Soaring with the condor
February 20, 2005 | 12:00am
Editor’s note: On January 1, 2005, Romi Garduce made it to the peak of Mt. Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere, and became the first Filipino to put the Philippine flag on the renowned summit. He also now holds the record for the highest altitude ever reached by a Filipino climber. This is his account of the journey to the top of the world.
"Two years of waiting, several months of preparation, one stroke of bad luck after another, but I was simply not ready to accept defeat. The weather hasn’t changed–snow is still falling, wind still blowing, but I’ve decided to stay and make one last, desperate attempt to reach the summit."
Dec 12 Mendoza City, Argentina
It takes a day-and-a-half of flying to get to Argentina, through Kuala Lumpur, Johannesburg and Capetown, before arriving in Buenos Aires to fly domestic to Mendoza. The first bit of bad news came upon landing in Buenos Aires–my baggage is somehow lost in Johannesburg. The airline promises to deliver my bags wherever I would be on December 15; I don’t know how they would do that as I plan to be at the basecamp about 14,000 ft. up by then.
Mendoza is a friendly, quiet city where everyday feels like Sunday. It has only 1.6 million residents, and up to 6,000 tourists visit Aconcagua park every summer. Noon siestas here last until 4 p.m., and people start crawling back to life in the late afternoon and live it up until the early morning.
At the hotel I bump into this guy who was recently airlifted from the basecamp. There is news of three dead climbers in the basecamp. Now this guy is telling the story of how he survived a night with high-altitude pulmonary edema high up on highcamp 2. He was brought down to basecamp the next day and airlifted to safety. Now, he’s in front of me drinking cerveza and Bailey’s. Lucky guy.
Dec 18 Plaza de Mulas Basecamp (14,000 ft./4,370m)
We manage a challenging climb designed to stretch our muscles, boost our cardio, and expedite acclimatization. We spend seven hours walking back and forth and successfully climb Bonete Peak (16,263 ft.). I feel the strain of the steep trails. I am second to the last to reach Bonete, 20 minutes behind the lead team. Not good.
Living in a tropical lowland makes it difficult to train properly before the trip. Our Swedish teammate is obviously in tiptop shape, since he had been climbing in Peru and Ecuador for the past two months. I could only bike, hike and swim but no mucho alta montanas en Pinas. I focus on preserving health and avoiding sickness, which I know would be the eventual make or break.
Great news though–my lost baggage has arrived!
Dec. 20
Today we hike up to the first highcamp, Camp Canada, and come back down to basecamp. This is our last acclima-climb and, ready or not, we move up to the highcamps in two days.
Dec 21
This is our last rest day. Time to sort the gear–what goes up, and what stays at basecamp. I manage to reduce my pack weight to just 15 kg. I eat my last hamburger, take my last decent dump in the makeshift toilet (we will be using plastic bags for our toilet business in the highcamps), and think about writing my last will and testament but give that up as I realize I do not have any valuable assets anyway.
Dec 23 Highcamp 1:
Camp Canada (16,100 ft./4,900 m)
A strong windstorm swept through the camp last night. We were bombarded with winds up to more than 50 kph. Tents were smashed flat on the ground, debris flew around, voices echoed with near-panic tones. It was like being attacked by fighter planes: you hear the distant roar, approaching with vengeance, and smacking our tents with a loud BOOM!
Dec 25
With the weather so bad, this is the third day we’re stuck up here. We celebrate Christmas with cold steak, cold wind, cold everything. I have never felt so lonely. We all just stay in our sleeping bags, lost in thoughts of where we would otherwise be today. We try to sleep to forget, and daydream of warm roast chicken and cold beer.
Dec 27 Highcamp 2:
Nido de Condores (17,600 ft./5,380 m.)
After two days, we walk up to the next camp in perfect weather. Nido de Condores, or Nest of the Condors, is a huge camp nestled in the northwestern tip of the Aconcagua pre-summit base. It has a magnificent view of the north and western Andes, and provides a surreal feeling of being on some lovely but lifeless planet. This has become my favorite highcamp.
