Ecuador - 1/13

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Day 1

The day began with a close brush with calamity. Justin’s truck battery chose to fail during our trip to South Station. We watched with anxiety as the electrical systems of the truck failed one by one, finally resulting in the vehicle refusing to move, just as we had decided to turn around to procure another car. Thanks to some girlfriend and mom wizardry, we were able to tow the truck while simultaneously being delivered to our train by a bleary-eyed Becky.

The train ride was thankfully uneventful. Our arrival in New York found us stumbling around Penn Station, repeatedly asking for the direction of the surface as we shouldered the crushing weight of our many bags of gear. We burst onto the bustling street and Justin tracked down a suitably large taxi, piloted by an inanimate yet ruthless Pakistani driver. I would describe his style of driving as “scorched earth”; constantly cutting off other drivers, weaving through traffic, around construction, and into bus only lanes. He would accelerate frighteningly down gridlocked streets, only to slam his brakes seconds later. All the while, my view of the driver’s face through the rear-view mirror revealed only a vacant, blood-shot, unwavering yet disinterested fixation upon the road. Needless to say, we found the cab ride to be highly entertaining, and even gave the fine fellow a bit of a tip before departing.

After arriving in Quito, following a significant plane delay due to a mechanical failure, we took a taxi to our hostel. To our surprise, it turns out that there are two Hostal Villa Nancys in Quito, and we had arrived at the incorrect one.Thankfully, the two hostels are quite close to one-another and we soon arrived at the correct destination (at approximately 2 AM). The view of the hostel from the street was fairly dubious, as it was basically a street-side metal door with a sign over it. Our taxi driver called for us, and we were soon welcomed in by the owners. The inner structure of La Villa Nancy was quite beautiful, as the true building was elevated above the street and had a very pleasant patio area. The interior was very clean and cozy with dark wood floors and doors,white walls adorned with seemingly indigenous decorations; our bedroom wall,for example, had a big ceramic lizard on it.

The kitchen and dining areas were a great place to make conversation with fellow travelers. During our thirty hour stay, these guests included: Nadia, a woman in her 30s from Switzerland who was proficient in five languages. She was in Ecuador on a humanitarian mission – “School building, or some such nonsense,”said Justin. Jeremy and Adriane, a Canadian couple in their 30s who were experienced climbers. Jeremy was an accredited mountain guide. An older Australian couple who were on holiday, exploring several South American countries. The owners, Bérénice, a Swiss ex-pat, and Joffre, presumed to be a native Ecuadorian, were extremely nice and welcoming.

Day 2

Justin and Chris reported fitful sleep the first night due to the increased elevation of 9,000 ft. I slept decently, though awoke quite tired at 7 AM. We ate breakfast and wandered the streets of the city. We stopped in a few mountaineering stores and purchased stove fuel, but were disappointed to find that hiking staples such as Clif bars and GU energy gel are not sold in Ecuador. The city struck me as being in transition from the second to the first world. Many prices of goods were only slightly lower than Boston prices; however, the price of labor (such as taxi rides) was much lower. Cars and buses were ubiquitous and made street crossing a bit dangerous. Vehicle emission standards seemed to be non-existent, and the streets were generally choked with dust and fumes. We visited a supermarket called Super Maxi and procured provisions; a fairly painless experience.

Massive green volcanoes loomed above the active city streets, inviting us to explore them. We took the “Teleferico”, a sort of gondola-ski lift hybrid to about 12,500 ft. of elevation, providing a fantastic view of the sunlit city and the surrounding mountains. We believed that the summit of Rucu Pichincha was one and a half hours away, and set off for it with limited deliberation. Simply transitioning from sea level to 12,000 ft. within 24 hours was something of a humbling experience. Onset of headache and shortness of breath, coupled with a little hypoxic confusion were fairly immediate, at least in my case. The weather was sunny and hot, though the deceptively close appearing rocky summit of Rucu was periodically draped in cloud cover, causing some concern. The true distance to the summit proved to be 3 miles and 2,500 ft. of elevation gain, which took about two and a half hours.  We encountered the Canadian climbers, Jeremy and Adriane, part way up the mountain. They had elected to turn around before reaching the summit, and seemed a bit surprised by our tenacity for reaching it. Their climbing schedule was more leisurely and did not require such rapid acclimatization.

