Cotopaxi Summit
In the early hours of November 8th, 2017 I summited Cotopaxi. It was one of the best experiences of my life.
I woke up the day before our summit bid at 5:30am to watch the sunrise over the idyllic, perfectly coned volcano. I spent the rest of the day trying to kill time with my two climbing partners waiting for our guide to show up. I organized my entire backpack, cut my finger nails and brushed my hair (a major commitment when all I have is a comb). I figured out what base layers to take and tried on different socks to see which felt the best. I was trying to distract myself from intense anticipation. Luckily, a lovely Canadian woman who had summited two days before taught me how to play cribbage and we spent the rest of the afternoon playing while she told me about her climbing experience. She was like a fairy godmother of sorts lending tips, support and along with one anti-nausea pill and one pain pill. What was most inspiring and something I will always remember is how she said, “I knew I would summit”. There was no way I would say that out loud, but I think I too knew that there was no other option than the summit.
We expected our guide to come around noon, but noon came and went. During lunch, around 1pm, we heard news that our guide would be coming around 2pm. Despite trying to play it cool, every hour of waiting prolonged a very intense mix of emotions (anxiety, excitement, anticipation, self doubt) that occur before any big event. One moment I knew I was going to make it to the top, the next I would tell myself it was an experience regardless of the outcome. The three of us sat around, trying to distract ourselves and each other from the anxiety of waiting. Finally, in the middle of a game of cribbage, one I was actually winning, a red pick up pulled up outside. Our guide had finally arrived. We gathered our stuff, I hugged my Canadian fairy godmother good bye, and hopped in the back of the pick up.
The four of us drove towards Cotopaxi through a huge hail storm, which was oddly quite calming, perhaps because the chaos of the storm mirrored my own headspace. It somehow felt like a good omen: the calm after the storm, the summit after the climb. On the other side of the storm stood the mighty Cotopaxi, looming larger and larger the closer we got.
We entered the Cotopaxi National Park and drove through the most incredible landscape. Rocks and boulders once spit from the volcano lay atop brilliant green grass sprouting from an intensely black, nutrient rich soil. Out of this landscape a perfectly shaped volcano shoots 5897 meters into the sky. Not only is the shape of Cotopaxi mesmerizing, but driving closer and closer revealed insane details. The top is blanketed with a glacier and snow, while veins carved many years ago by flowing lava cover the base. These veins, some small and some massive, snake down the side of the volcano in a way I had never seen before. Then, just as I thought it couldn’t get any more magical, we drove past a herd of wild horses.
Initially we thought that we would drive through the park and up part of the volcano to the refuge parking lot at 4800 meters. This is where the Canadian woman's group spent the evening before climbing, so we figured we were going to do the same. Instead, our guide took us to a different refuge, a half hour drive from the volcano, called Hosteria Tambopaxi. It is a beautiful little refuge, the walls of which were built from straw and mud, and covered by the most amazing reddish pink color. The four of us hopped out of the red pick up, headed upstairs to our room and started sorting through all the gear
The gear included everything you can imagine: mountaineering shoes, awesome yellow waterproof overalls, two pairs of gloves, a ski mask and goggles, a harness, a helmet, a jacket, and one bad ass ice axe. We suited up to make sure everything felt good and then got a bit silly with our ice axes for some pictures and a much needed laugh. Feeling a bit calmer, we stripped off our gear and walked down stairs to hang out in the beautiful wooden dining room with great big windows and Wifi.
Having been without internet for the last couple days, we all enjoy a solid ten minutes of Wifi, followed by dinner. In Ecuador every meal starts with a soup, this one was broccoli. Then I was served some really delicious sautéed veggies and rice. During dinner I started to experience a pretty uncomfortable headache, perfectly positioned atop my temples. I hoped my bun was too tight or I was just tired from a long day of anticipation, anything but a symptom of the altitude. Although we were pretty high up at 4000 meters, in a few hours we would be much, much higher. I tried to ignore the headache but it was worrying. A friend I had met in Quito had climbed to the summit of Cotopaxi the week before and told me he had to persevere through an extremely painful headache paired with blurred vision to get to the top. The climb was going to be difficult enough, I didn’t want to fight through extreme pain at the same time. More so, I didn’t want to have to turn around due to altitude sickness.
Dinner was a good distraction from my pounding head. We chatted with our guides, Edgar and Juan, about climbing mountains and our schedule for the next couple hours. Well fed and fully informed we all went to bed, hoping to be gifted just a couple hours of sleep before waking up at 10pm. I also hoped that sleep would calm my nervous mind and my headache.
