On market day, the feisty indigenous traders are up at the crack of dawn to make their way to the town plaza to prepare for the day ahead. They can be almost bent double under the weight of the sacks that they carry, crammed with everything from vegetables to jewellery. Some traders will herd sheep, pull along pigs and other animals on leads, carry chickens, guinea pigs or various birds in crates, or find some other means of transporting whatever they have to sell or trade. It all adds to the tremendous bustle and noise which is part of market day. There’s a sort of managed chaos with lots of sound, hardly any fury and a great time seems to be had by all, sellers and buyers alike. A woman may have a lamb slung around her back, either with or without a baby added, while some women will have chickens or cocks inside their heavily-embroidered blouses, adding to their already ample bosoms. With the air full of infectious laughter and shouting, and huge grins on the faces of the people all around, you can’t help but feel a certain joie de vivre.
Music is an essential part of the life of Ecuador generally, but is especially important to the indigenous tribes as part of their wonderful festivals. There is the traditional folk music, but they also love to play the popular Spanish-European melodies and both kinds can be heard throughout the market. The main instruments used are the rondador (bamboo panpipes), quena (flute), maracas (hollow balls full of seeds), conchas (conch shells played like a horn), bombas (drums), charango (ukulele), marimba (xylophone) and the universal and versatile violin. In the markets musical instruments are played either to interest a would-be purchaser or to add to the gaiety, although often only one note is played loudly and constantly, perhaps to weaken the resolve of those considering whether to purchase or not. I am prepared to pay up on behalf of several purchasers at times, just for some peace and quiet. The pipes, the pipes, the pipes!
On New Year’s Eve some years back, as part of another Ecuadorian journey, I was on a river boat on the River Napo, deep into the Amazonas. As it approached midnight we were all summoned to the deck to witness a special ceremony, celebrating the arrival of the New Year. The air about us was filled with the flickering lights of thousands of shimmering fireflies. On the opposite river bank there was a woman, strangely dressed in loose, ragged clothes, dancing slowly around a small bonfire, watched by a group of sailors and tribespeople. She (although later I learned it was actually a man disguised as a woman) was illuminated by a bright, focused spotlight.
As it reached midnight the beam of the spotlight suddenly went out and then quickly came back on again, to show the ‘woman’ being thrown into the bonfire, immediately catching alight. Obviously there had been a switch in the semi-darkness, and a dummy had been thrown on the fire, but it was done so smoothly and cleverly it wasn’t possible to spot. Someone then held up something small, waving it vigorously overhead, wrapped in a bundle of white clothes, to represent a new born baby. The ritual was performed to illustrate the death of the old year and the birth of the new one. The ceremony was for the benefit of all peoples, Ecuadorians and foreigners alike and we all were happy to be a part of it. Being staged in the jungle, down this large tributary of the mighty Amazon, it was an example of combining ancient and modern traditions – like the markets. There was definitely a pagan element to the ceremony but it was accepted by all in the spirit of life and its changes, the inevitability of death and renewal.
It was clear night and the sky was filled with the light of many thousands of brilliant, shining stars, most of them dead but their light still reaching out to us. It was absolutely magical on so many levels.
CHAPTER 11
COTOPAXI BREAKS
Ihalt my travelling through Ecuador in order to attempt my next ascent. Climbing Cotopaxi, the country’s second highest mountain, will make a very strong prelude to attempting Chimborazo. Cotopaxi is the highest active volcano in the world and probably the most beautiful mountain in Ecuador, as popular with climbers as Chimborazo. I am keen to climb, but reports of the present weather conditions on all the mountains are once again very bad and there seem to be lots of problems for all climbers at the present time. My climbing time will start to run out very soon, however, and I know I have to go for it despite the dangers. Marcos unfortunately again has other climbing commitments, and it is obvious why he is in such demand. As I am determined to give it a try, Luis, who is available, encourages me to attempt it with him. I try to find Axel to see if he would like to join us but he’s still travelling and won’t be back for days.