We followed the trail over verdant, hilly terrain as we approached the rocky protrusion of the summit. The trail wrapped around the summit bulge before ascending, providing us with magnificent views of the surrounding countryside,adorned with seemingly man-made terraces that had no obvious purpose. As we rose to the summit, we passed small caves on our left as we skirted the steep sandy drop-offs to our right. We traveled up a rock slide featuring sandy, dusty soil (“scree” to the initiated) before scrambling on fourth class terrain(non-technical rock climbing) with intimidating cliffs just off our path.

We arrived at the pristine sunny outcropping of volcanic rock that composed the summit and snapped some photos near a massive wooden sign that seemed out of place. We then quickly descended, basically skidding down the sandy rock slide before trudging our way back down the hilly approach. I began to slow at this point, suffering a pounding headache, nausea and fatigue. I felt very ill as Justin explained the new Ecuadorian guiding requirement to a cranky older guy from Colorado who childishly proclaimed that he might “Never climb again,” in response to the requirement. The Ecuadorian government had recently passed a law that required every group of climbers to have an accredited mountain guide in order to enter parks containing glaciated mountains (Due to recent deaths). Though this fellow from Colorado had summited Denali, we were not terribly impressed with him. Thankfully, the Teleferico rapidly reduced our elevation,saving me from the further progression of my altitude illness.

We caught a ride back to our hostel in a tourism van full of Argentinian students who sang boisterously along with the radio. I held a handle and kept my head down as I endured waves of nausea while the van bounced along. When we reached La Villa Nancy, I quickly retreated to our room and curled up in the fetal position while Justin and Chris met with our hired guide, Edgar, on the patio to hammer out the details of our ensuing climbs. I later descended to the kitchen and made a meager attempt at eating some of the absurdly plentiful pasta that Chris and Justin had prepared. “It must be a kilo,” Nadia, the Swiss traveler said. The owner, Bérénice and the Australian couple poked fun at my obvious illness as we sat around the table and told stories, including the tale of the Australian retirees’ ascent of Kilimanjaro, twenty years prior. It was a fun evening, despite feeling ill. We went to sleep at about 9 PM.

Day 3

I awoke much refreshed and joined the others for a hearty breakfast of cereal, milk, banana, bread, butter and jelly. Nadia, Bérénice, and the Canadians seemed quite impressed by my renewed appetite and vigor. After breakfast, we gathered up our possessions (including our kilo of pasta, much ridiculed, in a plastic bag). Bérénice helped us to hail a small taxi and we managed to cram our bags and persons into it. Our intention was to travel to a bus station and grab a bus to Machachi, but, after some negotiation, the taxi driver offered to drive us the entire way for $30, and we agreed. We were relieved to avoid managing our possessions on a crowded bus.

Our drive provided views of several mountains as well as the increased poverty outlying Quito. Most structures were of unattractive cinder block construction, featuring barbed wire and broken glass configured as a defensive measure along the tops of walls; bars on doors and windows. It is sad that observing the beauty of Ecuador frequently requires one to escape its habitations. The more rustic, rural town of Machachi provided some relief from the oppressive architecture seen along the “Pan American” highway. Nestled in the central corridor of Ecuador, Machachi is surrounded by beautiful farmlands,partitioned by lines of forest, and ensorcelled by magnificent volcanoes. The famous Illinizas are visible on a clear day, covered by snow and glacier, in the case of Illiniza Sur.

After stopping to ask directions several times, our driver delivered us to La Hosteria Papa Gayo, a well-reputed tourist hotel and restaurant that was once an abandoned farmhouse. The front porch area was populated by a number of climbers and several dogs relaxing in the sun. We quickly made friends, chatting with two Italian climbers (to the best of our ability) who had failed to summit Cotopaxi due to weather. We also met two woman climbers from Minnesota and Washington who were very nice and fun to converse with. They were both highly trained mountain guides, and made our experience appear meager by comparison. One was named Anne, and the others’ name was not procured. They had successfully summited Cayambe and Cotopaxi, and were relaxing at the Hosteria before their journey back to Quito and then home to the States. We would chat with them regularly before they departed.

