Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
CHAPTER 19
DIAMOND DOGS
Alex and I were in Peru's Cordillera Blanca, trying to make the first ascent of
Nevado III -and it wasn't going well. The first thing to go wrong was being on this
mountain in the first place. It wasn't our original objective. That was the south face
of Caraz I, but when we reached the bottom of our route two days before, we dis-
covered Canadian guide Albi Sole and Nigel Helliwell recovering at the bottom
having just descended from a four-day ascent. We didn't even know they were in
the country. There they were looking exhausted, elated and a bit frostbitten with
the thousand-yard stare and animated stories of survivors.
Alex and I were deeply pissed off. We had hoped Caraz I would be one of our ma-
jor ticks for the summer, but we congratulated our two new friends, even gave
them some of our food, since we had already decided we wouldn't need it. Our
new, unplanned choice, the south face of Nevado III, was only 1,200 metres high
and the summit around 5,700 metres. Despite the fact that the mountain was un-
climbed, and we had no time to study the face, we decided it would take us only a
day. So we dispensed with sleeping bags, stove, food and all the usual extras. It
would be lighter, faster, free of the umbilical cord, and so much more fun.
Those who have seen Peruvian south faces - the equivalent of north faces in the
northern hemisphere - will have an image of white walls like the crests of breaking
waves with peculiar sculptured features and flutes like organ pipes. Looking at
these, it seems logical that a bed of firm snow and ice will form a nice direct line
between any pair of flutes, and lead straight to the summit, or near enough, with
little bother.
That is not the reality. It is difficult to explain how it forms, and how it sticks to
the face, but the snow in the bed between these flutes usually has the consistency
of feather pillows, while further out it is like cane sugar. This is not the rule for all
peaks, but it was on Nevado III. When the mist from the Amazon drifts in over the
mountains, as it seems to do most days, the stuff crystallises. The other problem is
that these flutes inevitably merge, and then there is almost always a certain
amount of 'fluting about' to be done. This means shifting from one flute to the
next, or more aptly 'sifting', since the snow has the texture, consistency and secur-
ity of vertical flour. If ever there was a time to heed Alex's advice when crossing
loose snow or a heavily crevassed glacier, to 'think light like a fairy', it was now.
