The road leading from Baños to Puyo is famed for its beauty, winding through magnificent valleys, past cascading waterfalls and along sections of cobbled roads. Many people hire bicycles for the some 60 km route, and make a day of it. We decided for an equally scenic, but far less tranquil version and hired ourselves some quad bikes. Again the price was ridiculously cheap by normal standards, setting us up for three hours of fun and laughter for around $25 US. Keeping it relatively tame inside the township, we sped off once we reached more open roads, flying past the grimacing, sweat-stained faces of the cyclists crawling up the hills. After riding a fair distance towards Puyo, we turned around and rode back up to the Bellavista look out above Baños and where treated to a much more stunning view than our previous night tour. With plenty of time left to run amok, we headed back over the puenting bridge, and wound our way up a rocky dirt road high above the other side of Baños. On such a clear day, the surrounding countryside was stunning, with perfect views across to the imposing Volcan Tungurahua, an active volcano that has erupted several times in recent years.

On the way back down Dan ran out of petrol, even though there was supposedly five hours worth in the tank (unless you thrashed them it seems). Having to roll the quad the whole way Dan, he began sliding around the corners, perilously close to the cliff edge. We made it back to the bridge before he lost momentum, and I left him there to weave my way back along the streets of Baños to the hire place to get some help. In a jumbled conversation I explained the situation and suffered through the disapproving stares (you took them up how many mountains?)
When we arrived back with a jerry can Dan delivered his explanation “no tengo gasolina!” which would become a common catchphrase in the coming days as an answer to every problem.

The afternoon was upon us and we drank another couple of roof top beers before heading to the hot springs to cap off an epic day. Soaking in the perfectly blistering temperature of the spring water with waterfalls crashing down nearby and the sun slowly dipping, life seemed pretty sweet. When the heat got too much, a system-shocking dive into the icy pools restored the allure. Holding my breath under the freezing waters, I could feel my heart beat become slower and slower as a serenely peaceful state enveloped me and time seemed to stand still. Having arrived right on time for the afternoon session, the pools were barely populated, but as the evening progressed and the crowds began to arrive, this was the impetus required to drag us away from there.

At the rooftop hostel bar, things were kicking into full swing, and I soon found myself working my way through a bottle of Appletons and “La Otra” Cola among a hysterically funny group of Dutch, American, English, German and Australian roof-party revellers. Though the hangover the following day proved quite severe, it was a worthy ending to such an entertaining day.

I checked into our hostel Plantas y Blanco and with Dan nowhere in site, I headed out to assuage my ravenous hunger. I hit on the place that would become my food sanctuary over the next couple of days, Cafe Hood (“where the food is good”), visiting it an inordinate amount of times in the brief period I was in Baños. Although simply a very basic snack without the usual accoutrements, the nachos there were unrivalled during my South American escapades.

I located Dan in the waning afternoon sun at Plantas y Blanco, and putting aside our Cotopaxi differences, we cracked a few rooftop beers and took in the views of the beautiful churches and colonial buildings of Baños. On the steep hills surrounding the valley-nestled Baños, many houses could be seen, clinging dangerously to the cliffs, and with no roads even close to these abodes, I was amazed at the choice of location. Even simple tasks like getting the groceries would appear to be particularly arduous, trudging up and down these lofty inclines. To the east, a view of the thermal baths, from which Baños gets it name, could also be seen, resting in against the cliff face where waterfalls cascaded down around it. It was easy to discern why so many travelers we had met along the way raved about this place.

Dan and a friend from uni that he had randomly bumped into had decided on taking the night tour with another group from the hostel, to the lookout above Baños. I wasn’t too keen on the idea but changed my mind at the last minute. That decision took me on one of the worst tours I’ve ever encountered. Tumbling into the back of an open air truck lined with bench seats and lit up like a acid-addled christmas tree, although the music blaring out was painfully kitsch, there still appeared some hope that it could all be a bit of fun. With the biting chill assailing us on the drive up, this promise of fun rapidly disintegrated.

We reached the lookout, and parked alongside a platoon of neon plastered trucks and soon found that there would be hardly any looking from the look out tonight. Underneath the brightly lit giant cross that looks down over Baños, we could see that the town was blanketed in a thick fog, stubbornly rooted to the valley floor. Our group spoke little Spanish, which was unfortunate because our “tour guide” spoke no English, although I’m not sure this communication deficiency would have mattered, as our guide didn’t seem the chatty type. Pouring us all a warm glass of tequila mixed with what I presume was low-grade rocket fuel, he retreated, leaving us to soak in the sights ourselves, while other groups appeared to be involved in informative discussions. I tried unsuccessfully to take some “arty” shots of the twinkling lights poking through in a hazy glow, but soon gave up in the freezing fog, and went back to the truck to huddle on a bench. A group gathered around an enterprising busker who was telling jokes and spitting fire, but once again my ignorance of the Spanish language precluded me from this small modicum of entertainment. So after an hour of sitting at a lookout in the torturous cold without any views, we endured a sullen drive back to the hostel. Even if the weather had been gloriously clear and the views stunning, I can’t imagine a situation that would require an hour looking over a town, unless a well equipped bar was close at hand.
Thankfully the tour was over though, and we could put the unfortunate incident behind us. The following day though would make up for it in spades.

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.

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.