NASH vs. Aconcagua!
No Guide, No Team, No Support, No Problem!*
I think I have a fever, and I have run out of food stranded above 6,000m on the highest mountain outside Himalaya in a deadly lightning snow storm. My tent's zipper has fully broken leaving my only protection from the infamously destructive “white winds” is the ill fitting vestibule ready to fly away at a moment's notice. I'm huddled inside the tent as it fills with snow and ice. Hours ago this blizzard thwarted my summit attempt a mere 300 or so meters from the peak. It figures. Things weren't going great; I didn't know things were going to get way worse, but I should have. This venture had been pushing against me since before I was even on it.
Just before I'd left Nepal to grab my gear in the states for the climb, the house I use as a base had been burgled. Badly. I now had to deal with all the stress that such a thing entails, along with fortifying the place and making sure things were all set for South America. They were not.
Everyone who said they would or may join me on the mountain had bailed, per the usual. I was fine with climbing “The Stone Citadel”, Aconcagua, by myself. This would be a good Shugyo, or test of my will and fortitude. Uncharacteristically, I had decided to take it quite seriously. It was the most preparation I'd ever given anything. I read at least three books on climbing the mountain, along with numerous websites. I had decided to go without a guide or support to set my own schedule and save money, then invest that money in quality gear. Taking into account remoteness, danger, length of expedition, etc., the total challenge of scaling Aconcagua is accepted as second only to Everest in the seven summits. It kills many people every year, so I decided to go all in. I bought a 1,000$ tent, used for 450$, an almost 400$ sleeping bag rated for -20 degrees Fahrenheit, and all recommended acutrema. I knew I would use the gear again so I was sure I would get my money's worth, plus since I was alone I needed to make sure I didn't die. As I was filling out paper work for the climbing permit, itself 820$, the Argentinian government needed to validate that I had mountaineering insurance. Of course I didn't, but they wouldn't issue my permit without it. I looked into the likelihood of clandestinely climbing without a permit, but research indicated it was all but impossible. The fee and penalty for getting caught was insane, I wasn't in the mood to be thrown into a Patagonian jail, and the insurance was “only” 160$, so I got it. Another big drop in the vast financial ocean that would be climbing Aconcagua. I had a precious 2 weeks to finish getting my affairs in order, on top of dealing with the theft and other “real life” responsibilities. During this time I was also obligated to a friend for a winter trip to Red River Gorge in Kentucky to field test the gear I would be using. Everything seemed in order except the cold finally killed the watch I had been beating on for six years. There was nothing left but a paracord bracelet and a broken watch face sowed to it. After procuring a new one, it was go-time!
The night before I was to leave I awoke with a terrible series of hot sweats pouring out of my body, sinuses clogged, joints painfully inflamed. What a terrible night for a curse! I'd only been sick four times prior in my life, but I had seen the symptoms in others countless times; this was some kind of illness brewing. I had no clue what was causing it, but it was dire enough that I briefly thought about calling the flight off. I didn't of course, and instead I took a series of flights from the Midwestern lower 48 united states to Argentina. I had used my old trick of putting a series of big bags into an even bigger bag to count as one checked bag. It weighed about 60lbs. I figured if that's all the weight I would have, the mountain would be a breeze. The check in agent joked that I was handing over a body bag. I told him that's exactly what it was. The whole process went pretty smoothly so I should have known something was up.
During the gauntlet of flights my condition worsened. Normally I carry rations and eat them while in transit, but I felt so bad I actually bought an airport meal... for 25$! As the journey went on my left eardrum swelled and closed with an incredible pressure. At first I thought it was because I was sat RIGHT next to the jet turbine and I'd gone deaf, but in actuality it seemed to be the result of whatever pox I was fighting. I arrived in Buenos Ares mostly deaf, with congestion preventing me from being able to speak. I was now deaf and mute. My connecting flight to Mendoza was an unreasonably close call but I somehow made it. When I retrieved my checked bag I found it shredded, it's inner contents violated. I wondered what exactly the TSA had done, aside from destroying perfectly good luggage. I filed a claim/complaint, and the airport official told me Argentina would recoup the cost of a new bag up to 2,000pesos, or about 100$, but I needed to leave the airport to find such a bag.
I left the airport and headed towards my selected hostel. I immediately realized what it feels like for people of Asian decent to walk around Japan but not speak Japanese, which I had seen numerous times, because apparently I was looking very Argentinian but could not communicate natively with anyone. I finally arrived at the hostel in Mendoza and tried to sleep, but I kept itching. A french guy came in and was making all kinds of a ruckus, flipping on the light and mumbling to himself. In the morning it was revealed he'd been ravaged by bed bugs! His face looked like he had lost a serious fight and he had swollen bite marks all over his body.
I was thankful to get out of there since I had business to attend to. Walking the streets I needed to rent some fancy double-boot mountaineering boots and industrial crampons. As I was walking I overheard an Englishman and joined in his conversation. He recommended a gear rental shop where they didn't make you put a deposit down of the full cost of the gear. This was perfect because I couldn't afford a 3000$ charge. I rented my couple pieces of gear and had planned to go back to the hostel and sort my kit before I caught the only bus to Penetentes, but when I got back I found out the hostel had thrown all my things into a pile because they were fumigating for bed bugs. Now I had poison covered disorganized gear. Forget sorting and organizing it, I only had enough time to gather it into a pile, grab it, and run. I needed to pay for my climbing permit and get on the bus. I hiked to the place where I had to hand over the cash for my permit and I'm pretty sure they ripped me off 40$ : 20$ in false exchange rates and fees, and 20$ when they said I didn't hand them enough money. I counted the money five times! I was supposed to get a discount for renting a mule with a local company anyway!
I rented a mule not for the mule, but for the opportunities. According to reports, thievery ran rampant on the mountain. There were several ala cart mercenary guards you could hire but the fees were minimum 1,000$. I wasn't in the mood to join the ranks of the poor sods who made it ¾ of the way up only to have their gear stolen and have to turn around. For the mere cost of 300$ I could have a mule schlep my things from the town at the base of the mountain all the way passed the first two camps to base camp, while giving me access to guards at a couple camps, toilets, and water at those camps. It was a bargain so I went with it. Except I did it all wrong. I grabbed a taxi to the bus station, and even though the driver kept trying to take me to the airport, barely caught the bus to Los Penetentes.
Even though the bus driver knew I was going to Lost Penetentes he drove right by it. It's a tiny little ski “resort” of five to ten buildings, but I still had to grab all my junk and hike back from where I was dropped. I found a hostel and holed up for the night. I finally had time for a gear check and discovered that on top of ruining a couple bags, the TSA had stolen most of my rations and my repair tool. There were no stores around to make up the difference, so I just decided I would have to climb fast, while avoiding Acute Mountain Sickness, High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, and High Altitude Cerebral Edema. I should have been climbing fast anyway, because the gear I'd rented was only for a seven day time period! Should be easy, I thought. The record is less than a day. As I thought those words, my eardrums oscillated and I developed a deep chest cough. Some kind of High Altitude Pneumonia? Since I had “rented a mule”, another of the many perks was to have a driver pick me up at the town and drop me at the start of the climb. He was over an hour late... nothing like climbing during the hottest part of the day!
Do to my error in paperwork, I didn't have the mule stop at Confluencia, the first camp after the town of Los Penetentes, so I needed to carry the gear I would need between the town and base camp... which was all of the gear. I wound up rucking over 60lbs for 16 hours over the course of 2 days: four hours and 12 hours, to base camp. The ruck nearly killed me in my current state. Also, the increase in altitude only slows your healing down as there is less available oxygen to deal with biological needs.
I made it to Confluencia in a miserable four hours. As I got going I saw someone getting chopper medical evacuated for HAPE. This would not be the last I saw of the bright yellow helicopter. At Confluencia I considered buying dinner in order to conserve my meager rations for higher up. At 30$ per meal, my stinginess won out and I decided to just go without. As part of government mandated protocol I had to get a medical exam at the camp, 3300m, before going higher. I was cleared and the next day set off.
I was up at 6:45 and on the trail by 8:30am. I arrived at base camp, Plaza de Mules, 4300m, 12 grueling hours later, broken and beat up, my body had no more to give. My head was pounding, my lungs hurt, I kept blacking out, and I was freezing. I made camp in the dark at 10pm, but at least my gear was warm.
Upon check in I was issued my shit bag. Every station above base camp is a “carry all out” area, including poop. You need to poop in your shit bag and carry it around for the duration of your climb or face a hefty fine. My first night at base camp I got my smallest taste of the infamous winds of Aconcagua and I realized the stories were not exaggerated. They could indeed destroy tents, move rocks, and do whatever else they pleased. Before my arrival I'd been passing out hiking, and now trying to sleep I was waking up gasping every 15 minutes. I knew something wasn't right. My “dreams” were restless oddities filled with pictures taking themselves and sentient cloths talking to me all night.
The next day was reserved for rest. Not by my choosing, but by the doctors at base camp. Despite me trying to see them first thing, they wanted me to hang around at least 24 hours before they would even entertain the idea of me moving on. That was fine, I needed to score some rations anyway. After some organizing I realized I only had 8 meals! I found 3 packets of top ramen and a bag of cookies for 25$... and that was AFTER bargaining! 1,000% profit for the people at base camp. It couldn't be helped. At least I spent my forced rest being productive. I talked to the doctor to get advice about routes and supplies. She said that because I was carrying everything by myself I was going like a “True Mountaineer” the way it should be done. I wandered the camp and pilfered more food from the major groups that where there in order to prolong my own time. I read up more on the environment. Apparently since you see only desolate grays and browns for weeks with no flora or fauna the park service warns that there are adverse psychological effects, including your body perceiving you as a 1,000 meters higher than you actually are. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to push through all while enduring heavy loads and long days. The true test of spirit: The perfect shugyo!
