Ben walking into Potrero for the first time. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
I’ve always wondered how I’d react to seeing a dead body.
I didn’t scream, cover my eyes, turn away, or cry. I kept moving, passing out water and headlamps to everyone there. Then I worked together with my friends and other climbers to get the young man’s body down from the mountain.
A week earlier, my boyfriend Ben and I arrived at El Potrero Chico, Mexico for eight days of climbing in the famed park. We'd heard about the unbeatable big wall sport climbing on limestone spires and couldn't resist buying a plane ticket.
When we arrived to the campground just outside of Hidalgo, we were tired from traveling and discouraged from lost baggage. Our bags that were filled with all the climbing gear, our tent, and my sleeping bag. Three pretty essential things to a camping and climbing trip. With nowhere else to go, we stumbled into the communal kitchen. The scene was overwhelming. Greasy climbers with tired eyes in bright puffy coats occupied every available seat, stove, and sink. Tuned up from too much cheap tequila, they told stories and made climbing plans for the next day.
Our yellow tent among the rest with El Potrero Chico in the background. Ben Hoiness photo.
Soon after escaping the busy kitchen scene, our Colorado friends arrived and offered us a tent to use. We were eager for daylight, so we got nice and snug in our single sleeping bag and passed out.
We woke up the next morning to our first view of the park. The large limestone spires towered over our camp and the butterflies churned into a fury in my stomach. But by the time breakfast was over, the weather had turned and the view disappeared into the clouds. The cold would persist throughout the rest of the week, sometimes accompanied by thick fog, rain, and wind.
Sometimes we'd drink way too much coffee, just waiting to see if the sun would come out. Ben standing in front of the kitchen at the campground. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
It didn't take long for us to get used to the chaos of the kitchen. In fact, we learned to love it. We woke up early so we could get a spot on the stove and a seat at the table. We met people from all over the world and made new friends over hot eggs and authentic Mexican chorizo. There was Chris, a wedding photographer from Wisconsin, and his friend Ben who had been there for three months. They gave us culture beta, like how we shouldn't flush our toilet paper, where we could get a good cup of coffee in town, and what days the market was where we cold score fresh veggies for super cheap. There was Frank, who walked around with a big red beard and a reversible fur coat that said "G-UNIT" on it, a french guy named Florian who told us about the sketchy climbing in the Dolomites, and Mandy, who introduced herself to me because she heard we lost our climbing gear and wanted to offer some of hers.
Although I didn't meet everyone, it was obvious we were a community. We ate meals together, drank together, slept next to each other, and we all equally hated the stray dogs and chickens that barked and brayed relentlessly at three in the morning.
It was this wonderful sense of family, everyone was there in a new place to celebrate and do what we all love: climbing.
A climber rappelling off the downhill spire. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
My first longer multi-pitch climb in Potrero was called La Estrellita. It's 11 pitches, and tops out on a beautiful summit with a palm tree right on top. Ben and I swapped leads the whole way, and at the beginning I was feeling rough. It was cold and wet, and my pack felt heavy on my back. But by the third pitch, I was loving it. We were high in the sky, surrounded by fog, completely in our own world. I remember watching Ben traverse on the fourth pitch and thinking how lucky I was to be there.
Ben on the fourth pitch of La Estrellita. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
We free soloed the easy pitches five and six, roped up for the final pitches, and I felt elated as I pulled the last moved and stood up on the silent summit. I looked down at the ocean of fog below me and took in a deep breath of air before calling down to Ben that he was on belay.
The climbing in the canyon was spectacular all week; like nothing I'd ever experienced. There was dry rock when it rained, and sheltered rock when it was windy. You could be a strong or weak climber and take on climbs ranging from 20 pitches of 5.12 to a single pitch of 5.9.
Sabina working her way up on the Outrage Wall. It was rainy this day, but this wall was slightly overhanging, and dry. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
It wasn't until the last two days of our trip that things went seriously downhill. After a day of climbing, Ben and our friend Paul were talking about their plan for the next day. They were going to do a 23-pitch climb called Timewave Zero. It’s one of the most iconic climbs in Potrero, with a 12.a crux on the 20th pitch.
