How Court Met Raquel

March 2-4, 2002

I saw a posting a few weeks ago for a climb of Cotopaxi, the world's tallest active volcano. I met with the poster, Mathias, from Germany, and the Ecuadorian guide, Patricio. The trip sounded good, but we needed one more person to join us, I guess to make it worthwhile for the guide.

Time passed, and nobody turned up, until Saturday night, when I got a call from Patricio, and would I like to leave for Cotopaxi in the morning? Sure!

I wasn't really sure. Cotopaxi is very high 5897 meters (over 19,000ft) and altitude sickness is a real problem, as I'd heard.

The alarm woke me at 8am, I quickly packed my things, and met Patricio at a climbing store we works with. No Mathias though, instead a different guy, Pierre, Canadian. He looked pro. Tall, hair pulled back, worn backpack, lots of gear of his own. I felt slightly intimidated.

We prepared our gear. I needed lots of things from the shop. Warm pants, thick fleece, mittens, heavy rainproof windbreaker, goggles, plastic boots, strap-on boot crampon spikes, open-face ski mask, gators. We jumped in the truck and took off.

Gas. Since returning from my long weekend in Quilotoa on Wednesday, I've had some digestive issues. It had gotten better, but I still had some pretty severe gas. Big nasty farts every couple of minutes. Nasty, but true. "The bacteria are different here," one doctor in Venezuela told me, and gave me some pills, which sometimes work, but I'm out of them.

So in the car I'm farting and farting and farting, stomach a bit bloated, hoping I'll be better before we start the hike. Pierre has a lot to say about himself. He's a civil engineer, gets contract work all over the place, waiting on a job offer in Libya. He's travelled extensively, Asia, Australia, Central America, Alaska, the Artic. He's been in weather from -50 to 50 celsius. I'm slightly put off by the way he tells all of this, but at the same time envious. I'm feeling certain I'm going to be the one holding up the group as attempt the summit.

The drive to Cotopaxi was beautiful. Once off the main highway, the Panamericana, we drove along a stone cobbled road though many farms, green and fertile, across a river, winding our way to the base. A variety of other mountains and volcanos were visible in the background.

The land started to change as we got closer. More rocks, more sand, a little brush, almost desert-like. At one point we pull over to gear up. The rise in elevation had already cooled the air considerably. We eat a bit, jump back in the car, and head for the parking lot.

The lot is a small way up the base of the volcano. Around it is almost completely barren. Lots rocks, large gravel, a variety of dark volcanic colors, blacks and deep red in some places. Looking up the slope, wide paths from lava flows are carved into the mountain. Rocks of all sizes are scattered around, from baseballs to large boulders, seemingly having rolled down from the peak.

We can see the bright yellow climber's refuge above us. Not far above we can see the glacier line, which ascends into a layer of clouds, obscuring the upper reaches. We begin to climb. Patricio takes a direct route straight up, but instructs Pierre and me to walk slowly up a winding path to our left. He demonstrates the technique, very slowly, one foot in front of the other, so we can get used to the elevation.

The trail is dark thick sand. Pierre is ahead of me setting a fast pace, and I'm trying to both keep up and preserve my energy. We can see various scattered tourists on the direct path, slowly trekking upwards, the path merely a wide steep bulge extending up towards the refuge.

After an hour we come to the refuge. A large yellow building, it sits on a wide patio made of large stones, a separate smaller building housing the toilets. Inside it's all wood, nice tables and benches, kitchen, black stove fireplace. A stairway leads to the sleeping area above, which contains maybe 50 bunks and storage closets, arranged under a peaked roof.

A variety of other climbers are there. And two or three young short Ecuadorian kids who are working the place. We drink some tea and eat a bit. Then we gear up and head over to the glacier for ice training. Again, I'm trailing behind the other two, walking carefully, trying to get used to the stiff plastic climbing boots. We reach the glacier, a frozen river of dirty ice. Small streams of water trickle down in various places.

We tie on our crampons and Patricio demonstrates how to walk on ice and snow. He's a pro and makes it look quite easy. Crunch crunch crunch, he takes very small steps, first up an incline, then back down, then turns to the left, then to the right, crunch crunch. See? Easy. We try. Not quite so easy. You need to take steps with your boots landing flat against the glacier so the spikes stick in, while at the same time standing straight up, or maybe leaning a bit into the mountain. This doesn't feel natural for your ankles, which must twist and turn to compensate. We learn to front-point with the ice axe, going up very steep inclines by pegging ourselves into the ice.

Back at the refuge, Pierre and I are at a table drinking tea, and nursing our headaches, the altitude having finally gotten to us, as Patricio cooks dinner in the other room. We have little appetite, Pierre eats almost nothing, although the dinner is quite good, soup with keen-wah and chicken fried rice and even a boiled tree tomato with sugar and cinnamon for desert. I head up to sleep.