After my rest day I had planned a cache and carry to the next camp. The cache and carry is a technique where you take gear you aren't using and move it to the next camp up, in this case camp Canada, and then come back down to sleep giving your body time to acclimate to the new altitude. During this carry I came upon a large french expedition. They advised I should just rent a mule or porter to get all my gear to the top camps; it should be “just” 500$! If I had that much to spend on a whim I would have almost no problems. Instead I carried on as I always had, slogging my gear up by myself. I had a successful gear drop, after a 5 hour ruck, and already I could feel myself losing my mind. I found the first of what would be many Argentinian shit caches, where there would be piles of human poop and poopy toilet paper just tucked away somewhere. “Why aren't you shitting in a bag!?” I wondered. The whole point of the “carry all out” was that the climate causes decomposition to take hundreds of years, so if the couple thousand people who attempt the mountain every year just crapped wherever they wanted, there would be poopy piles everywhere for centuries in no time! On the way back down to base camp from my cache I had my first fall. Like a blind guy I slipped on a loose rock and just kept tumbling like a boulder rolling down hill. I was fine, but if that had been the real decent and I was carrying all of my gear all my bones would have likely been broken. That night, in base camp, I had a night terror and woke up screaming for a few seconds. Thankfully no one seemed to care. I decided I would try to speed up circulation and acclimation by taking some Ibuprofen... I checked the bottle and realized it had been expired for 6 years! Dammit! I thought I'd got all this cleared up courtesy of Morocco! At least my anti-diarrheals were up to date...
The next day I pilfered more food to keep my rations stocked. Snacks were conveniently stockpiled in the guided expedition's fancy tents. The trick, as with anything, was to walk in and out with maximum confidence. I wondered if I could keep it up as long as I needed. At that point I was just needing calories, I didn't care where they came from. I was eating lots of junk chocolate and it was starting to make me nauseous.
When I was finally allowed to see the doctor I was cleared to go higher, permanently. As I began the migration I could feel my unusually sluggish body protesting. I'm not sure that moving from a debatabley pristine diet to one exclusively of choco-snacks and ramen packets with little sleep was the best way to fight a feverish illness, especially since the higher you go the slower and less effectively you heal. However, my body seemed to be doing exactly as I hoped it would: use it's phoenix-like immune system to beat the hell out of whatever comes it's way; despite the terrible conditions and beatings it endured. I wondered if my outlook on life was a result of my body's abilities, or vice versa.
My first night above base camp I began to wish that the weather was either hot OR cold. Somehow it seemed both simultaneously. As I wondered if I was feeling the actual weather or a trailing fever there was a massive avalanche on the mountain. I learned they are quite common. That was also the first night that everything inside the tent became covered in ice, the new normal.
Wandering around Camp Canada I kept finding caches of poop, bitter I had to carry a bag of my crap around while others shit freely, but somehow proud of fighting “the good fight”. I remembered talking to one of the guides, and him telling me “we are killing the mountain”. He had the same look of begrudging depression in his eyes that I must have had while describing commercial fishing as “murdering the ocean”. While kicking around camp I made the acquaintance of some Argentinians who where having a full on barbeque, the gear for which was hauled up by porters. They invited me in and gave me legitimate matte they had personally smuggled in from the nearest tropical rainforest ... I ate it. It's not for eating. Their spoon is also a straw, so I confused it's purpose. It's mainly for drinking. It was still delicious though. The leader of their group of friends used to be a guide on the mountain, so after they taught me the correct method for imbibing matte they showed me good water sources, good pooping spots, and general tricks of the trade for the mountain. Finally they gave me dinner! That day I also met a Canadian-Egyptian about my age on a guided tour of the mountain. I decided I would try and get on the two group's schedules since the rangers and doctors didn't want me to attempt the summit alone. Also, the weather was supposed to get bad, so sticking close to the two groups would give me access to environmental intel.
The next morning I had originally intended a cache and carry to the next camp, “Nido de Condores”, but in order to get on the other group's schedules I would need to perform a single massive carry and stay there. Risky, as I didn't want my brain swelling out of my skull or my lungs filling with fluid and drowning me in the air, but I chose to move forward with it. However, I decided to leave a few things behind at Canada to lighten the load. Extra boots, a pair of Jeans, a can of fuel, and one of my sleeping mats would be staying behind. I planned to swing by on the way down to recover them. Even with the items I left it was still six hours of misery getting to Nido, 5400m, which felt almost as bad as the initial carry to base camp. Word had spread about my climb, and the rangers at Nido hunted me down to check and make sure I had arrived there: apparently there were already several deaths that month. The Argentinians suggested I skip the final camp and do a massive summit push straight from Nido. I told them I'd think about it... after a rest. That night I had dinner with a couple of different groups. I found a Japanese guy who was also solo, and we exchanged food and stories. He gave me some Diamox, the high altitude drug, just in case. I'd never taken it before and wasn't planning to. After my Japanese dinner I had dinner with the Argentinians. Every meal was a festival with them and I was already full. I had a packed stomach but again I slept poorly, this time not just because of some change in the internal pressure of my body, but because I pitched my tent on a slope and kept rolling around like a pinball. At midnight I finally had to accept that I needed to go out and reposition the tent. I did and slept all the better for it.
I had planned to take it easy my second day at Nido. I needed to rest from the carry and acclimate to the altitude. I had a to-do list to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Of course you can't really get an early start to the day on Aconcagua. The weather isn't really usable until around 9:30 in the morning when the sun finally makes contact with the camps. Before that, everyone pretty much stays huddled in their tents, preferring not to break camp until around 11. There were little things to do like melting snow for water and therefore tea, and sorting my gear again. I needed to make sure I had what I needed for the drastic temperature changes. Then there where more involved things to do such as talking to the rangers about summitting from Nido and finding a good place to poop. While accomplishing my chores I saw a condor! I thought the name of the place was metaphorical! That bird would be the first and last flora or fauna I would see on the mountain. After chatting with the Argentinians throughout the day they told me I should NOT attempt to climb to the summit from Nido de Condores, even though it was their idea. The weather was too unpredictable and the altitude jump too great to warrant the gamble. I REALLY didn't want to slog all my things to Camp Berlin, the next highest camp, but it looked like I wouldn't have much choice. While talking with some climbers they suggested the title of my autobiography be “too much baggage and on the wrong road”. Fitting. The Argentinians again fed me, this time “Polenta”. I had eaten my own dinner early because I was sure they would try and feed me again. Nothing could be done though, and soon I was miserably full. The previous night they had stuffed me with ravioli. As the sun went down the winds picked up and I decided to use my stash of 550 paracord to add extra lashing to the tent, lest the winds do some serious damage or make off with the tent altogether.
True to their plan I heard the Argentinians making for the summit around 3am. I resigned myself to the necessity of not going because I needed more acclimation. The proof was in my heart, literally. My heart kept feeling like it was going flat, like an old balloon, at which point I would hyperventilate; not normal for me. It made sleeping even more of a hassle than it normally would be. At daybreak I begrudgingly packed my things and began the move to Cholera, the final high camp, passing “Berlin”. Arriving at camp 3 above base camp I was greeted with constant strong winds. Setting up the tent and vestibule was an exercise in frustration,but through the magic of will power and constant swearing I managed the set up. I hoped the weather would hold that “good” for summitting the following day, because I only had enough food left for one more day. I was going for broke, to triumph or die! I walked around camp gathering snow to melt for water, and sorting my gear for summit day. The double-layered mountaineering boots I'd rented were heavy enough as it was, but when they became coated in the sulfurous mud-mix that Camp Cholera seemed to be exclusively made of they became twice as heavy. I hoped the ground would freeze a bit more to give me an easier time moving. Be careful what you hope for!
The alarm was set for 3am and I had slept with all my layers and gear on except the outermost and my water was premade so that I would be ready to go with minimal morning preparation. I was excited to finally have all my efforts rewarded and conquer the mountain. I was on the road by 4 but by 10 I noticed something was off. In order to last as long as necessary I had been extreme rationing my food so that it would run out exactly on this summit day and not before. Unfortunately this seemed to cause a low blood sugar situation and by 10 my body was extremely difficult to move and anytime I stopped moving I would just doze off. I was literally out of usable energy. I pressed on and by noon, every two steps was followed by a gasping rest. I very slowly made my way passed a park ranger. He told me not to push it, the last few people that died on the mountain had done so because they just ran out of energy the same as I was. I insisted I just needed a rest. An hour later I arrived at the cave that doubles as a ranger medical station 300 or so meters below the summit. I decided to take a 15 minute rest, and I was given some candies, sugar, and the like. I immediately felt better. The ranger in the cave received a radio transmission and said “I'll be right back”. A few minutes later he returned with the Canadian-Egyptian I'd been hanging out with. He looked awful. I was surprised to see him. “I could see the top! … then I just blacked out.” The ranger had brought him back to the cave to keep an eye on him. I asked if it was the altitude or blood sugar, but he wasn't sure. I told him he should rest for a few minutes and then we could go summit together. He didn't seem keen. I encouraged him to the fullest. “I don't know man”. You can do it! “I'm good. I'm happy with how far I made it.” If I had paid many thousands of dollars for a guided expedition and then not summitted I would be pissed. During the guy's 15 to 30 minute rest waiting for him to recover, the sky turned from blue to gray. What seemed like seconds afterward the air in front of our faces did the same. A snow like I had never seen before began to fly in every direction driven by ferocious winds. I asked the ranger if we could make it to the summit during this. “Don't try. It's going to be like this from now on.” 'I can make it!' I protested. “Let it go. I've worked on this mountain for 10 years. There's nothing here but rocks and snow. It's not worth dying over. The summit is in your heart. Let it go, you've won.” Except I knew I hadn't. Even during his speech I was just waiting for him to finish talking so I could take off to the peak. Even though we were just a few hundred meters from the summit it was the most difficult of the entire climb and needed to be taken seriously. Then the thunder and lighting started. Trapped in the cave, air shattered around us as the snow raged in every direction. I'd heard of the viento blanco, Aconcagua’s “White Wind”, but didn't imagine a monsoon with the rain replaced by snow and biblical caliber lighting added. Not only was there no chance at the summit, I didn't even see a chance to get down. The climbing routes had been buried in snow in mere moments, and I was concerned about being struck by lightning. As the lightning blizzard that defied imagination raged on, a military type team of Americans that was on their way down from a climb entered the cave. They found out I was by myself and offered for me to jump into their squad for an escort down. Offer accepted! One extraction please. Moving as fast as possible using GPS markers we made our decent in the deafening white out. Nothing looked familiar. I was told that oftentimes in these conditions people would wander lost or even right off a cliff. During the blizzard I discovered that all 3 pairs of expensive gloves I'd bought wear worthless, along with my hand warmers. Thankfully, after a tiring several hours we made it back to camp. Everything was deeply buried in snow and needed to be excavated. My tent was still standing but the zippers had been broken in the blizzard which still showed no signs of letting up. Now the only thing that was keeping ice and snow out of my tent was the ill-fitting vestibule, and it wasn't doing a great job. I added freezing to death to my list of concerns. 14 hours after I'd left on my summit attempt, all I had to show for it was a wrecked tent, a wrecked body with floppy baby-goat legs, and heaps of snow.
