Expeditions
	Aconcagua, the small 8000'er December 2002

Mt Aconcagua - South America's highest peak at 6962m, and the highest peak in the world outside the Himalaya, had been on my mind for several years...more or less since climbing Kilimanjaro in '96, but I still don't really understand what motivates one to attempt such things. I'd considered going for the past few years and finally made up my mind to have a crack at 'Ac' as its fondly called, in December 2002. 
 
As a point of comparison, for those who have hiked in the 'berg, Ac is over twice the height of anything we have in Southern Africa. Its 1 Km higher than Kilimanjaro, but still roughly 2 Km lower than Everest. Ac, despite a route up the Northern Face which can be climbed without the use of ropes or specialised climbing devices, is known worldwide for its extreme cold and ferocious weather. It has a higher death and injury rate than Everest - mainly because its is accessible to less experienced climbers and many succumb to the extremes of its weather and cold. Having been there, I now understand why. Its a cold dry and windy place that suddenly turns very, very hostile...Experts refer to Ac as a 'small 8000m peak' - meaning that the conditions one gets on the mountain resemble those typically found at 8000m or so in the Himalaya. While its Northern Face offers a trekking approach to the summit, the Southern Face is over 3Km of nearly vertical ice and rock; challenging the most serious, experienced, and technical ice-climbers to the extreme. Simply put, Aconcagua is not a mountain to be taken lightly. We were there to have a go at the normal route...the southern face beckoned.
 
My Aconcagua adventure started with a discussion about the mountain and its climbing with the good folk at Adventure Dynamics in 2001. For various reasons, a trip to the mountain in Dec 2001 didn't work out and mid last year I decided to have a go at it for real. With a R10K deposit paid, and an overall trip price of R30K before gear, things started happening in August or so....
 
The first thing was physical preparation: for me, this took the form of long walks and hour long runs at a slow pace - essentially trying to get the body used to prolonged exercise at a fairly high intensity, and stairs training on the WestCliffe steps with the rest of the group. The stairs training was fun and quite competitive. It was no real predictor of success on the mountain. Apart from getting extremely fit overall, there is no real recommended way to train for high mountains; sure, you can do weights and cycle and run and swim, but the bottom line is that all this helps, but is no substitute for time on the mountains itself. Unfortunately for me, I sprained my right ankle badly with 2 months to go before the trip, and spent more time in physio than training. Then with a month to go I developed a chest infection and bad cough. I had medical tests and these showed my lung capacity to be at 80% of normal. We tried various courses of various medicines and there was only a marginal improvement. However, I was feeling well enough by the time I left to get on and go for the trip - withdrawal is somehow less of an option when you've paid your deposit and a beach holiday suddenly looks *SO* boring...
 
The other part of preparation was the buying of gear. The mountain is notoriously cold and nasty, with storms often leaving people trapped in their tents for days at a time. Many people who attempt Ac come home without having got far up the mountain, but with a bleak memento in the form of missing or badly frostbitten fingers, toes, and noses. Its apparently fairly common for climbers to lose parts of their noses after being caught in the high winds and sub-zero temperatures of Ac. So, I decided to get the right gear. My initial thoughts of "modify my Kili gear" were naive. Kili isn't extreme. Its a doddle in comparison and the gear you need for Ac is pretty much the same as you would use for Denali. Its not quite the level of warmth that you would use for Everest or Vincent, but its not far off. Our basic gear included 3 layers of hand protection - liner glove, high-quality normal glove, and then a full arctic mitten on the outside. For our feet, we had normal boots and sock pair combinations up to base camp. Above base camp, we used double layer plastic mountaineering boots with crampons, and specialised sock pairs that offered special padding and insulation. Many climbers covered these boots further with an overboot, offering more insulation again. On one's legs, arms and body, the base layer was a thermal layer of thick warm tights, same for the body and arms, covered by an insulated and windproof pair of Sellopettes, then a fleece top over the body, and finally a Gore-Tex jacket. A neck warmer, balaclava, and ski goggles rounded off the picture. Gloves are roped to your jacket to that if you take them off they don't blow away. Gaiters are used to stop snow and ice getting into your boots from the top, or into your pants from the bottom. Water bottles are insulated against the cold and are carried under your jacket at higher altitudes. Other accessories included ski poles for general trekking, and a trekking ice-axe for safety and step cutting across the ice-fields. Finally, we slept in storm proof tents, layering our -40 rated sleeping bags over Thermorests which were over the gopher pads. Before you ask, it was still cold...
 