The Italians left for an attempt on Chimborazo as we moved into our freshly prepared room and enjoyed the pleasant farm locale, ruled by the impressive volcano, El Corazon, high above. Ricardo, the presumed manager of the Hosteria, arranged for a truck to pick us up at about 10 AM, and we were treated to a fun, bumpy, four wheeled ride through the farmland while Justin conversed with our jovial driver, Patricio. Once through the farmland, we traveled off-road to an elevation of about 12,000 ft. and began hiking with the promise that Patricio would return for us in four and a half hours. We were misinformed that this hike was a five mile round trip; the true distance being around eight miles.

We made our way through some well-trodden grasslands without encountering any other hikers on our way toward El Corazon. The upper reaches of the volcano were entirely obscured by cloud cover, and we labored our way up volcanic rock, pushing ourselves hard as we realized that the insufficient time window that we had arranged was closing. We pushed on through the clouds, ascending third and fourth class terrain as we followed a somewhat poorly marked trail. We were tricked by several false summits as we progressed slowly toward the culmination at 15,600 ft. We took some photographs and caught our breath at the summit as the clouds ensconced us.

Just as we began to head back down, it began to rain, making our descent more perilous. Once we reached the grassland we essentially ran the rest of the way to meet Patricio, cutting switchbacks and running straight down hills in a couple of cases. We arrived about ten minutes late and enjoyed our bumpy ride back to La Hosteria. I felt slightly ill from the altitude gain, but recovered quickly this time.

We elected to eat dinner at the Hosteria’s restaurant, which was very pleasant and patronized entirely by our fellow travelers. The servers poke a bit of English. Justin asked for three waters, to which the server replied, “We have juice.” Okay. Juice it is. After hearing the options, Chris and I ordered grape juice and Justin ordered mango juice. The server disappeared and a few moments later Ricardo appeared and asked if we had ordered drinks; we said yes. He asked what kind, and we answered with our selections. “Grape!?” he exclaimed, seeming thoroughly perplexed. “Yes,” we said.“Grape!?” Ricardo exclaimed again, and Justin began to describe a grape as a small fruit – “I know what a grape is,” he interrupted. He then walked into the kitchen and we heard “Grape!?”one more time, which elicited giggles from us. Whatever we got, it sure as hell wasn’t grape.

We ate delicious burgers with fries and talked to the American girls fora bit before heading to bed. For some reason, we all slept pretty poorly, taking a long time to fall asleep and waking up frequently.

Day 4

We awoke and prepared for another day of hiking, and ate omelets at the restaurant (with mango juice this time). Patricio had previously agreed to get us into the park of Cotopaxi to climb one of the non-glaciated peaks; something that would legally require a guide. However, some other obligation precluded him from assisting us. Slightly disappointed, we elected to take on a less challenging hike up the caldera rim of Pasochoa. We were told at the entrance that we must not try for the true summit,as the climb is too dangerous.

This hike was very unique compared to the other two, taking us through jungle and cloud forest and exhibiting a plethora of interesting vegetation. The trail was very conspicuous, well-trodden and muddy.We broke free of the tree cover and I began to sweat as we hustled up the mud trail surrounded by very strong, coarse grass. We reached what appeared to be a local high point and rested a bit. Here, we soon met a French couple who spoke excellent English because they had lived in Australia for five years. They told us that they were just starting a yearlong vacation through South America and Asia. They had turned back from an artificial barrier on the trail, but after speaking with us a bit, they elected to join us and go past it.

After the barrier, our objective was again obscured by cloud cover as we hiked over hills covered with grass. Later, when the clouds cleared a bit, we could see that these hills made up much of Pasochoa’s caldera rim, and were bordered by a perilous drop. The French couple failed to keep up with our pace, and so we parted ways. Through breaks in the clouds we observed the hill steeply curving upward to the base of an intimidating wall of volcanic rock which featured a massive cliff face that dropped into the depths of the caldera. We plodded our way up to the rock wall and determined that, due to the wetness of the rock, we could not safely ascend or descend the wall.We idled there for forty five minutes to allow ourselves a bit of extra time to acclimate, knowing that we could go no higher.

We then descended the four miles to the base, slipping occasionally on the very muddy path. The clouds cleared for us as we retreated, giving excellent views of Machachi and Quito. We encountered the French at the bottom, and chatted with them a bit more. They were camping at the base that evening and returning to Quito the next day.They were very curious about our plans for Cotopaxi, as they had hoped to climb it as well. They wished us good luck on our endeavor and we departed.

