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This is the full, unedited text of my email diary written and sent home from Huaraz between excursions.
Part: one | two | two-and-a-half | three | three-and-a-half | four
Lost in the mists of time
Sat, 15 Jul 2000 19:54:08 GMT
Welcome to Peru News two. THIS IS LONDON. Sorry, too much world-service radio. Success, then, as we have three-quarters climbed our number-one peak, Alpamayo at 5947m or so. That's three of us climbing the whole way, rather than all of us climbing most of it. Here is our story... --------------------------------------- The trip starts with probably the most frightening drive of our lives, as a hired collectivo motors at high speed down the valley to Caraz, then takes a right onto a dubious dirt road. Braving landslides, ravines, hairpins and worse, we bump over boulders in an ageing Nissan dormoblie for a couple of hours to reach the village of Cashapampa at the road head. Our luggage, all 180kg of it held tenuously on the roof with a giant hair-net, some how survives too. Here, our charming host Isabelle procures the services of a arriero (donkey- driver) and six burros (donkeys) for the next stage of the trip. Aquiles, our arriero, puts us up for the night, as it's too late to leave today. We get a handsome dinner, then he treats us to some harp-playing and a few beers. In the manaņa, the burros are loaded up with our assortment of barrels, bags, sacks and jerry-cans and we are off. We climb into a beautiful gorge, filled with flowering cactii, lupins, airplants and other colourful fauna. There are many Americans taking the Santa Cruz trek that follows this route, and also a fair number of other climbers. We stop for the night by a huge lake, and while we try to battle against altitude headaches, Aquilas goes fishing for trout. A very tasty dinner. The next day, we push on with increasing difficulty to the base camp for our mountain -- at 4300m it's a big jump and we are all suffering from the height. Set up camp somehow, say adios to Aquilas, and we are on our own. Our spot is a pleasant one, among some trees, with a good view of the mountains above. We can see other climbers struggling up the glacial moraine and the glacier above to disappear over the horizon to the high col camp, from where to climbs start. Itīs too soon for us to venture that high, though, and we set off on a few acclimatisation walks. There are a great number of climbers at the base camp -- we have seriously underestimated the popularity of the area. They are almost all North Americans, with a few Germans and Slovakians. It seems that the English just havenīt found out about the area yet. After a few days careful exercise, we are ready to move up further. The slog up the granite moraine is long and tiring, carrying 25kg rucksacks, but is straight forward enough. We arrive in the early afternoon to nab the best camping spots on the roche moutinee atop the moraine. This too is busy -- just how many people are climbing our mountain? ŋDidnīt we book it with President Fujimori himself? These old-boy networks arenīt what they once were. The final 400m up the glacier to the Col proves to be more punishing than expected. We maintain a dead-slow pace up the easy lower section, but the going gets more interesting further up. Meeting steep but quality snow we take out both axes and move up very professionally. The challenge of some 'proper climbing' seems to offset the altitude headaches and exhaustion. These come surging right back when we reach the col. At 5400m, this cluster of tents is perched at the lip of a high glacial amphitheatre, with superb views not just of Alpamayo, but also nearby Quitaraju and right down the ice-fall into the Santa Cruz valley. There are a shocking twenty other climbers already on īourī route. Spend the next day recovering, admiring the views and worrying about the weather. All the time is has been approaching from the east, the Amazon, which it is not supposed to do. This means that it is carrying far too much moisture and snow, which is building up on other peaks. And there are more than thirty climbers on the Ferrari today! 4am and we are off. Trudging through mist and flat starlight, we are barely awake but still fully kitted and roped up. Sacha is sadly still not feeling ready to come, and stays at camp watching our progress. Despite our early kick- off, there are already two parties well established on the route, and a third in front of us has turned back due to īfalling ice dangerī-- fear more like. Dawn appears as we reach the route proper, 350m of snow and ice, 60 - 80 degrees, in one dramatic runnel straight to the top (see picture on homepage -- it's the runnel just left of the big scoop that fell off a few years back). Phil leads with impeccable style, establishing belays then bringing Antoine and I up simultaneously. The snow is in exemplary condition, and despite the gradient the going is solid. The problem is a continual cascade of snow and ice from the parties above -- material dislodged from the route falls right the way down. We make fast progress up the four or five steepening snow pitches, catching up with one of the parties. Now, it's time for the harder, steeper water-ice work. Unfortunately, both parties above suddenly decide to abseil back down the six- foot wide