After much research and many hours spent reading reviews on the www and in climbing journals, I eventually bought all my outstanding gear in South Africa. Despite a $11:R1 exchange rate at the time, most imported gear was still cheaper to buy at Drifters in Sandton than it would have been in Europe, or the USA. Our down sleeping bags, jackets, and other climbing essentials are all really high quality and really good value. Gore-Tex jackets and plastic boots are imported. When one is considering such an expedition, one buys the best possible quality - after all, how much is a finger worth? As a result, the extra gear I required ended up costing me about R14K. The trip was fast becoming expensive, but hey, its because its there...
 
Due date fast approached and after taking various insurances and saying goodbyes, including a lunch attended by several of my mates in Joburg, I was dropped at the airport on Sunday morning, 1st Dec 2002, and met with some of my climbing group for the first time. Our party was lead by David Ker, and included several experienced climbers. Everyone had climbed Kili at least, several of the group had been on Everest, others had successfully summited Vincent, Denali, and Elbrus. It was an experienced team and as the flight progressed, we got to hear first hand of meeting with mountaineering legends, of trips, near misses, of summit attempts and successes, and of the mountain to come. David Ker had summited Ac 3 times before. Roy and his son Shaun had got close last year but had turned back due to bad weather - they had come back to 'crack' it this year. Patricia Glyn was climbing with a satellite phone and would be keeping the rest of the world back home in contact with our progress via her reporting job at SAFm.The flight too Buenos Aries took 1.5 hours longer than expected - the result of flying directly into a headwind of more than 200kph...the same jet stream that Aconcagua sticks right up into. We had been warned.
 
On landing at B.A. we transferred to the domestic airport and were promptly told that we had missed our flight to Mendoza. The only real option was to wait until the next flight, several hours later. Waiting was accomplished by imbibing on the finest local beer and admiring the local talent. The nice thing about Argentina (especially in B.A. which has the highest per capital spend on Cosmetic Surgery and Psychotherapy - you spot the link!), is that the women believe, no, they *know* they are sexy. What is more, is that they are correct! At least, they were all correct after eight beers. I vaguely remember getting onto a small jet to fly to Mendoza, and they we were touching down at 1am in this town at the foot of the Andes.
 
Mendoza: My first impressions were that of a tired, slightly hungover would-be mountaineer with a lot of stuff to do. Get climbing permits, get reserve gear, buy food, explore the town, meet locals, write email to friends and family home, sort out some internet banking. Christmas presents? Don't be silly - those could wait. In the next two days we perved the fine receptionists at our hotel, then spent our time paying park entry fees and getting our permits while David Ker made final land arrangements. After a late breakfast and a delay due to the bus company thinking we were only leaving the *next* day!  At our hotel was another South African, who was on the earlier Adventure Dynamics trip on Ac and who had to come off the mountain after a bad chest infection. We chatted friendly and discussed the stories. He was sure that the others in his team would summit - several had tried the year before but had also failed. When we finally got picked up and drove towards the Andes, our fellow climber helped us pack and then burst into tears...such was the feeling of failure
 
For those who haven't had the spiritual/physical experience of the Andes at close range lets just say that these are a truly impressive range of mountains. They stretch the length of most of the South American continent. They rise from sea level on the pacific side to nearly 7000m just 50km Eastwards. The entire range has been formed as a result of two tectonic plates slamming into each other. The crumple zones are the Andes. It must take quite some collision to produce these crumples! As our bus drove towards the Andes we passed alongside a cold but fast and very interesting river. Continuous grade 3+, all at about 5 Degrees C no doubt, but it meant that I spent most of my time looking between the river and the mountains. The river begs to be run, commercial trips do operate it, but if I go back then its for a month and its with my kayak! Further up the mountain we went through various checkpoints and had lunch at a petrol station. Lunch was memorable because I managed to stand in an Ants nest and was suddenly jumping around much to everyone else's amusement as several hundred ants bit my right foot, all at once. 'Fire-ants' as I was told they are called sting quite a bit but the pain goes away by the next day. Its just a little sting each, but then there were several hundred of these things. For the record, I was the only person in our group to get bitten by the ants, the others somehow avoided the ant nest, or avoided telling me about it more likely!
 
