Aconcagua, Polish Glacier Direct, solo

The Idea

Well, 2002 was a reasonably lousy year by a lot of standards. I figured what better way to end the year than to head for the mountains and try something really hard… what’s in condition in December? Turns out the holidays are prime season to try Aconcagua. In fact I had planned to go over the 99-00 season but got derailed. So I figured a date with the mountain was in order. It would be a great time to clear my head and do some hard climbing besides.

What little investigation I managed to do revealed that the Polish Glacier route is interesting, not too hard, and frequently done. Man, was I wrong, but I didn’t realize that until later. I got my tickets, did a little shopping and was soon on my way.

Frodo: I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.

Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you.

-- JRR Tolkien

The Approach

After a lot of negotiation with United (who decided that keeping my bags in LA, or rather losing them in LA, was a good idea) I finally tracked down all my gear and was on my way a day late. The approach for the Polish Glacier route heads up the Vacas Valley three days up to base camp and it wasn’t until I got a day in that I finally felt like I had the space to heal, to process, to do whatever it was I came to do in addition to climb. To figure out what to do with the time that is given, I guess.

The first three days were a total slog. I decided to do the route in a totally solo style – which meant no mules or pack trains during the approach. It just didn’t feel like soloing to me if someone else was carrying my bag, I dunno. Anyway, I didn’t weigh it but my best guess was that I had 60-65 pounds for the first couple days. Between that and my old trusty boots that still give me blisters I was a pretty unhappy camper most of the time. But the views were tremendous – great rushing rivers and soaring peaks and the feeling that there was no one around. I saw maybe three other parties on my way up to base camp.

Plaza Argentina was a different story. There I found all manner of people, mostly guided groups and a ton of Argentines who just seemed to be hanging out getting drunk most of the time. Basically a running frat party at 13K feet. Super. Christmas day was spent in base camp resting. I wrote in my journal that I had given myself exactly what I wanted for Christmas, a day without a pack to carry :- ). It turned out to be a really cool day, though, just basically hanging out reading and being spiritual. Amazing what a little space will do… no tree, presents, family controversy, Christmas dinner… just me, God, and one very large mountain.

In Plaza Argentina I heard some tragic news – a climber had died on the mountain a few days earlier. In a freak accident a member of a Korean expedition was bouldering outside one of the base camps and took a 30+ foot fall when some loose rock pulled. He hadn’t even made it to the mountain proper. It was both tragic and somehow more sad for the absurdity. I guess you have to respect the mountain in whatever form you are experiencing it – even if it doesn’t seem so dangerous at the time.

Soon enough it was time to wander up towards high camp. The trip up to Camp 1 was through this weird fields of penitentes, annoying and strange and fascinating all at the same time. Not too difficult, though, and I was soon taking my second rest day, this time at over 16K feet. I usually do pretty well at altitude and this trip was no exception, I was feeling great and my body seemed to be adjusting well. The last hauling day of the trip was from Camp 1 up to Camp 2, and turned out to be one of my worst days in the mountains. I had to lug my pack, now down to probably 45 or 50 pounds up to over 19K feet in the face of ridiculous winds that seemed like 70mph. At a couple different points I was literally knocked off my feet on the trail. I learned the meaning of “wind chill” too as my Schoeller fabric just didn’t quite keep me warm enough. A short break at a rock wall and a nap in my down sleeping bag warmed me up, though, and after much pain I arrived at high camp and settled in.

Who Dares, Wins -- SAS Regimental Motto

The Climb

My first day in high camp was a rest day, but it was really nice, with less wind than I’d had on the mountain to date, so I took it as an opportunity to check out the conditions on the glacier and make a decision about my route. I had at least three options: 1) do the original route up the left side of the glacier, 2) try the harder right side (the Direct variation) or 3) bail entirely over to the normal route via the “Falso” traverse. I learned that the vast majority of parties – something like 95% of people who come up hoping to do the Polish Glacier – end up bailing over to the normal route, and in fact only one person had gotten up the glacier thus far this season, which was almost 1/3 done. Being basically a pigheaded person that made me more determined to get up the glacier. The original route wasn’t in very good condition, though, and was going to require a ton of ice (as opposed to steep snow) climbing to get done. The Direct route, while steeper, was in better condition (though still more difficult than I expected with a fair bit of pure ice climbing). I got bold and resolved and decided to try the Direct the next day.