Cotopaxi is 55 kilometres south of Quito, within a National Park which includes three other high mountains, Ruminahui (4,712 metres), Sincholagua (4,898 metres) and Quilindana (4,877 metres). It’s the second highest mountain in Ecuador at 5,897 metres (19,348 feet) and was climbed first in 1872 by Escobar and Reiss, and then by Whymper in 1880. Cotopaxi has the most violent history of all the volcanoes in Ecuador, as more people have been killed by its eruptions than by any other, and the surrounding villages and homes have been devastated many times. The records only date back to 1534, but it must have been extremely volatile for many thousands of years beforehand. There were three major eruptions in 1742, destroying the nearby town of Latacunga with considerable loss of life. This disaster was repeated in 1768, making that period of volcanic activity the worst ever recorded.
In 1877 the same catastrophe again took place and the volcanic ash even reached the steam ships travelling between Guayaquil and Panama in the Pacific Ocean, over 320 kilometres (200 miles) away. Smaller eruptions occurred throughout the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but another big one has not happened for over a hundred years. This has led to some complacency among the locals, who seem quite content to live in close proximity to the mountain, assuming either that an eruption won’t occur or that they will have sufficient warning to escape. History shows that it will occur, it’s just a case of when.
The exact meaning of Cotopaxi is not clear, as with most other ancient mountain names, but the two most accepted translations are ‘Broken Neck’ or ‘Neck of the Moon’. It’s not certain whether the first is as a result of the volcano having had its upper section broken in an eruption or ironically it is referring to the number of climbers that suffer neck injuries on the mountain. The second translation could possibly refer to seeing the moon through the volcanic cone and connect to some ancient ceremony. The problem is that because of constant cloud cover usually it’s not that easy to see the summit, let alone the moon, even when it is overhead! There’s a third possible translation, ‘Headless Poncho’, which arises from seeing the mountain as wearing a shawl or poncho of snow around its shoulders without any head appearing above. Luis and I initially travel out to the Laguna de Limpios, where there is a large number of different birds constantly swooping over the water ‘fishing’, although I don’t see any catching. We pass the cowboy town of Machachi but don’t stop, as we need to press on. The weather has turned nasty again and I do briefly wonder if climbing with Luis is unlucky, but remember that we climbed to the Pichincha summits in good conditions. We drive on as fast as possible and finally reach our destination, the Tambopaxi Refuge. This is in super luxury style compared to most other refuge huts. Tambo is the name for a resting-place used by the Inca runners when carrying messages long distances across the country. This refuge is owned by four noisy but rather interesting individuals who host, cook and provide anything necessary to help travellers and climbers achieve their goals of either hiking the lower slopes, or attempting to climb Cotopaxi. Inside there’s a huge group of climbers who have been waiting to attempt the mountain for several days but they or their guides have been deterred by the continuing bad weather and reports of dangerous conditions on the mountain. I try not to let it concern me and think that surely the weather must improve soon. Obviously I should never be allowed near a casino, with that kind of irrational optimism. If I could, I’d put everything on white.
Fortunately I have been allocated a large single bedroom which allows me ready access to the shower room, providi
ng a welcome opportunity to wash myself and also clean some of my equipment. One of the Refuge owners also arranges to have my climbing clothes and boots cleaned, which is a real help as I’ve not been able to get off most of the clay since my time on the two Ilinizas. There is an apposite Zen saying that springs to mind, ‘After the ecstasy, the laundry.’ I think we all know what that implies, especially those who have young children. Sometimes it’s a case of ‘after the laundry, yet more laundry.’
The food provided in the dining room is excellent and, after scrubbing up and changing into some reasonably cleaner clothes, I am able to gorge myself on several kinds of meat, including steak and chicken, and many varieties of vegetables, followed by some terrific pies and desserts. The climbers waiting there are anxious for ‘new blood’ and I am bombarded with questions of where I’ve been and what the conditions were like on the other mountains. There’s a constant flow of people checking in but none seem to check out, which indicates that climbing is off the menu at this time.