Our stop that night was Punta del Inca - place of the Incas - where we ate a fairly bland and questionably fresh meal at the ski resort, then investigated the local sulphur baths but didn't swim (against tradition, but it was snowing after all). On arrival we packed our gear into three portions. One was what would stay at Punta del Inca until our return and was stuff we didn't need on the mountain; two was our daypacks, food, and hiking gear for the next day; and three was our tents, spare clothes, high altitude gear etc that we would see the next afternoon at camp - it would be carried up the mountain by mules. My mule bag weighed in at 30Kgs. My daypack at 15kgs. In our day packs we carried our passports and climbing permits, without which you could not get into the park. The mules would arrive early in the morning and would take the heavy bags up the mountain. That evening, we slept eight to a room. It was blizzarding and snowing outside. The wind howled and the mountains were ominous. All this was at only 2300m! Who knew what conditions would be like at the summit. After the normal pre-expedition nervous chatter we got to sleep. At about 4am my tend mate, Arie, realised that he had forgotten his permit in his mule bag and needed to get it before the mules left, otherwise he wouldn't be allowed into the park to climb. So he searched for a way out but all was locked...except a small upstairs window through which he crawled, scaled down a wall and retrieved his permit. Getting back in was tricky but it was too cold not to do it and he made it in without most of us realising that he had gone at all. After a light, blotting-paper esque breakfast we headed up to the park gate in the ski resort's van. Since we had all our hiking gear on us, and since I was to climb with a pulse monitor (mainly out of interest), I had the strap loose in my hand and put it on the dashboard of the van in front of me. When we arrived at the park gate we all climbed out excitedly, and sure enough, the van left with my chest strap sitting on its dashboard - it was to be a pulse-monitor less climb...and there was a very real chance of never seeing my chest strap again.
 

Day one is a hike from the gate to a camp called confluencia - the confluence of two rivers - one muddy and the other clear. Its a long, gentle climb of about 1100m vertically. It takes about 6 hours and the pace is slow as people get used to conditions, views, and the weight of their packs. I don't think one ever really gets used the thin air, but at this level it still feels thick enough to chat while one walks. The path is easy going for the first hour. Then the valley narrows and the path becomes a single gravel track that winds its way up the right hand wall of the valley. The sides are steep and in some places a fall would be nasty, but its mostly stable, easy walking with the only action times those when the mules come down towards you. They have right of way and are nervous of you. On steep paths this leads to an interesting stand-off! Later on, as the altitude increases and people settle into the slog of the walk, conversation drops off and the group splits up into those that walk fast, those that walk slowly, and those somewhere in the middle. Near the end of the day we climbed up the back of a long ridge. My altimeter showed 3400m, and I knew the camp to be at 3300m, but a pressure based altimeter is never entirely trustworthy in such changeable conditions. To my relief, we rounded a corner and saw that below us lay our camp site. A huddle of tents from various expeditions clustered together on the valley floor. Tired and sunburnt, I descended to camp and Arie and I quickly set up our tent and made ourselves at home. 
 
Ac is windy. Wind blows tents, gear, and people off mountains, and as mountains go, Ac is a very windy mountain. Thus our tents were weighted down with rocks. Big rocks were placed on all the snow flaps of the tent until all available space was filled. The guy ropes were secured around bigger rocks. Tent pegs were never used once on the trip - they're essentially useless in high wind. At Confluencia we had a mess tent and a guide service who cooked for us. It was cold and we were tired, but some good food and coffee and the humour of a bunch of South African extremists meant that we only went to bed at around 9 to 10pm - nightfall. Getting out of the tent late at night is also not an option - its way to cold. So one tries to go to bed late so that a pee-break is not needed, and one learns to use the pee-bottle without spilling or waking one's tent partner. In more extreme conditions, and for more extreme needs, one learns to use the plastic packet. Things freeze-dry into all sorts of cool shapes!
 