We asked our driver to take us to a supermarket. His solution was to bring us to an open air market in Machachi which featured a slightly disturbing

smelling meat market, complete with frolicking insects. Justin bought a block of cheese that Chris and I were horrified by, and after asking for directions a few times, we found a well-stocked dry goods store. This store was fairly large, composed of aisles of metal shelving. The funny thing was, they had no electricity, so we had to use the light on Chris’s phone to shop. We grabbed bread, Nutella, jelly, nuts, water and some tomato paste (in little plastic bags). There was no cash register in the establishment and the cashier used a calculator to add up our total. We paid $28 in cash and the cashier added some candies to our bag with a smile.

We then met back up with our driver and headed back to La Hosteria Papa Gayo. We had a fairly uneventful evening, mostly composed of eating our kilo of cold pasta accompanied by the tomato paste-like substance, squeezed out of the bags we had purchased. It was a bit on the gross side, but we were hungry and finished nearly all of it. Justin reported that his pasta was much improved by adding a portion of his market cheese. The rest he fed to the three resident dogs of Papa Gayo.

We also discovered that the American girls had crammed candy bars under our door before they departed for Quito – a nice gesture between climbers. After our pasta extravaganza, we relaxed in the comfortable living room areas of the Hosteria. Justin and I watched part of Forrest Gump while I wrote in my journal, and then we went to bed around 10 PM. Again, we all slept poorly in comparison to how we sleep at sea level.

Day 5

For Justin and I, this attempt was made mostly in vain. The Diamox regimen that I began that day kept me exiting the tent due to its impressively potent diuretic effect. The pungent aromas emanating from Justin’s sleeping bag led us to coin the phrase “Mountain Chili – not even once,” in mimicry of the anti-crystal meth television ads. Chris slept pretty well, but I only slept about two one-hour blocks and Justin only slept thirty minutes “In between the third and fourth times that you left the tent, Josh.”

At 11:15 PM, Justin woke Chris and me up. We took some meds, ate some food, and strapped on our boots and gaiters. The headlamps of a few early teams passed our campsite as we waited for Edgar. When he arrived, we took off immediately into the night. We marched up a rubble scree slope at a strong but pleasant pace, eventually passing all the other teams. When rubble gave way to snow, we sat down to put on our crampons. I quickly realized that someone had borrowed my crampons recently and that they were no longer sized to my boots. The French team behind us was graced with some of my muttered expletives as I struggled to adjust the crampons. Within a few minutes I had the situation straightened out and we proceeded up the snow slope, our crampons crunching in merrily.

We quickly outpaced the other teams, and soon arrived at the entrance to the glacier. Edgar surprised us by telling us that we would ascend in two two-person rope teams. Justin suggested that I go with Edgar, and so we roped up (we had originally believed that we would all be on the same rope.) The glacier itself was much more frightening than we had expected. The trail was very obvious, but it wound along treacherously steep slopes and through massive crevasses, the bottoms of which disappeared into inky blackness. It occurred to me that a fall taken along perhaps seventy to eighty percent of the trail would prove fatal unless instantly arrested by the ice ax of the fallen climber or his partner. I remember Edgar stopping to rest and eat on a small ledge, a butted by a near vertical drop. As he munched away, I dug in my ice ax and crampons and sat paralyzed with anxiety until we started to move again – nobody spoke during this break.

Edgar kept us moving at a fairly stiff pace. It appeared to me that he sped up while ascending steep sections and slowed down when the route flattened out. However, Justin later observed that he was probably just moving at the exact same rate at all times. We labored hard, breathing heavily to soak up the reduced oxygen in the air. It took everything we had to maintain Edgar’s pace.

The following are some distinct memories from the ascent, as recalled by Justin and Chris: Descending into a crevasse and then ascending the other side of it. Shortly after the aforementioned rest on the harrowing ledge, the overhanging ice ceiling of the ledge forced us to crouch down very low (especially Chris). The further away from the drop-off you leaned, the lower the cetheiling was, forcing you to pick your poison: crouching down in great discomfort, or walking slightly crouched yet dangerously close to the edge. There were also a couple of icy sections that were effectively “technical”; one was a six foot section that had a hand rope fixed along it. We ascended it by swinging our ice axes above us and planting our crampons into the vertical ice and working our way up. Another section had the path turning a very sharp, icy corner that over looked the gaping maw of a colossal crevasse. Here, again, we used our ice axes and crampons to negotiate our way up and around the dangerous corner to relative safety.

