Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
limited rack of nuts and pegs, a descent of the south face was out of the question.
Descending the easy route down the other side of the mountain would put us in
completely the wrong valley with a long and expensive taxi journey back around.
Before we had set off, we had formulated another plan - to descend the unclimbed
west ridge.
What followed was a totally bizarre and unique experience in the high mountains.
All seemed well on the second bivvy, not far below the summit with a view down
toward the lovely peak of Ocshapalca at the end of a serrated ridge of cornices
about a mile away to the north. The only fly in the ointment was the stove, which
had sputtered down to a tiny flame and our supper of noodle soup and mash with
hot chocolate turned into a midnight feast. The moon shone and then the Amazon
mist rose to the east like a slow motion tsunami and embraced us in a freezing fog.
It cleared for an hour or so at dawn as we packed up and melted just enough
snow for a cold drink of Tang before heading down the initial, straightforward sec-
tion of ridge. We were soon plunged into thick mist but an hour later we arrived on
level snow, which we assumed had to be the col from where we needed to find the
apparently broad west ridge, which swept down in a curve to connect with our gla-
cier halfway between our peak and Ocshapalca. With no compass, we had to guess,
but each guess seemed to lead to an abyss. Daylight began to melt away in the
mist. Eventually we found one drop into a deep but broad crevasse with a clear
bottom. It was a point of no return. Once we'd abseiled in, we had to find a way out
the other side. Our ropes just reached the bottom. We did not have a retrieval line
so one of our precious snow stakes was sacrificed. We bivouacked where we
landed. The stove gave up before the water was even warm.
In the morning, the stove refused even to sputter but still we packed it, intending
to repair it for the next climb. We wandered down the corridor of our crevasse un-
til it shrank down to a climbable wall on the left. The mist was still thick, but it
would lift, tantalisingly, giving momentary glimpses of surrounding peaks and,
fortunately for us, of Ocshapalca moving back to our right; we knew we were
headed in the correct direction. A second snow stake was sacrificed at another
double rope abseil into another uncertain abyss of a crevasse, from which we
emerged to teeter to the edge of a huge overhanging wall of ice that completely cut
the ridge in two. We tried to descend around it on either side, but the snow was
deep and dangerous with big drops beneath, so once again we abseiled off a stake.
Three down, one to go. The bivvy was cold, worrying and wearisome that night.
We sang stupid songs in praise of fate and the powers that be.
