It was not until the age of 35 that I reached my first summit. Since then I have traveled around the globe in search of adventures and new peaks to bag. My first peak was Mt. Washington in the winter. Although it only just barely breaches 6000ft in altitude this peak demands respect. The cold February day that I reached the summit temps had dipped more than 20 degrees below zero with sustained winds over 120 miles per hour. To say the least it was cold. However that experience of living on the edge transformed my life. It sent me on the path to my last mountaineering adventure Chimborazo down in Ecuador. 1 year ago I set out to climb this mighty peak which extends more than 20,000 feet into the sky and dwarfs the surrounding landscape. This was a big endeavor for a group of men that some would call old . However I look at these years as, "The Ripe Years." I still feel strong maybe not as strong as in my 30's but the 60's have been good to me. Along on this trip were my 2 long time climbing companions Jerry, a retired ski bum and Mike, a college professor. We have been climbing together for the past 3 decades and were able to go on what some of us to believe our last great trip into the mountains. Chimborazo is the dream mountain that we have always been chasing.
Despite the rocky flight into Quito, Ecuador's capital city we had a relatively pleasant trip. Upon arrival we were greeted by our driver and a long trip to the base of the great mountain. As soon as the peak came into view Jerry leaned over and commented on the beauty of the peak while Mike began to doubt our ability to reach the summit. However, we had to make it. This was the last trip, right? After reaching the base of the mountain we set up base camp and rested for what would prove to be more of an adventure than any of us ever expected.
The next morning, I will never forget waking up to a solid sheet of ice covering the entire ceiling of the tent. During the night temperatures dipped down into the single degree range and the condensation formed from our own breath froze solid. It was a deeply concerning start to the trip. While nothing had gone wrong it was like a bad omen prior to the start. After some bacon and oatmeal it was time to strap on the crampons and head up the mountain. The plan was to to reach the summit in 3 days time. Amazingly the first 2 days were so strong that we were able to reach the summit at 5pm on the second day. The climbing was smooth and we were able to get into that beautiful rhythm of climbing seldom experienced.
Going for the summit that day would prove to be a huge mistake. As we began to descend from the top into the setting sun a towering wall of black malicious clouds seemed to come out of nowhere. Within 20 minutes we were surrounded by raging torment rage of wind, clouds and snow. It was beginning to look like Mike was right. Did we really have the strength to make it through this one alive? Before the storm could break us we decide to dig a snow cave to shield ourselves from the conditions temporarily saving ourselves from the almost certain frostbite. However we now had a new problem. How long would the storm last? We had supplies for 3 more days and a small stash of emergency food that was freeze-dried not to mention that we were stuck somewhere above 18,000 feet. At that altitude staying hydrated was very difficult and even more so with limited fuel.
We were stuck in that snow cave for 2 and a half days. Luckily we had just enough fuel to melt the necessary water. But things could have turned south real fast. After descending to basecamp we are greeted by a German team that was on their way up. They were generous enough to provide us with some additional rations helping us regain our strength.
This was a short version of the story of my last great mountaineering adventure. This past month our dear friend Mike passed and this story is dedicated to to his memory.