People tend to limit their time spent about 5,000m to as little as possible since human bodies rapidly degrade above that. I was now stuck at camp 3 - 6,000m for who knew how much longer. I was out of food, and my tent had filled with ice and snow while I was asleep. At least my sleeping bag was good. That night a plethora of signal flares were shot out. My deduction is that someone was probably still lost in the blizzard. I don't know for sure if anyone died, but I'm pretty sure. The mountain kills people all the time, and the conditions where hellish. I mulled over what I would do. I was already thousands of dollars invested, and had come a few hundred meters from summiting; I could work this out. The thought of quitting now was too much to bear .. almost as heavy as the thought of trying another summit. I was worn out.
Once most people were able to get into their tents, that's where they stayed. Climbers shouted at each other through the wind from tent to tent to try and get updates. One guy heard that tomorrow would be as good a summit attempt as today, but after that was a mystery. I wondered if I had another one in me on back to back days, but going faster, and on no food or sleep? It was during this time that I met a guy called Jim, also by himself. He was set up about 10 meters away from me and over heard me shouting at people. He had just arrived and wanted to summit the following day. I was in. We talked again at 3am, but the weather was not good. He said he wanted to wait until first light, but I knew that would be too late. We met from 6-6:30 anyway. Not only would that have been too late on a GOOD day, but all the trails were gone, buried under significant snow. We ran some recon and found out the following day should be good for a summit. We decided to rest for the day, which was the best for my body anyway. I was winded and sore just going out to the cliff designated for pooping into our bags. Jim couldn't believe I was keen to try again on back to back days in the first place, until he found out I occasionally moonlighted as a commercial fisherman off of Kodiak Alaska. “Now it makes sense! Only a commercial fisherman from Alaska would be crazy like you.” Turns out Jim was from just across the way in Cordova, and had been a commercial fisherman himself for decades as well as a bush pilot. At 56 years old he was now “retired” and now working as a private pilot in Arabia. A man after my own heart, we swapped stories and buddied up.
Later that morning the leader of my military type escort/extraction came up to my tent. His group had completed their summit and now they were getting the hell out of there. I thanked him for the help from yesterday. He had overheard Jim and I talking about Alaska and it happened that he used to be a guide/babysitter for “a group of idiots” on some TV show based in Alaska for a number of years. Small world! I told him if I was lucky maybe I'd be one of those idiots some day. We chatted and he seemed to like the cut of my jib. His group had left over food they didn't want to ruck down, or pay a porter to carry. He gave it all to me, along with some advice. Supposedly the snow was now hip deep in spots towards the summit. He said he knew a couple groups were setting out in the morning, and recommended I draft about half an hour behind them so they could break trail and I could save my energy since I likely wouldn't be fully recovered from my previous attempt. “The rest of these guys couldn't give a shit about you because you're a gringo, but I can tell you're serious. Don't waste your chances.” I thanked him, we shook hands, and his group marched out. I spent the rest of the day eating as much donated food as possible to get my energy up, resting, and drinking/making water for summit attempt number 2 in the morning. Not summitting was one of the most devastating things, but I now felt again that this could work.
Milling around camp I met a Hispanic guy in his 20's and a french-polish woman in her 50's who was working for the U.S. Military. They both said they wanted to join Jim and me. Party of four! Safety in numbers. While preparing her water, the woman ran out of fuel so I prepared her final liter of water for her. Foreboding.
The plan was to be up at 4 and gone at 5. The Hispanic never showed, but Jim, the lady, and myself set out on time. The winds were strong, and the coldest I had ever experienced. With my gloves having failed during the blizzard, my literally freezing hands made the trudge that much more difficult. Jim gave me some hand warmers that actually worked, and they made my hands warm enough to feel pain. This meant they hopefully weren't freezing to the bone causing irreparable damage. I took what I could get. The change in terrain from the previous attempt meant that the climb was more difficult, but also more direct. There was now only one path, the one that had been broken an hour prior, which meant less opportunity for getting lost: My specialty. Though my actual pace was slower I reached the refugio indepencia, the highest refuge in the world and also the halfway point, several hours faster than before. Though Jim and I were still close to each other at this point, the lady had fallen behind hours earlier. Neither Jim nor I ever saw her again. Those who fell behind got left behind; we couldn't afford a 24 hour summit attempt. This was understood, so when Jim's pace eclipsed my own and he disappeared in the distance I didn't mind. I wished him success as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, my body still ragged out from the previous summit attempt. About an hour before the ranger cave, my previous best, I developed a deep coughing fit. I don't know if high altitude pneumonia is a thing, but I imagined that's what it would feel like. One cough was forceful enough that it felt like it either cracked a rib, or damaged an intercostal muscle. Neither one is uncommon, just uncommon to me. Not long after, I was working my way up a steep incline just past “el dido”(the finger), one of the landmarks, when my right crampon broke. I immediately went sliding down the slick packed-snow and ice covered mountain side. I was picking up speed and losing altitude fast. I aimed for some rocks hoping they would stop my descent, but they just beat the hell out of me and I kept going. I jammed my trekking poles into the ground, breaking one of them. Finally I stopped. If the cough didn't crack a rib, that long abusive fall definitely had. I inspected what was left of the crampon: the spikes were fine, it was the affixing strap that had broken. I later had 3 different guides take a look to make sure I hadn’t done something incorrectly; I had not. It was the strap that had broken on it's own. I jury rigged the device back on to my boot the best it would go, but I had to spend the rest of the solitary climb constantly adjusting it. The fall had added an hour or two to the climb and caused me to use up a lot of precious energy. I also now had a messed up trekking pole, right crampon, and right cracked rib. I soldiered on.
Right before I made it back to the cave, a powerful gust of wind came in, even stronger than the rest, at the perfect angle and sucked my glacier glasses right off my face and into the abyss. They were the kind that hooked behind your ear, rather than strap behind the head. I had an extra pair, but had elected to leave them behind to save weight on the summit attempt. Now my eyes were exposed. Everything was covered in snow and ice and the sun felt so close. It was as if there were multiple suns everywhere. I remember thinking that despite the altitude and everything being frozen that I felt so hot. I pulled my balaclava down to breath better and get some fresh hair on my face. It felt so good I left it down longer than I should have. Pressing on I was at the cave now. Just a couple hours to climb the last few hundred meters. I hadn't endured this much to turn back, twice. I began the climb of the infamous canaleta scree field. Normally hours of loose rocks sliding around, the entrance was now guarded by belly button deep snow. Many people turned around because they couldn't get through it or over it. I refused. After two hours of awkward maneuvers I was over the worst of it and people were passing me on their way back down from the summit. One of them was Jim. “What happened to your eyes!?” I told him what had happened so far. “Jesus. Go back down. You look really bad.” I'm too close! He gave me some marathon gels to eat and told me to be careful. I ate the food immediately. One of the guys next to Jim saw me and said “your eyes!” I explained about my goggles getting sucked off. “I've got an extra pair of wrap around goggles. Take them and give them back when you get down.” I thanked him. I figured I'd be fine since I was only exposed for 2 hours. After maybe one more hour I was clamoring over the final boulder.
I had done it. I was standing by myself on the highest peak in the world outside the Himalaya. It was beautiful. There was no one even close to around me and since there's no winter expedition in the Himalaya I was the highest up person on the planet. Out of 7.5 billion people, at that moment I was the single highest out of all of them. I searched for the adventurer’s log that is normally beneath the cross that marks the summit, but it had been removed. In it's place was a box, which I tagged with a sticker taking the place of signing the adventurer's log. I took some pictures and really soaked in the moment before heading down. It was surreal. It had taken me 11 overly difficult days with everything working against me, but I'd done it. My spirit overcame all challenges. No guides, no team, no support. It felt good. I didn't realize the hardest part was yet to come.
At about 4pm I set off for camp. On the way down I'd gotten turned around and was quite tired, so I just decided to have a lie down for 5 minutes in whatever comfy snow field I'd ended up in. A ranger happened to chance upon me while he was escorting a dying Frenchman to the cave, which it turns out I was very close to but didn't recognize. He figured I was dying to, so had me come with him. I told him I was fine, just resting, but went with him to the cave to catch my bearings. I felt fine. The Frenchman was getting escorted to cholera, where I was heading, so the ranger insisted I come to. I didn't care, so I went. I'm glad I accepted the offer. About 5 minutes from camp my eyes just shut off. Spontaneously, I was blind.
I couldn't see a thing. I immediately realized I had gone blizzard blind. I figured I would have been fine with just 2 hours of exposure; I figured wrong. The ranger had me put my hand on his shoulder and he lead me back to camp. The terrain was slick, rocky, and terrifying. We arrived back at camp and the ranger kept asking if I knew anyone. I named Jim. The ranger dispatched someone and not long after, I heard Jim's voice. “Oh my god, are you blind!?” Yes. I'm fine though. “You look awful! What happened to your face!?” … I don't know. I would soon learn that pulling my balaclava down to breath and freshen up was not the best idea: my face and internal tissues were badly burned. The inside of my nose, my gums, and of course eyes and face were toast. My lips had swollen and popped like microwave sausages. I looked like a honey baked ham wearing wax lips, I just didn't know it yet.
The ranger started shouting at someone in Spanish who seemed to be in charge of the camp. He translated: “You will now walk down to the next camp. There you will stay the night. In the morning you will pay porters to pack and move your things.” What!? “You are being evacuated.” I can't walk several hours to the next camp! It took me nearly 40 minutes to go the 5 minutes back into THIS camp! Also, I don't have the money for porters. The ranger turned to me, suddenly his English wasn't terrible. “I am a police officer! I am not asking! You WILL respect me! My job is to save you and that means getting you down now.” I tried to explain that I did respect him, and I was sure I'd be fine in the morning. I just needed some rest. I told him I was medically educated and a wilderness first responder, experienced, etc. “I don't care.” He had Jim go into my tent and grab my sleeping bag for the journey that would likely kill me. I knew the only way to get out of this was to prove I wasn't blind. I opened my eyes as wide as possible. The pain was excruciating; it felt like my eyes were fried and swollen, and my eyelids were cutting them. I couldn't see. I tried moving and crossing my eyes. I could now see large splotches of the color blue, and with the sun to my back I assumed the colors represented whatever was immediately in front of me. I declared I could see. The ranger cop was not having it. I said the blindness must have been temporary, or maybe something had gotten in my eye that was now gone. He held up fingers. His voice sounded so close, I assumed they were right up in my face, so I just counted the blue blobs and passed the test. I must have been right because he got on his SAT phone or whatever and called off the evac. He was pissed. After he left Jim said “you look terrible man, and I was really worried, and then I got caught up in the mess and you were in trouble with that cop...” Welcome to being my friend. “So you can see?” nope. I am super fucking blind. Faking sight had really taken it out of me and I couldn't even have my eyes open without crippling pain. Even when I did open them I couldn't see anything. Still, Being able to breifly see “blue” told me that after a day's rest I should be alright. I fumbled around and went to bed, content with my summit success and safe with the knowledge that after a rest day I would be OK.
