Huayna Potosí

The snow also proved a problem for me and Jack. We'd booked an acclimatisation hike with the agency Huayna Potosi to leave on Monday, but we were told that the transport would not be able to get through the snow to take us to the start of our trek. They tried to persuade us to put both our climb and trek back a day, warning us that the heavy snow meant that climbing the mountain would be dangerous. (They had cancelled all their climbs for a few days.) Worried, we spoke to Bolivian Mountains, the agency with whom we were due to do our climb on Thursday, but they said everything was fine and the climb was still on. Which I found even more worrying. Were we doing the right thing?

We made the most of Monday nonetheless, spending most of it souvenir shopping. We found some beautiful rugs that according to the lady in the shop were each made from traditional, old matrimonial ponchos sewn together. They'd sell for about 200 English pounds each back home, but we got them for about 20. Two other memorable things happened that day. We were walking past a cash machine when Jack noticed a credit card poking out of the card slot. Someone had done a me and forgotten it. We had a look at the picture and I wandered off to find the guy. Somehow, I spotted who I thought was him in a shop not far away. Sure enough it was the very same Jerry, a middle-aged, balding blonde American with a growing double chin (this is
how I identified him). He was very grateful and tried to offer us money but we refused. A little later, we were having lunch in a pizza place when in walked Jerry and his wife, who again expressed their gratitude. I knew what was happening when I saw his wife walk to the counter with her handbag and start talking to the waiter, glancing meaningfully over at us. Sure enough, when we asked for the bill she told us that she'd taken care of it, along with the tip too. It would have to be the day we decided to go for a cheapie and share a pizza and salad. It must have come to about 2 English pounds in total.

Before Jerry had come in, another character interrupted our lunch. He was a short, incredibly grimey, sun-browned guy wearing very tatty clothes and peasant sandals, and he introduced himself as an inmate from La Paz' famous San Pedro prison. He said he gets let out every lunch time, and was offering tours to tourists, and would we like one? All we'd have to do is pretend to be journalists there to interview him in order to get false press passes. To encourage us, he said there were some guys from Liverpool in there as of last week on cocaine charges. I was very tempted. We'd read about the prison in the guidebook and had considered trying to find a way in earlier. But Jack was not keen at all. I reluctantly gave him 5Bs for food and sent him on his way.

The weather was a little better on Tuesday so we agreed to do just a two-day hike instead. It was more difficult than we'd anticipated, not least because we'd been under the impression that porters would carry everything except our day packs, when in fact we had to carry all our equipment except our tent. At 4,300m plus, the going was tough. But, covered in snow, the landscape was impressive. White mountains towered above crystal clear lakes, and llamas, alpacas and the odd sheep searched for food beneath the snow on the grassy hills. It snowed heavily again on Tuesday night. Camping was coooooold. The roof all but collapsed under the weight of the snow. It made for some beautiful photos the next morning, but it also made me even more worried about the climb. It was bad enough that this would be the highest mountain I'd attempted, I was pretty out of shape, and I'd failed to summit Kilimanjaro and Cotopaxi. Now we had the danger of avalanches and atrocious weather to deal with. Wednesday saw us crossing high passes (5,400m perhaps) in the wind and snow before descending down into a warmer, greener valley. It was a long hard slog on the uphills, and both Jack and I felt a bit nauseus and headachy from the altitude at times. And yes, Gail, I did fall in a hole or two... We were taken by jeep, weary and sleepy, up to the refuge of Huayna Potosí, at 4,700m, from where we would begin our climb.

Huayna Potosí had suggested that our night in their refugio would be a night of near luxury, but we should have known better. There was no running water, so there wasn't even a cold shower never mind the hot one we'd been promised, and the toilets were just disgusting. Clear evidence that altitude can mess up your bowels. I've heard of projectile vomiting, but projectile diarrhoea was a new encounter. The stench penetrated into every room. It was freezing too. To think they charge $15 per night. The Polish guy wasn't too far off when he mistranslated the place as a refugee camp. He was an eccentric Polish physicist who decided to do the climb on a whim and was due to leave the next day. He got very excited to learn that Jack was also a physicist and the two of them nattered away about string theory and suchlike for much of the evening. That was when they weren't too occupied with trying to build a fire, similtaneously proving their manhood and burning away the last traces of oxygen in the place, making it even more difficult to breathe. A French couple joined us a little later. The male half joined in with the fire building and science chat whilst his poor girlfriend suffered with altitude sickness.

