El Pico De Orizaba, Mexico

Submitted by Leon Watts

I approached the lone form standing at an awkward position, feet apart, looking down into the small circle of light emitted from his headlamp. "You ok?" I asked after a few labored breaths. "Yeah…fine…I think I'm good right here", my climbing partner answered. "I found my rock", he added. At his feet on this vast sheet of ice was a small flat rock. We were over three miles high. We could go home now.

This expedition to the third highest mountain in North America, El Pico de Orizaba, in Southern Mexico had been several months in the planning. I was leading a team of mountaineers from Tampa who, surprisingly enough, had an impressive amount of mountaineering experience. We began our journey in Mexico City where a friend who operated a mountain bike touring company in Puebla Mexico had met us and was to provide our transportation to the town of Tlachichuca at the foot of Orizaba. As we loaded our gear onto the roof of the mini-van he counted the group, and then counted again. "How many of you are there?" he asked as if not trusting his count. "Eleven", one of our group was arriving the following day. "Why?" I asked. "I though you said nine" he replied. "No… I said how many does your van carry, you said 'eleven comfortably' and I said I would have twelve". "hmmmpf", was his answer. We loaded uncomfortably into the van and set off south out of Mexico City. This was expedition travel. We arrived late at Servimont, the residence of the famous Dr. Reyes and his full service climbing hostel in sleepy Tlachichuca. We had a fantastic dinner, a few beers, and set about sorting gear for our morning departure to the Piedra Grande hut on the mountain. One by one the team members drifted off to their bunks. I finished my work and turned off the lights.

The next morning Orizaba was visible through the dusty haze. It had been a dry winter and we were told the glacier was in poor condition. No snow meant that the surface was pocked by penitentes or small ice ridges that made glacier travel difficult. From several miles away I could see the glacier was in worse shape than my visit the year before. We loaded gear, did final checks, and loaded into the old dodge power wagons for the dusty two hour ride to our base camp at 13,700 feet.

The hut is a bleak affair, little more than a tall stone building with three sleeping platforms stacked on top of one another, years of graffiti, and several hundred bold mice. We claimed our spaces among the several Mexican climbing teams who were there for the weekend. I set up a kitchen outside and we began the slow boring process of acclimatization. The plan was to spend two full days lying around the hut, eating copious amounts of fatty foods, and drinking as much fluid as we could. At this altitude the most minor task can result in a blinding headache. We had moved from sea level in Tampa to almost 14,000 feet in less than 36 hours. Standard acclimatization calls for an altitude gain of 2000 feet per day at most so this was a critical time to monitor exactly what was going on in our bodies. Too much effort, too little water and you could develop a malady called high altitude cerebral edema and die. Even if you do everything right you run a strong risk of acute mountain sickness, a no less dangerous prospect.

The first night was in a word, awful. Beginning at midnight the Mexican climbing teams rose and began to prepare for their summit attempts. The goal on high mountains is to begin your summit push just after midnight, to climb through the night and be high on the mountain as the sun rises. This allows you to climb on a solidly frozen glacier and prevents you from being caught high on the mountain exhausted as night falls. The sounds of climbers preparing to go kept us awake for a few more hours. After a fitful few hours of sleep, accentuated by loud snoring and bouts of cheyne-stokes breathing, where your breathing slows and then actually stops while you sleep resulting in vivid "drowning" dreams and sudden startling gasps of air. We woke as sun began to show through the windows of the hut. Some of our group went for slow morning walks while others including myself lay in our bags with nauseating headaches. I spent some time pressure breathing, forcing air in and out of my lungs in powerful deep breaths. The headache subsided and I started the stove for breakfast.

This day brought the first departures from our team. One of our band was showing signs of the flu and couldn't keep anything down. He had had a very bad night and made the wise choice to head down with the driver who was delivering two more team members who were traveling a day late. Later that evening back in town his "flu" symptoms subsided, it was more likely AMS! Another of our group had arrived in Mexico with the remnants of a sinus infection, a fast day hike up the mountain proved too much and he departed with a Mexican team upon their return to the hut.

