"Life is brought down to the basics: if you are warm, regular, healthy, not thirsty or hungry, then you are not on a mountain... Climbing at altitude is like hitting your head against a brick wall - it's great when you stop."
I walked into a tour agency on Saturday to book a canyoning day trip, and instead walked out having booked a guide to climb Chimborazo, Ecuador's tallest mountain, the following day. Chimborazo, though in a technical sense is not much harder than Cotopaxi, it isn't considered a beginners mountain, and I knew at the time that I shouldn't even think of attempting it. But I booked it anyways. I figured you have to learn somewhere right, and where better to do so than on the tallest mountain. I had no plans to summit, I just wanted to see how far I got, and learn a bit more about ice climbing.
The first person to summit Chimborazo in over two weeks was the morning before my climb because the weather had been so bad in the last few weeks. Luckily, that changed for us (there were two other climbers and guides who went up the same night as my guide and I), and by eight, the full moon was peaking behind the mountain in a clear sky, probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. When we took off at midnight after semi trying to sleep at the highest refuge in the world (sleeping at 5,000m is impossible), we didn't even need our headlamps the moon was so bright, and I was very excited for the climb. For the first two hours I felt great, it was beautiful out and I was not tired, yet, I felt like I could go on forever. But by four, I was ready to give up. Chimborazo was longer, steeper, taller, and all around harder than Cotopaxi in every way. Instead of walking on ice and building a rhythm, we were climbing on snow, and snow slides. At that altitude, everything takes more energy, so when half your steps are sliding back down, it is the most frustrating thing in the world. I knew it was too hard for me, but I felt like a wimp giving up after just four hours, so I kept going. The next two hours were hell. It had become windy, my cloths and eye lashes were frozen chunks of ice, and we were in the clouds, so I couldn't see anything. I was walking so slowly, and stopping so often, I didn't think I was making any progress at all. Every few steps I would stop, the guide would tug on the rope gently to get me moving again, but I would just stand there like a stubborn puppy who didn't want to be moved, debating whether I should just head back down or not. Finally I stopped, sat down, and asked my guide how much longer because I had absolutely no idea how long we had been climbing for, and I was about to tell him that I was done. Once he told me thirty minutes, that was it, I knew I could make that, so I started out again, still slow, but with a purpose, and that made all the difference. As we came up over the edge at 6h30, the other two climbers and guides were coming over the other side (from the real summit), so we all met at the top. Sadly, I don't have bragging rights for this mountain as I did not truly summit. I arrived at the false summit, which is 50m lower than the real one, and my guide rightfully told me that this was as far as I would go because I was already too exhausted and needed to make it back down. The Irish guy I had been with the previous day was shocked I had made it, he figured I would have given up hours ago, and with good reason. I was exhausted by this point, my body didn't feel tired but I just couldn't get it to do what I wanted it to anymore. Going down was treacherous, but unfortunately, once you go up, you have no choice but to come back down. I kept slipping and sitting down, I didn't have the energy to care that I was going so much slower down than the others. Finally at nine I arrived back at the refuge, exhausted but very happy that I had made it up, probably to the highest point I will ever be, and now I can check climbing a mountain over 20,000ft off my bucket list.
On Cotopaxi, climbers and tourists alike looked at me funny when they saw me walking up to the refuge with my crampons and ice axe strapped to my pack. They obviously didn't believe I could climb it, and granted, I'm not sure how many eighteen year old girls do. On Chimborazo it was even funnier, someone even asked if they could take my picture. My guide gave me the name of "little baby," and the climbers I was with on Cotopaxi teased me that all my stuff was kid sized. This was all fun light hearted teasing, but it shows how out of place I am up there, I am definitely not the typical climber. I think part of the reason I was so set in getting to the false summit on Chimborazo is because no one thought I could (myself included), and I wanted to prove them wrong. And it worked! Now though, I really am done with ice climbing until I reach Peru, but from what I have heard, I might just get stuck there forever because of all their amazing mountains.
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