route, instead of waiting for us to pass. Obscenities fly, but we overcome our difficulties with these arrogant ignoramuses and complete the route. Our energy runs out right at the end, and we summit on our last reserves, like drowning men suddenly washed ashore. Cloud dogs the as yet unseen west valley, but we have a grand vista. We spend several hours on the top, waiting for another party to finish the route. In fact, they are not climbers at all, but horror of horrors, they are guides fixing ropes for dopey, unacclimbatised clients to follow sheep-fashion up one of the purest routes I have ever seen. They finish their work and retreat before reaching the summit, out of shame presumably, and we are off. A series of well organised abseils brings us back to the glacier and the long trudge home. ------------------------------ We're taking it easy for a few days back in Huaraz, while we plan our next excursion. Llaguna Paron is a possibility -- another very beautiful valley with many climbing possibilities. The highest is Artesonraju -- the very same mountain that appears as the Paramount Films logo. I'll be in touch with a brief (I promise) Peru News two-and-a-half before we leave. Until then, hasta la vista! Jeremy
Wed, 19 Jul 2000 01:56:59 GMT
Dear friends, Just a quick note to tell you our plans -- we are off for another extended excursion to the Paron (Huandoy) valley. This is the next valley south from the Santa Cruz where we were last climbing, and has many more possibilities of various heights and difficulties. At the easier end are Paron Grande (5600m, peu difficile) which should be possible in one day if we are fit, and Caraz I (6025m, facile?) which is an interesting two-day route with an excellent summit. Larger projects include Artesonraju, the monumental peak I mentioned before, which should prove easier attacked from the south, and Piramide (5600m), a beautiful symmetric snow and ice pyramid somewhat similar to Alpamayo. We will probably spend about two weeks out there, but we are taking enough supplies for twenty days in the hills if we are sufficiently motivated to keep climbing. Once again, we thought this would be a remote, rarely visited area (in fact until recently it was only accessible by boat) but it seems everyone in the hostel has the same plan, so there'll be plenty of company. Next news will be on our return - about 5 August or sooner. Hasta luego, amigos!
Wed, 2 Aug 2000 17:15:55 GMT
Peru News Three --------------- Hello again from the crazy world of Peru. First, I'd like to point out that: a) We are all back in Huaraz, alive and well, so you can STOP WORRYING. b) Yes, Peru is in the news with violent demonstrations etc. DON'T WORRY as there nowhere near us. We were united again yesterday after a mostly successful trip to the Laguna Paron valley, having made it up or almost up three more mountains -- Paron Grande (5600m), Artesanraju (6025m) and Caraz I (6137m). Here is the story. There's a great deal of verbage here, so if you're reading this at work, make sure you have a convincing 'boss screen' just a key-press away. -------------------------------------------------------------------- The Paron valley, unlike the Santa Cruz, has road access making things nice and easy. It's probably not what most of you would call a road, perhaps 'track' would come closer, but round these parts they're not afraid to take on a bit of rallying in their long-suffering Toyotas and ramshackle minibuses. The road exists not for the good of the tourist industry, but rather the safety of the villages below. At 4000m, the Paron lake itself, fed by descending glaciers above and perching over the steep valley below, has banks composed of glacial moraine -- a loose amalgam of granite boulders, pebbles and dust. These alluvial lakes are prone to burst their banks when an earthquake hits or they become over-full, causing terrible destruction. In 1970, just such an alluvium occurred from the towering Huascaran, sending water, ice and detritus hurtling down the mountain towards the village of Yungay, far below. This was noticed by one inhabitant, who desperately spread the message, but was believed by only a few close friends and family members. This group of twenty or so onlookers stood by the church upon the small hill next to the town, and must have been agonised as they watched the alluvion race down the mountain, hit a ridge line, became airborne and descend upon the town covering it completely. To this day all that remains is that church on the hill -- every single one of the several thousand inhabitants were killed and the whole town removed from the map. It is the fear of a repeat of this tragedy that indirectly, and not particularly tastefully, means that we get to enjoy the mountains, as in 1995 a huge project to drain the 6 square kilometre lake by nearly 10m was launched, and the access road built. This road winds insanely up the steep gorge, and on either side are towering walls of rock -- granite routes to compare with Yosemite yet practically unexplored. The river tumbles massively down the steep gorge, with dramatic waterfalls and rapids -- the more remarkable since this entire river now runs out the lake bed down a tunnel several miles long. Finally, our skeletons still rattling, we reach the lake itself. Nestling between the sheer rock and scree