Sleep is difficult. The bunks are tightly packed. Lots of people are shuffling around getting their stuff ready for the climb. Downstairs is still quite active. Lots of talking and laughing, radio play, a fierce game of the local card game, Cuarenta, going on. I felt exhausted before dinner, but I was wide awake lying in my bed. I must sleep. I must sleep. The mantra fails.

I come back downstairs several times. Thrice to get aspirin pills for my aching head. Once to finally go use the toilet. I walk outside into the dark cold, and hear the generator humming below the patio. I had wondered where the electricity came from. I'm on the toilet, and let loose, finally. I hear the generator slow, the lights dim, and eventually it stops and they're out. Luckily I had my microlight clipped to my belt as usual, and my stall blinks ravey red as I fumble for the toilet paper. Not enough. A few scraps. Oops. This is comic to me - freezing cold in a remote dark latrine, lights out, not enough tp. Carefully splitting and unravelling the cardboard from the roll gives me the absorbency I needed, and I'm back up to bed.

Of course I still can't sleep. Another half hour of tossing and turning. A few of the last people come up to sleep. In the darkness I hear the steady rubbing of what might be nylon. I can only imagine that the Swiss couple is having a go at it. There must be over a dozen people sleeping in relatively close quarters, so their boldness surprised me, but also puts a thought into my head. Oldest sleep trick. I head back to the loo and jerk myself, which surprisingly works given the temperature, and finally head back to my bed and pass out.

Morning comes early. It's 1am. Many people are awake, gearing up, headlamp beams wandering around. I can't have gotten more than two hours of sleep, but I feel invigorated, excited for the climb. Then we eat a light breakfast, and I feel like passing out again. I neurotically prepare my things, checking and rechecking, until Patricio says "we're leaving" in impatience, and I'm walking out the door wondering what I've forgotten. I forgot to put my jacket on! I go back, put it on, and again leave in a state of anxiety, wanting to check my gear again and again.

It's dark and cold outside, the wind blowing. We begin to climb through the sand, guided by our headlamps, up to the glacier, which takes over an hour. We put on our ice gear, and crunch crunch we're onto the ice, and heading up.

It starts out quite easy. I'm enjoying the climb. It's fun to play with the ice axe in the snow. The lights from various cities are visible far below. A set of headlamps are visible above us and below, from other groups which left at different times. I'm hardly farting at all, my stomach feels good. Hurrah.

Pierre asks for a break to readjust something. I ask if it's time to eat some chocolate, affirmative, and I bite off a few chunks. In a moment we're climbing again. I feel the chocolate churning in my belly. Not good. Within minutes I have a stomach ache. And my head starts hurting. Whether from eating or from the altitude, I feel terrible.

Patricio is leading us in front, a few feet of rope between him and myself, then a longer piece separating me from Pierre behind me. I try to carefully keep pace with Patricio, maintaining tension on the rope, for safety, but the rope behind me is often slack. I figure I'm climbing too slowly, Pierre's pace is faster than mine, and I'm holding everybody up. The slack also causes the rope to be low, which I step on many times, scolded by Patricio's repeated "PLEASE do not step on the rope" chastising.

My stomach feels terrible. Pierre starts asking for more breaks. He says he's getting very tired. Eventually he says "you guys should go without me". That's not allowed. Inexperienced climbers require guides. Patricio says to keep going. Eventually we see another group above us turning back, they weren't able to make it, so Patricio talks to their guide, and Pierre links onto their group and heads back to the refuge with them.

It's just myself and Patricio. I'm hurting. Bloated and aching head. I'm trying to make myself vomit, but nothing comes. I was very close to asking to head down myself, but I couldn't get an image out of my head. From Akira Kurosawa's breathtaking movie "Dreams", a scene of mountain men, climbing in a snowstorm, a scene about hope. I continue. I play san francisco house beats in my head for inspiration.

The sun is up. We've been climbing upwards for over 6 hours. Two hours left, Patricio says. We cross some crevaces. Small frozen valleys, icicles all around, another tiny world, hidden away in the folds of the volcano.

We're nearing the top. It's maybe 100 or 200 meters away, I can see it. The frustation I'm feeling is immense. The closer we get, the worse I feel, the slower I climb. How can I be this close and have failed, I keep thinking to myself, a feeling which intensifies every minute.

A group of three Peruvians passes us as we rest. Eventually we need to pass them again, which is difficult, the trail is narrow and steep, we're all tired, moving erradically. Patricio asks me a few times if I want to continue. I tell him again that I'm nauseaus, that my legs are strong, that I don't know if I can make it. He says we're so close, let's just do it, you can make it.

At even a few meters from the summit it's difficult to continue, I want to rest, I want to sit, I'm practically crawling. In a stagger I reach the top, and Patricio turns to congratulate me with a handshake and a hug.