That night the white winds returned with a fury. I was pretty sure the tent wouldn't hold, but what was left of it mostly did. I planned to just stay in my sleeping bag for a full day and rejuvenate. I was spent to my core. Then I was shouted awake. “Are you OK?” ….what? “Are you OK?” It was the Argentinian guy who seemed to be in charge of camp. I replied groggily that I was fine. “Can you see?” I don't know, I'm still in bed. “Check if you can see!” I opened my eyes. They were crusty and dry and painfully cracked and oozed as I forced them open. I saw small bits of blue, small pieces of what I assume were light, but could make nothing out. It was mostly just blackness. It hurt, but it was better than the previous night I thought. I figured after a full 24 hours of sleeping they would be good enough. I answered that I could see well enough. “Can you get down on your own?” Sure, I said, no problem. I told him I'd wait the storm out in my bag for the day and that I planned to leave tomorrow. “Good. Everyone has to leave right now. The blizzard will only get worse in the coming days. We need everyone to move down to the next camp.” Shit. I was blind. Also my body was so trashed it was worthless, and I'd burned my face off. I wasn't exactly fresh. I thought with some focus and careful footwork I could make it down. I could barely get my boots on. Packing was a nightmare that ultimately turned out to be a fool's errand. The winds raged all around me and I was sightless. Eventually I got most things packed, but there was nothing I could do with my pile of belongings. I just sat on my pile and blindly thought about what the hell I was going to do.
After a bit a couple of guides happened to walk by and see me. They asked what I was doing and I told them I'd gone blind. They offered to guide me down the mountain, no problems. They said they'd radio some people to grab my things and my gear would meet me at basecamp. Their generosity and will to help were both humbling and inspiring; they were not rangers, so they had no obligation to help, but did anyway. They just said they were on their way to BC anyway so they may as well take me. It's not like I was following them though, they properly had to guide me all the way down. They lent me goggles to cover my sensitive face, and they rigged up a tactile hold with trekking poles and sandwiched me in the middle of the two guides, effectively making us one unit. As I felt my way down the mountain, the guides explained the coming terrain to me for hours. First we made it to Nido where they put me in the ranger hut and gave me pain killing eye drops. The ranger on duty was the cop I'd had a fight with the night prior. He came up to me and said “shut up”. I didn’t say anything. “Don't. Not a word. Shut up.” He was not thrilled to see me. After our reunion the guides took me to camp Canada where we picked up my cache of gear, which they then proceeded to carry, and then we finally made it to base camp.
The guides took me straight to the medical tent. “Nash, welcome back.”, said the doctor. She remembered me. I'm blind now. “So I hear. Let's take a look.” The doc and her assistant looked me over. “Yes. You are blind. Snow blind. You should have had the wrap around glasses!” I know that now! “You pull this again within a year, and you'll likely go blind forever.” Yeah, not really on my to do list. While I was lying on the table the doctor flipped my eyelids inside out and scrubbed them. The insides of my eyelids were like burnt bacon scraping my eyes. “I'm going to put some drops in your eyes, then fully pack and occlude them. You won't be able to open them for a couple days. Even though I'm sealing them shut, you should still wear sunglasses. When you finally are able to open them, wear sunglasses at all times, even indoors at night.” I'll look so cool! “Unlikely.” After they had sealed my eyes, the doctor said “OK, we're going to give you some medicine now.” … what. What do you mean? “Medicine. To help you.” How? “ A punch”. What? “A shot.” No. “ You NEED this.” No I don't. “It's a pain killer and anti inflammatory, and you really do.” I don't want it. Please don't give it to me, I'll freak out! I decline treatment. If you do this, I'll rampage and I won't be able to see what I'm destroying. You're making a huge mistake. Don't give me the shot. “Are you serious? Why?” I can't handle them, they freak me out. “What? I've heard your stories. Look what you've just accomplished! You've got superman Cajones, how are you scared of shots!?” I just am. “Fine, we'll give you a pill, but it doesn't really work.” Sounds great. “OK, now that everything is done on our end, you are properly blind so we need to med-evac chopper you down. “ OK. “When you get down there will be an ambulance waiting to transfer you to the hospital. “I won't go. “you have to. You need to see an eye specialist.” I won't “If it's a money thing, you won’t have to worry, it's free.” Hospitals are scary. “You're kidding.” I am not. “Well you won't be able to see anything so you don't have to worry.” That's worse! “What would you have me do? Order the chopper to drop off a blind guy in the middle of some road? And then what? You're blind.” I'll work it out. If you tel me there's an ambulance waiting to get me when I land, then the second the chopper touches down I'm going to bolt. “TO WHERE!? YOU CAN'T SEE!” I'll pick a direction and fight everything that's in the way. “OK. Fine. Our job is to make sure you are stable and then get you off the mountain. What you do then is up to you.” Thank you. “You should reconsider though.” Noted.
The chopper arrived and flew me to the park entrance, turning a grueling 18 hour ruck into a calm 18 minute (or less) flight. The doctor must have radioed ahead, because on landing there was no attempt to take me to the hospital. There was an attempt to get a couple thousand dollars for the chopper ride though. I told them I didn't have any money, but since they made me get insurance that should do. “Well, the way it normally works is you pay, then the insurance reimburses you.” Well, I don't have money, so if you would like some you call them and work it out. They informed me I had 5 days to come up with the money. Sure, whatever.
A Czech youtube star that had been choppered down with me due to a leg wound was getting a shuttle from the park entrance to a hotel in Los Penitentes, so I hitched a ride with him. The infamous “Hotel Ayer” is often used as a base by climbers and guides, so they are used to seeing all sorts of things. Apparently I was more extreme than most. The proprietor, an Englishman, was shocked when I stumbled up to the check in desk. I proclaimed I would like a room, and when he turned around his first shocked sentence was “AH Mate, You're Fucked!” Thank you. “What happened!?” I gave him the short version. “Right. First floor room for you then.” He was extremely kind with a classic forward dry sense of humor. He led me to my room, led me around to the restaurant down the stairs, and was generally accommodating. The next day he asked what my plan was. I told him after the muleteer arrived with my gear I would hop a 3 hour bus for Mendoza and then take a taxi to my hostel. “Mate. Don't do that. You're blind. You're going to get taken advantage of so bad. You can't see your bag or your money. They're going to take you for everything. I'll call one of the companies that has a group shuttle. There's one leaving for Mendoza tonight, I'll make sure you're on it. You don't need to be taking taxis and shit in your condition, especially here.” I thanked him Profusely. “Also, go to the damn hospital!” I'm fine.
The shuttle arrived and took me to Mendoza, but refused to take me to my hostel. It just dropped me and my gear, now in big burlap sacks courtesy of the muleteer, in a big pile downtown in the middle of the night. I had to take a taxi anyway. As far as I know I didn't get ripped off. Couldn't have been too bad, because I hardly had money anyway.
When I got to the hostel they were fumigating my room for bed bugs. Again. I decided to hole up there until my vision started to come back. In my new bed bug free room there was an old gross Spanish couple trying and failing to quietly have sex in the bunk below mine. Not the restful night I needed. After a few days I could see roughly 2 feet in front of my face with no depth perception at all. My balance was also terrible. It was like walking around an M.C. Escher painting. Stairs and curbs were a dangerous mystery. During this time I was summoned by the government and porter agency to settle my debt for getting my body and gear from the top of the mountain to Los Penetentes. I arrived at their office and told them I didn’t have money, but they could call the insurance company and get some from them. They called my bluff and phoned the insurance company on the spot. We had a conference call between me, the insurance, and the agency. The insurance company was intimately familiar with Aconcagua. “We extracted 24 people from that mountain last month alone.” I explained my no-money-blindness situation. They said that if they were sent invoices by the government they'd take care of it. They wanted to talk to me again that night, but I informed them I had no phone, the hostel didn’t have one to use, and I didn't have access to email. All further business should be handled without me. This was now between the Argentinian government and the insurance people. The insurance advised me that since I was removing myself from the equation that if I paid anyone anything I would not be reimbursed by them, and advised I don't pay anything. Way ahead of you! That night I went back to the hostel to grab my things, and was eaten by bed bugs so badly my arms and legs matched my face.
Once I was good enough to travel I did, and fled Argentina before the end of my 5 business day time limit to get the Argentinian government and porter agencies the thousands of dollars they wanted. I just left the country, later receiving an email stating that they never got their money. I guess I'll just have to add Argentina to the list of places I can't go back to. On the way out I found some expensive items to smuggle and took off for Chile. My $1,000 tent was stolen off the bus on the way. It was secured to my bag via 2 bag straps, a caribeener, and lashed with 550 paracord. It was definitely stolen. Gear in the area goes for a premium, so I'm sure someone thought they would turn a profit. Joke's on them: it was mostly destroyed anyway. They really just stole a pile of ripped up vinyl with broken zippers attached.
So climbing Aconcagua Solo: No guides, No Team, No Support. What could go wrong? Well for me:
All told I was blind for a week, but I did make a full recovery, including my face. I accomplished what I set out to do and not only didn't die, I made it out with no permanent damage. Blind, burned, and battered, few could do worse to me than I've done to myself. That was one hell of a spiritual strengthening training mission. I'm calling it a victory!
-NASH
*All the problems!
Just before I'd left Nepal to grab my gear in the states for the climb, the house I use as a base had been burgled. Badly. I now had to deal with all the stress that such a thing entails, along with fortifying the place and making sure things were all set for South America. They were not.
