Endurance Test (El Misti Day 2)

Well-adjusted people might have been discouraged from gusting 20 mph winds. Rational people might be defeated by the freezing temperatures causing numb appendages. Sound-minded people might even be pessimistic of the lack of energy we both suffered from sleeplessness and elevation sickness. Lucking none of that criterion applied to us. With a light breakfast of an orange and coca tea. We zipped our jackets and headed up. The summit beckoned us. It loomed above us in the dark. We knew the top was there but our reality was limited to the 4 foot spotlight from the illumination of our headlights.
To say we were progressing with ferocity and fervor would be a lie. Our blind optimism was quickly replaced with pure endurance. After hour one, I was mentally comparing the hike to to the last three miles of a marathon. The only positive thoughts that guide me to the finish of a marathon is the notion that I am almost done. After hour one, were had completed a mere eighth of our trek.
Each step in the fine lava dust would provide support for only a small stride of gain and the settling of each placed foot would include a half stride of loss. One step for the exertion of two. We cruising up the mountain with momentum of a turtle moving uphill in the wrong direction. The when we reached the steep rocky section we were both grateful and appalled. It was a triumph to transfer of the silty dust paths but of course we had dragged ourselves up to the steep rocky section. The definition of a mixed blessing. We pushed onto the rocky weave bounding up the volcano like a vine up tree. Our pace of ten minutes of progress to two minutes of rest quickly became unmanageable. Ten steps, grasp for air, ten more steps, grasp for air, ten more steps, a silent prayer and then desperate search for the summit to appear in our four foot path of vision.
Five hours into our pathetic trek of self-pity and humility, I collapsed into a pile behind a large boulder. My numb hands and feet welcome the frigid rock as a pleasant escape from the whipping wind that transformed from a gusting nuisance to constant impediment. I had run out of motivation. I was exhausted. My head screamed at me to get more oxygen. The longer I ignored it the more it dominated my awareness. The only two thoughts that gave me hope were one; due to the grade, going down in the dark was not an option and two; the summit MUST be close. A guide and his client, hiking 5 minutes behind us, caught up to our resting point. "How much longer do you think it is to the top?" the client asked.
"Tres Horas," he replied.
First, I was sure he was joking. The statement put me into shock. I was unable to the comprehend the impossibility. Quickly, I realized that I was being irrational. I understood the truth and the weight of the mountain came tumbling down on me. It pinned me to the ground. I had nothing left to give. It was over.
I have never been in fight. I got punched once in High School by a bully but the shock was so powerful that I was left standing in the hall holding my stomach, with a dumb grimace on my face. The punch was not remotely painful but I still processed a consuming power. From this limited experience inflicted bodily harm, I would liken my sensation for the next hour and a half with what a boxer must feel just seconds from knockout. With blurry daze, no feeling of self control, my body rose to my feet and stumble up the path ahead. My oxygen deprived consciousness was merely a passenger in a determined body. It was not providing the commands but clumsily, I proceeded.
The sun began to rise...I kept going.

The ground turned back to the lava silt...I kept going. The wind picked up to a steady 50 miles per hour...I kept going. The path wandered up to false summit after false summit...I kept going.
I small natural steep stair case wound it way around large protruding boulder. I warily plopped my feet on each one and pushed my body higher. My head popped up above in rock and there it was. Less then a mile away a 12 meter cross rose from the highest point of the volcano. Like a shock of lighting, I was back. My body was mine again. The sore muscles, cold appendages, and piercing headache flooded back to reality. These played no match to the last of my cognition that struck me with my destination in sight. I was oozing motivation. It flowed through me with each commanding step. It expanded my lungs and grappled the cold. A smile spread across my face. We pushed our way up to summit elevation and crossed a thin traverse on lava silt with steep drops bounding us to placing our steps immediate succession. Small pebbly rocks were lifted from the mountainside and flung relentlessly sting as it came to contact with our exposed faces. I tilted my shoulder into the wind just to maintain forward momentum against the insistent winds.
100 steps...50...20...10...5...4...3...2...1
I collapsed into the cross. Never has positioned atheist every found so much relief from a cross. I had found GOD!

Yeah, that is bullshit. I was was just relieved to have made it. We rejoiced, rested and downward we went. The worst part of this climb quickly became the best. Only twenty meters on either side of the path to the top were rivers of the disdained lava silt. This was the path to the bottom. Ian and I stood atop with gritty river and in unison, lept forward in the gravity defying glide back to oxygen. The 15 hour pain-staking journey to the top became turned to

a gentle, flowing, rhythmic decent

back to civilization.