I briefly check out the view, a thick layer of clouds a few hundred meters below us, some peaks pointing through, and the crater of Cotopaxi, obscured by the clouds. I throw down my backpack, lay down on top of it and pass out.

Patricio wakes me exclaiming "it's clear! stand up!" as I struggle to my feet and peer within the crater, where the clouds have lifted, and the steep sides of the inverted crater cone can be seen. Smoke is puffing out from the bottom and in a few places on the sides. The sight is surreal. Patricio exclaims how lucky I am that I can see it clearly, that the weather is good.

Patricio calls his girlfriend on his cellphone, as he early declared he would. We begin the descent. I'm wobbly. Patricio gets a call: "Hola. Hello. Yes. Cotopaxi. I'll call you back" and hangs up. It was Mathias, the German guy who didn't make the trip with us.

We pass the Peruvians. I try to explain in Spanish that the crater is clear, that it's beautiful, but I'm in a daze, and it comes out all wrong, I'm not sure what I actually said, and Patricio talks with them for a moment, possibly explaining my condition.

Going down is at least as bad as going up. I'm in the lead, Patricio behind me. The sun is shining, I'm sweating, feeling hot and wet in on my body, cold on my face and hands. The sun reflecting against the snow is blinding, my goggles scratched and blurry, the wind blowing my hair into my face, as I removed my ski mask to cool off a bit.

"We're very late" Patricio reminds me a few times. This frustates me. What, did his fucking girlfriend want him home in time for lunch? I am supposed to take a risk and go faster for that? "Could you PLEASE walk a little faster" he repeats to me a number of times. I'm too stressed to say anything back to him. I try to hurry. The snow is soft and slippery. The concept of hiking at night, when it's cold and the snow hard, suddenly makes complete sense to me.

I slip and fall, Patricio catches me. And again. And again. "PLEASE a little faster". He fields another call on his cellphone and I get a break. I feel weak but too sick to eat anything. I fumble around readjusting my clothing, take off my heavy sweater, and re-cloth myself, only to realize the inside of my jacket is completely wet. The hot/cold body paradox is almost unbearable.

The snow is sticking to the bottom of my boots, lodging large smooth clumps between my crampon spikes, like walking down a skislope with bowling balls strapped to my feet. I slip again and again and again. The crevass crossings are frightening. I try to whack off the snow off my boots as instructed, but they clump up again in a few steps, and stopping on the crevass is extremely dangerous, as it could easily collapse, especially in the warmth of day.

After nearly three hours, we reach the bottom of the glacier, and I feel joy as I plop down in the thick red Martian sand and remove my spikes. We head down quickly, surfing down the trail, leaving wide streaks as we slide towards the refuge.

In another half hour we're back at the refuge. Patricio turns to me and apologizes about being demanding to me, but by that point I completely understand, it was for safety, the longer the sun is up, the softer and slippier the snow gets, and getting down quickly is far safer. I'm filled with joy as we enter the refuge and I fall back onto a bench to rest.

It's late, the place is empty. Eventually Pierre comes down, awoken from his nap upstairs, and explains what a good decision it was to turn back, as he was extremely tired and had some troubles on the way down. He looked terrible, face flushed, but he was smiling and probably just happy to be on solid ground.

I'm feeling somewhat better, and slowly begin to eat. Patricio asks if we can drive the Peruvians back to Quito, as they had asked, and I of course agree, as I'm in no rush to move from my seat. They eventually arrive and begin to pack. And pack. And pack. Patricio and Pierre head down to the car, while I wait.

The Peruvians have an incredible amount of baggage. Each has a full camping pack, plus a smaller daybag. And then two large full duffle bags they share, which they convince two of the refuge kids to carry down for them.

Juan, Carmen, and Raquel. I talk to them on the walk down, they're on holiday, for 10 days. "We have porters in Peru" they explain when I question their excessive baggage. The girls are exotic and pretty, Raquel in particular.

The truck is unbelievably packed, bags to the ceiling, as we file in, Raquel next to me. The ride out of the park is bumpy and beautiful, transitioning from the lifeless volcanic slopes to lush green farmland.

It starts to rain. Patricio is racing, swerving and passing other cars. We get a flat. It's still raining. Pierre jumps into action and starts to change it, severly hampered by lack of tools. We get help from a nice Ecuadorian man, he lends us his jack, and practices his English on me.

We're finally back on the road. I get lots of Peru tips from the girls. They're in town just for the night, then going to travel around Ecuador for a few more days. Raquel and I talk about getting food together in the city, as we're starving. Eventually we're back in Quito, and Patricio dumps them off on the side of the road outside of the center, as he doesn't want the tour company to know he drove non-customers. I need to go back with the truck to return my rented gear, so that means saying goodbye to the Peruvians, so I exchange contacts with Raquel, and wave to them through the window as we drive off, feeling ecstatic from the events of the long day.