I won't ever forget lying in my tent at Confluencia listening to the Aconcagua express -the name given to the winds that tear down the valley from the mountain. These winds are incredibly powerful and violent. I remember lying in my sleeping bag, trying to keep warm and fall asleep, then hearing this sound of a thunderous wind from far up the valley. Its so loud that sleep is impossible...then it get closer and closer...suddenly the tents uphill of you are flapping around and being pummelled by the winds...people cry out as tents threaten to fly...then the wind hits you. It sounds like rain or hail blasting your tent but its only the dust in the wind. The tent buckles and strains at its seams and ropes, and just then the wind gusts past to those below you. The Ac express visits several times each night. After the second night you just sleep through it, but each morning there are climbers, or rather there are cold climbers, rescuing tents and equipment from the icy waters of the river below the camp. 

Picture: 3km high South Face viewed from glacier surface, Day 2

Day two we used to acclimatisation, with a hike up the valley (in the opposite direction to the route we would take tomorrow) to the Southern Face. We again walked for about 4.5 hours up the valley, steeper and higher now, towards the Southern Face. The wind pumped again and two of our group lost their hats, despite them being on underneath the hoods of their jackets! The hiking was tougher - we were actually walking up the sand-covered slopes of a long glacier...and the wind provided a good introduction to conditions further up. We lunched behind a huge rock with a good view of the South Face - an impressive 3km or so of near vertical ice and rock. The bodies of failed mountaineers lie either at the bottom of this face, smashed and mangled on the rocks below, or else they are still suspended from ropes somewhere on the slopes. Ac takes a high toll even on the normal route. The Southern Face is incredibly tough and for expert approach only. Messner climbed his version of the route in 3 solid days of back to back climbing, demonstrating his different league again.

After some time viewing the face in awe and gradually freezing ourselves, we headed back. At some stage we heard a loud crack and the distinctive roar of an avalanche, but couldn't see it - no doubt just around the corner, but the fury of the sound was a reminder of some of the dangers that exist on mountains. Dangers for which we are totally unprepared in SA...The trip down was much faster, but I stopped to adjust my gear as we dropped out the wind and was immediately left behind the group. On descents it takes just a 4 minute stop to put over 500m between the person who has stopped and the group. Safety is a prime concern and one of our guides waited for me at the next windproof rock. The 4.5 hours up took us just on 1 hour back down. Such is the effect of altitude and wind. That evening at camp we were visited again by the express, but not before a good meal and one of the most amazing sunsets I've ever seen: the locals call it 'Aconcagua on Fire' and its quite an apt description - the whole mountain is bathed in a warm glowing light, and sky around it goes red. Its impressive, its cold, and its quite intimidating. Its a good signal that its time for bed.

Picture: Camp Confluencia sunset, Day 2

Day three on the mountain was to be a long day. Its a steep climb out of the valley that Confluencia sits in, then left (Westwards) around Ac up a long wide glacial valley, before lunching at a bend on the river, and pushing on again towards base camp. After an 18km march in, climbers are faced with a steep ascent of around 400m vertically up the terminal moraine of the glacier on which base camp is situated. Under normal good, warm, and still conditions, the hike takes 8 to 10 hours. In our case, as we crested out of our first valley we walked straight into a headwind of over 80kph. It was to remain a headwind at that speed for the next 7 hours or so, and it became a tough day, much tougher than all expected. We hiked in a base layer typical of a autumn day in the Berg, but covered it with full Gore-Tex. The wind pushed us back down the slope away from base camp, and blew hard enough to make the placement of ski poles difficult. We stopped for a drink behind the shelter of an enormous rock. It was cold and nasty, with dust from the plain being swept up around us, reducing visibility and sandblasting exposed skin. While in stunning scenery, photography was a mission. The path was a mule track across a flood plain, comprised mostly of small rocks, and going was gently uphill but there was never a flat place to put your foot. Lunch was around the corner behind another rock. We had walked 12km from camp. 