Everyone who said they would or may join me on the mountain had bailed, per the usual. I was fine with climbing “The Stone Citadel”, Aconcagua, by myself. This would be a good Shugyo, or test of my will and fortitude. Uncharacteristically, I had decided to take it quite seriously. It was the most preparation I'd ever given anything. I read at least three books on climbing the mountain, along with numerous websites. I had decided to go without a guide or support to set my own schedule and save money, then invest that money in quality gear. Taking into account remoteness, danger, length of expedition, etc., the total challenge of scaling Aconcagua is accepted as second only to Everest in the seven summits. It kills many people every year, so I decided to go all in. I bought a 1,000$ tent, used for 450$, an almost 400$ sleeping bag rated for -20 degrees Fahrenheit, and all recommended acutrema. I knew I would use the gear again so I was sure I would get my money's worth, plus since I was alone I needed to make sure I didn't die. As I was filling out paper work for the climbing permit, itself 820$, the Argentinian government needed to validate that I had mountaineering insurance. Of course I didn't, but they wouldn't issue my permit without it. I looked into the likelihood of clandestinely climbing without a permit, but research indicated it was all but impossible. The fee and penalty for getting caught was insane, I wasn't in the mood to be thrown into a Patagonian jail, and the insurance was “only” 160$, so I got it. Another big drop in the vast financial ocean that would be climbing Aconcagua. I had a precious 2 weeks to finish getting my affairs in order, on top of dealing with the theft and other “real life” responsibilities. During this time I was also obligated to a friend for a winter trip to Red River Gorge in Kentucky to field test the gear I would be using. Everything seemed in order except the cold finally killed the watch I had been beating on for six years. There was nothing left but a paracord bracelet and a broken watch face sowed to it. After procuring a new one, it was go-time!
The night before I was to leave I awoke with a terrible series of hot sweats pouring out of my body, sinuses clogged, joints painfully inflamed. What a terrible night for a curse! I'd only been sick four times prior in my life, but I had seen the symptoms in others countless times; this was some kind of illness brewing. I had no clue what was causing it, but it was dire enough that I briefly thought about calling the flight off. I didn't of course, and instead I took a series of flights from the Midwestern lower 48 united states to Argentina. I had used my old trick of putting a series of big bags into an even bigger bag to count as one checked bag. It weighed about 60lbs. I figured if that's all the weight I would have, the mountain would be a breeze. The check in agent joked that I was handing over a body bag. I told him that's exactly what it was. The whole process went pretty smoothly so I should have known something was up.
During the gauntlet of flights my condition worsened. Normally I carry rations and eat them while in transit, but I felt so bad I actually bought an airport meal... for 25$! As the journey went on my left eardrum swelled and closed with an incredible pressure. At first I thought it was because I was sat RIGHT next to the jet turbine and I'd gone deaf, but in actuality it seemed to be the result of whatever pox I was fighting. I arrived in Buenos Ares mostly deaf, with congestion preventing me from being able to speak. I was now deaf and mute. My connecting flight to Mendoza was an unreasonably close call but I somehow made it. When I retrieved my checked bag I found it shredded, it's inner contents violated. I wondered what exactly the TSA had done, aside from destroying perfectly good luggage. I filed a claim/complaint, and the airport official told me Argentina would recoup the cost of a new bag up to 2,000pesos, or about 100$, but I needed to leave the airport to find such a bag.
I left the airport and headed towards my selected hostel. I immediately realized what it feels like for people of Asian decent to walk around Japan but not speak Japanese, which I had seen numerous times, because apparently I was looking very Argentinian but could not communicate natively with anyone. I finally arrived at the hostel in Mendoza and tried to sleep, but I kept itching. A french guy came in and was making all kinds of a ruckus, flipping on the light and mumbling to himself. In the morning it was revealed he'd been ravaged by bed bugs! His face looked like he had lost a serious fight and he had swollen bite marks all over his body.
I was thankful to get out of there since I had business to attend to. Walking the streets I needed to rent some fancy double-boot mountaineering boots and industrial crampons. As I was walking I overheard an Englishman and joined in his conversation. He recommended a gear rental shop where they didn't make you put a deposit down of the full cost of the gear. This was perfect because I couldn't afford a 3000$ charge. I rented my couple pieces of gear and had planned to go back to the hostel and sort my kit before I caught the only bus to Penetentes, but when I got back I found out the hostel had thrown all my things into a pile because they were fumigating for bed bugs. Now I had poison covered disorganized gear. Forget sorting and organizing it, I only had enough time to gather it into a pile, grab it, and run. I needed to pay for my climbing permit and get on the bus. I hiked to the place where I had to hand over the cash for my permit and I'm pretty sure they ripped me off 40$ : 20$ in false exchange rates and fees, and 20$ when they said I didn't hand them enough money. I counted the money five times! I was supposed to get a discount for renting a mule with a local company anyway!
I rented a mule not for the mule, but for the opportunities. According to reports, thievery ran rampant on the mountain. There were several ala cart mercenary guards you could hire but the fees were minimum 1,000$. I wasn't in the mood to join the ranks of the poor sods who made it ¾ of the way up only to have their gear stolen and have to turn around. For the mere cost of 300$ I could have a mule schlep my things from the town at the base of the mountain all the way passed the first two camps to base camp, while giving me access to guards at a couple camps, toilets, and water at those camps. It was a bargain so I went with it. Except I did it all wrong. I grabbed a taxi to the bus station, and even though the driver kept trying to take me to the airport, barely caught the bus to Los Penetentes.
Even though the bus driver knew I was going to Lost Penetentes he drove right by it. It's a tiny little ski “resort” of five to ten buildings, but I still had to grab all my junk and hike back from where I was dropped. I found a hostel and holed up for the night. I finally had time for a gear check and discovered that on top of ruining a couple bags, the TSA had stolen most of my rations and my repair tool. There were no stores around to make up the difference, so I just decided I would have to climb fast, while avoiding Acute Mountain Sickness, High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, and High Altitude Cerebral Edema. I should have been climbing fast anyway, because the gear I'd rented was only for a seven day time period! Should be easy, I thought. The record is less than a day. As I thought those words, my eardrums oscillated and I developed a deep chest cough. Some kind of High Altitude Pneumonia? Since I had “rented a mule”, another of the many perks was to have a driver pick me up at the town and drop me at the start of the climb. He was over an hour late... nothing like climbing during the hottest part of the day!
Do to my error in paperwork, I didn't have the mule stop at Confluencia, the first camp after the town of Los Penetentes, so I needed to carry the gear I would need between the town and base camp... which was all of the gear. I wound up rucking over 60lbs for 16 hours over the course of 2 days: four hours and 12 hours, to base camp. The ruck nearly killed me in my current state. Also, the increase in altitude only slows your healing down as there is less available oxygen to deal with biological needs.
I made it to Confluencia in a miserable four hours. As I got going I saw someone getting chopper medical evacuated for HAPE. This would not be the last I saw of the bright yellow helicopter. At Confluencia I considered buying dinner in order to conserve my meager rations for higher up. At 30$ per meal, my stinginess won out and I decided to just go without. As part of government mandated protocol I had to get a medical exam at the camp, 3300m, before going higher. I was cleared and the next day set off.
I was up at 6:45 and on the trail by 8:30am. I arrived at base camp, Plaza de Mules, 4300m, 12 grueling hours later, broken and beat up, my body had no more to give. My head was pounding, my lungs hurt, I kept blacking out, and I was freezing. I made camp in the dark at 10pm, but at least my gear was warm.
Upon check in I was issued my shit bag. Every station above base camp is a “carry all out” area, including poop. You need to poop in your shit bag and carry it around for the duration of your climb or face a hefty fine. My first night at base camp I got my smallest taste of the infamous winds of Aconcagua and I realized the stories were not exaggerated. They could indeed destroy tents, move rocks, and do whatever else they pleased. Before my arrival I'd been passing out hiking, and now trying to sleep I was waking up gasping every 15 minutes. I knew something wasn't right. My “dreams” were restless oddities filled with pictures taking themselves and sentient cloths talking to me all night.
The next day was reserved for rest. Not by my choosing, but by the doctors at base camp. Despite me trying to see them first thing, they wanted me to hang around at least 24 hours before they would even entertain the idea of me moving on. That was fine, I needed to score some rations anyway. After some organizing I realized I only had 8 meals! I found 3 packets of top ramen and a bag of cookies for 25$... and that was AFTER bargaining! 1,000% profit for the people at base camp. It couldn't be helped. At least I spent my forced rest being productive. I talked to the doctor to get advice about routes and supplies. She said that because I was carrying everything by myself I was going like a “True Mountaineer” the way it should be done. I wandered the camp and pilfered more food from the major groups that where there in order to prolong my own time. I read up more on the environment. Apparently since you see only desolate grays and browns for weeks with no flora or fauna the park service warns that there are adverse psychological effects, including your body perceiving you as a 1,000 meters higher than you actually are. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to push through all while enduring heavy loads and long days. The true test of spirit: The perfect shugyo!
After my rest day I had planned a cache and carry to the next camp. The cache and carry is a technique where you take gear you aren't using and move it to the next camp up, in this case camp Canada, and then come back down to sleep giving your body time to acclimate to the new altitude. During this carry I came upon a large french expedition. They advised I should just rent a mule or porter to get all my gear to the top camps; it should be “just” 500$! If I had that much to spend on a whim I would have almost no problems. Instead I carried on as I always had, slogging my gear up by myself. I had a successful gear drop, after a 5 hour ruck, and already I could feel myself losing my mind. I found the first of what would be many Argentinian shit caches, where there would be piles of human poop and poopy toilet paper just tucked away somewhere. “Why aren't you shitting in a bag!?” I wondered. The whole point of the “carry all out” was that the climate causes decomposition to take hundreds of years, so if the couple thousand people who attempt the mountain every year just crapped wherever they wanted, there would be poopy piles everywhere for centuries in no time! On the way back down to base camp from my cache I had my first fall. Like a blind guy I slipped on a loose rock and just kept tumbling like a boulder rolling down hill. I was fine, but if that had been the real decent and I was carrying all of my gear all my bones would have likely been broken. That night, in base camp, I had a night terror and woke up screaming for a few seconds. Thankfully no one seemed to care. I decided I would try to speed up circulation and acclimation by taking some Ibuprofen... I checked the bottle and realized it had been expired for 6 years! Dammit! I thought I'd got all this cleared up courtesy of Morocco! At least my anti-diarrheals were up to date...
The next day I pilfered more food to keep my rations stocked. Snacks were conveniently stockpiled in the guided expedition's fancy tents. The trick, as with anything, was to walk in and out with maximum confidence. I wondered if I could keep it up as long as I needed. At that point I was just needing calories, I didn't care where they came from. I was eating lots of junk chocolate and it was starting to make me nauseous.