Luckily I fell asleep for 2.5 hrs before Edgar turned on the lights in our room, signaling that the climb was beginning. I sat up in bed very happy that my headache had subsided and said a little thank you to the universe. Then I got halfway geared up and joined our guides for a little breakfast and tea downstairs. With no appetite and feeling somewhat nauseous, I nibbled on some bread and enjoyed a cup of really nice savory tea. The three of us were silent with nerves and anticipation with no idea what lay ahead. But for our guides, one of which had claimed Chimborazo (the highest volcano in Ecuador) just two days before and the other who had climbed Cotopaxi earlier in the week, this was just another climb. They were also old friends who had not seen each other in a year and spent much of breakfast joking around in Spanish. Though I wasn’t laughing myself, their laughter and relaxed energy eased the tension oozing from the three of us. With all the bread eaten and tea finished, it was time to make our way to the mountain. We finished piling on our gear, piled into the red pick up, and headed for Cotopaxi.
Half an hour later we arrived at a parking lot. Outside of the red pick up I put on my ski mask, helmet, and double checked my boots were comfortable by wiggling my toes. Then, just like that, after a round of fist bumping, the five of us headed up the first 200 meters to the second Refugio. Still feeling a little nauseous, and thinking about conserving energy, I walked as slowly as possible. Just one foot in front of the other. Already it was spectacular. A waning but mostly full moon lit our path and the mountain looming ahead. I turned off my headlight, preferring the way the moonlight gently lit my feet, and continued walking. At the Refugio we paused for a moment to check in with each other. I nibbled on some pumpkin seeds between tiny sips of water, admiring the city lights of Quito twinkling below us while stars filled the sky above. We took a moment to identify the few constellations we all knew, and then the climb really began. Just ten feet from the Refugio we started up an incline that would continue for the next six hours.
In the darkness I was completely consumed by every step I took. Time was suspended and replaced by one step in front of the other. For hours it was a meditation. Every so often, my meditation was interrupted when the fresh snow would not hold and my foot would slide two or three steps backwards. Though not one to be easily frustrated, the sudden break in my meditation would allow my mind to spiral into a negative space: it’s too much, it’s too hard, I don’t know if I can do this. Nevertheless, my legs continued taking one step at a time. I realized that while my mind was saying I couldn’t, my body was still going strong, completely capable. Slowly I would begin to focus on my feet again, pushing everything else out of my mind except the thought that I could do it because I was doing it (my birth doula training coming in handy!).
About two hours in we finally reached the glacier. Up to this point our guides had been having a lovely chat with each other, as the three of us trailed behind them. I felt good, but couldn't have maintained a conversation with anyone during those two hours. All I could do was keep breathing. However, their conversation, reiterating how casual this climb was to the two of them, continued to lighten the mood of our climb. Sitting on the edge of the glacier, we stopped to snack, sip on water, and attach our crampons to our boots. I also took out my second jacket and traded my standard winter gloves for heavy duty mountaineering ones. Thus far it had not been particularly cold and I had been climbing with my fleece unzipped, but as soon as we stopped moving I felt the full force of the icy glacier. With crampons on and a rope tethering me to Edgar, we continued walking on top of the glacier.
Not only was my sense of time completely lost during the entire climb, but I also made a conscious effort not to check the time or ask how much longer. I knew that for myself, this information would not be helpful and might even be discouraging. I didn’t want to know our elevation gain or any type of measurement. I simply wanted to walk in the darkness until I got to the top and could walk no farther. "Until the mountain ran out,” as my guide Edgar kept saying.
While the climbing was hard, with the steepest inclines I’ve ever experienced and snow that wouldn’t always permit a step forward, it was the elevation that intimated me the most. I feared altitude sickness and its symptoms because as far as I could understand, it was simply the card you were dealt that day, that climb. I knew that I could endure the physical climb to the top. What I couldn’t know was how my body would react to the altitude. Yet, by what must have been the halfway point to the summit, all three of us were doing well. Very tired, but not sick. My initial nausea, whether altitude related or nerves, slowly disappeared. As we climbed on I actually felt better, stronger even.
The whole climb I was tied to Edgar. He explained that the rope was not only security against crevasses in the glacier and the steep incline covered by loose snow, but also a literal line of communication between us. If I required a slower pace, I need only create a taught line which he would feel and slow down or pause for a quick rest. Initially I had been paired with Edgar and the two men were tied to Juan because the three of them were climbing at a slightly faster pace. However, at some point in the latter half of the climb we switched and Edgar and I climbed in front. While I felt better the higher we climbed, the altitude slowly began to affect the two men climbing with me.
Time and distance still unknown to me, I began to feel we were close to the top (a tiny red light on the horizon may have been a clue). Two hours left I thought to myself, trying to exaggerating a little in case we weren’t actually that close. I felt newly fueled by my gut feeling that the end was near, though I continued to focus on my feat in fear of how much mountain I might see above me if I looked up. Each step felt a little more purposeful now. I continued to tap into my mantra and meditation, at this point summiting had truly become the only option.