valley walls, it is an impossible turquoise colour, stretching to the horizon. Once the only way past was by boat, but now a tenuous path winds along the north bank and it is along here that we must lug our luggage, past Japanese tourists taking each-others' photos before the luminous blue lake, and bunches of out-of-place nuns taking their constitutionals. Three porters are pressed into service for $10 a trip to help us, and soon our mountainous piles of kit are on the far side of the lake and we are back in the mountains proper. We establish a base camp in a beautiful spot, on the side of a green and grassy moraine ridge with trees for shade and a fresh clean stream right through the site. Wasting no time, Phil and Sacha decide to make the first attempt from here rather than a higher camp, and head out for Paron Grande at the very head of the valley at 2am the next morning. Waking up late, I scramble up the valley side to watch their progress and through my binoculars see them summit the handsome peak at 11am -- quite an achievement involving 1400m of ascent in one day. Below them is the massive, flat Paron glacier. Rising to the left is the giant Artesanraju, both it's south-west and south-east faces looking impossibly steep, almost featureless snow faces. On the right is Piramide, a dramatic peak with ice runnels similar to Alpamayo, but clearly not currently in condition. In all, it's an impressive white eyrie with many possibilities. Encouraged by Phil and Sacha's early success, we make plans to move up to high camp and try Artesanraju. But as often in the mountains, the weather had other ideas. The wind is supposed to come from the west coast, where it brings hot, dry conditions. But instead, it is blowing from the east, from the Amazon jungle, and huge pregnant clouds keep rolling over the passes, obscuring the peaks and dumping a nasty polystyrene-like gralpel snow. Phil and I do establish a high camp on the glacier, and are at the point of departure on the route when just such clouds appear and we are forced down. Back at base camp, the mood is gloomy. Waiting for the weather is frustrating, and Antoine has contracted some sort of flu virus. Reluctantly, he decides to head back down to Huaraz, while we sit tight and try hard to make a dent in our ludicrously large food stocks. Finally, the clouds roll back and we hike back up to our high camp where the tents are waiting. Artesanraju looms ominously over the camp, seemingly challenging us to climb it -- and at 1am we start to do just that. The lower slopes consist of crumpled and highly crevassed glacier, but we pass them quickly even in the dark, and soon reach the shrund -- the large crevasse marking the top of a glacier. Climbing up a tenuous snow-bridge we are on the face proper. We now face 800m of continuous hard snow at 45 to 50 degrees -- that might not sound so steep but seems near-vertical when you are there. We move roped together, keeping two snow stakes clipped into the rope at all times. Phil leads, doing the hard work of kicking footprints, and as we climb we are treated to a impressive show of shooting stars among the unfamiliar southern heavens. The going is good at first, and by dawn we have climbed well over half the total height. But the monotonous ascent takes its toll and we start to flag. The conditions underfoot are unchanging, and regular bursts of spindrift keep flooding down the face, a sensations somewhat similar to being sandblasted. The sun makes a tiny angle with the south-facing face, and the strong easterly winds keep the temperature low. After thirteen complete 50m rope lengths, the summit ridge remains both tantilisingly close but stubbornly refuses to get any closer. It's 11am, we have about 100m to go -- but we are running out of snow stakes for the descent (it's too steep to down-climb, we have to abseil the whole way). We watch another party just above attempt to summit, but they are thwarted by deep soft snow right at the top, so we decide to descend so close to our goal. It's a common thing in mountaineering to turn back apparently at the very last minute -- but in reality those last few pitches can be the critical moments between safety and foolhardiness. ...and we made the right decision. The route we are climbing is supposed to have stakes in-situ for the abseil descent, but many of them have been hidden by snow and the remaining ones are 55m apart, when our ropes are only 50m. We have seven stakes of our own, and by traversing around the face, extracting and replacing stakes we painstakingly work our way down. At 3pm, the sun sets and it gets still colder. It takes us no less than twenty abseils to get back to the shrund, each one dogged by doubt about where the next anchor might be, and whether we can reach it if we find it at all. In the end, we still have three stakes left (not the ones we started with), but the descent has taken nearly five hours. Wearily, we pick our way back through the lower glacier to the tents. In our morning keenness these slopes seemed quick and easy, but now they go on and on with crevasses and deep-snow traps waiting at every step. Arriving back at the camp half an hour before dark, we are greeted by a friendly Colombian team, who give us welcome hot tea. Both Phil and Sacha are concerned about frost injuries, and indeed both