I chance upon a severed wing of a condor. I pull out one feather and keep it in my backpack for luck. We will stay for another day to better acclimatize, and hopefully be healthy and fit for the next highcamp.
Dec 28
It takes us around three hours to reach highcamp 3, Camp Berlin (19,000 ft.). Snow comes in, then more snow, then wind and snow, and a full-blown snowstorm hovers above us. We meet in a refuge to discuss our options. Two in the team consider going down immediately, but we decide to wait for one more day for a break in the weather.
Dec 29
We wait in vain and at 4 a.m., the lead guide comes to each tent and shouts, "No go! No summit!" We all stay in our sleeping bags; it is -15 degrees Celsius outside and staying warm is the only thing we could do.
We were officially aborting our summit bid. We march towards Mulas basecamp. The walk down gives me time to think the whole thing through. I traveled halfway around the globe with one objective: to reach the Aconcagua summit. I couldn’t fully accept defeat. Finally, I announce to the team that I would go back and re-attempt the summit.
The German tries to convince me to call it off and celebrate New Year with them. It is very tempting: Argentinian steak and wine! But to lose a battle without a real fight is something I couldn’t take. I have to go back.
I decide not to leave basecamp anymore and do a re-attempt quickly to avoid compromising my acclimatization and before my $300 permit expires.
For safety reasons, I would need a climbing partner for the re-attempt especially since the target altitude is beyond my current level of experience. Luckily, one Argentinian guide is unselfish enough to sacrifice a New Year with his family for my re-attempt. He would be my buddy.
Some of my teammates do not believe that a re-attempt is possible since the weather was still bad, and especially with my outrageous plan: to hit highcamp 2 from basecamp, then on to the summit, skipping two highcamps. I am feeling more confident, having stayed for two nights at 19,000 ft. I’ve never felt so acclimatized. They all wish me luck but still decide to go back home.
Dec 30 Mulas Basecamp
The rest of the team leaves. It’s also my last rest day before the re-attempt. My intuition is telling me that I am making the right decision. Brushing all doubts aside, I’m daydreaming of softdrinks, beer, and Greenbelt–aaah, the best morale booster!
Dec 31
I was half-dreaming of kwitis and super lolo early in the morning when I hear a strange sound on my tent. I peep through the opening to discover big granules of snow falling down on the whole camp. The weather has turned from bad to worse.
But the show must go on. Together with the Argentinian, I start the long walk to highcamp 2. I hear him curse several times during our agonizing walk, fighting slippery trails and dodging strong winds. I could see the doubt in his eyes, as if saying, "This re-attempt is a mistake!"
The whole night seems depressing and hopeless, the wind hissing and snow falling endlessly. We hear a radio call from a ranger asking assistance to search for three lost climbers in Nido. After an hour, the Argentinian responds and goes out to ask about the climbers. He comes back smiling and says the three lost souls are okay.
Jan 1, 2005: Guess where!
4:30 am. This is go/no-go check. We unzipp our sleeping bags, put on our plastic boots and all available cold-weather gear, and step out to check on the weather… CLEAR!!! A Christmas miracle? Or a dream? It takes us several minutes to comprehend and accept what we were seeing. The weather cleared overnight: no clouds, no snow, only a light wind. Conditions are near ideal. We could make a summit attempt after all!
Soon we are on the icy trail. After more than an hour, we reach highcamp 3 and rest a bit. I am wearing four layers and can still feel cold air through to my bones. I start eating special food reserves for the summit bid: instant Jell-o! Sarap!
"ROMEO!" A loud shout comes from somewhere. It is the Swedish guy, the crazy hombre is here! It boosts our morale to be a team again.