When I was finally allowed to see the doctor I was cleared to go higher, permanently. As I began the migration I could feel my unusually sluggish body protesting. I'm not sure that moving from a debatabley pristine diet to one exclusively of choco-snacks and ramen packets with little sleep was the best way to fight a feverish illness, especially since the higher you go the slower and less effectively you heal. However, my body seemed to be doing exactly as I hoped it would: use it's phoenix-like immune system to beat the hell out of whatever comes it's way; despite the terrible conditions and beatings it endured. I wondered if my outlook on life was a result of my body's abilities, or vice versa.
My first night above base camp I began to wish that the weather was either hot OR cold. Somehow it seemed both simultaneously. As I wondered if I was feeling the actual weather or a trailing fever there was a massive avalanche on the mountain. I learned they are quite common. That was also the first night that everything inside the tent became covered in ice, the new normal.
Wandering around Camp Canada I kept finding caches of poop, bitter I had to carry a bag of my crap around while others shit freely, but somehow proud of fighting “the good fight”. I remembered talking to one of the guides, and him telling me “we are killing the mountain”. He had the same look of begrudging depression in his eyes that I must have had while describing commercial fishing as “murdering the ocean”. While kicking around camp I made the acquaintance of some Argentinians who where having a full on barbeque, the gear for which was hauled up by porters. They invited me in and gave me legitimate matte they had personally smuggled in from the nearest tropical rainforest ... I ate it. It's not for eating. Their spoon is also a straw, so I confused it's purpose. It's mainly for drinking. It was still delicious though. The leader of their group of friends used to be a guide on the mountain, so after they taught me the correct method for imbibing matte they showed me good water sources, good pooping spots, and general tricks of the trade for the mountain. Finally they gave me dinner! That day I also met a Canadian-Egyptian about my age on a guided tour of the mountain. I decided I would try and get on the two group's schedules since the rangers and doctors didn't want me to attempt the summit alone. Also, the weather was supposed to get bad, so sticking close to the two groups would give me access to environmental intel.
The next morning I had originally intended a cache and carry to the next camp, “Nido de Condores”, but in order to get on the other group's schedules I would need to perform a single massive carry and stay there. Risky, as I didn't want my brain swelling out of my skull or my lungs filling with fluid and drowning me in the air, but I chose to move forward with it. However, I decided to leave a few things behind at Canada to lighten the load. Extra boots, a pair of Jeans, a can of fuel, and one of my sleeping mats would be staying behind. I planned to swing by on the way down to recover them. Even with the items I left it was still six hours of misery getting to Nido, 5400m, which felt almost as bad as the initial carry to base camp. Word had spread about my climb, and the rangers at Nido hunted me down to check and make sure I had arrived there: apparently there were already several deaths that month. The Argentinians suggested I skip the final camp and do a massive summit push straight from Nido. I told them I'd think about it... after a rest. That night I had dinner with a couple of different groups. I found a Japanese guy who was also solo, and we exchanged food and stories. He gave me some Diamox, the high altitude drug, just in case. I'd never taken it before and wasn't planning to. After my Japanese dinner I had dinner with the Argentinians. Every meal was a festival with them and I was already full. I had a packed stomach but again I slept poorly, this time not just because of some change in the internal pressure of my body, but because I pitched my tent on a slope and kept rolling around like a pinball. At midnight I finally had to accept that I needed to go out and reposition the tent. I did and slept all the better for it.
I had planned to take it easy my second day at Nido. I needed to rest from the carry and acclimate to the altitude. I had a to-do list to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Of course you can't really get an early start to the day on Aconcagua. The weather isn't really usable until around 9:30 in the morning when the sun finally makes contact with the camps. Before that, everyone pretty much stays huddled in their tents, preferring not to break camp until around 11. There were little things to do like melting snow for water and therefore tea, and sorting my gear again. I needed to make sure I had what I needed for the drastic temperature changes. Then there where more involved things to do such as talking to the rangers about summitting from Nido and finding a good place to poop. While accomplishing my chores I saw a condor! I thought the name of the place was metaphorical! That bird would be the first and last flora or fauna I would see on the mountain. After chatting with the Argentinians throughout the day they told me I should NOT attempt to climb to the summit from Nido de Condores, even though it was their idea. The weather was too unpredictable and the altitude jump too great to warrant the gamble. I REALLY didn't want to slog all my things to Camp Berlin, the next highest camp, but it looked like I wouldn't have much choice. While talking with some climbers they suggested the title of my autobiography be “too much baggage and on the wrong road”. Fitting. The Argentinians again fed me, this time “Polenta”. I had eaten my own dinner early because I was sure they would try and feed me again. Nothing could be done though, and soon I was miserably full. The previous night they had stuffed me with ravioli. As the sun went down the winds picked up and I decided to use my stash of 550 paracord to add extra lashing to the tent, lest the winds do some serious damage or make off with the tent altogether.
True to their plan I heard the Argentinians making for the summit around 3am. I resigned myself to the necessity of not going because I needed more acclimation. The proof was in my heart, literally. My heart kept feeling like it was going flat, like an old balloon, at which point I would hyperventilate; not normal for me. It made sleeping even more of a hassle than it normally would be. At daybreak I begrudgingly packed my things and began the move to Cholera, the final high camp, passing “Berlin”. Arriving at camp 3 above base camp I was greeted with constant strong winds. Setting up the tent and vestibule was an exercise in frustration,but through the magic of will power and constant swearing I managed the set up. I hoped the weather would hold that “good” for summitting the following day, because I only had enough food left for one more day. I was going for broke, to triumph or die! I walked around camp gathering snow to melt for water, and sorting my gear for summit day. The double-layered mountaineering boots I'd rented were heavy enough as it was, but when they became coated in the sulfurous mud-mix that Camp Cholera seemed to be exclusively made of they became twice as heavy. I hoped the ground would freeze a bit more to give me an easier time moving. Be careful what you hope for!
The alarm was set for 3am and I had slept with all my layers and gear on except the outermost and my water was premade so that I would be ready to go with minimal morning preparation. I was excited to finally have all my efforts rewarded and conquer the mountain. I was on the road by 4 but by 10 I noticed something was off. In order to last as long as necessary I had been extreme rationing my food so that it would run out exactly on this summit day and not before. Unfortunately this seemed to cause a low blood sugar situation and by 10 my body was extremely difficult to move and anytime I stopped moving I would just doze off. I was literally out of usable energy. I pressed on and by noon, every two steps was followed by a gasping rest. I very slowly made my way passed a park ranger. He told me not to push it, the last few people that died on the mountain had done so because they just ran out of energy the same as I was. I insisted I just needed a rest. An hour later I arrived at the cave that doubles as a ranger medical station 300 or so meters below the summit. I decided to take a 15 minute rest, and I was given some candies, sugar, and the like. I immediately felt better. The ranger in the cave received a radio transmission and said “I'll be right back”. A few minutes later he returned with the Canadian-Egyptian I'd been hanging out with. He looked awful. I was surprised to see him. “I could see the top! … then I just blacked out.” The ranger had brought him back to the cave to keep an eye on him. I asked if it was the altitude or blood sugar, but he wasn't sure. I told him he should rest for a few minutes and then we could go summit together. He didn't seem keen. I encouraged him to the fullest. “I don't know man”. You can do it! “I'm good. I'm happy with how far I made it.” If I had paid many thousands of dollars for a guided expedition and then not summitted I would be pissed. During the guy's 15 to 30 minute rest waiting for him to recover, the sky turned from blue to gray. What seemed like seconds afterward the air in front of our faces did the same. A snow like I had never seen before began to fly in every direction driven by ferocious winds. I asked the ranger if we could make it to the summit during this. “Don't try. It's going to be like this from now on.” 'I can make it!' I protested. “Let it go. I've worked on this mountain for 10 years. There's nothing here but rocks and snow. It's not worth dying over. The summit is in your heart. Let it go, you've won.” Except I knew I hadn't. Even during his speech I was just waiting for him to finish talking so I could take off to the peak. Even though we were just a few hundred meters from the summit it was the most difficult of the entire climb and needed to be taken seriously. Then the thunder and lighting started. Trapped in the cave, air shattered around us as the snow raged in every direction. I'd heard of the viento blanco, Aconcagua’s “White Wind”, but didn't imagine a monsoon with the rain replaced by snow and biblical caliber lighting added. Not only was there no chance at the summit, I didn't even see a chance to get down. The climbing routes had been buried in snow in mere moments, and I was concerned about being struck by lightning. As the lightning blizzard that defied imagination raged on, a military type team of Americans that was on their way down from a climb entered the cave. They found out I was by myself and offered for me to jump into their squad for an escort down. Offer accepted! One extraction please. Moving as fast as possible using GPS markers we made our decent in the deafening white out. Nothing looked familiar. I was told that oftentimes in these conditions people would wander lost or even right off a cliff. During the blizzard I discovered that all 3 pairs of expensive gloves I'd bought wear worthless, along with my hand warmers. Thankfully, after a tiring several hours we made it back to camp. Everything was deeply buried in snow and needed to be excavated. My tent was still standing but the zippers had been broken in the blizzard which still showed no signs of letting up. Now the only thing that was keeping ice and snow out of my tent was the ill-fitting vestibule, and it wasn't doing a great job. I added freezing to death to my list of concerns. 14 hours after I'd left on my summit attempt, all I had to show for it was a wrecked tent, a wrecked body with floppy baby-goat legs, and heaps of snow.
People tend to limit their time spent about 5,000m to as little as possible since human bodies rapidly degrade above that. I was now stuck at camp 3 - 6,000m for who knew how much longer. I was out of food, and my tent had filled with ice and snow while I was asleep. At least my sleeping bag was good. That night a plethora of signal flares were shot out. My deduction is that someone was probably still lost in the blizzard. I don't know for sure if anyone died, but I'm pretty sure. The mountain kills people all the time, and the conditions where hellish. I mulled over what I would do. I was already thousands of dollars invested, and had come a few hundred meters from summiting; I could work this out. The thought of quitting now was too much to bear .. almost as heavy as the thought of trying another summit. I was worn out.
