Trip Report Seven:
Ojos del Salado
March 10 - 23
see pictures from this trip report
Trip Report Seven:
see pictures from this trip report
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March 10 - Taber and I buy melon, tuna (the fruit, not the fish), pears, nectarines, bananas, tomatoes, avocadoes, and grapes and eat them all on the beach. March 11 - We visit the funiculars in
Valparaiso and see an American movie.
March 12 - I go to Santiago to get permission from the office of border relations to visit and climb Ojos del Salado. March 13 - I visit with seismologists at the Universidad de Chile, play squash with Rene, and get on the overnight bus to La Serena. March 14 - I meet up with Taber in La Serena, the premier beach resort in Chile. Our intent is to (learn to) surf and otherwise waste away in margheritaland until Taber has to go home. Unfortunately, the cold Humboldt Current has other plans for us. Chilean waters are just too frigid and they tend to generate a coastal fog which renders beach activities miserable. March 15 - We retreat to the interior
to find the sun at Copiapo. I make Taber watch another stupid American
movie.
March 16 - We visit the wild desert scenery
of Pan de Azucar Park on the Chilean coast near Chanaral.
March 17 - We make our way back to Copiapo so Taber can watch me prepare for my solo Ojos del Salado trip. We spend our last night together, drinking beer and being hit on my high school girls. One of them demands to kiss Taber and I have to act as interpreter. March 18 - I depart at two in the afternoon
for Ojos del Salado. Taber sees me off in the Copiapo Plaza de Armas.
My bob trailer is huge, heavy, and unwieldy. On board I have food for
8 days and more than 15 liters of water. I have been told that there
is only one place to obtain potable water between Copiapo and the Laguna
Verde carabinero station, which is at the foot of Ojos del Salado. The
carabinero station is 280 km to the east of Copiapo, through the largely
uninhabited, and completely unvegetated, Atacama desert (some parts
of this desert have never recorded rainfall!). My ultimate destination
in this trip is the volcano Ojos del Salado, which is located 25 kilometers
to the south of the international highway on the Chile-Argentine border.
It is the highest peak in Chile and highest active volcano in the entire
world with a summit elevation of 6890 meters. Unfortunately, it is also
an ugly asymmetric pile of low-angle talus with only a little permanent
snow. It holds little technical challenge and mountaineering interest.
As I pedal my way through the 85 degree heat of the Copiapo Valley and
my altimeter shows me crossing 500 meters of elevation, I wonder about
my resolve. There are many more asthetic mountains with much easier
access. Still, it feels really nice to be back on my bike again. At
dusk, I sleep in the desert by the side of the road having drunk 7 of
my 16 liters of water. Total distance biked 80 km.
March 19 - It is hot even before the sun
comes up. The road climbs up a dry canyon to the first of three mountain
passes (3400 meters, 4500 meters, and 4600 meters). I make it to the
top of the first pass (about 50 kilometers from my camp) and realize
that my progress may be too slow to bike to and from and climb the volcano
in my alotted time (Liz arrives from the United States on March 27 and
I plan to meet her at the La Serena airport). I thus decide to hitchhike
portions of the route if and when I am able. Unbelievably, a car pulls
up immediately and offers a ride. The driver works 50 km up the road
at the Minas de Oro mine and offers to drop me at the mine headquarters,
from where dumptrucks ply a route even further up the valley. Within
minutes of being dropped off, a dumptruck driver takes me all the way
to the Maricunga salt flat customs post (only 100 km from Laguna Verde!).
Incredibly, some German tourists are just now preparing to leave Maricunga
for Laguna Verde and the customs agents arrange for them to take me
all the way to border. I am in awe of my hithchiking luck (there really
is almost zero traffic on this road). Upon arrival at Laguna Verde,
I meet the friendly Chilean carabineros who suggest that I spend the
night at the refugio and thermal baths, one kilometer down the road.
At the baths I immediately discover a guided group of climbers, a total
of eight from Santiago. I begin to marvel how easy this trip is turning
out: Free rides, friendly carabineros, hot springs, and even some companionship
to reduce the loneliness of my solo expedition. As I enter the refugio
with my bicycle, smiling, and eager to communicate, I hear an abrupt
'You can not bring your bike inside.' The tone is not at all friendly
and I reply that I want to bring my gear inside the refugio in the event
of inclement weather. 'There is no room here for your bags' comes the
retort from an ugly, bearded mountain guide. I ask the dude if he thinks
that the refuge belongs to him and he replies 'that it belongs to all
CHILEANS'. Furthermore, 'it is not his fault if I decided to bring a
bicycle up to Ojos'. I tell him that it is not my fault if he is an
asshole. I leave the hut surprised, hurt, and fuming. Although I have
been amongst climbers on a hundred mountains in more than a dozen countries,
I have never encountered such immediate animosity (with the exception
of an occasional Frenchman). I fall asleep angry and thinking of hurtful
things to say in the morning.
