Please welcome guest blogger Elmar from Globaltradeproject.com
The other day Twitter had an interesting #TOTT discussion on when adventurous travelling becomes extreme. My initial reaction was "when your parachute doesn't open", but giving the topic more thought I couldn't decide on what I really define as extreme. In the following days I found my answer. Huayna Potosi in Bolivia, a 6088 meter high mountain next door to La Paz - 'easiest 6000-plusser you can climb' - sparked my imagination and when I met a Swiss, a German and a Brit, wanting to do the same, it was decided. How hard could it be?
Day 1
My fellow group of hikers assembled in front of Travel-Tracks, the agency that provided our guides to the top, one per two persons. Together we huddled in a van that would take us to the food of the mountain at a staggering 4700 meters. Here we were provided with our mountaineering gear (everything included in the price, around $ 40 a day) and we went glacier-climbing to practice for the two days to come. High spirited the group was excited. Swiss was sure of it, we would never give up. We would climb that mountain like a kooky and crush it under our spiked boots. My spirit went down a notch, observing that Swiss was an army-toughened mountain-boy that probably walked mountains like these to visit grandma. How could a guy spending most of his life in a country below sea-level ever think this was a good idea?
Day 2
Fully packed with crampons, warm clothes, pikes, water and other necessities, we started ascending to base-camp. It was misty and we couldn't see how much more we had to climb. At what must have been half way, some figures came stumbling out of the mist. Another group that was on their way down. Their physical appearance and stories where rather horrifying. Less than half of their group had made it to the top and, what was now a helpless looking puddle lying in front of us, gasping for breath, looked like it once had been a mid-20er in the prime of physical life.
We made it to base-camp at 5200 meter. The altitude was really noticeable at this hight and a mild headache made it through my protection of coca-leaves and altitude pills. Swiss was more confident than ever. While lightening a cigarette he observed that the piddiest of the descenders we had met definitely had been Irish and after spending St. Patrick's day with some of these, we all knew how they kept in shape. As night fell the mist cleared and a glimpse of the glacier-filled mountain was visible. This was a particularly large kooky to crush.
Day 3
0:00: after a night that seemed forever, an alarm made me realise that I must have fallen asleep somewhere between the ongoing dilemma of putting my head under the blankets (warmth) or above (oxygen). In total dark and in ongoing snow our group set in motion. Around 7 groups of 3, each tied together. One guide for every 2 climbers. With only the headlight pointing to the snow and the rope in front of me, it was a small and quiet little world. It was tough, very tough. We were walking like in slow motion and only the sound of crunching snow and our own heavy breathing was audible in this world of mental struggle. Along the way more and more people gave up and my interlock with my German buddy and my guide was joined and left by multiple persons whose buddies and guides where already on their way back. After climbing up multiple steep snow-filled hills the end-boss showed up out of the first sprinkle of morning-light that made it through the snow-clouds. Ay ay caramba!
In the distance we could see the lights of the three first people making it up the mountain. At one point I was sure to see the three lights falling down in the depths below, but besides mentioning my observation, I could not find the strength nor did I have the urge to call for a general emergency search party. Apparently the hight made me utterly unconcerned as well. Luckily so, because it later turned out that nothing had happened. It's amazing what exhaustion and hight can do to your brain. The effects where proven in the decision making of Swiss as well. At 6000 meters, 88 meters before the top, he gave up.
Focussing totally on following the rope in front of me and placing one food after another, I could not believe it when my guide suddenly announced that we had arrived to the top. What I saw was worth every single second of misery I'd had to endure to get up here. Suddenly German had a yellow wig on his head, Britain took out two cans of beer and I found myself saying cheers to Patcha mama with a small bottle of Flor de Cana rum. We where on top the world!
The road down is better left to be forgotten. Extreme headache, legs that stopped working, me falling down a rim - only to be saved by shock-faced German who managed to keep me dangling on my life-rope - made this the worst 1388 meter descend I've ever had. The group coming up asked me how I liked St. Patrick's day, but at night, safely back in La Paz, I could close my eyes with a smile. Huayna Potosi for me definitely was extreme travelling, but it also was a 'top'-experience in South-America. If you find yourself near this giant and you want to challange yourself: do it. It will be an extreme experience you'll never forget.
