Blessed with another restless night I felt like
I'd barely closed my eyes when my alarm went off and my watch showed
3am fast approaching. Riding the bolt of that hyperactive energy that
comes from lack of sleep I squelched into my wet clothes and burst
out of the tent. The clay-coloured rocky landscape punctuated with
tufts of greenery we had gone to sleep in was now homogeneously white
and the drizzle was replaced by a snowfall guilty of the
transformation. Only our tents, barely visible in the feeble light of
my head torch, confirmed that this was indeed the same campsite we
had stopped at yesterday.
After an uninspiring breakfast we set off to
the sound of “Big in Japan” by Alphaville blasting from the radio
carried by one of the guides; another surreal memory that is likely
to stay with me. Despite the addition of snow on the trail, the first
hour's walk was pretty enjoyable and our spirits were buoyed by such
gems as James Brown's “I feel good” and Whitney Houston's “I
will always love you” (the significance of which would become
apparent on our return) echoing across the snowy landscape. Our loads
were also significantly lighter since we'd left the tents, the
majority of our belongings and one of the English guys (the one who'd
lagged behind on the first day) at the camp. After the first hour,
things got harder.
One of the guides lead the way and forged a
twisting path up the steep mountain-side which seemed to only get
steeper, the higher we climbed. Hours passed and on we trudged, the
air in our lungs getting thinner and the snow underfoot getting
thicker. Fairly quickly the snow became so thick that resting your
full weight on either foot became a luxury; the unreliable snowy path
would regularly give way and send your leg sliding back down the
slope with valuable energy being wasted in scrambling back up. Still,
these couple of hours were tolerable and I convinced myself that the
effort was definitely good for me. The last couple of hours, on the
other hand, were utter hell.
 |
| I think I was about to pass out at this point |
The lack of sleep finally began to catch up
with me and, coupled with the ever increasing altitude, pretty soon
every step began to feel like an ordeal. Even Shostakovich's 7th
Symphony, which had helped me up some pretty monstrous hills during
our cycling tour of the west coast of the US, did little to ease the
strain. On several occasions stars would begin to dance in front of
my eyes and I would have to stop completely to catch my breath and
take on water. I think I was probably not far from passing out on a
few occasions; I'd never experienced anything like it.
For the last hour or so, I was definitely
running on empty and, on this last stretch, the volcanic nature of
the mountain became apparent. Misti is an active volcano and although
she hadn't given off much ash recently, the surrounding brock
formations filled our nostrils with the oppressive stench of sulphur
(coughing and wheezing was all I needed at this altitude). We stopped
100m short of the summit and the guides informed us that if we wanted
to carry on it would be a further 2 hours to the top since the snow
from here onwards would be waist deep and progress would be very slow
(I didn't think it could get much slower). Without much hesitation I
informed everyone else that I was more than happy to go no further
and wait for the others at the bottom. It seems I wasn't the only one
on the verge of collapse though, as everyone else opted to forego the
final 100m and head back, which was still quite a hike in itself. We
had failed, but at least we had failed pretty well.
Descending the mountain would, in normal
circumstances, have been pretty easy and probably quite fun (it
basically involved bounding down the slopes until you inevitably fell
into the soft blanket of snow, getting back up and carrying on) but I
was so exhausted that every time I paused and sat down in the snow,
the temptation to have a snooze was overwhelming and it was only with
many shouts of “Vamos! Vamos!” that the guide would get me moving
again. Eventually we arrived at the camp where it took the rest of my
mental and physical strength to pack up our tent and set off again
for the final stretch back to our starting point. I walked this final
section in a dream-like state; the hostel bed was the carrot and I
was the donkey.
Arriving back into Arequipa in the early
afternoon (after more heroic off-roading from our driver) we got to
our hostel only to discover that, due to heavy rainfall, there was no
water in the whole of the city. Although in dire need of a shower I
cared little and promptly passed out in my bed. After a few hours of
blissful sleep I felt something resembling a human being again and we
celebrated our failure to reach the summit by going to Zig Zag – a
fancy restaurant serving up mouth watering mini-steaks cooked on
volcanic rock. Never had failure tasted so good. And never had a
hostel bed been so comfy.
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