Day 6

Panting heavily, we stepped onto the summit of Cotopaxi at 19,300 ft. just as the first dull red hue of sunrise crept onto the edge of the night sky. Edgar and I were the first to reach the summit and he gave me a celebratory hug. I was happy to be finished with the ascent, but not exactly ecstatic about accomplishing the goal of reaching the top.Many climbers report the empty feeling of “now what?” upon achieving their goal. However, I just felt general displeasure and fatigue. We took our victory photographs once Chris and Justin caught up (moments later), and thanked Edgar for getting us to the top.

After only a few minutes, we began to march our way back down the mountain.The thought of descending through the objective hazards that we had faced on the way up caused me to feel intense anxiety. However, the act of viewing the same hazards in daylight served to dispel some of the menace felt during the night. Ones’ imagination of what lies in the dark often far exceeds the reality. The fear was mostly gone, but the danger remained. We were all extremely tired (except, perhaps,Edgar) , and so we carefully picked our way down the twisting path of ascent in a zombie-like stupor. We soon encountered the inextinguishably goofy Haiyo, who struck a mock gentleman’s pose as we congratulated him on his impending attainment of the summit. From that point on, my only focus was ensuring that each step and ice ax placement was correct – I felt that no mistakes would be tolerated by the great volcano.

We stumbled into our tent at perhaps 9 or 9:30 AM, tore off our gear and collapsed onto our sleeping bags to rest for an hour. It was with much resistance and stiffness that we arose to pack up our gear and break down our campsite. A short while later, under the load of our heavy packs, we descended the gentle dirt path to the parking lot. While resting in the tent, we had discussed our plans for Chimborazo,and it had been revealed that our ascent of the highest volcano in Ecuador would begin in about thirty six hours. In my sleep deprived and physically exhausted state, I could not understand how this would be possible. In Justin’s (the trip planner) defense, Chris and I had been given ample time to dissect the climbing schedule, but had not absorbed the knowledge that the two climbs would be so close together.

As we made our way down the path, I expressed my feeling that I was not physically capable of taking on an even larger climb in so short a span of time. We deliberated for a while before agreeing to stick to the plan. I would simply not climb if I was not feeling capable. Once at the vehicle, we loaded up and headed south to the city of Ambato,where we would gather provisions and sleep before making our pilgrimage to Chimborazo.

In Ambato, we caught our first glimpses of what an upscale Ecuadorian neighborhood looks like (nice, as one would expect.) Edgar took us to a “pizzeria” which had food prices that would be unremarkable in Boston. Justin’s heaping plate of shrimp and steak cost $12.50.Chris and I split a family sized pizza Americano for $18. The waitstaff were very well-mannered and made it obvious that this was  a fancy establishment. I felt a little embarrassed for our unshaven,hiking garbed appearance, as the other patrons were nicely clothed and made it seem that this was a special occasion for them. The waiters insisted on serving Chris and me each slice of pizza individually. This perplexed Chris and he attempted to serve his own pizza several times, but only succeeded once. The waiters watched our pizza consumption like hawks.

Unbeknownst to Chris and me, Edgar had requested from Justin that we pay for his dinner, and Justin had agreed. So, I felt a little miffed and amused when the comparatively large check arrived and our diminutive, wiry,dark-skinned guide simply said “Thank you,” to us. We left the pizzeria and set about finding food and lodging. This was an exhausting process that my sleep deprived brain had little patience for. Hotels were hard to locate and usually far too expensive, so we seemed to drive around Ambato in an unending circuit. We bought food in a supermarket called “Mega Maxi” (as opposed to the Super Maxi we had encountered in Quito) that was connected to a large American style shopping mall, providing further evidence that the city of Ambato possessed citizens of greater means than elsewhere in the country.

After buying food and water (24 liters!), we finally located a hostel of suitably low quality and price and were greeted warmly by the owners.Parts of this building seemed to be fairly nice, while other parts were clearly ramshackle additions. Our room featured a bathroom door without a knob or the ability to close, as well as ceiling level windows that looked out into the hallway. The light of day could be seen through the missing ceiling panels above the shower, in addition to a bunch of exposed wiring. The roof seemed to be composed of various unrelated materials. At $12 per person per night, we were pleased.

We repacked our gear, took some antihistamines and melatonin, drank a little whiskey and then passed out four approximately eleven hours.

Day 7

Day 9

Day 10

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