Within minutes, we able to slip the grips of asphyxiation. Our exaggerated leaps down the side of the volcano brought us closer to warmth. We had made it. For the first time that day, feeling tingled back into my toes and fingers. My goal was to reach the summit. I had made it but in the process the goal became trivial. I had tested myboundaries. I came close to my edge. My onerous ego was stripped away replaced with glee and humility. I had completed the education of El Misti.

Ignorant Motivation (El Misti Day 1)

I would be easier to outline what we didn´t know about El Misti for the list is far shorter then that of which we did. We didn´t know what 5822 meters was in feet. We didn´t know that the guides carried much of the equipment required for this two day hike. We didn´t know the symptoms of elevation sickness. We didn´t know that 3 people without guides had gotten lost on this trek the previous year. And finally, we didn´t know that this cliff exceeds the elevation of Base Camp One on everest, any point in the continental U.S. and is only 200 feet shy of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Luckily, Ian and I both hold all this knowledge, but the method of education was hands on, head first and jump without looking. We also will never forget that at 19,101 feet, the air only holds half the amount of oxygen compared to that of sea-level.

In full disclosure, the success of our trip was contingent on our short sidedness. We would have had no chance at success if not for our fearless ignorance. We like our general ignorance of the expedition to the night hiking that took place on day two. If we were able to see the summit looming above us, we would have been discourage by our meager progression and suffered certain retreat. Similar to the success of the entire trip, we were motivated by our optimistic ignorance.

As assured by my selective reading of the Lonely Planet Guide book, he first day of hiking was easy. We of course struggled with the acclimation reduce oxygen levels. We forced ourselves to take one deep breath each time we took a step. It seemed to work well. We controlled to the headaches by aggressively gasping for air as we walked. This was successful until about 500 feet below our campsite for the first night. That is when no amount of desperate gasps could prevent tighten of the vice against our skulls.

On the first, day we stopped every ten minutes to fifteen minutes to hydrate. Hydration was merely the excuse we used, we both had ulterior motives. We both wanted to lighten the water weight that made up over 50% of backpack´s heft. We also wanted to ensure our heart´s were not going to spontaneously combust. Only seconds after resuming from long rest, our heart rate jumped to a lightning speed. There was no controlling it. There was just too little oxygen to let our hearts work at any less the maximum capacity. After only five and half hours of hiking, we arrived our camp. With uncontrollable headaches and sunburned faces, we pitched a tent and settled in. The effort of bending over was weighed carefully against the inevitable head-rush that would take control for at least 30 seconds.

The pot of rice and vegetables look most appealing immediately before we realized we brought no utensils. Our appetites quickly took precedent and we watched the sun set far below us as we feasted off our grit covered hands. If we had read the symptoms for altitude sickness, we would know that the speed of digestion drops off exponentially. We also would have know that a common symptom is sleeplessness. Again, comforted by our ignorance we settled in for restless night. The accent to the peak began at 1 AM

How it All Begins

Once the headache´s set in, it becomes the only focus. The world around me slips away. The hiking becomes secondary. All of my energy is focus on the inhale and the exhale. At 15,000 feet, breathing becomes a discipline. The commonly thoughtless act becomes a conscious effort. I find myself questioning what I am doing half way up an 19,101 foot, active volcano with less then two days of acclimation in modest elevation. I´d like to say that I was prepared. I´d like to say I trained for this. I wish I could say I knew what I was getting myself into. But I think of myself as an honest man so I admit with humility that El Misti chewed me up and spit me out.

A mere 12 hours prior, Ian and I sit in the office of Quechua Explorer staring at poster of Mount Everest.

"No Problem!" I say to Ian nodding at the poster, "El Misti today, Everest tomorrow." Thoughts of Krakauer´s Into Thin Air flashed through my head. What´s the worst that could happen, I thought as a you Peruvian woman named Sylvia settled in behind the office desk. We entered the office to hire guide to bring us up the volcano that towered of Arequipa. We had read in the our guide book that it was the easiest accent of a mountain its size. My selective focus allowed me to focus on one word and one word alone...easy.

"60 dollars?" I gawked, in my awkward Spanish. "Per person?" I spit out in disgust. The dream of ascending El Misti was quickly slipping away. I looked at Ian and without saying anything I knew that our combined frugality would not allow us to splurge on the expedition. Not ready to see this day old dream slip away, I asked the only other logical question.

"How much without a guide? How much for ride only to mountain?" I asked, looking for a glimpse of understanding hoping she could translate what could only be associated to Spanish in the loosest of terms. She pause for a minute, realizing what cheap grigo´s we were.

"30 dollars for both," Sylvia said, seeing her opportunity to make the sale quickly fleeting. I looked at Ian. He gave me a nod. We were hooked. We had just booked ourselves a deal for a leisurely stroll up El Misti.