The afternoon was tougher - crossing numerous small streams of snow and glacial melt and now walking often on the steep side slopes of the valley, in this case actually walking on the lower slopes of Ac. At times we crossed penitentes - the frozen pinnacles of ice and snow that are the result of a snow field melting in the sun. While stunning to look at, they are tricky to navigate through, and were often way higher than me. Then we dropped down into the final flat valley below the terminal moraine wall we would have to climb later. The mules passed us, already on their way down, having dropped our gear off at base-camp that morning. Above base camp we would be alone - ferrying all critical gear up the mountain, with some left at base camp for our return. The wind was still pumping although ebbing slightly.  Picture: Sheltering for a drink, Day 3

To our left stood the remains of an earlier hotel, built when people still thought a ski resort this far up would have appeal (in winter the snow is up to 6m deep here, so no access is possible, but earlier planners hadn't accounted for that!). The hotel was made of strong rock and its roof was off, save for its large, strong steel roof girders - now violently twisted by the avalanche that had destroyed the hotel some years ago. To see this large steel beams contorted in mute agony, was to start to appreciate the forces of an avalanche. In summer, with dry ground the hotel and distant snow high up the mountain, the comprehension of winter conditions was difficult. At last we climbed the wall of moraine. I had a headache - more from dehydration than altitude, but walked slowly as a precaution. We all took a lot of strain. The hill was a number of false summits and eventually, after 8 hours walking into a strong headwind, we made it into base camp at 4300m. Hot tea awaited us. I rehydrated eagerly and the headache went away. That night we would eat well and sleep early. 

Day four was meant to be a rest day. For one of our group, Sean, it was not. He had also had a headache the previous day and hadn't slept that night. Fortunately, he was sharing a tent with our trip leader David, who recognised the symptoms of altitude sickness and looked after him. That morning while we had breakfast, Sean was examined by the resident base camp doctor. Within minutes he was in an insulation tent, Oxygen being pumped into the transparent bag placed around his body. A hour later he was flown off the mountain by the rescue helicopter. Ac for Sean was over, but at least he didn't have to walk the 30kms or so out. We heard via radio that he had made the gate safely and would return to Mendoza that evening for medical care. The rest of us spent that morning resting, recovering, sleeping, eating and drinking: just getting used to the cold and the new altitude. After lunch we headed out onto the snow and ice slopes just above base camp to practice walking and climbing in our full gear, and most importantly, to learn how to walk with Crampons (swinging one's legs wide to avoid slicing the other ankle on the way past), and how to stop a fall on steep ice. Falling in ice is an 'interesting' experience. Slipping is easy, but then one accelerates at frightening speed. Digging ones crampons in will result in the loss of the crampons and in one being flipped head over heels, so the way to stop is to put ones' weight onto the ice axe and grind to a halt. Of course, it helps to put the ice axe sharp end down into the ice...not as easy as it seems when gravity is sucking you down a frigid slope! Later that day we packed our bags for tomorrow - the day we would move some of our gear up to our first high camp, camp Nido. That night my temperature gauge on my watch recorded minus 8 inside our tent. I was truly grateful for the investment in warmth I had made in the preceding months.

After an early breakfast we started up, now hiking in plastic boots. Essentially, we were carrying a load of food, tents, fuel, climbing gear, etc up to a higher camp, where we would stash it before returning to base camp to sleep and for another day's rest. After that, we would move up from base camp to the higher slopes of the mountain in preparation for the summit. We walked slowly, but the group quickly split into a fast and slow group. For some strange reason my body comes alive at the higher altitudes and I found myself easily keeping up with the fast group. "Easily" needs to be explained - we walked slowly, pulses racing, breathing heavily, and resting frequently, but we were probably 50% faster than the second group. It was tough but compared to the others we were styling. The wind picked up a bit and clouds obscured the summit, now only 2.3km above us. In 3 hours we had climbed about 400m, across ice, snow, and mostly scree. Plastic boots crunched against the stones and we sought refuge from the wind behind a welcome set of large rocks.    Picture: The summit towers above Base Camp, Day 5