Fortunately, despite being promised that it would be there when we arrived at the refugio, the stuff that we'd left at the agency's office during the trek (we cut down after discovering that we had to carry everything ourselves) finally arrived midday on Thursday, just in time for our ice-climbing training prior to the climb. We had lunch first (fried eggs and rice for me, no surprises there) and met the other members of our group. Except for Roberto, a Brazilian in his mid-50s I think, we were all English. There were Mike, a 23-year-old Mancunian just graduated from Newcastle Uni, Richard, a 2nd-year student at Nottingham, and David, a gapper. David and Richard were both from Norwich and travelling together. Being the only girl was quite comforting - I could use the excuse of being of the weaker sex when I failed, I figured. I think we were all feeling the altitude: light-headedness, mild headaches, nausea, difficulty breathing (Roberto), bowel problems (Mike) and loss of appetite (me). I never lose my appetite. Uh-oh, I was thinking.

The ice-climbing training was fantastic. We traipsed round to an snow-covered glacier, and our guides demonstrated how to use the crampons and ice pick when facing a near vertical gradient. I was very glad to hear that most of this was just to make us more comfortable and confident with our equipment; it would not be this difficult on the mountain itself. Except for a 200m high ice-wall, that is, but I decided to worry about that later. I discovered that abseiling was not my strong point. The glacier was amazing, blue in part and full of deep icy crevasses and enormous icicles. I hoped we didn't have to cross any crevasses on the real thing. Our three guides, Eduardo, Pedro and Jose, were really good fun and seemed very profesional, the other guys in the group were good company, and the afternoon (and probably the sunshine too) made me feel a little more optimistic. Even if I didn't make it, I was determined to enjoy it. We returned to the camp as it was getting dark for another night in a tent. Me and Jack started on the Diamox, which I had left over from Kili, just to see if it might increase our chances. That night I could tell it was working. I got tingles in odd places, and I had to get out of the tent and into the snow to wee in the middle of the night.

The next morning we trudged up some 500m to the first camp on the mountain, at 5,200m. It took about 2 hours, and it was hard but manageable. I know it's awful to say but I was slightly encouraged to find that others were struggling more than I was. We had lunch (fried cheese and rice) and later all of us but Roberto (who had collapsed on a mattress in the refugio to sleep) gathered our crampons and ice-axes and went for a hike up a short stretch of the route we would be taking in the very early hours of the next morning. It was pretty steep, and hard work, but the snow was soft and I was not going to be pressured into trying to keep up with some of the others. My previous experience had drummed into me the importance of going slowly and steadily, and I was determined to stick to this principle. I heard the French guy in the refuge say that the best thing to do was to go as slowly as possible, at such a pace that you don't need to take a rest. It's so true that stopping at such altitudes and in such temperatures can tire you out more than continuing. Mike and Richard were having to stop every 5m because they were going too fast. I felt a lot better about my approach when Eduardo said I had a good rhythm. Wahey. I'd give it my best shot.

After a bit of dinner we settled down on our mattresses (me in my two sleeping bags, just about warm enough) up in the refuge to try and get some shut-eye before having to get up at 12am. I was very very scared. The beautiful mountain almost looked inviting in the bright sunshine and under blue skies, but in the freezing cold, pitch black night it was a completely different thing. I must have got some sleep though, as apparently I was snoring. I felt like shit when I was woken up at midnight. Standing up, let alone walking, made me want to spew, and my head was spinning and throbbing at the same time. I seriously considered copping out and getting back into my sleeping bag. At that point I almost persuaded myself that I didn't really want to climb the mountain, it wasn't really a big deal. But something made me go through the painful motions of getting dressed, preparing my bag, emptying my bladder, and forcing some hot water down me. I took a few ibubrofen and whinged at Jack, who was brilliant and made me feel a bit better.

Very reluctantly, I left with the others to start the ascent. Jack and I were roped together with Mike behind Eduardo, who decided that because I had "good rhythm", I would go behind him and set the pace. In other words, I thought, I was the slowest and if I didn't set the rhythm I would probably tire too quickly. But I was very glad of it. I deliberately set a very very slow pace, not caring that people would probably overtake us. As it happened, we overtook other groups whilst they stopped for breaks. It was terrifying at first, but I got used to it after a while, and, as on Kili and Cotopaxi, looking up to see sets of lights moving very slowly upwards ahead of me was pretty special. There were times when the going got really hard, and I wondered how long it would be before I had to give up. The first ice wall was probably the time when I came closest to quitting. It was very steep - it felt vertical, we had to dig in our ice axes and use arms and legs - and there was a lot of it. It was impossible to tell what I was hauling myself up in the dark, which made it scarier. Several times I had to stop, panting madly, to catch my breath, and force myself to go on as Eduardo tugged on the rope and urged me up. Concern about what the others would have to do if I gave up made me keep going uncertainly. I consoled myself by telling myself that in twelve hours I would be back in La Paz, watching Harry Potter. I seriously think that I have Harry Potter to thank for getting me as far as I got.