As it turned out, the following day was a windstorm like so many previous. I woke up early and bailed early. The day after that, though, New Years Eve, dawned very calm, a totally splitter day, and at about 6am I decided to go for it. I woke up fully gripped almost immobile with fear. Was I really going to do this? To add insult to injury, it was cold, and my toes and fingers felt frozen. I manage to wolf down a Clif bar and heat up some water for breakfast and launch out toward the glacier at about 7. After only a short period of time I realize that I am going to have to stop and warm up my hands and feet or I am going to be risking frostbite later on in the climb, especially on my toes, so I resolve to spend half an hour warming up my toes, which I do on this rock next to the glacier. I finally launch in earnest at 7:40.

The lowest section of the glacier is quite easy, just low angle snow up to where I expect the first bit of ice climbing to be, what I thought at the time would be the crux and what I’ve been calling the “ice traverse” as I need to move across from one section of climbable snow to the other. This turns out to be a non-event, as upon closer inspection the ice is really low angle penitentes with dirt and rock in between. I start giggling to myself (too much time spent alone!) at the “dirt traverse” and quickly move to the second section of snow, up to the first rock band and “Snow Rock.”

Snow Rock is where the Grim Reaper and I had our first and most meaningful conversation of the trip. I knew soloing on a glacier was going to lead to some additional complexities wrt to crevasse danger, but I expected Peru-type crevasses (small, easy to see and negotiate around). On scoping the route with one of the other guys in high camp we both noticed what appeared to be a potential crevasse at Snow Rock, so I was on alert. Not quite alert enough as it turned out (or maybe just barely alert enough!). Anyway as I was moving from left to right across the possible crevasse in question I sort of straddled where I thought the danger area might be. As I moved further right I planted my left foot and slipped up to my crotch into a narrow but deep crevasse. I have this vivid memory of looking for a split second down my left side into this black hole and feeling the adrenaline surge that comes with sheer terror. I quickly swung my right tool into a perfect stick while scraping my left tool through useless snow. Fortunately my right tool and right foot were set on the other side of the crevasse and I managed to sort of wiggle my center of gravity over to the right enough to get a good stick with my left tool. With that I was able to move completely right and out of danger. After a couple of moves to where I was clearly safe I nearly imploded, leaning my helmet against the snow, barely breathing and whispering, “you’re okay, dude, you’re okay” over and over and over. There was clearly no way to go but up from here and I spied a rock and snow couloir that I could maneuver into with a few easy mixed moves to get into the snow above Snow Rock. It was easy mixed climbing and I invoked the spirit of my climbing buddy Robbie who is a fantastic mixed climber. Soon I was on my way up to the second rock band and cruising through good snow once again.

I climbed up to the second rock band, which I had dubbed “The Bottleneck” and moved through easily. The snow was good and firm and I was tired but starting to smell the top. I could see the ridgeline that I need to get to from which it is a cruise to the summit, but between here and there is the steepest section of the route. It is just an endurance game now, I think. About halfway up this section and only 100 meters or so from the ridge Grim and I have another conversation. This time I find the snow has turned to real live ice climbing and I am a getting more than a little gripped. As I start up, though, I realize that the ice is good, great even, maybe the best ice I’ve ever climbed. My tools sink into the perfect plastic with little effort and the climbing is super secure. I start to really enjoy myself and cruise up 30 meters of glorious climbing at 22K feet.

Some steep snow and then the only barrier to the ridge left is a series of crevasses a that bar access. I manage to find a snow bridge over one, which I gingerly hop onto and over and finish up a short mixed section to a last 15 meters of steep slush to the ridge. Soon I am sitting contemplating a packet of goo and the gentle angle of an airy ridge up toward the summit. I holster one tool, put the other over my shoulder and wander up through the perfectly still air and brilliant sunlight. After what seems like a long way but is really only about 100 vertical meters I crest over onto the summit platform and recognize the gold cross I’ve seen in so many pictures. “La cumbre, la cumbre!” I walk over, sit down and snap some pictures to commemorate the moment. It’s just before 3p – only seven hours after I started and yet a lifetime somehow. Stress and fear wash out of me and are replaced by exhilaration that paints a smile a mile wide across my face. All the pain of the approach, the fear of the route are erased in that moment, and only pride and satisfaction remain. This is it, the summit feeling, the reason we all keep climbing.

Soon it is time and I wander down the normal route, running into a couple of guys from high camp that came up the Falso. We chat briefly and then I descend back to my high camp, utterly tired, totally happy, and absolutely content in that moment. The two weeks in the back country were exactly what I needed, a great climb and some amazing time to think and pray. God is a faithful God, I decide, and head home.

Happiness is not a destination. It is a method of life. -- Burton Hills