Once most people were able to get into their tents, that's where they stayed. Climbers shouted at each other through the wind from tent to tent to try and get updates. One guy heard that tomorrow would be as good a summit attempt as today, but after that was a mystery. I wondered if I had another one in me on back to back days, but going faster, and on no food or sleep? It was during this time that I met a guy called Jim, also by himself. He was set up about 10 meters away from me and over heard me shouting at people. He had just arrived and wanted to summit the following day. I was in. We talked again at 3am, but the weather was not good. He said he wanted to wait until first light, but I knew that would be too late. We met from 6-6:30 anyway. Not only would that have been too late on a GOOD day, but all the trails were gone, buried under significant snow. We ran some recon and found out the following day should be good for a summit. We decided to rest for the day, which was the best for my body anyway. I was winded and sore just going out to the cliff designated for pooping into our bags. Jim couldn't believe I was keen to try again on back to back days in the first place, until he found out I occasionally moonlighted as a commercial fisherman off of Kodiak Alaska. “Now it makes sense! Only a commercial fisherman from Alaska would be crazy like you.” Turns out Jim was from just across the way in Cordova, and had been a commercial fisherman himself for decades as well as a bush pilot. At 56 years old he was now “retired” and now working as a private pilot in Arabia. A man after my own heart, we swapped stories and buddied up.
Later that morning the leader of my military type escort/extraction came up to my tent. His group had completed their summit and now they were getting the hell out of there. I thanked him for the help from yesterday. He had overheard Jim and I talking about Alaska and it happened that he used to be a guide/babysitter for “a group of idiots” on some TV show based in Alaska for a number of years. Small world! I told him if I was lucky maybe I'd be one of those idiots some day. We chatted and he seemed to like the cut of my jib. His group had left over food they didn't want to ruck down, or pay a porter to carry. He gave it all to me, along with some advice. Supposedly the snow was now hip deep in spots towards the summit. He said he knew a couple groups were setting out in the morning, and recommended I draft about half an hour behind them so they could break trail and I could save my energy since I likely wouldn't be fully recovered from my previous attempt. “The rest of these guys couldn't give a shit about you because you're a gringo, but I can tell you're serious. Don't waste your chances.” I thanked him, we shook hands, and his group marched out. I spent the rest of the day eating as much donated food as possible to get my energy up, resting, and drinking/making water for summit attempt number 2 in the morning. Not summitting was one of the most devastating things, but I now felt again that this could work.
Milling around camp I met a Hispanic guy in his 20's and a french-polish woman in her 50's who was working for the U.S. Military. They both said they wanted to join Jim and me. Party of four! Safety in numbers. While preparing her water, the woman ran out of fuel so I prepared her final liter of water for her. Foreboding.
The plan was to be up at 4 and gone at 5. The Hispanic never showed, but Jim, the lady, and myself set out on time. The winds were strong, and the coldest I had ever experienced. With my gloves having failed during the blizzard, my literally freezing hands made the trudge that much more difficult. Jim gave me some hand warmers that actually worked, and they made my hands warm enough to feel pain. This meant they hopefully weren't freezing to the bone causing irreparable damage. I took what I could get. The change in terrain from the previous attempt meant that the climb was more difficult, but also more direct. There was now only one path, the one that had been broken an hour prior, which meant less opportunity for getting lost: My specialty. Though my actual pace was slower I reached the refugio indepencia, the highest refuge in the world and also the halfway point, several hours faster than before. Though Jim and I were still close to each other at this point, the lady had fallen behind hours earlier. Neither Jim nor I ever saw her again. Those who fell behind got left behind; we couldn't afford a 24 hour summit attempt. This was understood, so when Jim's pace eclipsed my own and he disappeared in the distance I didn't mind. I wished him success as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, my body still ragged out from the previous summit attempt. About an hour before the ranger cave, my previous best, I developed a deep coughing fit. I don't know if high altitude pneumonia is a thing, but I imagined that's what it would feel like. One cough was forceful enough that it felt like it either cracked a rib, or damaged an intercostal muscle. Neither one is uncommon, just uncommon to me. Not long after, I was working my way up a steep incline just past “el dido”(the finger), one of the landmarks, when my right crampon broke. I immediately went sliding down the slick packed-snow and ice covered mountain side. I was picking up speed and losing altitude fast. I aimed for some rocks hoping they would stop my descent, but they just beat the hell out of me and I kept going. I jammed my trekking poles into the ground, breaking one of them. Finally I stopped. If the cough didn't crack a rib, that long abusive fall definitely had. I inspected what was left of the crampon: the spikes were fine, it was the affixing strap that had broken. I later had 3 different guides take a look to make sure I hadn’t done something incorrectly; I had not. It was the strap that had broken on it's own. I jury rigged the device back on to my boot the best it would go, but I had to spend the rest of the solitary climb constantly adjusting it. The fall had added an hour or two to the climb and caused me to use up a lot of precious energy. I also now had a messed up trekking pole, right crampon, and right cracked rib. I soldiered on.
Right before I made it back to the cave, a powerful gust of wind came in, even stronger than the rest, at the perfect angle and sucked my glacier glasses right off my face and into the abyss. They were the kind that hooked behind your ear, rather than strap behind the head. I had an extra pair, but had elected to leave them behind to save weight on the summit attempt. Now my eyes were exposed. Everything was covered in snow and ice and the sun felt so close. It was as if there were multiple suns everywhere. I remember thinking that despite the altitude and everything being frozen that I felt so hot. I pulled my balaclava down to breath better and get some fresh hair on my face. It felt so good I left it down longer than I should have. Pressing on I was at the cave now. Just a couple hours to climb the last few hundred meters. I hadn't endured this much to turn back, twice. I began the climb of the infamous canaleta scree field. Normally hours of loose rocks sliding around, the entrance was now guarded by belly button deep snow. Many people turned around because they couldn't get through it or over it. I refused. After two hours of awkward maneuvers I was over the worst of it and people were passing me on their way back down from the summit. One of them was Jim. “What happened to your eyes!?” I told him what had happened so far. “Jesus. Go back down. You look really bad.” I'm too close! He gave me some marathon gels to eat and told me to be careful. I ate the food immediately. One of the guys next to Jim saw me and said “your eyes!” I explained about my goggles getting sucked off. “I've got an extra pair of wrap around goggles. Take them and give them back when you get down.” I thanked him. I figured I'd be fine since I was only exposed for 2 hours. After maybe one more hour I was clamoring over the final boulder.
I had done it. I was standing by myself on the highest peak in the world outside the Himalaya. It was beautiful. There was no one even close to around me and since there's no winter expedition in the Himalaya I was the highest up person on the planet. Out of 7.5 billion people, at that moment I was the single highest out of all of them. I searched for the adventurer’s log that is normally beneath the cross that marks the summit, but it had been removed. In it's place was a box, which I tagged with a sticker taking the place of signing the adventurer's log. I took some pictures and really soaked in the moment before heading down. It was surreal. It had taken me 11 overly difficult days with everything working against me, but I'd done it. My spirit overcame all challenges. No guides, no team, no support. It felt good. I didn't realize the hardest part was yet to come.
At about 4pm I set off for camp. On the way down I'd gotten turned around and was quite tired, so I just decided to have a lie down for 5 minutes in whatever comfy snow field I'd ended up in. A ranger happened to chance upon me while he was escorting a dying Frenchman to the cave, which it turns out I was very close to but didn't recognize. He figured I was dying to, so had me come with him. I told him I was fine, just resting, but went with him to the cave to catch my bearings. I felt fine. The Frenchman was getting escorted to cholera, where I was heading, so the ranger insisted I come to. I didn't care, so I went. I'm glad I accepted the offer. About 5 minutes from camp my eyes just shut off. Spontaneously, I was blind.
I couldn't see a thing. I immediately realized I had gone blizzard blind. I figured I would have been fine with just 2 hours of exposure; I figured wrong. The ranger had me put my hand on his shoulder and he lead me back to camp. The terrain was slick, rocky, and terrifying. We arrived back at camp and the ranger kept asking if I knew anyone. I named Jim. The ranger dispatched someone and not long after, I heard Jim's voice. “Oh my god, are you blind!?” Yes. I'm fine though. “You look awful! What happened to your face!?” … I don't know. I would soon learn that pulling my balaclava down to breath and freshen up was not the best idea: my face and internal tissues were badly burned. The inside of my nose, my gums, and of course eyes and face were toast. My lips had swollen and popped like microwave sausages. I looked like a honey baked ham wearing wax lips, I just didn't know it yet.
The ranger started shouting at someone in Spanish who seemed to be in charge of the camp. He translated: “You will now walk down to the next camp. There you will stay the night. In the morning you will pay porters to pack and move your things.” What!? “You are being evacuated.” I can't walk several hours to the next camp! It took me nearly 40 minutes to go the 5 minutes back into THIS camp! Also, I don't have the money for porters. The ranger turned to me, suddenly his English wasn't terrible. “I am a police officer! I am not asking! You WILL respect me! My job is to save you and that means getting you down now.” I tried to explain that I did respect him, and I was sure I'd be fine in the morning. I just needed some rest. I told him I was medically educated and a wilderness first responder, experienced, etc. “I don't care.” He had Jim go into my tent and grab my sleeping bag for the journey that would likely kill me. I knew the only way to get out of this was to prove I wasn't blind. I opened my eyes as wide as possible. The pain was excruciating; it felt like my eyes were fried and swollen, and my eyelids were cutting them. I couldn't see. I tried moving and crossing my eyes. I could now see large splotches of the color blue, and with the sun to my back I assumed the colors represented whatever was immediately in front of me. I declared I could see. The ranger cop was not having it. I said the blindness must have been temporary, or maybe something had gotten in my eye that was now gone. He held up fingers. His voice sounded so close, I assumed they were right up in my face, so I just counted the blue blobs and passed the test. I must have been right because he got on his SAT phone or whatever and called off the evac. He was pissed. After he left Jim said “you look terrible man, and I was really worried, and then I got caught up in the mess and you were in trouble with that cop...” Welcome to being my friend. “So you can see?” nope. I am super fucking blind. Faking sight had really taken it out of me and I couldn't even have my eyes open without crippling pain. Even when I did open them I couldn't see anything. Still, Being able to breifly see “blue” told me that after a day's rest I should be alright. I fumbled around and went to bed, content with my summit success and safe with the knowledge that after a rest day I would be OK.