have sustained frost-nip (like frostbite but only affecting the surface skin) and have to endure several hours of intense re-heating pains. Next morning, the sun is shining, belying the seriousness of the previous day's route. We hadn't anticipated the difficulty and commitment the climb would require, but had dealt with it solidly and sensibly. Now it's back to base camp for huge amounts of spaghetti and tea. Sacha, worried about his frost injuries (he has a history of them) decided to head back, but Phil and I stay on with the hope of climbing another peak. Immediately above our base camp are the three Caraz peaks, of which one -- Caraz I (6137m) -- sounds very enjoyable, and had just been climbed by three British lads who had good things to say about it. So without leaving a rest-day, possibly a mistake, we decide to walk up. The path described is the guide book no longer exists, and we are must force our way up the the valley side. It's very difficult underfoot, with sharp Pampas grass concealing the loose rocks beneath. We are travelling as lightweight as possible, but still hauling nearly 25kg each, and I start to flag badly. We revert to climbing up the stream bed for a while, but without a path it's tough going however you approach things. Eventually, we reach the head of the stream, an to our left is a complex system of slabs and waterfalls that we must climb. Thankfully, there are cairns (marker posts made of heaps of stones) which guide us cunningly through the rock barrier. Still we are not at the high camp, and it's not until we have scrambled through moraine boulders for another hour that we stumble across a couple of tent platforms directly below the glacier. It's great to get the tea on and lie down in the tent, but take my advice here -- never ever buy Sainsbury's 'Indian Style' couscous. As our camp is so high -- about 5200m -- such an early start is not needed and we decide on 4am. I wake up and look at my watch -- it's 1.30am. Back to sleep. I wake up again and look at my watch, but it is daylight and 8am -- too late! We've missed our chance! I go back to sleep, not wanting to break the news to Phil. But that was just a dream. Phil wakes me up and now it's quarter to six -- late but not too late. Ignoring the strange things that altitude can do to your head, we get ready double-quick time, scramble onto the ice and rope up. This route is the polar opposite of Artesanraju. Instead of flat steep faces, the glacier is twisted into elegant curves, with dramatic ridges and beautiful icy grottos. Traces lead a cunning path between these blue-and-white sculptures, the gradient is pleasant, the sun is shining and the surroundings are never boring. One part of the route that is particularly 'not boring' passes directly under some rock cliffs with seracs (ice-cliffs and the end or at a step in a glacier) that poise threateningly overhead. The only option is to pass as fast as possible, but while my head is fully aware of this, my legs rebel, moving slower and slower. Phil tugs urgently at the rope but it's all I can do to avoid stopping completely. Finally we reach relative safety and can relax again. I decided that I am just not climbing well enough, and decide to let Phil climb on solo as most of the difficulties are now behind us. I watch with an ambiguous feeling as he ascents a steep ramp out of sight, towards the Col (snow saddle) between Caraz I and II. Soon, I feel recuperated, and decide to press on to the Col for the views. I climb slowly and casually, and soon start to really enjoy the experience of soloing on such a lovely route with not particular time constraints or goals. There is one nasty step across a 2m crevasse, with a ice-block bridge. It's fine crossing, but when you reach the far side and see what is supporting the bridge -- nothing-- it's sets the adrenaline going in by-proxy preparation. I reach the Col much sooner that I expected, at 10.30am, and get brief views over the Santa Cruz valley before the clouds roll in. I can also see Phil at the base of the final summit mushroom, which has an icy serac band running right around it. Leaving my rucksack, I press on to see how far I can get before Phil comes down, but I am stopped by a nasty part of the route at about 6000m -- the path traverses a steep snow slope that doesn't quite reach a wall of seracs -- not the sort of place to solo. Phil soon shows up, he has managed to cross the seracs onto the summit slopes, but once again was stopped by steep deep snow right at the top. I lead the descent, moving quickly down the good tracks and even more quickly past the serac-threatened part and we are back at the tent by 1pm -- very good going. After recuperating, we make another wacky decision -- back to base camp! That's 1000m ascent and 2000m descent in one day! It's much easier on the way down, and judicious scree-skiing means that it takes a little under an hour to get back to base at 4200m. ------------------------------------- So what next? It's 2 August, and we have seven more days. Phil has just come into the cafe with a list of possible peaks, including one by horseback, one reached by mountain-bike and another that is characteristically much too hard for the rest of us. Whatever we choose I should have something to report in a Peru News Four in a week's time. Until then, ciao!