We continue the walk up towards the Independencia, super highcamp 4 (20,800 ft.). I am feeling strong and okay for the first five hours. The Swede is wondering how I manage to keep ahead of him with my one-breath, one-step pace. He does a sprint-stop pace which in the long-run is slower than my turtle pace. Walking at high altitudes requires sufficient oxygen intake and the key is slow and steady.
Next: Traversia! This is where I drain all my strength and mental patience. On the steep trail with soft snow our pace is two or three minus one– you do two or three steps, then you slide back one step. Crampons are of no use on soft snow. We struggle for around three hours, draining strength and morale.
At around 3 p.m., we finally reach the foot of the Canaleta and I am exhausted. It takes what seems like endless minutes to put on my crampons; I feel like gulay! The Swede decides to go ahead; he somehow got over the Traversia pretty easily.
The Canaleta is steep, considered to be a tough hurdle on the way to the summit. It’s the "Hillary Step" of the Everest south route and the planned highlight of the trip. The going is really tough, and I am using the last of my energy reserves. I am doing two to three breaths every steep stride, plus five extra breaths for every four steps made.
My whole world is focused on making one useful step at a time; nothing else matters. Each step is PROGRESS, and I am making a little of it no matter how slowly, one labored breath after another. I take one baby step at a time, eyes on the ground, until somehow the ground levels. Then I think I hear cheering. I think I see people smiling around me. I stop, feeling drained and lifeless. As I walk a bit more on the flat ground and observe my surroundings, blood and prana start filling me.
Then it hit me: I am at the summit! I’m here, I’m really HERE! It’s over, it’s done!
The peak is awesome. The view of the Pacific Ocean to the west is magnificent, and the view of the entire Andes range to the north, east and south is simply stunning. The day is perfect: A small speck of cloud to the east attempts to obstruct the otherwise clear and clean view of the entire mountain range. All other peaks are somehow smaller and shorter, giving us the feeling that we are far above anything on Earth.
I remember the feather that I picked up from Nido de Condores. It may or may not be a real lucky charm, but yes, up on the summit I feel like a condor flying over the summit of Mt. Aconcagua. I wonder if it feels the same sense of awe, the same thrill. I take a deep breath, glance at the 360-view one last time, and put on my biggest smile.
"Two years of waiting, several months of preparation, one stroke of bad luck after another, but I was simply not ready to accept defeat. The weather hasn’t changed–snow is still falling, wind still blowing, but I’ve decided to stay and make one last, desperate attempt to reach the summit."
Dec 12 Mendoza City, Argentina
It takes a day-and-a-half of flying to get to Argentina, through Kuala Lumpur, Johannesburg and Capetown, before arriving in Buenos Aires to fly domestic to Mendoza. The first bit of bad news came upon landing in Buenos Aires–my baggage is somehow lost in Johannesburg. The airline promises to deliver my bags wherever I would be on December 15; I don’t know how they would do that as I plan to be at the basecamp about 14,000 ft. up by then.
Mendoza is a friendly, quiet city where everyday feels like Sunday. It has only 1.6 million residents, and up to 6,000 tourists visit Aconcagua park every summer. Noon siestas here last until 4 p.m., and people start crawling back to life in the late afternoon and live it up until the early morning.
At the hotel I bump into this guy who was recently airlifted from the basecamp. There is news of three dead climbers in the basecamp. Now this guy is telling the story of how he survived a night with high-altitude pulmonary edema high up on highcamp 2. He was brought down to basecamp the next day and airlifted to safety. Now, he’s in front of me drinking cerveza and Bailey’s. Lucky guy.
Dec 18 Plaza de Mulas Basecamp (14,000 ft./4,370m)
We manage a challenging climb designed to stretch our muscles, boost our cardio, and expedite acclimatization. We spend seven hours walking back and forth and successfully climb Bonete Peak (16,263 ft.). I feel the strain of the steep trails. I am second to the last to reach Bonete, 20 minutes behind the lead team. Not good.