No one wants to go to bed early after dinner as it’s so unlikely that anyone will be able to set off for Cotopaxi at any time during the night or early morning. Some are playing cards, others are showing photos of their adventures. Although I would prefer to read it’s difficult to avoid responding to the questions put to me by those anxious for some assurance. I finally give in, joining in the banter to try and ease the deep concerns being expressed. We talk about the Galapagos animals, the problems of the indigenous tribes and the philosophy of climbing and exploration. I think it might help to take everyone’s mind off the actual weather if I set out a weather-related puzzle. ‘On the grass there are five pieces of apple, a carrot and a scarf. What’s a logical reason for them being there?’ After a long time of wild and far-fetched guesses I explain. ‘Children built a snowman and they were left when the snow melted. Remember snow melts and it will here too.’ Someone shouts out, ‘We can’t wait till Christmas!’
There’s then a long discussion about whether the puzzle was fair and why five pieces of apple and not three or seven. All I can offer is, ‘That’s what the puzzle is, although it used to be with five pieces of coal, but I’m not sure if you all remember coal being used in snowmen and five heaters wouldn’t work.’ There’s a plea for another one, to see if they can solve it and I finally agree to one more. ‘A man lives on the tenth floor of a building. Every day he takes the lift to go down to work. When he returns he takes the lift to the seventh floor where he gets out and walks up the staircase to the tenth floor. Why? What’s a logical explanation?’ The answers come thick and fast. ‘He’s scared of heights, he’s in love with someone on the seventh floor, he wants exercise, he is a mountaineer and is in training.’ No one comes up with the simple answer. ‘The man is a dwarf and cannot reach any higher than the seventh button.’ It’s time to go to bed. I think I am almost too full to sleep, but later in a double bed with so much legroom for a change, I fall easily asleep. Strangely, I dream of being chased by jaguars.
The next morning I am up very early, only to find that the weather is worse and I can only just make out Cotopaxi which occasionally looms mistily in the distance but still looks formidable. Because of the weather conditions, several llamas have come down from higher slopes to nestle closer to the windows and the warmth of the Refuge, and they provide an interesting distraction to the practically invisible Cotopaxi. As it seems the weather will remain bad for several days, Luis and I discuss what the options are and whether to abandon the climb for now and travel to another mountain. I am against that as I am running out of time, so finally the decision is made to set off the following day, actually during the night, regardless of the conditions. We shouldn’t wait for a break in the weather, as that may not occur in the foreseeable future and I must leave time for Chimborazo no matter what. All day long there are unsettling reports of deep snowdrifts occurring all over the mountain, with black ice conditions further up and very dangerous climbing conditions persisting. Alarmingly, there have also been a few small avalanches.
A German woman climber had left the previous night but returns mid morning after reaching 5,400 metres, with tales of deep snows and harsh conditions which made it impossible for her to continue. She is crying from frustration and her accent becomes more pronounced as she tries to explain what happened. Her guide shrugs; it’s a gesture I’ve seen a few times. Some guides don’t seem to understand the emotion involved and the pain felt by those who desperately want to succeed on the mountains, particularly after having made so much effort, travelling half way across the world, to get here and attempt their chosen mountains. It’s just a job to those guides; they are hired to take people on the mountain and if they can’t make it for whatever reason, then they have not lost anything personally and there’s always another climber next time. I take Helga to one side to calm her down and she stops crying as I tell her about some of my mishaps on previous mountains, and that she must always be happy that she made the attempt but above all came down safely. The mountain will always wait for you.
It’s a long day and I spend most of it staring out of the window at Cotopaxi, almost willing it to clear and become available to all of us. From times with one of my theatre organisations I remember a question illustrating the frustration of the acting profession. ‘Why does an actor not stare out of the window during the morning? So he’ll have something to do in the afternoon.’ I continue to stare but nothing changes and it’s definitely make-your-mind-up time.