Then I saw Julie walking toward us with concerned look on her face. “Someone died on Timewave Zero today,” she said. The guy rappelled off his entire rope at the top of the climb. There were no knots in the end of the rope to stop him from coming off, and he ended up falling 1000 feet to a rock ledge. He was apparently a very experienced climber who had just arrived in Potrero from Germany.
The mood in the kitchen that night was a somber one, full of hearsay about what was going through this guy's head and how horrible it must have been to be his partner. I sat quietly, thinking about how easy it is to get complacent and how the affects of fatigue can lead to fatal mistakes. I felt selfish relief that it wasn't anyone I knew.
The next day, Ben and Paul did not climb Timewave Zero. Instead, we headed out for an easy day of single-pitch cragging. It was eerie to be in the canyon that day climbing as the helicopters flew in and out trying to long line the body off the ledge on Timewave Zero. The noise of the helicopter was like a constant reminder of what had just happened, and made it almost impossible to climb.
Mexican pizza and Margaritas made by a local climber who grew up in Potrero. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
We ended the day early and made our regular stop for Mexican pizza and margaritas. Our friends were on their way down La Estrellita, and we decided to hang out and wait for them. Despite the shock from the night before, I was feeling happy and good about our week of climbing and excited to get home to Montana and ski powder.
But as we sat enjoying our pizza and tequila, an ambulance pulled up and stopped. Right in front of us. Right in front of Los Lobos Canyon. Los Lobos Canyon was the canyon where my friends were supposed be walking out of. The driver mentioned that an American girl had made the call. Ben and I looked at each other in horror. What if it was our friends? Julie was up there. It could be her!
But as we sat enjoying our pizza and tequila, an ambulance pulled up and stopped. Right in front of us. Right in front of Los Lobos Canyon. Los Lobos Canyon was the canyon where my friends were supposed be walking out of. The driver mentioned that an American girl had made the call. Ben and I looked at each other in horror.
Ben, Paul, and some other climbers who were medically trained as WFR's and EMT's started running up the steep, rocky approach to the bottom of the La Estrellita rappel route.
I rallied headlamps and water from other climbers who had stopped to see what was going on and started up the hill. 10 minutes later, I heard voices. As I came to the scene, my eyes went to directly to the body on the ground. I’m not proud of it, but the next feeling that washed over me was relief. This was not a friend of mine. I saw Julie and Alton; they were on the ground, safe, alive, and in full rescue mode. They had already loaded the body on a stretcher and were getting ready to start bringing him down. I passed out headlamps and water and loaded everything that was on the ground into my pack, including a bloody and broken helmet. About 10 people started down the mountain while Julie and I waited for two more teams of two to rappel off the route so we could help them down and let them know what had happened.
Working a hard route on the Outrage wall. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
As we waited, Julie told me what happened. She was on the fourth rappel when she heard a scream and what sounded like rock fall. Then she heard people yelling that someone had fallen. She called the ambulance to tell them what had happened. That’s why the ambulance said an American girl called in. One by one, the four climbers who were on the route got their feet safely on the ground.
As we started slowly down from the canyon in the dark, nobody really had anything to say. We just couldn’t believe what had happened. About an hour and a half later, we found ourselves at the bottom of the canyon. My empty margarita cup lay by my pack, reminding me of the silly fun I'd been having just a few hours before. I hugged Ben, and we sat in the cold and waited for the Mexican authorities to come and suss everything out before letting us go back to camp.
It’s not totally clear how he fell, but it’s believed that he rappelled off the end of his rope. Just like the German the day before. The rest of the night was a blur. I didn’t feel like talking or drinking or sleeping so I just rested in the tent next to Ben, my mind running circles.
Ben climbing amongst the veggitation of Jungle Mountaineering. Leslie Hittmeier photo.
The next morning the sun woke us up for the first time all week. The warmth washed over us and burned the dampness from the week of bad weather away. We packed up our tent and sat in lawn chairs outside with mugs of steaming coffee while we waited for our taxi.
The sun felt so incredible and warm on my skin, the coffee tasted perfect, I looked up at the mountains and gave thanks for my life and the people in it.
I was so happy to be going home.
Olaus Linn
January 21st, 2015
Amazing story Leslie. Powerful and hard to read.