Day 2 of the ice cap traverse
The mountain let out a ferocious roar. I looked up in time to see huge chunks of ice peel off a glacier to my left and tumble down the polished cliff face below. I felt awe, and an awful, ominous sense that a long, difficult journey lay before us.
We arrived at a steep snowfield, switchbacked up and then came to a rock face. The climbing on the rock face wasn't exceptionally difficult ... I'd certainly scrambled up more technical routes without a rope before ... but the exposure was serious. One wrong step and ... I shuddered at the thought.
The wind gusted fiercely, threatening to knock me off balance without notice. My pack toppled, top heavy, from side to side. My heart thudded, numb with fear. We moved carefully, methodically. The intensity of the situation showed in the terse way we talked to one another. "No" "Stand Up" "There" "Wait" "Go."
We eventually reached the top of the rock outcropping and I took a huge sigh of relief. That relief was short lived. The glacier-caked pass, named Macaroni, that opened into Patagonia's southern ice cap met us with a bulldozer of wind. Gusts came like a freight train, determined to plow everything in its path. At times, all we could do was dig our crampons and poles into the ice with as much force as we could muster, hunch over and pray for mercy. Little pieces of ice, caught by the wind, pelted us relentlessly. I grit my teeth, determined not to dwell on just how ridiculous, just how terrible the situation had become.
We only had 3 miles of fairly flat walking to go to get to a hut built by the Chilean government. There we would find refuge from the weather that tormented us, but our pace had slowed to a near crawl, and I knew we still had a long trudge ahead of us.
We roped up as a precaution for crevasses. Miraculously, the wind stopped just long enough for us to tie the rope to our harnesses. In a line, we continued toward the hut. One step, two step. I thought about Cory, Zippy and Oscar snuggled up at home, at the base of the Tetons. I thought about the last 13 grueling miles of the Leadville 100. I thought about the grit and perseverance my parents showed ... and wondered whether they'd ever again go along with one of my ideas for an expedition. I thought about the whole damn experience is a state of mind ... and I could either choose to hate it or choose to enjoy it. I could choose to focus on the wind, my fogged up sunglasses, the fact that I had to go to the bathroom but had a harness on ... or I could focus on the fact that I put on enough layers and felt warm, I still had strength enough to continue ... and here I was finally living my dream of going to Patagonia's ice cap.
I started to bonk. My stomach gurgled with hunger. I fought against the wind to get my mitten off. When I finally got it off, I clutched it tight with my armpit. With liner gloved providing measly protection against the weather, I moved quickly to unzip a pocket and pull of a package of sport jelly beans. At first I couldn't get the package open, but with sheer determination and my two front teeth, I finally pulled it apart. I gulped those sports beans down like my life depended on it ... and in some ways it did.
Still starved I began to think about the alfajor, an argentine chocolate and dulce de leche pastry, in my other pocket. Once the alfajor entered my mind, it wouldn't leave, until it was in my mouth. Clumsily I got to that alfajor and ate it in two bites ... all the while walking roped up, over a glacier, in driving winds and total whiteout conditions.
One of our guides, Luciana, caught up to me to ask me to put her water bottle away ... she got thirsty in the way that I got hungry. I suggested we get everyone's attention to take a quick food and water break. I was sure my parents needed calories as badly as I did. We stopped for two minutes. We huddled together in a feeble attempt to keep our gorp from flying right off the palm of our hands. We considered it a success that about half the gorp from the ziplock bag made it into our mouths.
One long, endless hour later we arrived at a heavenly place ... a metal structure perched on a dark moraine. There the ice that plastered our clothes and faces melted, and with it our nerves. Hot tea, laughter and rest were but a prelude to the perfectly sunny weather window that would allow us to traverse seamlessly across the ice cap in the days ahead.
We arrived at a steep snowfield, switchbacked up and then came to a rock face. The climbing on the rock face wasn't exceptionally difficult ... I'd certainly scrambled up more technical routes without a rope before ... but the exposure was serious. One wrong step and ... I shuddered at the thought.
The wind gusted fiercely, threatening to knock me off balance without notice. My pack toppled, top heavy, from side to side. My heart thudded, numb with fear. We moved carefully, methodically. The intensity of the situation showed in the terse way we talked to one another. "No" "Stand Up" "There" "Wait" "Go."
We eventually reached the top of the rock outcropping and I took a huge sigh of relief. That relief was short lived. The glacier-caked pass, named Macaroni, that opened into Patagonia's southern ice cap met us with a bulldozer of wind. Gusts came like a freight train, determined to plow everything in its path. At times, all we could do was dig our crampons and poles into the ice with as much force as we could muster, hunch over and pray for mercy. Little pieces of ice, caught by the wind, pelted us relentlessly. I grit my teeth, determined not to dwell on just how ridiculous, just how terrible the situation had become.
We only had 3 miles of fairly flat walking to go to get to a hut built by the Chilean government. There we would find refuge from the weather that tormented us, but our pace had slowed to a near crawl, and I knew we still had a long trudge ahead of us.
We roped up as a precaution for crevasses. Miraculously, the wind stopped just long enough for us to tie the rope to our harnesses. In a line, we continued toward the hut. One step, two step. I thought about Cory, Zippy and Oscar snuggled up at home, at the base of the Tetons. I thought about the last 13 grueling miles of the Leadville 100. I thought about the grit and perseverance my parents showed ... and wondered whether they'd ever again go along with one of my ideas for an expedition. I thought about the whole damn experience is a state of mind ... and I could either choose to hate it or choose to enjoy it. I could choose to focus on the wind, my fogged up sunglasses, the fact that I had to go to the bathroom but had a harness on ... or I could focus on the fact that I put on enough layers and felt warm, I still had strength enough to continue ... and here I was finally living my dream of going to Patagonia's ice cap.
I started to bonk. My stomach gurgled with hunger. I fought against the wind to get my mitten off. When I finally got it off, I clutched it tight with my armpit. With liner gloved providing measly protection against the weather, I moved quickly to unzip a pocket and pull of a package of sport jelly beans. At first I couldn't get the package open, but with sheer determination and my two front teeth, I finally pulled it apart. I gulped those sports beans down like my life depended on it ... and in some ways it did.
Still starved I began to think about the alfajor, an argentine chocolate and dulce de leche pastry, in my other pocket. Once the alfajor entered my mind, it wouldn't leave, until it was in my mouth. Clumsily I got to that alfajor and ate it in two bites ... all the while walking roped up, over a glacier, in driving winds and total whiteout conditions.
One of our guides, Luciana, caught up to me to ask me to put her water bottle away ... she got thirsty in the way that I got hungry. I suggested we get everyone's attention to take a quick food and water break. I was sure my parents needed calories as badly as I did. We stopped for two minutes. We huddled together in a feeble attempt to keep our gorp from flying right off the palm of our hands. We considered it a success that about half the gorp from the ziplock bag made it into our mouths.
One long, endless hour later we arrived at a heavenly place ... a metal structure perched on a dark moraine. There the ice that plastered our clothes and faces melted, and with it our nerves. Hot tea, laughter and rest were but a prelude to the perfectly sunny weather window that would allow us to traverse seamlessly across the ice cap in the days ahead.
Labels: Amy, Andescross, Argentina, Dad, Ice Cap, Mom, Patagonia, ramblings, Southern Ice Cap
posted by Amy | 2:31 PM
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