Sitting on a huge volcanic rock staring down the steep slope of Mnt. Remolce Jim passes me another sliver of Spanish sausage and cheese he cut from the block with his little letter opening knife. The sweet, greasy smell of the sausage reminds me of lunch with my family in some cafe in Gijon, Spain. But we are far from any cafes, precariously perched on a bulbous volcanic rock some 14,000 feet above sea level we take a little lunch and bask in the powerful Equatorial sun. This is our practice run and acclimatization period before attempting to ascend 19,000 feet of Cotopaxi the next morning.
Wheezing for air, I feel a little dizzy and worn thin after the 4 hour climb to the highest point of the mountain we can reach without the use of safety lines, screw-ins and harnesses. Gloating at the accomplishment of the climb I hear a little chorus of claps echoing through the split-gapped mountains saddle. The clapping builds to a crescendo then turns into a thunderous boom. I whip my head around and up to see where the applause are coming from. BOOM, Crack, Applauds! Something is wrong, the mountain is coming down on top of us. I turn to see Jim with half-cocked sun glasses still staring into space. I can´t get a word off! I grab his arm and pull him over the side of the lunch rock in time to see a huge rock the size of a bulging suitcase richoting end over end directly towards us like a pinball bouncing of the canyon walls towards the flippers.

I loose Jim as I slide over another boulder like a Duke's Of Hazard pro. The air is alive with mass movement and disturbing soundwaves. Pulling hands down over my head I crunch my body into as little a space I can at the butt of the boulder I just threw myself under for cover.

Holy Shit!, I don't like this. Never got to practice for this. My family is going to kill me if I get shredded by a rock slide! This rock better hold against whatever is coming...Where´s Jim'!

The only way I can describe the sound of a rock falling towards you from 2,000 feet up breaking into little death balls is: surround sound mayhem. Incremental hammering of bass and a high pitched sizzing sound flanked by a wall of little chirps and...applause.
VvvvishshCRoooo....cliick,click,click BOOOM! Wizzzz....BOOOOM....
It is over, the little shards of smashed rock and dust hang in the air but I am too damn scared to look up.

'X, you OK' X...!'
I guess Jim made it to the base of the lunch rock. Partner not torn to piece, a good thing.
'Yeah man, over...here...'
'Ha HA, Good ears bro. GOOD ears.'
Shacking and giggling at the same time I peek my head out from the safety of my boulder to see Jim standing right where the block of rock flew past us looking up at the barrle that launched a few hundred pounds of Earth at us.
'Damn good ears man!'
'Did you see that shit, we almost got killed, let´s get the hell out of here.'
'Yeah, yeah...let me grab the sausage and cheese.'
'Forget it man, I've had my fill...'

I am under water letting air out my nose with a hum. End over end, making whale sounds I empty my lungs into the warm,churning waters...I think I am in the Pacific, maybe off Nicaragua or ...
'Hey there. It's time.'
Nope not Nicaragua... The Refugio (the refuge) at the base of Cotopaxi. It is 12 am and the bunk room is alive with movement and wiping rays of light from other climber's headlamps as they manage layer after layer of cold clothes onto their shivering bodies.
I don't want to move. I wish I were swimming and squealing like a whale and not freezing, pulling for air at 16,000 feet in a stinky bunk room filled with German, Austrian and Ecuadorian chatterboxes.

I crawled into my sleepingbag just 5 hours earlier fully dressed in an attempt to get some winks before the Alpine start up the slope at 12 a.m. I don't think I ever slept really as every time you start to relax your lungs start to ache and you have to gasp for more air. 3 normal breaths then one huge stomach full...it is work trying to remember to breathe when half asleep.

I rub my hands around my eyes and mouth wiping away the powdery stuffing of the disintegrating mattress I bedded up on. Leaping to the floor I notice I have kicked all my gear from the end of my bed to the bunkroom floor. I start digging around in the dark for my headlamp and some socks to put on as the wooden plants are dirty and cold. All around me I hear the swishing of synthetic materials and cruncking of huge plastic boots made in some mountainous country somewhere near Switzerland.

It is butt-cold inside, and I know it is going to be even worse out in the snow and wind.
All geared up in my rented Arctic gear I make my way down to the communal kitchen and down a few leftover ravioli's from the previous afternoon. In between bites and chewing I work up a deep breath of air and go for a swallow. People are pairing up with their stocky Ecuatorian guides as Jim and I help eachother zipper up all the ventilation pockets on our snow pants and jackets by the darkened fireplace in the common room.

'Dude we better get moving. Keep a few parties in front of us and a few in back and we should be OK.'
At $150 a person, a professional guide's assistance up the slope was not an option for us. We figure if we tail a guide and his clients close enough we will not get lost or slip into the abyss of some icy crevasse. I feel pretty confident things will be fine as Jim is an experienced climber who machines and sells climbing gear from his basement when not engineering vibration and sound dampering controls for Detroit's finest.
'Slow and steady...we got eight hours to the crater and 6 until first light. Keep your breathing steady and dig those crampons in at each step. If you start to fall yell out ´falling´or 'holy shit' or whatever else you can think of. Just let me know so I can hunker down, dig my ice ax in and prepare for the impact.' Jim double checks the rope that binds us at the hips and turns to start the climb out of the clouds and into the stratosphere.
Whinding back and forth up the series of switchbacks we pass one party then another. Before long, we are tailing the lead climbers. Step by step I occupy the footprints in the snow. Five people all walking in unison leaves only one step of prints and a bunch of little holes where the axes dig in for support and balance.
The mind starts to wonder far away when the blood can't sustain oxygen saturation and your muscles strain to push your frame forward and upwards. Step, breath, step, breath, and on and on for hours. Silent, nobody is talking. Heads down just keep moving.
I have no idea how long we have been moving, or how far we have gone, but I feel my energy reserves starting to dwindle. With every crevasse we curse and nervously attempt to cross my sense of despair grows. 'I hope I have the juice in me to get back down...what are my options really.'
No school nurse to appeal to or coach to send in a sub, you go up, you gotta haul your ass back down, that's it. It is not everyday that you find yourself in a situation of life and death by hypothermia, you tell yourself you can and will do whatever it takes, no excuses. You just keep breathing and climbing until you know you are DONE.

My folks took to telling me 'Don't push it, X' in the hours before I jumped on my bike to ride south. What does that mean, really' If you don't push yourself you would probably never get out of bed or bothering trying to achieve much of anything beyond mere sustenance.
Now I get it. There comes a point when you push so hard that you find the wall at the other end of your abilities. Unfortunately, you rarely find this wall and ease off, more often than not, if you have pushed too hard you go crashing through the wall and are left crumbled on the wrong side of your path to safety. At 18,500 feet, a misjudgement like that is a very serious problem.
'Jim, I am done man...'
'Me too.'
'I say we watch the sun rise and tell people we reached OUR summit.'
'I feel that...'

posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 1:17 PM

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