Highest of Heights

Unless I'm in a plane, I'm fairly positive that the 6,088m (19,974ft) peak of Huyana Potosi is my highest of heights - forever. As competitive as I am, as much as most challenges inspire me to do them again, faster, longer, higher etc, this was no normal challenge for me and at this point, I believe I can cross it off my list. Climbing this mountain was the most dangerous, most difficult and most challenging experience of my life and whereas I am incredibly proud and excited to have successfully sumitted, I do not feel the usual desire to do it again. -Once in a life time-

The sirens call of adventure, the inexpensive pricetag and the persuasion of Migi, my Swiss friend who had been set on climbing this mountain for some time, combined to push me into the spontaneous decision, literally 15 min before closing time the night before. Am I crazy? I had no warm clothes and detest the cold, no experience except for a little ice climbing in college and in general feel somewhat out of shape, so what was I thinking?? This was no liesurly stroll!

We began early, getting fitted for gear. The agency provided everything from sleepingbag, ice pick, crampons and boots to gloves, pants and jackets. Next, our group of 4 Argentinians, a Swiss, a Dane and myself drove up to the base refuge set next to a pale teal pond, stopping on the way to admire the most unbelievable lake that I have ever seen. All colors of the rainbow as if from the imagination of a child with a box of crayons, not yet limited by reality.

After a hearty lunch, we tromped up to the nearest glacier, about an hour away to practice climbing techniques and get used to the equipment. The sun glistened off the ice crags as we cheered eachother on, I could barely contain my excitement - skipping is not so easy in crampons! :) On the walk back, the mists rolled in and once again I found myself in utter awe of my surroundings. Our reflections trekked across pastel mirror lakes and the setting sun warmed the mountains across the valley. That night, we were joined by 2 frenchmen and after dinner relaxed by the fire, played cards and enjoyed a good nights rest.

Day 2 was a day of aclimization so we didn't leave until after lunch. This time, with packs and full gear, we made the steep 3-4 hour hike above the snow line. This time, I could feel it. Once the clouds settled, the view dropped to just a few meters ahead and the slope must have been at least 60 degrees - phew! The second refuge turned out to be no more than a tiny tin hut with a small alcove to cook on a portable stove and 10 matress pads, 5 side to side below and 5 sqeezed together on a shelf above - for the 12 of us. No matter, I figured the sleepover setting would at least keep me warm. I stayed outside admiring the sheer beauty all around me after everyone else had gone in. The clouds lifted like the lid of a treasure chest and there, high above the valley, far away from most humans, plants and animals, everything seemed so alive! I could hear the ice and snow chattering away like rice crispies in milk, the breezes scurried from one valley to the next until brushing past me, both daring me to resist their chill and catch their message. Even the rocks seemed to whisper a story and I, in that place, felt so alive!

I stayed out until the late hour of 6:30pm and finally joined the others cuddled up in their sleepingbags. Unfortunately, I've never been one for much sleep and forcing myself to turn off at such and hour was impossible. The next 6 hours were miserable! It was too hot, believe it or not, getting bumped from both sides, severely dehydrated and the worst was being right under the skylight, condensation would collect and drop down on me, at least 8 times directly in the eye! Let me tell you, I was not feeling so alive when the 1am "wakeup" call came!

Like zombies, we slowly layered up, while battling the various demons of stomache, head and muscle aches, lack of sleep and our senses of reason and logic throwing up a white flag. Two climbers roped to a guide, we began the laborious climb 3 by 3. The slope varied between 40 and 75degrees, I followed Migi's boots in the 3ft wide glow of my headlamp and talked myself towards the peak's sillohette, slightly blacker than the black night sky. About an hour in, despite his magical coca bonbons and his will to continue, the altitude got the better of dear Migi and he was forced to concede along with one of the Argentinians. We shuffled guides and I found myself between Jose and Stefan - my new team.

Up, up, up we went, trudging through ice and snow. More often than I care to admit I had to stop to catch my breath and luckily I wasn't the only one. To keep myself focussed I even resorted to counting my steps, taking refuge in the fact that each one was that much closer and reminding myself that we'd be back by lunch time. Mmmm the motivation of soup! Several times, the guide would push us through a particular area due to the risk of splintering ice or rocks coming loose - we could actually hear the glacier cracking - another fantastic motivation!

As dawn approached, we leaped 4ft wide, deeper than I care to imagine, crevasses, tottered over 1ft wide ice bridges, picked our way up walls of massive icicles and it took every shred of will power to keep moving forward. A neon pink and orange band broke across the horizon and shed just enough light to allow us to appreciate the scenery we had been missing - so many mountains all around us and ours looming above. Almost there. One more heart-pounding, icicle-shattering climb and a short hike to the peak that barely fit the three of us and there I was! Standing at my highest of heights. I'd like to think it was the air pressure that squeezed a tear or two to the surface!

The details of the descent are mostly a blur, but I clearly remember the various ice formations, frozen turquoise cascades, spikey snow fields, black hole cravasses and smooth white slopes. I remember being simultaneously thrilled and exhausted and proud... and anxiously awaiting the bottom! We were back in La Paz around 4 and I was surprised that my personal batteries had any juice left in them. I was actually able to go out to a decent hour that night with friends before a lovely night's sleep.

The very next day I mountain biked down the world's most dangerous road - the "Death Road". Rain and fog and sunshine all made an appearance during the 75k mostly downhill ride through the jungle along a muddy, rocky one way road with a straight drop off of several hundred meters.
Next came a trip to Copa... Copacabana where music and passion are always the fashion :). It was a small tourist town with the historically signifigant island of the sun off it's lake Titicaca coast and fabulous trout. Then it was back to Peru! Ahh, what an adventure Bolivia was and although I am looking forward to relaxing a few days in Cusco, I hope to make it back there one day!

For more images from the mountain: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2020566&id=60100993&l=9cb985c1c8