Living in a tropical lowland makes it difficult to train properly before the trip. Our Swedish teammate is obviously in tiptop shape, since he had been climbing in Peru and Ecuador for the past two months. I could only bike, hike and swim but no mucho alta montanas en Pinas. I focus on preserving health and avoiding sickness, which I know would be the eventual make or break.
Great news though–my lost baggage has arrived!
Dec. 20
Today we hike up to the first highcamp, Camp Canada, and come back down to basecamp. This is our last acclima-climb and, ready or not, we move up to the highcamps in two days.
Dec 21
This is our last rest day. Time to sort the gear–what goes up, and what stays at basecamp. I manage to reduce my pack weight to just 15 kg. I eat my last hamburger, take my last decent dump in the makeshift toilet (we will be using plastic bags for our toilet business in the highcamps), and think about writing my last will and testament but give that up as I realize I do not have any valuable assets anyway.
Dec 23 Highcamp 1:
Camp Canada (16,100 ft./4,900 m)
A strong windstorm swept through the camp last night. We were bombarded with winds up to more than 50 kph. Tents were smashed flat on the ground, debris flew around, voices echoed with near-panic tones. It was like being attacked by fighter planes: you hear the distant roar, approaching with vengeance, and smacking our tents with a loud BOOM!
Dec 25
With the weather so bad, this is the third day we’re stuck up here. We celebrate Christmas with cold steak, cold wind, cold everything. I have never felt so lonely. We all just stay in our sleeping bags, lost in thoughts of where we would otherwise be today. We try to sleep to forget, and daydream of warm roast chicken and cold beer.
Dec 27 Highcamp 2:
Nido de Condores (17,600 ft./5,380 m.)
After two days, we walk up to the next camp in perfect weather. Nido de Condores, or Nest of the Condors, is a huge camp nestled in the northwestern tip of the Aconcagua pre-summit base. It has a magnificent view of the north and western Andes, and provides a surreal feeling of being on some lovely but lifeless planet. This has become my favorite highcamp.
I chance upon a severed wing of a condor. I pull out one feather and keep it in my backpack for luck. We will stay for another day to better acclimatize, and hopefully be healthy and fit for the next highcamp.
Dec 28
It takes us around three hours to reach highcamp 3, Camp Berlin (19,000 ft.). Snow comes in, then more snow, then wind and snow, and a full-blown snowstorm hovers above us. We meet in a refuge to discuss our options. Two in the team consider going down immediately, but we decide to wait for one more day for a break in the weather.
Dec 29
We wait in vain and at 4 a.m., the lead guide comes to each tent and shouts, "No go! No summit!" We all stay in our sleeping bags; it is -15 degrees Celsius outside and staying warm is the only thing we could do.
We were officially aborting our summit bid. We march towards Mulas basecamp. The walk down gives me time to think the whole thing through. I traveled halfway around the globe with one objective: to reach the Aconcagua summit. I couldn’t fully accept defeat. Finally, I announce to the team that I would go back and re-attempt the summit.
The German tries to convince me to call it off and celebrate New Year with them. It is very tempting: Argentinian steak and wine! But to lose a battle without a real fight is something I couldn’t take. I have to go back.
I decide not to leave basecamp anymore and do a re-attempt quickly to avoid compromising my acclimatization and before my $300 permit expires.
For safety reasons, I would need a climbing partner for the re-attempt especially since the target altitude is beyond my current level of experience. Luckily, one Argentinian guide is unselfish enough to sacrifice a New Year with his family for my re-attempt. He would be my buddy.
Some of my teammates do not believe that a re-attempt is possible since the weather was still bad, and especially with my outrageous plan: to hit highcamp 2 from basecamp, then on to the summit, skipping two highcamps. I am feeling more confident, having stayed for two nights at 19,000 ft. I’ve never felt so acclimatized. They all wish me luck but still decide to go back home.
