Dave's Chachani Climb: Almost 20K feet up

Climbing Chachani – Thursday, September 4^th- Friday, September 5^th, 2014

by Dave

(Ed. Note: If you are thinking of hiking Chachani, here is a link to Dave's TripAdvisor Review)

The view from basecamp

 'Step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’ 

Like a bent-over aged man, shuffling along a rocky path. 

‘Step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’ 

I spoke the words in my mind like the rhythm of a skipping record. 

‘Step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’

Seeing my own steps advance only inches, and knowing half a mountain remained… I wondered – “Am I going to make it?”

‘Step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’     

In the backyard of Arequipa stands a three-peaked mountain called Chachani (Cha-CHA-nee).  At just over 6,000 meters (20,000 ft), it would be considered the second highest peak in North America- if such a transplant were possible – only a couple hundred feet short of Mt. McKinley.

Being that we’re in a desert, Chachani sports only a snow-capped peak, and therefore allows a summit without technical gear (crampons, ice axes, etc).  Knowing that this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity lasted only as long as our stay in Arequipa, I signed up at a local outfitter to join the next climbing group.

Joining a team of guys from Belgium, Spain, and Switzerland, we gathered at the outfitters headquarters where we were assigned gear (tent, sleeping bag, backpacks and the like), loaded into a 4x4, and driven out of Arequipa.  About two hours later up a rutted dirt trail to where the ‘road’ ended – we were dropped off - about half-way up the side of the three-peaked mountain called Chachani – what the locals call ‘the three sisters.’ 

The hikers and their gear set out

Though laden with gear, the hike to basecamp provided a good chance to get acclimated to the higher elevation, and get a good ‘warm-up’ under our belts before the next day’s ascent. 

By the time we reached basecamp at 5,000 meters, the only living creatures we encountered (outside of our team), were otherworldly moss-like organisms – a unique mass of thousands of small plants, clustered into a ball – not growing on a rock, but creating a rock-like mass unto themselves.

The proposed itinerary had our team making it to basecamp by late afternoon, striking tents, eating some form of a meal (most people, including myself, lose interest in eating at this altitude), and trying to get in a short rest before getting up in the early morning to begin the ascent.

Since no one on our team slept (most people aren’t able to sleep at this elevation), we gathered the group at about 1:30 in the morning, drank some tea, strapped on our headlamps, and began the ascent. 

Tents "slept" two....but nobody actually did more than doze and mostly couldn't sleep at all.

Before we got started, Gens (pronounced ‘Yens’) from Belgium, lightened the load from his stomach, and off we went.

The single-file line marching up the side of Chachani must have seemed rather microscopic from afar – five miniscule dots ascending a slab of rock the size of a small city. 

In the first hour, such contemplative thoughts were possible.  After the second hour, the only thought going through my head sounded like a slow drum-beat: ‘step… breathe… step… breathe… step… breathe.’

Imagine putting a clothes-pin over your nose, putting a straw in your mouth, and using the straw to breathe as you ascend the IDS tower stairwell… ten times… as you suffer from the flu (‘Wait, and you paid money for this?’).

Our stomachs were all on the verge of losing whatever they contained (half our team emptied themselves along the way), yet if we didn’t eat, we wouldn’t have the energy needed to keep going.  Our heads felt like a stone had been unnecessary inserted into our skulls – pushing out of the way any musing or introspection.  My attempts at praying my way up the mountain took too much energy.  It’s not that a person can’t think at that elevation – it just that it… takes… too… much… effort.  ‘Step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’

Opportunities to rest held a double-edged sword – so well received, yet so hard to get back up and continue.   One of our team members laid back to catch his breath, and within moments, he was sound asleep from exhaustion.

Ernst from Switzerland felt that the half-way point was far enough, and asked to be left there until we had summited, and be picked up on the way down.  The guide encouraged him on.  ‘My head… it isn’t working quite right.’  ‘That’s OK, you can do it.’ 

I offered to him the perspective that he knew himself best – he had hiked the Alps many times – if he felt his body would be harmed by continuing – “Half-way up is fine.  Continue only if you want to continue – we can go together if you need help.”  Within minutes he was twenty paces ahead of me, and making good time.   Later, I would notice that the tube on his Camel-back (a pouch of water with a tube that leads to your mouth for regular hydration) had frozen.  How long had he been going without getting water?  Did he think he was getting water?  I wish I would have had the foresight to recommend that he run the tube under his clothes to keep it from freezing.

‘Step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’  Hour… after… hour.

We rest again.  The rising sun illuminates the massive valley stretched below us.  I’m breathing like I’m out for a long run, but I’m just sitting on a rock.  We can see the summit – but it seems like a small point on a vertical horizon – so far away… and yet it’s right there – like you could reach out and grab it.  I think about the flu – this feels like the flu… but on the rolling side of this massive ship of a mountain.

When you have the flu, you know your body is in a form of internal war.  You know you can ‘push through’ it to a certain degree, but you also know there are limits – to your body, with your mind – to how important getting to your goal really is.  If you have the flu, you can force yourself to get up and have breakfast – but you aren’t hungry and will probably throw up anything you eat anyhow.  You can force yourself to get dressed, but you don’t really care if your pants have a neat crease in them.  And you can go to work, but no one else is going to think you are doing ‘great work.’  You could fake it if needed for a bit, but after an hour or two, if your body doesn’t begin to recover; you’re just trudging through sub-par work in misery.  And that’s what we did – from about 2:00 a.m. to something like 9:30 in the morning – hours in the dark of switchbacks – trudging six inches at a time – six inch step – six inch step.

There’s a point – sort of a semi-peak, that’s about 100 meters from the peak of Chachani – and apparently a number of people stop there to get a picture – they are officially over 6,000 meters – over 20,000 feet – and some never make it further.  We didn’t stop there.  The last leg… sucking air like an asthmatic.  No energy left.  Running on fumes for hours.  Nothing left. 

I was the last to get to the top – but we all made it.

On the edge of weeping, I hugged each man that stood on the peak overlooking the vast expanse of the South of Peru. 

We took some pictures.  And I realized that my energy was as close to zero as I’ve gotten in my life.  I don’t know if I’ve ever been at zero before.  Here, atop Chachani, I felt dangerously close to zero.  But we needed to get down. 

I began my extended stumble down the side of the mountain – a loose-rock, almost sand-like alternative path that seemed designed for weary climbers – the worst that could happen to someone would be to flop into a pile of loose rock that would hold you on the side of the mountain until you gained the strength to move on.   The others felt rejuvenated, and made good time.  I scraped the bottom of my stubborn barrel of persistence, and lurched on.  I made it down, the last one across the ‘finish line’ of basecamp.  But like a cruel joke, the moment I half-collapsed next to our site, the guide announced: “The truck is waiting for us – let’s go.”

The excitement of the summit left far behind, I got up again, and continued the march.  Sometimes life is like that – ‘keep me going God’ - ‘step… breathe…. step… breathe… step…. breathe…’