Shortly after we made it to the top of the wall, Richard and David pulled themselves over the top. They looked exhausted, and I wondered if I had looked so drained a few minutes earlier. The three guides each had walkie-talkies to communicate, and we'd heard that Roberto, who was some way behind with Pedro, was struggling, and Pedro's feet were very painful with stopping so often. Now, Pedro wasn't responding on his walkie-talkie at all. Eduardo shouted a few times down into the darkness, but we heard nothing. I was worried. Should we be continuing if something might be wrong? But Eduardo seemed to think so. We left Richard and David behind and pressed on up the (thankfully gentler) incline. About 20 minutes later, Eduardo was unable to contact either Jose or Pedro. We then heard somebody shout Eduardo's name, and the words, "Hay un prblema!" several times. This was all we heard. After pausing for a few seconds, Eduardo shouted down, "Nosotros no tenemos problemas. Vamos a continuar." I was fairly worried by this stage. It seemed that both Jose and Pedro were in some difficulties. I remembered all of the mountain-climbing horror stories I'd heard - Touching the Void, 999... - and imagined Roberto with severe altitude sickness drifting in and out of consciousness, or Richard at the bottom of a crevasse. "Vamos," said Eduardo. "Estas seguro?" I asked. "Si, vamos." On we walked. I tried to focus my mind on the task in hand.

Some time later, I noticed that the sky was no longer pitch black. I pinkish glow on the horizon meant that the sun was starting to rise. Jack had wisely banned us from looking at our watches, but when Eduardo mentioned the sunrise I decided to break our pledge, hoping that it could only be good news. Sure enough, it was nearly 7am and according to Eduardo we only had an hour and a half to go. He pointed out our route, and the ice wall leading up to the top that would be the final obstacle between us and the summit. I felt a surge of excitement. I was feeling fine, I still had plenty of energy to keep going. For the first time, I allowed myself to believe that I was going to reach the summit. "We can do this, guys, we're going to make it!" I said, in cheesy American movie style.

By the time we got to the foot of the ice wall, as Eduardo had promised, it was light. The sunshine helped a lot. Although it meant we could see the full vertical 200m of snow and ice looming above us, it also meant we could see the progress we were making, and most importantly, the summit, ahead, within reach. One of the other English gappers we met in the refuge told us that statistically 70% of climbers get to the ice wall, and 55% make it to the top. That means that 15% reach the ice wall and give up. Slowly slowly, we inched our way painfully up the ice wall, with Eduardo constantly tugging me to continue whenever I took pause to breathe (very difficult at 6,000m). After just under an hour of hard climbing, we finally hauled ourselves onto the flat narrow snowy ridge of the summit. Feelings of relief and disbelief and happiness were soon overtaken by the excruciating pain of my freezing toes coming slowly back to life. Thankfully the pain subsided to an almost tolerable level, and I took in the incredible views from our position. The urban sprawl of La Paz was clearly visible below us, and to the other side, the other, lower, snowy mountains of the Cordillera Real glistened under the light from the newly risen sun.

We had time to take a few (precarious) photos, eat some celebratory chocolate and take on some water before Eduardo urged us to go down. I'd refused to let myself worry about how I was going to get down the wall whilst I had been climbing up it, but now I was pretty terrified. Abseiling was very scary, but I got the best deal. Jack and Mike had to practically walk down. Since we only had 50m of rope, we had to do it in several stages, which meant lodging our ice axes into the wall and clinging on for life whilst waiting for the others to reach us, one by one. It took a very long time, and Eduardo got a bit anxious. Several groups overtook us, including, to my relief, David and Pedro. Richard had turned back safely. Eventually we got to the bottom of the wall, and could begin walking the rest of the way down. I spent most of the descent in awe at the beauty of the snowy landscapes we hadn't been able to see on the way up. Jack, drained from the difficulty of the descent down the wall, was walking clumsily and slowly, so Eduardo made him take the lead. Abseiling down the smaller ice wall was a little easier than the first, but in the light I was shocked to see two giant crevasses on either side of the narrow route we had followed. I was very glad not to have seen those on the way up.

It was about 3pm when we finally made it to a hostel in La Paz, exhausted and unwashed after five days of strenous exercise. That shower felt very very good.