March 20 - In the morning, several members
of the group from Santiago approach my tent and apologize for the behavior
of (one of their) guides. I decide to hold my tongue, but give him a
good glare as I enter the refugio to use the hotspring (yes, there is
a thermal bath inside the hut!). After my soak, I am eager to head up
the mountain. I mount my bike for the 20 kilometers to the Camp Murray
(an abandoned hosteria) about 20 kilometers below the first mountain
hut (Ojos del Salado has three mountain huts including Camp Muray).
I arrive at Camp Murray in deteriorating weather and set up camp inside
the house. I have six hours until dark and finish reading both my books
by the time I go to bed. I am bored already and pray that the weather
will be good enough tomorrow to let me ascend.
March 21 - It is a full-on blizzard, but
there is apparently a jeep track all the way up to the hut at Camp One.
I decide to give it a go figuring that I can always backtrack down to
Camp Murray. After a 20 kilometer hike through knee-deep snow drifts,
I arrive at 5100 meters (the supposed altitude of the hut) to an utter
white-out. I am reminded of Antarctica. I spend four hours hiking around
blindly, up to 5700 meters and down to 4900 meters searching for the
maldito hut. At one point, I deposit my backpack near an unforgettable
rock outcrop, so that I can more freely explore. I soon forget where
my landmark is in the whiteout and it takes me more than an hour to
recover my backpack. At four in the afternoon, I decide to cut my losses
and retreat to Camp Murray. I arrive at the wide-open pumice plains
(4500 meters) above Camp Murray in the pitch dark. I know that it is
about 5 kilometers to the refuge but I am unsure of the direction. Since
there are few roads and only 12 people (one who hates me) within a hundred
kilometer radius, I decide it is a good idea not to get any MORE lost.
I bed down in the blizzard protected somewhat by a lava outcrop. Though
I have no tent, I did bring my sleeping bag and down jacket. I eat a
pound-and-a-half of cheese during the night to help me keep warm.
March 22 - I wake in the morning and happily discover my fingers and toes are all unfrozen. I use landmarks to find my way back to Camp Murray and enter the dryness and relative warmth of the hut. At about ten in the morning, three of the carabineros, decked out in storm clothing and aviator glasses, show up at my door. They are on a reconaissance to assess the condition of the international highway (it is impassable - blocked by meter-high drifts). They also want to check that the lone gringo hadn't frozen to death. I thank them and assure them that I am fine (leaving out details from the previous night). The carabineros then tell me that the blizzard should taper off during the following day. Maybe the highway will open up then! I spend the entire day bored out of my skull and I curse myself for not bringing another book. I read all my food wrappers. I also decide to write my wedding vows. March 23 - The weather is not good enough
to attempt another ascent of Ojos del Salado, but it is calm enough
to bike to the Laguna Verde ranger station. The road is covered in snowdrifts,
but I discover that I can easily bike over the windblown pumice plains
(altitude 4500 meters). I bike overland across hardpack snowdrifts and
cinder for more than ten kilometers with a strong tailwind as the volcanoes
to the north begin to appear from their cloudcap. The summits are glowing
in the low-angle sun. Several of the peaks are over 6000 meters tall
and some of them have only seen a handful of ascents. A couple of them,
including Incahuasi (over 6600 meters) have Incan ruins at the top.
The remoteness and beauty of this part of the Atacama is incomparable
and I realize now why I expend so much energy to be here. The carabineros
at Laguna Verde tell me that the road is barely open for a caravan-style
departure to Copiapo. If I choose, I can leave today with the carabineros
and climbers from Santiago (they hadn't left their refugio for four
days due to the stormy weather!). I briefly consider the Patagonian-strength
headwind (complete with blowing snow) and decide that I should take
advantage of the possibility of the ride even if it means I will miss
a 4000 meter vertical descent by bike. I ride in the carbinero patrol
truck as we blast our way through the snowdrifts en route down to the
lowland Maricunga salt flats. Ojos is still hidden in the clouds as
we travel across the pumice plains. And as the high Atacama puna fades
from sight, I feel defeated. But I do intend to return to Ojos!
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