A strong smell of sulfur confirmed the summit was close, as did a suddenly very light blue sky. Perhaps it was my meditation on each step that made me oblivious to the lightening sky, but it felt like all of a sudden the darkness was gone and replaced by early morning sunlight. Now I was less afraid to look up. For the first time in hours, I removed my gaze from my feet and lifted my head. Seeing more sky than mountain before me, I was ecstatic. More so, I could see the path to the summit and it looked like in two more switch backs we would finally reach the top of Cotopaxi. As I continued to walk, my exhaustion was replaced by excitement and a little disbelief. I felt refreshed almost. Edgar and I caught up to the two groups who had been in front of us for the entire climb, two pairs of guides and climbers. The four of them were parked in the narrow path leading to the summit, so we actually had to wait in line behind them. No one was walking and I couldn't tell what the hang up was: altitude sickness, exhaustion, loose snow under larger men. I am an extremely patient person, but I was full of energy and could literally smell the summit. I thought to myself, "I cannot believe people wait in line to summit Everest, that must be physically and mentally excruciating." We advanced only a couple steps in several minutes, which feels much longer on a mountain and so close to the end. Then out of no where, Edgar began speaking in Italian to the the struggling climber in front of him. I don't know Italian, but from what I could gather he said, "Come on friend, just five minutes, several steps, and we will all be there."
I shifted my gaze from my own feet to the feet of the Italian man between me and the summit. It was his rhythm that we would all have to follow in the final stretch. For a few moments more he stood bent over his ice axe. Finally, he lifted his right foot and took a step. Edgar and I did the same. Our line of six, slowly moved around the bend of the finally switch back. Then, finally, I laid eyes on the summit. To the right of me was a massive crater. Though periodically obscured from view by clouds of volcanic steam, I could feel this mountain was alive. Between clouds of steam coming from the crater stood Chimborazo, the highest peak in Ecuador and Cotopaxi’s neighbor to the west. To the left and the south, a view over the national park with the crystal clear peaks of Illiniza, Cayambe and Artisana.
As I walked up and over the last part of the incline I had been climbing for nearly six straight hours, I was greeted by a massive morning sun hanging in the sky. Just several meters more, the incline finally leveled out, I had reached the summit. With a tight throat and tears filling my eyes I stuck my axe into the icy summit and couldn't help but raise my hands above my head in triumph.
Maybe ten minutes later the rest of our group, Juan and the two men, made it to the summit as well. Everyone hugged, congratulated each other, and laughed in celebration of what we had all endured to get to the top. It was worth every single step. While I was completely high on the entire experience, my climbing partners were feeling steadily worse. It was also extremely cold so after several minutes of photographs and celebrations, everyone began the decent.
I think the descent was the most challenging part for me. Excitement and an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment fueled the first hour of the descent. The second hour was fueled by the unbelievable views, views I can only try to put into words. On the way up you are climbing in darkness, so you cannot see your surroundings. On the way down light illuminated a landscape unlike anything I had ever seen. I could see the path we had walked snaking up and over the glacier, with fields of ice sculptures formed by winds on either side. We passed under a massive rock face called Yanasacha, black rock dressed in icicles, and several small but endless crevasses.
Part of the sky was occupied by a blanket of clouds which I could look down on as they were far below our elevation. The other half of the sky was clear and blue allowing a perfect view down the mountain: white glacier, dark volcanic rock and then the brilliant green grass of the national park. The view was without a doubt the best, most spectacular view of my life from the summit all the way to the entrance of the park. However, perhaps the coolest part was the shadow of Cotopaxi, visible in the photo below. A constant reminder the whole way down of what we had accomplished.
The views were incredible, but I spent most of the descent looking at my feet. The back of my neck actually began to hurt from looking at my feet for several hours, and though I could finally see the red roof of the Refugio, for over an hour it didn’t appear any closer. We stopped a few times to take pictures, eat remaining snacks and sip the last of our tea. I am pretty sure during one break Edgar took a ten minute cat nap, but I was happy to wait while he closed his eyes and reveled in the view. In the last hour of our descent, having passed all the crevasses we could potentially fall into, Edgar untethered us. Untying the rope and lifeline that had connected us for this climb felt obviously symbolic. I was a newly birthed baby mountaineer cut free from my mentor and new found hero. In the last twelve hours I had become so fond of Edgar, the person who not only helped me achieve a life long goal but who also is maybe the only person in my life who has called me strong. While standing on the summit together, waiting for the rest of our team to join us, Edgar turned to me and said, "You are very strong." Simple and life change.
My climb to the summit of Cotopaxi is probably the best thing I have done in my life so far. I have never felt more empowered, more capable, more proud of and connected to my body. I literally climbed a mountain, and that is fucking awesome.
So, which one should I do next?