Sat, 5 Aug 2000 15:51:48 GMT
Peru News Three-and-a-half -------------------------- Dear by-proxy-climbers, Just a short note to let you know our plans for the last few days. Finally, after about a week, the weather has cleared again and we have just enough time for another peak. Phil, Antoine and I are heading up the Ishinka valley this afternoon. It's a very popular acclimatisation peak, which unfortunately means crowds, but it should otherwise be a pleasant and quick excursion. Once we reach the Col at the top of the valley, I plan to climb Ishinka with Antoine, while Phil will split off to attempt Ranrapalca, a the much harder peak just opposite. Sacha is off to visit friends in Lima. [picture of some random climbers on Ishinka: http://www.ad-pecjak.si/Peru/3.jpg ]. We should be away no more than four days, which is a good job since the bus leaves on the ninth. Hopefully, we will be down in three and will have time for some mountain biking on our return. See you soon, Jeremy
Tue, 8 Aug 2000 20:47:29 GMT
Peru News Four (and last) Dear Friends, Our time is up. We are frenetically packing everything and trying to flog off spare equipment before catching the bus to Lima tomorrow evening. Phil and I have managed to squeeze in a mini-trip to Ishinka in the meantime... ------------------------------------------------------- The Iskinka valley is a very popular training peak for arriving climbers, but given the dodgy weather and lack of time we think it was worth a go. Antoine still does not feel 100%, and Sacha is off to visit friends in another town so it's just Phil and I. We commandeer a taxi to take us to the roadhead, just a few miles out of Huaraz. From here, the wide easy trail traverses around the foothills, rising only gradually. It's a beautiful valley, with lush vegetation and plenty of wildlife to look at. We make good speed up the valley, and soon reach the normal campsite at 4350m. Here there is even an alpine-style refuge as well as dozens of other trekkers. As soon as we stop, it starts to hail. We pitch the tent double-quick while storms intensify overhead, pelting us with hail and while thunder rumbles like avalanches. The next morning, the weather has cleared a little, but I am suffering from gut problems again and can't go on. Phil decides to continue given that it is a straight-forward peak, and I while I stomp back down to hitch a lift on the back of a farm tractor, he continues the walk-in. In fact, Phil being Phil, he finishes the walk-in to the Col by lunchtime, and decides to carry on to the peak itself the same day -- by a new route. Scrambling up rock bands and soft snow, he reached the top by 3pm and pitches the tent on the summit! From here many other interesting peaks are visible -- including the closest Ranrapalca which is earmarked for any future expedition. Not one to follow the crowds, Phil then opts to descend the 'wrong' way off the Col, into the remote Cojup valley. Deep snow makes the going difficult at first, but once passed another problem appears -- there is no road or vehicles in this valley and he has to hike the whole way back to Huaraz, arriving tired and hungry at 7pm. ------------------------------------------------------ Inshalla, we will be arriving at Gatwick at 7am on 11 August. Feel free to visit us at the 'van on Friday or Saturday, and there is even a possibility of a late-season Latin-American style barbecue on Sunday 13th. Ciao, Jeremy