Finally we agree we must go for it. Luis suggests that rather than trek from here before daybreak, to save time and improve our chances slightly it would be better to travel over early evening to a higher refuge on the flanks of Cotopaxi, the José Ribas Refuge at 4,800 metres, (15,744 feet). That’s a good decision and I’m all for it. Luis decides to tell me the reason he hadn’t suggested it before. In 1996 an avalanche fell on top of the Refuge and killed a large number of climbers and tourists. With reports of some avalanches higher up the mountain, even though they were small ones, he is nervous that something might happen again. I appreciate his telling me but now we’ve made the decision we should stick with it but be aware at all times of the danger. We enjoy a last early dinner, pack everything up, load it into the jeep and arrive at the Refuge just after seven in the evening. We prepare for a midnight start. I can’t sleep at all and although I try to relax as much as possible, there’s too much going on. It’s too noisy and I feel very edgy. Probably the story of the avalanche is preventing me sleeping. I get up and wait until it’s time to leave.
We are out on the lower slope shortly after midnight. Luis and I are roped together and I begin well, but almost immediately the steepness seems to be getting to me. I’m probably still not acclimatised enough, especially at this height, and soon I am starting to struggle as the snow drags my feet down and it’s a tremendous effort to pull them back each time. The backpack feels extremely heavy and is weighing me down. My right knee starts hurting, not a good sign at such an early stage, although I hope it is more nerves than a real problem.
The conditions are terrible with loose snow and ice everywhere, and it’s not easy to ground my steps. There’s a scree section that is proving very slippery, and it becomes a constant struggle to ascend as I keep sliding backwards. I’ve always hated climbing over scree sections, although unfortunately most mountains have them and I know I must just fight my way through it. It’s now very painful on both my knees and it’s taking a lot out of me. I reach a long patch of ultra black ice, as hard as rock and as smooth as steel, and I can’t get even a toe hold. I keep kicking my boots in hard to try and get the crampon tips to grip even slightly but to no avail. The tremors of resistance from the ice are reverberating all the way back up along my legs, through my knees and to my hips. I am desperate to prevent myself sliding backwards, and kick again and again. There is so much pain everywhere and my right foot as well as my right knee feels as if on fire.
It’s essential to try and turn my mind away fro
m the pain, with a Zen shin concentration and I reach inside for a mantra to guide me upwards. In the Japanese art of wrestling, sumo, there are three essential attributes, technique, strength and the mental spirit known as shin, the most important of all. Now I search for a strong mental approach to carry me through. For a moment or two I start to imagine feeling on my face the warm breeze of a summer afternoon but am quickly forced back into the harsh reality of the now. I try to use the pain as a force and am able to continue for a while before the pain reinforces its own strength.
I reach the glacier ridge of around 5,200 metres and worry about the continuing stress on my knees if I try to make it all the way to the top. I certainly don’t want to scupper my chances on Chimborazo, which is my main goal, by struggling on now and using up too much energy and resolve. My mind has always been focused on Chimborazo, the tallest, with the other mountains only serving in my head as training for my main challenge. I continue to tussle with my thoughts and emotions as I climb higher. We come across a number of crevasses and must skirt them carefully. It’s again the ones you don’t see which are the deadly danger. I’m shuddering with the effort.
It’s another 50 metres, then another and again another, until I have climbed to 5,400 metres. This is where Helga had to give up. My right foot feels in constant pain and I think I must have injured it in some way. I fear that it may not last the distance. I decide I will go on for a while, but don’t think I have the inner drive and strength to struggle on for too much longer. A few others have already given up because of the atrocious conditions and with each one that passes me on their way down, it feels as if he or she is telling me enough is enough, give up now. Not yet I won’t. I reach 5,600 metres and stop to take stock. I could possibly make it, it’s actually only another 300 metres to the summit, but after that I will have to come down and there are still considerable concerns about the dangers of avalanches. They have a habit of hitting from behind, on the way down when you can’t see or sense them, and that’s when they will take you all the way down, burying you beneath their huge weight. Luis looks at me, I think sensing the tumult within, waiting for my decision. This is where some comment, some advice from him would be more than helpful, but it’s not his way.
Climbing The Equator Page 12
