mary (and Peter's red truck Clifford) at a projected time of about 4pm, ready for the 5 hour drive back to Bozeman. If it had been up to us, we would have left in the morning...

Waterton, Upper Waterton Lake and
Montana, from Bear's Hump

With several more hours to fill, we walked to the Bear's Hump trailhead, and joined the throngs of tourists making the hike uphill to get the best possible view of the town, the lake, and far into Montana. The expected "hour to 1:15" hike took us 45 minutes, though it was all uphill and I couldn't quite keep up with Pete for the second half. I reached him about a minute after he made the top, and joined the dozens of people scattered on the wide rocky expanse to rest and admire the gorgeous view. We hiked a little further up, escaping the crowds one last time and gaining an even better view. 

Calculating it would take us 30 minutes to go down and head into town, we hiked back down the trail, and grabbed one last lunch in town, at the Taco Bar, conveniently located across our one and only movie theater. A nice lunch outside, watching the world go by, marked the end of our time in Waterton. We headed to Tamarack, changed into marginally cleaner clothes for the long drive back to Bozeman, and boarded the Canadian shuttle, driven by a nice and quirky young man who had moved to Waterton after falling in love with the mountains and the lakes. He dropped us off on the Canadian side of the border. 

To the right, Alberta.
To the left, Montana.

We walked several meters to the actual border marker, once more stared at the never-ending rip through the forest dividing north and south, then walked to the US side. A friendly agent met us there, checked our passports, and after chatting for a minute or so, indicated where we would likely find our US shuttle.

Charles and his wife Sue, from the Browning, Montana, Blackfeet Reservation, met us with a friendly smile, and chatted with us all the way back to St. Mary. Pete knew the community well, and the conversation was interesting. Tough living, no doubt about it, but these folks seemed to have made better of their circumstances than some of their peers... 

Back to St. Mary just before 4pm, we hopped into Clifford the Trusty Red Truck and hit the road. We stopped once for gas, and that was it. Just straight down the road, through mountains and prairies, and beautiful country. Near Helena, we entered a very smoky section, due to the wildfires in the west. The smoke was thick, the visibility reduced, and the sky the colour of dulled candlelight at dusk... On the other side, the air cleared up somewhat, but the sun was setting bright red, in murky skies and hazy air. 

Smoky Sunset

We arrived in Bozeman at 9pm sharp. Sky Dog was waiting for Peter with a fast-wagging tail and a happy whine. I was treated to lots of licks on my salty legs! Becca arrived home shortly after. Over a salad of freshly-picked kale, we looked at Peter's pictures and shared our week with Becca. "Wow, it's already over...", was all I could think. Where did the time go? How was it that this week I had been anticipating for so long had already come and gone?

Sunday, August 27, 2017
I was up at 5:30am, and Peter dropped me off at Bozeman airport for my 6:30am flight (the joy of small airports!). It's always hard saying goodbye to Pete, as it inevitably marks the end of a great adventure and a wonderful trip. Spending a week backpacking and camping with a friend you only see once a year or so makes for an intense week, and going my own way afterwards is always difficult. But - it's also always with discussions of potential future trips and other destinations, and promises of soon making real plans for next year. I only wish I had planned this trip for two weeks. I wasn't ready to come home yet...

Returning to reality after the trip has not been easy! My work travel schedule in the days following my return was severely disrupted by flight delays, causing me to miss meetings, and I felt like I was traveling incessantly without getting anywhere, all the while getting exhausted with fruitless wake-up calls at ungodly hours. Reports of worsening wildfires in Montana and specifically inside Glacier National Park, and soon after Waterton Lakes National Park, sadden me greatly. They are part of a natural renewal process, but spending a week in the area was enough for me to develop a certain kinship with the people and the Parks. 

Like many wonderful places I've traveled to in the past, "I can't wait to go back". But... with so many other amazing places still to discover, where to next...?