The word from high on the mountain was not good. Because of the lack of snow a dangerous condition called black ice had formed on the uppermost sections. The unstable sheet ice could break loose taking the unsuspecting climber on a five thousand foot ride. None of the experienced Mexican teams were able to reach the summit. We determined that our target would be a high point just below the black ice, at about 18,000 feet. We would climb the mountain as high as it could be climbed.

We spent the day wandering around the barren hut. We did a short hike down about a thousand feet and back up. We looked for interesting rocks, being fortunate to have three geologists on the expedition! I have always collected summit rocks or a small rock from my high point on a climb. A couple of my companions had begun to follow that lead and were compiling their own collections. As the day wore on we were left alone at the hut. The weekend was over and the local climbers were gone. We had a big dinner and settled into our bags exhausted.

The following morning the mood was good. Most of us felt better. Another of our group had come down with flu like symptoms but this time it seemed to truly be a bug. I prepared a large breakfast of bacon and eggs, we gorged ourselves. Today was the day. We would rest and after a few hours sleep depart at midnight for our own attempt. The day drug on, lunch, snack, water, snack, dinner, snack, sleep.

At 11:45 we began to stir. Water was heated as we dressed. Ice axes were attached to our packs, lights checked, pockets filled with candy bars and power gels, we put on harnesses but didn't anticipate using them. It was strangely quiet as it usually is at this point of a climb. We were a team but from this point on it was all individual effort. You have to be completely honest with yourself before committing to this act. It is a big mountain, people get hurt, smart well trained people even die. It is the epitome of a moment of truth.

At 12:15 we walked out into the cold clear night. The moon lit the upper portion of the mountain like a white ghost on our horizon. Silently we began up the approach trail, a small line of headlamps and a huge mountain.

As the first hour passed one team member summoned the courage to decide this was not the day and turned back. The lights spread out. One group moved more quickly. I had anticipated this and my Mexican friend set a pace to pull the first team away. We were now two teams. I prefer to move slowly, we began our climb two hours early because I saw no reason to push a pace. We had all night. As the hours went by the first team moved up the rocky approach ahead of us. We could always see their lights on the steep slope ahead. The night involved some serious scrambling and route finding. I waited for the last of the climbers as long as I could but the feeling would drain from my hand and feet if I didn't keep moving. I moved from the back of the second team to the front several times. I would find a level spot and watch for the glow of headlamps behind me down the slope. Word came that a member's headlamp had malfunctioned. The night was clear and bright and the lower route well marked. There was little difficulty in down climbing the route and retreating back to the hut. The sun would begin to rise in an hour and a half and the climber could descend. I caught back up to the lead climbers on the second team. I knew we were approaching the foot of the glacier so I told the two lead climbers that they should put on crampons at the glaciers base and follow the lights of the first team visible above us. They moved on and I waited. The last climber reached me at just over 16,000 feet. He said he was going as far as the glacier. I turned to try to catch the two lead climbers of the second team. At the base of the Jampa Glacier I strapped my crampons on, took a shot of gel and stepped alone onto the glacier. About fifty feet into the glacier a loud cracking sound emanated from below my feet. I froze, the sheet of ice I was standing on dropped about six inches with a dull thud. The Jampa is a relatively "safe" glacier, no real crevasses, and very solid. I caught my breath and moved forward. The second team had skirted the tongue of the glacier and were moving up a ridge high in front of me. I felt good so I determined where I could intersect their path and cut across the glacier and up the steep ridge to catch them. High above us the lights of the first team approached the high point, I could see little more than stars above them.

As I approached the second team one of the climbers told me he was at his high point and was heading down. The penitentes were exhausting to move across. I moved up and this is where I encountered my teammate looking at his new found rock. I could see that the first team had stopped several hundred feet above us. We sat down on the slope and watched the sun rise turn the valley before us a fiery orange. We were at 17,100 feet. That was enough.

We down climbed in the heat of the day reaching the hut some hours later. The scenery and enjoyment of being involved with this team of climbers made the lack of a summit inconsequential. I will return to Orizaba at some point but for now I'm looking toward Mustagh Ata in 2006.

Leon Watts
Adventure Outfitters
4315 El Prado Blvd.
Tampa Florida 33629
813-832-6669
http://www.adventuretampa.com/

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