Travels of A Dark Camel

I had grave doubts about whether we would be able to climb when we woke to fierce weather in the blisteringly cold witching hour. At least there was another comforting spread greeting us on the tables as we trudged down to ‘breakfast’ fully geared up for the climb. Our guides, who looked like they’d stayed up a while drinking, thought that the wind had died off a little and we should be alright. I’m not sure if that was wishful thinking or not, but by the time we stepped out into the night, blizzard conditions had kicked back in.

Gritting our teeth, and roped to our guides, we began the ascent. Along with myself, the two guides and the American, another team of guide and climber joined us, already a man down, after the altitude proved too much. With the American and his guide leading, it wasn’t long before we realised that he was going to have some trouble making the summit, and the pace was agonisingly slow. Before long, he took a breather and the other four of us trudged on. Despite the cold, and the fact that where until recently was just rock was now buried in snow, I was feeling suprisingly energetic and resilient. I pushed my guide to go faster at every opportunity and was snapping at his heels the whole climb. I became frustrated at the pace and at every time we took a break, as I felt no need for one, never once becoming short of breath. I was surprised when I could hear my guide begin to labour, and stop frequently to catch his breath. Didn’t he do this all the time?

We reached the glacier and put on our spiked crampons to deal with the icy conditions, holding our ice axes at the ready in case we slipped. The boots certainly weren’t the most comfortable, especially with some loose rocks floating around inside from the first section of the climb. Given the weather though, there was no way we would be stopping to take them off and get the rocks out. Winding back and forth up the glacier it was nearly impossible to discern any particular trail, and I was grateful in that sense for my guide. We passed by some amazing icicle structures and caves along the way and crossed some narrow ice bridges with precarious drops into vast black crevasses on either side. A guy in Quito had told me a story about how his head lamp had died once when he was climbing Cotopaxi and he had barely survived. In the near impenetrable darkness, I could now understand why.

As the weather worsened, my guide began intimating that we wouldn’t make the summit and would have to turn back. I pleaded that we just keep going a little longer. By this stage, there were just four of us climbing as the American and his guide had turned back. The other two were a bit behind us, so we waited for them in a snow cave and then decided to push on as long as conditions didn’t deteriorate further. My outer clothing and backpack were now completely coated in a solid layer of snow and ice, and each time we stopped the cold would begin to rapidly creep back in. With about an hour to go I urged my guide to pick up the pace, although he seemed to be struggling quite a bit by now. I’m not sure why I felt like I did, especially after the previous days struggle, but I felt almost superhuman during the ascent and it wasn’t until the last 200 metres or so that the limbs began to tire a little and I began to gulp in some oxygen every now and then.

Although the guide book estimated a six to eight hour climb to the top, much to my surprise we reached the summit in four hours and forty-five minutes. It was disappointing not to be greeted with the breathtaking panoramic scenery, stunning views of the steaming crater and glorious rising sun, being met instead by howling winds, close to zero visibility and the stinging attack of flying ice crystals. I would have been more disappointed though if we hadn’t made it to the top, being beaten back by the weather. The sense of achievement did much to lessen the blow of missing out on some spectacular views. After a few quick photos that really showed nothing, we began to descend before the cold became unbearable.

While the guide leads the way on the ascent, the climber takes the lead while descending, so that if they fall the guide can hopefully catch them. Relishing the chance to finally set the pace, I took off at a near run, launching down one long stride after the other. The sun had still not began to rise when we reached the bottom of the glacier and removed our crampons. Without the spikes holding us back, the fun began as we could slide down long sections of snow and loose rock, almost as if we were skiing down the final section. We were back into the thawing warmth of the hut within 50 minutes, a far cry from the estimated three to four hour descent in the guide book. With the job done, our guides were keen to get out of there and we were packed into the car and ready to go before seven. It looked like the view was beginning to clear near the peak and I wondered about the wisdom in climbing so early and missing the sunshine, but what’s done is done and we were on our way. As we left I was amazed at the amount over snow that had fallen on the lower section of the mountain, turning the barren rocky brown of the previous day into a pristine white.

What ensued was one of the scariest car rides I’ve ever encountered. The valley that we drove through was still choked in fog and a light rain was falling on the now muddy roads. Not only were windows inside the car fogged up, outside it was impossible to see further than a metre or two ahead. Under these conditions, our guide was madly hurtling along into the abyss, sliding around corners and flying over bumps in the road. From the backseat I watched on in terror, with a kind of sick fascination about our impending doom. I tried to look away and yet couldn’t. How he managed to keep the car from slamming into the giant boulders that littered the side of the presently invisible road, I’ll never know. The panic eventually eased as we made it to the bitumen, and the fog began to clear, allowing me to breath a little easier. By the time we made it back to Papagayo it was still breakfast time. After the events of the previous twenty four hours, I was thoroughly drained, and struggled through breakfast before crashing out until well into the afternoon.