Dec 30 Mulas Basecamp
The rest of the team leaves. It’s also my last rest day before the re-attempt. My intuition is telling me that I am making the right decision. Brushing all doubts aside, I’m daydreaming of softdrinks, beer, and Greenbelt–aaah, the best morale booster!
Dec 31
I was half-dreaming of kwitis and super lolo early in the morning when I hear a strange sound on my tent. I peep through the opening to discover big granules of snow falling down on the whole camp. The weather has turned from bad to worse.
But the show must go on. Together with the Argentinian, I start the long walk to highcamp 2. I hear him curse several times during our agonizing walk, fighting slippery trails and dodging strong winds. I could see the doubt in his eyes, as if saying, "This re-attempt is a mistake!"
The whole night seems depressing and hopeless, the wind hissing and snow falling endlessly. We hear a radio call from a ranger asking assistance to search for three lost climbers in Nido. After an hour, the Argentinian responds and goes out to ask about the climbers. He comes back smiling and says the three lost souls are okay.
Jan 1, 2005: Guess where!
4:30 am. This is go/no-go check. We unzipp our sleeping bags, put on our plastic boots and all available cold-weather gear, and step out to check on the weather… CLEAR!!! A Christmas miracle? Or a dream? It takes us several minutes to comprehend and accept what we were seeing. The weather cleared overnight: no clouds, no snow, only a light wind. Conditions are near ideal. We could make a summit attempt after all!
Soon we are on the icy trail. After more than an hour, we reach highcamp 3 and rest a bit. I am wearing four layers and can still feel cold air through to my bones. I start eating special food reserves for the summit bid: instant Jell-o! Sarap!
"ROMEO!" A loud shout comes from somewhere. It is the Swedish guy, the crazy hombre is here! It boosts our morale to be a team again.
We continue the walk up towards the Independencia, super highcamp 4 (20,800 ft.). I am feeling strong and okay for the first five hours. The Swede is wondering how I manage to keep ahead of him with my one-breath, one-step pace. He does a sprint-stop pace which in the long-run is slower than my turtle pace. Walking at high altitudes requires sufficient oxygen intake and the key is slow and steady.
Next: Traversia! This is where I drain all my strength and mental patience. On the steep trail with soft snow our pace is two or three minus one– you do two or three steps, then you slide back one step. Crampons are of no use on soft snow. We struggle for around three hours, draining strength and morale.
At around 3 p.m., we finally reach the foot of the Canaleta and I am exhausted. It takes what seems like endless minutes to put on my crampons; I feel like gulay! The Swede decides to go ahead; he somehow got over the Traversia pretty easily.
The Canaleta is steep, considered to be a tough hurdle on the way to the summit. It’s the "Hillary Step" of the Everest south route and the planned highlight of the trip. The going is really tough, and I am using the last of my energy reserves. I am doing two to three breaths every steep stride, plus five extra breaths for every four steps made.
My whole world is focused on making one useful step at a time; nothing else matters. Each step is PROGRESS, and I am making a little of it no matter how slowly, one labored breath after another. I take one baby step at a time, eyes on the ground, until somehow the ground levels. Then I think I hear cheering. I think I see people smiling around me. I stop, feeling drained and lifeless. As I walk a bit more on the flat ground and observe my surroundings, blood and prana start filling me.
Then it hit me: I am at the summit! I’m here, I’m really HERE! It’s over, it’s done!
The peak is awesome. The view of the Pacific Ocean to the west is magnificent, and the view of the entire Andes range to the north, east and south is simply stunning. The day is perfect: A small speck of cloud to the east attempts to obstruct the otherwise clear and clean view of the entire mountain range. All other peaks are somehow smaller and shorter, giving us the feeling that we are far above anything on Earth.
I remember the feather that I picked up from Nido de Condores. It may or may not be a real lucky charm, but yes, up on the summit I feel like a condor flying over the summit of Mt. Aconcagua. I wonder if it feels the same sense of awe, the same thrill. I take a deep breath, glance at the 360-view one last time, and put on my biggest smile.
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