As I arrived at the rocks I coughed once, and a large lump of green stuff landed on the rocks in front of me. Until then, I had no idea I was sick, but deep inside my chest all hell was starting to rage. I looked at the lump of green stuff and thought that it was not a good sign. Some climbers were coming off the mountain, one, who explained that he had summited in the perfect weather of yesterday showed us his hands. He has bad frostbit to all his finger - he said that he summited without major difficulty but it had been very very cold. He warned us against complacency, then headed off. I've little doubt that he has only parts of fingers left today. About 40 mins later, the others reached us and rested too. By this time it was colder and the weather was starting to turn. We discussed the possibility of dumping gear at a slightly lower camp, and decided that it would be weather dependent. Eager to get warm and get moving again, we started off. Again, I was in the lead group although this group fragmented too. As we got higher the wind picked up, now gusting well over 100kph. With it came snow and spindrift. Suddenly, we were caught in the midst of a full blizzard on the mountain, and it was not a nice place to be. I was, for this hike to a lower camp, wearing the same gear as I'd worn on the summit day for Kili. It was not enough. My Gore-Tex was fully zipped up to stop snow blowing up my arm sleeves and into my jacket. I wore ski goggles, which protected my nose from freezing in the wind, but misted up and the sweat from my body channelled out from my neck and into the goggles. I would stop periodically to clean them, but most times I simply let the blizzard rage around me. Visibility was almost zero even without misted goggles, so what was the point. Duncan, climbing in front of me wore yellow plastic Koflach boots. I could see the yellow blobs that were his boots, and followed him closely. At times one would hear a gust approaching, and quickly brace down against ski poles and then be thrown around by the wind. How we didn't get blown over remains a mystery to me. Conditions worsened still, and we came over a rise near some distinctive rocks to find ourselves at camp Canada. We were just under 5000m and would not be going higher today. We found a rock that provided shelter from the wind and unpacked our gear. Unpacking sometimes meant removing gloves, and hands froze instantly. With our gear unpacked and stashed beneath a tent stashed with rocks, we waited for the others. They took an agonising half hour to reach us, during which I was the only person who could still feel his fingers. Mine were incredibly sore, in the process of freezing. The other's were numb already. As the others reached us we strapped on our crampons and headed down. Down was easier, the crampons helped even in the scree and they certainly helped across the icefield closer to camp. I found the plastic boots to be really uncomfortable on the way down, whereas up they'd been great. Something to do with the weird shape of my feet, I'm told. Base camp appeared through the driving snow below us and after applying extreme caution across the icefield, I hurried down the snow and scree and into the safety of the mess tent. Everyone was down within the hour and warm before bed that night. Stories were larger than life, and eyes were wide-open. Today had been a first for many, and suddenly the mountain wasn't looking so friendly at all. The wind buffeting all around, we made to bed and the warmth of our sleeping bags. 
 

That night I work frequently to cough -dry heaving coughs that didn't bode well. I'd wake Arie by coughing, and see his beady eyes checking me out without saying anything. He didn't have to. My watch recorded minus 15 in the tent that night! Outside would have been at least 5 degrees colder, and who knows how cold another 2km up?   Picture: Base Camp tents after blizzard