That night the white winds returned with a fury. I was pretty sure the tent wouldn't hold, but what was left of it mostly did. I planned to just stay in my sleeping bag for a full day and rejuvenate. I was spent to my core. Then I was shouted awake. “Are you OK?” ….what? “Are you OK?” It was the Argentinian guy who seemed to be in charge of camp. I replied groggily that I was fine. “Can you see?” I don't know, I'm still in bed. “Check if you can see!” I opened my eyes. They were crusty and dry and painfully cracked and oozed as I forced them open. I saw small bits of blue, small pieces of what I assume were light, but could make nothing out. It was mostly just blackness. It hurt, but it was better than the previous night I thought. I figured after a full 24 hours of sleeping they would be good enough. I answered that I could see well enough. “Can you get down on your own?” Sure, I said, no problem. I told him I'd wait the storm out in my bag for the day and that I planned to leave tomorrow. “Good. Everyone has to leave right now. The blizzard will only get worse in the coming days. We need everyone to move down to the next camp.” Shit. I was blind. Also my body was so trashed it was worthless, and I'd burned my face off. I wasn't exactly fresh. I thought with some focus and careful footwork I could make it down. I could barely get my boots on. Packing was a nightmare that ultimately turned out to be a fool's errand. The winds raged all around me and I was sightless. Eventually I got most things packed, but there was nothing I could do with my pile of belongings. I just sat on my pile and blindly thought about what the hell I was going to do.
After a bit a couple of guides happened to walk by and see me. They asked what I was doing and I told them I'd gone blind. They offered to guide me down the mountain, no problems. They said they'd radio some people to grab my things and my gear would meet me at basecamp. Their generosity and will to help were both humbling and inspiring; they were not rangers, so they had no obligation to help, but did anyway. They just said they were on their way to BC anyway so they may as well take me. It's not like I was following them though, they properly had to guide me all the way down. They lent me goggles to cover my sensitive face, and they rigged up a tactile hold with trekking poles and sandwiched me in the middle of the two guides, effectively making us one unit. As I felt my way down the mountain, the guides explained the coming terrain to me for hours. First we made it to Nido where they put me in the ranger hut and gave me pain killing eye drops. The ranger on duty was the cop I'd had a fight with the night prior. He came up to me and said “shut up”. I didn’t say anything. “Don't. Not a word. Shut up.” He was not thrilled to see me. After our reunion the guides took me to camp Canada where we picked up my cache of gear, which they then proceeded to carry, and then we finally made it to base camp.
The guides took me straight to the medical tent. “Nash, welcome back.”, said the doctor. She remembered me. I'm blind now. “So I hear. Let's take a look.” The doc and her assistant looked me over. “Yes. You are blind. Snow blind. You should have had the wrap around glasses!” I know that now! “You pull this again within a year, and you'll likely go blind forever.” Yeah, not really on my to do list. While I was lying on the table the doctor flipped my eyelids inside out and scrubbed them. The insides of my eyelids were like burnt bacon scraping my eyes. “I'm going to put some drops in your eyes, then fully pack and occlude them. You won't be able to open them for a couple days. Even though I'm sealing them shut, you should still wear sunglasses. When you finally are able to open them, wear sunglasses at all times, even indoors at night.” I'll look so cool! “Unlikely.” After they had sealed my eyes, the doctor said “OK, we're going to give you some medicine now.” … what. What do you mean? “Medicine. To help you.” How? “ A punch”. What? “A shot.” No. “ You NEED this.” No I don't. “It's a pain killer and anti inflammatory, and you really do.” I don't want it. Please don't give it to me, I'll freak out! I decline treatment. If you do this, I'll rampage and I won't be able to see what I'm destroying. You're making a huge mistake. Don't give me the shot. “Are you serious? Why?” I can't handle them, they freak me out. “What? I've heard your stories. Look what you've just accomplished! You've got superman Cajones, how are you scared of shots!?” I just am. “Fine, we'll give you a pill, but it doesn't really work.” Sounds great. “OK, now that everything is done on our end, you are properly blind so we need to med-evac chopper you down. “ OK. “When you get down there will be an ambulance waiting to transfer you to the hospital. “I won't go. “you have to. You need to see an eye specialist.” I won't “If it's a money thing, you won’t have to worry, it's free.” Hospitals are scary. “You're kidding.” I am not. “Well you won't be able to see anything so you don't have to worry.” That's worse! “What would you have me do? Order the chopper to drop off a blind guy in the middle of some road? And then what? You're blind.” I'll work it out. If you tel me there's an ambulance waiting to get me when I land, then the second the chopper touches down I'm going to bolt. “TO WHERE!? YOU CAN'T SEE!” I'll pick a direction and fight everything that's in the way. “OK. Fine. Our job is to make sure you are stable and then get you off the mountain. What you do then is up to you.” Thank you. “You should reconsider though.” Noted.
The chopper arrived and flew me to the park entrance, turning a grueling 18 hour ruck into a calm 18 minute (or less) flight. The doctor must have radioed ahead, because on landing there was no attempt to take me to the hospital. There was an attempt to get a couple thousand dollars for the chopper ride though. I told them I didn't have any money, but since they made me get insurance that should do. “Well, the way it normally works is you pay, then the insurance reimburses you.” Well, I don't have money, so if you would like some you call them and work it out. They informed me I had 5 days to come up with the money. Sure, whatever.
A Czech youtube star that had been choppered down with me due to a leg wound was getting a shuttle from the park entrance to a hotel in Los Penitentes, so I hitched a ride with him. The infamous “Hotel Ayer” is often used as a base by climbers and guides, so they are used to seeing all sorts of things. Apparently I was more extreme than most. The proprietor, an Englishman, was shocked when I stumbled up to the check in desk. I proclaimed I would like a room, and when he turned around his first shocked sentence was “AH Mate, You're Fucked!” Thank you. “What happened!?” I gave him the short version. “Right. First floor room for you then.” He was extremely kind with a classic forward dry sense of humor. He led me to my room, led me around to the restaurant down the stairs, and was generally accommodating. The next day he asked what my plan was. I told him after the muleteer arrived with my gear I would hop a 3 hour bus for Mendoza and then take a taxi to my hostel. “Mate. Don't do that. You're blind. You're going to get taken advantage of so bad. You can't see your bag or your money. They're going to take you for everything. I'll call one of the companies that has a group shuttle. There's one leaving for Mendoza tonight, I'll make sure you're on it. You don't need to be taking taxis and shit in your condition, especially here.” I thanked him Profusely. “Also, go to the damn hospital!” I'm fine.
The shuttle arrived and took me to Mendoza, but refused to take me to my hostel. It just dropped me and my gear, now in big burlap sacks courtesy of the muleteer, in a big pile downtown in the middle of the night. I had to take a taxi anyway. As far as I know I didn't get ripped off. Couldn't have been too bad, because I hardly had money anyway.
When I got to the hostel they were fumigating my room for bed bugs. Again. I decided to hole up there until my vision started to come back. In my new bed bug free room there was an old gross Spanish couple trying and failing to quietly have sex in the bunk below mine. Not the restful night I needed. After a few days I could see roughly 2 feet in front of my face with no depth perception at all. My balance was also terrible. It was like walking around an M.C. Escher painting. Stairs and curbs were a dangerous mystery. During this time I was summoned by the government and porter agency to settle my debt for getting my body and gear from the top of the mountain to Los Penetentes. I arrived at their office and told them I didn’t have money, but they could call the insurance company and get some from them. They called my bluff and phoned the insurance company on the spot. We had a conference call between me, the insurance, and the agency. The insurance company was intimately familiar with Aconcagua. “We extracted 24 people from that mountain last month alone.” I explained my no-money-blindness situation. They said that if they were sent invoices by the government they'd take care of it. They wanted to talk to me again that night, but I informed them I had no phone, the hostel didn’t have one to use, and I didn't have access to email. All further business should be handled without me. This was now between the Argentinian government and the insurance people. The insurance advised me that since I was removing myself from the equation that if I paid anyone anything I would not be reimbursed by them, and advised I don't pay anything. Way ahead of you! That night I went back to the hostel to grab my things, and was eaten by bed bugs so badly my arms and legs matched my face.
Once I was good enough to travel I did, and fled Argentina before the end of my 5 business day time limit to get the Argentinian government and porter agencies the thousands of dollars they wanted. I just left the country, later receiving an email stating that they never got their money. I guess I'll just have to add Argentina to the list of places I can't go back to. On the way out I found some expensive items to smuggle and took off for Chile. My $1,000 tent was stolen off the bus on the way. It was secured to my bag via 2 bag straps, a caribeener, and lashed with 550 paracord. It was definitely stolen. Gear in the area goes for a premium, so I'm sure someone thought they would turn a profit. Joke's on them: it was mostly destroyed anyway. They really just stole a pile of ripped up vinyl with broken zippers attached.
So climbing Aconcagua Solo: No guides, No Team, No Support. What could go wrong? Well for me:
- the tsa broke one of my bags and tore the other
- tsa stole most of my rations and repair tool
- came on with some pox that rendered me deaf and mute when I got to Argentina
- Permit office ripped me off for an extra 40$us
- tried to get all my gear sorted at the hostel before I left to go catch the only bus, but they threw it all in a pile outside my room because they were fumigating for bed bugs, just had to grab everything and jump on a bus.
- Messed up a mule order so I had to ruck 70lbs 17 hours over 2 days ( 5 hours and 12 hours) to base camp. Grueling!
- ran out of food - twice - and had to buy 3 packs of top ramen and a bag of cookies for 25$us. 1000% markup!
- 300m from the summit, the most extreme lightning blizzard causes me to run back.
- All 3 pairs of expensive gloves fail, plus the handwarmers
- Blizzard destroys a lot of my 1000$ tent, filling it with snow and ice while I’m inside.
- crampons broke causing me to fall and go sliding down the mountain, breaking part of my trekking pole to stop myself, adding hours to summit attempt 2 and wasting a lot of energy
- cracked a rib
- strong winds suck glasses off of my face and into the abyss
- became completely blind for a week from a couple hours of exposure
- got in a fight with an Argentine cop
- I was forcefully chopper med-evaced off of the mountain
- I had burns on the inside of my eyelids, my gums, and the inside of my nose, on top of having my face burnt badly. The doctors at base camp actually had to flip my eyelids inside out and scrub them because the backs were like bacon.
- ran from going to Argentine hospital
- a shuttle refused to take me to my hotel, so I had to take a cab while I was blind, got back and they were fumigating my room for bedbugs... again!
- devoured by bedbugs anyway, now my arms and legs look like my face : like a honey baked ham wearing wax lips
- stumbled into the med-evac insurance meeting. didn’t pay the 2,000$us they wanted... left Argentina and have to add it to the list of places I cant go back to
All told I was blind for a week, but I did make a full recovery, including my face. I accomplished what I set out to do and not only didn't die, I made it out with no permanent damage. Blind, burned, and battered, few could do worse to me than I've done to myself. That was one hell of a spiritual strengthening training mission. I'm calling it a victory!
-NASH
*All the problems!