After an early night, I was ready for the trek to Cotopaxi by ten, before the usual disorganisational chaos ensued. It was nearing midday by the time we departed with our two guides, Lobo and another guy whose name I never understood. A 41 year old American guy from Minnesota was also attempting the climb (and incidentally was another reason I had to get my own guide, as he wouldn´t share his). Although the wallet was a little emptier, I held no ill feelings about it and actually got on quite well with him.
Once again we were piled into the beat up old, carbon monoxide choked 4wd, weighed down with Ice axes, boots, crampons, helmets, jackets, gloves, pants, sleeping bags and all the rest. It was a bone rattling ride along the rocky dirt roads, and I was scared to scratch my eye in fear of poking myself in the brain. Bob Marley, Tracy Chapman, and the Police blared out through the portable stereo, intermingled with the occasional dose of latin music. As we drove along I remember being amused by the faded blue baseball cap worn by the guide, which had “princess” written on the side, and “keinky ware” on the back. I never did figure out what was actually on the front of the cap.
The weather didn´t bode well, with cloudy skies and a smattering of rain. We caught brief glimpses of surrounding peaks, but upon reaching the entrance to Cotopaxi National Park, the peak of Cotopaxi was still cloaked in cloud. It was blowing a gale by the time we wound our way up to the parking lot and jackets were immediately donned, along with our sturdy hiking boots. A day group from Papagayo, having had no clear views of the mountain, were at least readying themselves for a mountain bike down the hill. Looked like good fun.
With heavy backpack strapped firmly in place, the torturous ordeal began, trekking up roughly 300 metres of rocky trail to the Cotopaxi refuge station where we would be staying the night. Halfway up I was puffing like a steam train, and cursing every little extra item in my backpack that I probably didn´t need, no matter how little it weighed. My backpack felt like it weighed a ton! To make matters worse, my guide who I had been keeping pace with, had found an extra gear and was now hurtling himself up the hill. At 4800 metres above sea level , I gave up any notion of trying to keep up.
I think the biggest thing that spurred me on was a hungry looking fox, eyeing me off as easy prey as I neared the top. Reaching the refuge, I dumped my backpack quicker than I´d moved all day, and sucked in the oxygen as I watched the other two slowly make their way up. Lobo, in an almost sardistic way asked me how I was feeling. If it was that tough climbing to the peak, there´d be no way I would reach the summit.
After settling into the refuge and having a light lunch, we got ourselves prepared for a climb up to the glacier for some practice with the crampons and ice axes. Due to a communication breakdown, we were fully geared up before Lobo suggested that as we´d had a late start, why don´t we just skip the practice and save our energy. I wasn´t too perturbed by the change in plan, but the other climber was a little pissed. It was fair enough, as we´d been ready to go on time, it was included in our climbing package, and now we were just going to head up in the middle of the night and hope our gear worked fine.
Trying to get in a nap at altitude proved impossible, and it wasn´t long before dinner was served anyway. This is where the guides really proved their worth, serving up probably the best meal I´ve had in Ecuador. After three courses: soup; fish, vegetables and seasoned chat potatoes; and pineapple and yoghurt for dessert, I felt ready to tackle the peak.
The weather decided to break briefly after dinner, and treated us to an awesome view of Cotopaxi peak, followed by a stunning sunset over all the surrounding peaks. With a midnight wake up callon the cards, we turned in around 6.30pm and had a few hours of broken sleep as the wind picked back up. Though there was no more than 12 people staying in the refuge, it seemed like an endless procession of people stomped up and down the stairs through the night. With little insulation in the building and the temperature plummeting, my double-socked feet were frozen to an ice cube. As it was nearing go time, the wind sounded like it was ready to rip the roof off our little refuge and I had grave doubts that we would be climbing.
