In order to climb Aconcagua, you must get to Aconcagua -- and it's no easy task. In our case the journey included a three-hour bus ride to a small town in the Argentine Andes named Penitentes followed by a three-day, 30-mile trek to our camp on the eastern slopes of the mountain. Making matters worse is the fact that the trek is not particularly exciting. At the time I said it reminded me of hiking out of the Grand Canyon but in fairness I was probably just trying to convince myself it wasn't all that terrible. In reality, it was a bland, mostly windy, mostly uphill walk along an unspectacular riverbed. But it wasn't without its moments.
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| Our first glimpse of the mountain. |
The most exciting thing that happened was Paul (my climbing partner) getting a little skittish at a river crossing and eventually getting tossed across "dwarf style" by our lead guide. It went like this:
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Don't worry, Paul. We won't tell the Elf.
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Other highlights include the following:s
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1. Dinner with the Arrieros -- In order to avoid the constant complaining that would have ensued had we been forced to do it ourselves, our team employed a pack of mules to carry our supplies to base camp. It's a common practice and while it makes difficult work for the mules, as Paul put it, "They're mules, so a good life was never really in the cards."
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In order to prevent widespread revolt on behalf of the herd, three or four "muleteers" or "arrieros" (as they're called in Argentina) keep a watchful eye and drive the mules up the mountain with distinct yelps, screams, and swift kicks to unmentionable regions.
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| The arriero who later named himself "Wine Bottle." |
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Our guides purchased enough meat, olive oil, wine, and bread to satisfy an army and held a cookout each of the first two nights. The guests of honor were the arrieros and the result was truly unique fine-dining experience. I had previously thought that what I witnessed was suited only for National Geographic magazines and Discovery Channel documentaries, not real life; and thus I'll likely remember both evenings as two of the better experiences I've had. Unfortunately, my pictures don't do the nights justice. They couldn't. So instead I'll describe what happened in words.
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Each day, just as the stars first began to appear, the arrieros would gather around a small stone structure they'd later call home for the night. There was no electricity or light but somehow soft Argentine guitar music played from a crackling radio they kept inside. Each man seemed to have put on his best beret and scarf before calling us to eat. The first night we approached cautiously, not knowing what to expect; the second night we ran to join the fun.
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We sat on anything we could find to keep us off the ground and huddled closely around their castle, watching silently as they expertly prepared carne asada and tomato and cheese salad for the feast. Smoke from the fire burned my eyes, but the meal was too enticing to look away. When the meat was finished they placed it in front of us on a cutting board and we grabbed at it with our fingers. Nothing was left untouched. And just when we thought things couldn't get any better, bottles of wine were passed around and everyone took ambitious swigs until empty bottles cluttered the table. We ate and drank until we could do no more and eventually slumbered back to our tents one by one. As I climbed inside my sleeping bag each night I could hear that the party was not over for the arrieros. But it was for me and I fell asleep instantly.s
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| A perfect night after a perfect dinner. |
The next day things returned to normal. The arrieros went back to herding the mules and mostly ignoring us. And we went back to dreaming about the mountain.
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2. The Mules -- The mules we employed were, without a doubt, the low light of the trip. There was nothing wrong with them per se; they seemed like perfectly fine mules. But as I've previously mentioned, I'm allergic to everything -- and that, of course, includes mules. My guide later told me that when I let him know about the problem his immediate thought was, "Well, I'm going to be guiding one less person on this trip because this guy isn't going to make it past day one." The trail and camps we crossed en route to Aconcagua are just about the muliest places on earth. As Paul assured me, "The only worse allergy you can have for climbing Aconcagua is an allergy to rocks."
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| The objects of my nightmares |
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Although my eyes bugged out a bit, things generally worked out well. That said, I could have done without the constant threat that I'd become deathly allergic and deprived of precious oxygen by unshakeable wheezing.
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3. The Mountain -- If the mules were the low point of the trek to base camp, the high point may have come at the end of the second day. In order to climb Aconcagua via the False Polish route (our line of choice) you approach via the Vacas Valley. It's a rather monotonous hike through a glacial scar in the Andes mountains and Aconcagua is nowhere to be found. Instead, it's a slow approach northward that leaves you staring down a tunnel of rolling hills into a never-ending abyss. That is until the end of the second day.
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| Bandits of the Vacas. |
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| Aconcagua at dusk. Too big and too windy. |