Climbing Into the Atmosphere

On a sunny Saturday morning, I awoke with nervous excitement and hopped out of bed.  It was early, as most of my days in Ecuador begin, and I prepared to leave for the highest active volcano on earth, Cotopaxi.  Craig and I planned to go all the way this time—all the way to the summit.  During the previous week, we hired a guide and rented the necessary equipment from a local company, in Quito.  As we climbed our way up to the refuge—which sits serenely at 4,500 meters on the lower part of the supremely beautiful Cotopaxi—I felt good.  We prepared the two weeks in advance with four plus mile runs and some other exercises.  However, it was not enough.  We were told to go to sleep at 7:30 p.m., and we would rise at 11:00 p.m., beginning our climb at midnight.  Although it was snowing when we arrived to this sky-piercing monster, the weather had cleared completely when we exited the refuge at the chosen hour of 12:00 a.m.  The stars shined in the dark night sky, and the feel was electric.  After strapping on our crampons, securing our bags, and picking up our ice-axes, we started on what would be the hardest physical challenge I have ever pursued. 

 

The newly-fallen white blanket on Cotopaxi would cause an array of problems—more snow than our guides had seen in quite some time.  We climbed into the atmosphere one lung-bursting step at a time—traveling further from civilization, and closer to the jet-black night sky.  As we climbed toward the 5,800 meter peak—about a six-hour journey—my very being was challenged.  The higher we traversed the less oxygen I could inhale, the colder it became, and each step proved harder than the last.  I noticed my lack of sleep on this twenty-four hour excursion, first.  Next, my stomach and my head started to ache and send small bursts of panic to my nerves.  I remained calm and took the necessary breaks.  I pushed my body to the limit and past it, only deciding to turn around after hiking and climbing for about four and a half hours—and up more than sixty-percent of the snow-covered mountain.  I could not do it much longer, and I knew in the back of my head that I still had to get down the mountain—which proved to be no easy task, either.  I was strapped to my guide the whole time, and he helped me when I needed it; but the climb was to be mine, and all of the decisions as well.  It was a hard mental decision to turn back, but was easily coaxed by my physical exhaustion; I could barely keep my eyes open, and the cold and altitude sucked the energy and resistance out of me.  I came down during day-break, descending at a faster rate.  However, the technical and steep sections of the mountain were in some ways more difficult on the way down.  I made it back to the refuge at around 8:50 a.m., exhausted.  As we drove away from Cotopaxi I had a feeling of disappointment and frustration that I did not summit the white giant; at the same time, I also felt a sense of mental and physical strength and fortitude that I made it up such a difficult mountain—and higher than I have ever been before on this earth.