The next day offered clear weather but it was a rest day for us. We chilled out, enjoying the warmth of the sun and watching avalanches fall off surrounding peaks as yesterday's snow became unstable as it warmed up. The others walked around a bit; I tried to stay hydrated and warm. I sucked on Vitamins and throat lozenges. My chest spasms were now much worse and my throat hurt like hell. David asked how things were and I gave him the honest answer - it didn't look good but I would see how it went. Mentally, I was ready for anything but I'd made the decision before leaving SA that my health and safety counted way more than any summit. That took the decision away from having to be made on the mountain, with the summit close and money spent and the rest of the group waiting to go up. I've always believed that this is the correct approach to mountains, but conditions do change and the mind must be given a chance to try. That evening we were nervous. It was our last night at base camp. Tomorrow we would head up and stay up until after the summit. It was a warmer night and I was up frequently to cough up shit from my lungs. In the morning my throat was sore and tonsils swollen. My pee bottle contained an interesting collection of lung sputem floating in a vitamin enriched litre of piss. We packed our remaining gear and headed up. David asked me how I was and I said physically and mentally fine, but my lungs were not playing fair. He gave me the option of staying back (two others had decided not to go further) but I decided to go at least as far as our stash of gear. After all, if I did leave the mountain I would need some of that gear for my next adventure in Torres del Paine. We set off, it was a clear and warmer day but still cold. There was little wind. Again I found myself in the lead group, coping better and better with the altitude as time went by. By the rocks were we had stopped two days before I was taking strain - my lungs actually hurt to breathe. By our gear stash I had lost my voice. One doesn't recover from illness at altitude, the air being so cold and dry. My decision was made. A summit attempt in this condition was impossible and it made no sense to go on without the summit in mind. I'd rather go down and get better and come back up in a few days. Only able to say a few words, I packed my gear from the stash into my bag, now a full 30kgs, shook hands with my friends and fellow climbers, did the last photo shot, wished all well and hugged a few of the people who had become special to me in our group. Then I tagged onto a group of descending guides and headed back down to base camp. Of our team, the lead group continued up to Nido, and the second group remained where we had stashed the gear. 
 
Suddenly alone and descending I found myself feeling utterly exhausted and very emotional. I hadn't realised how much this had meant to me. My feet hurt again going down and because of the much heavier load I took it slow. The guides waited a bit then eventually left me when it was clear I was OK, just taking it slowly. At base camp I could still not speak, and fearing altitude sickness the doctor was summoned. He eventually arrived later and checked me out, declaring me to be fit altitude-wise and very unfit bronchitis wise. Antibiotics don't work high up, so the Doc gave me a shot of Dex - the steroid made famous in 'into thin Air' and told me Ac was over for this year. 
 
After a day of rest at Ac I decided to leave and continue my travels or return home. Having failed to summit I could think of nothing nicer than to return home to my girlfriend and family for a beach holiday at zero metres. After leaving as much as possible for the others to carry out and take home with them by mule, and radioing my intentions to the rest, now all at Nido, I packed my bags and walked the 30kms out and 2kms down by myself. As I left base camp I heard many people coughing from behind the walls of their tents - for many people, Ac was over too. It was a long day - 9 hours of hard walking, still very sick, throat aching and limited water supplies. The little streams I had crossed a week earlier coming up were now raging torrents. Penitentes had melted into lumps of hard snow. There were many climbers coming up as it moved into high season. I put my head down and walked on, conscious of having left late. Conscious of very sore feet, and of risks being taken in walking alone on a foreign mountain while ill. At Confluencia I was tempted to stop and stay the night, having left late that morning, but instead I bought a coke and filled up my water bottles, then headed down. Near the park gate I turned back to see Ac in perfect condition, with minimal spindrift and clear skies. I though of friends and climbers and of the certain summit they would have in two days time. 
 
At the park gate, the van from the ski resort was waiting for me, Paolo having been radioed by base camp to pick me up. I was relieved to see his friendly face and as helped me offload my pack my feet decided to let me know of their abuse. On the dashboard was my pulse monitor chest strap, safe and unused. That evening I ate a meal (which tasted better than anything I'd had for a while), and showered until all the dust and sweat of the last 10 days was washed off my body. 
 
By the morning, I'd decided to continue with my trip rather than go home. I was there after all, and the rest of the trip, although far south and cold, would be at sea level. It was a great decision. Ten days later, on Christmas day, I finally stopped coughing and felt better for the first time. By that stage I just hiked the full circuit and W routes of Torres del Paine. 
 
On my return a few days later I discovered that none of the previous group, or our group, or the other group after us, had made the summit. The weather had been clear, but windy and cold, and within 500m of the summit the leaders had turned around - they couldn't feel their fingers and toes and opted to play it safe. Its a tough mountain, Ac, but it makes a mark on your soul and some of us have already made plans to go back...but first, we got some climbing to do in Nepal.
 
Gareth Ochse, May 2003.