cordillera blanca: artesonraju

From Huarez we caught a bus to Caraz and then headed into the foothills on a single lane dirt road.

Huscaran National Park.

A scenic drive indeed!

It felt good to be moving into the direction of the mountains! Spirits were rising even as the barometric pressure was dropping. The weather models were showing light rain and snow over the next 2-3 days and then a serious deluge setting in after that. Our window for skiing would be small, but possible, if we acclimated well and could keep moving.

We met a park ranger who offered to porter in some gear for us. We gladly loaded him down with a 50lb pack and headed around the lovely Lake Paron. This is the largest lake in the Cord Blanc.  The large concentration of dissolved lime gives it the bright turquoise color (not afraid to plagiarize some Wikipedia).

So much travel, effort, and logistics to get to this point, and it finally all seemed worth it.

Then this happened! 

With heads down we rounded a corner and came face to face with the mighty Artesonraju that we hoped to ski. Of all the photo’s I’ve seen of this peak it had never appeared so PHAT and filled in. With very few visible crevasses or hanging seracs, it was just fucking screaming to be climbed and skied. It was hard to stay focused on the task of hiking with this big, beautiful bastard taunting us.

We made it to our first camp at around 14,500 feet and settled in. There were some good flat tent platforms and a raging creek a few feet away. The ideal spot! Although I’m writing this months after it happened, I can remember the overwhelming excitement at the idea that we might get to trace arching turns down that thing. Such a high, high.

The plan was to spend the night here, then ferry gear up to moraine camp at just over 15K the next day. However, we never left camp. The rain came that night and the next day and the next night and the next day.

“The best thing one can do when it’s raining is let it rain.” -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow-

We dried out during short breaks in the weather. Matt’s stomach issues persisted. He didn’t feel like eating, and when he’d force something down it would cause eruptions in the southern hemisphere.

I think they call it the dark night of the soul, not sure why, but I had one of the hardest nights of my life in this little green tent. Who am I? What the fuck am I doing here? Maybe it was the altitude, maybe I’m getting too soft. Or, maybe it was too much time lying around with nothing but thoughts upon thoughts.

Matt was getting weaker, not stronger, and our “good weather” had passed. We chose to get out instead of sit it out for the next 3-4 days of  bad weather.

The mountain cleared a tiny bit as if to say neener neener, thanks for dropping by guys, but that’s as close as you’re going to get. You think I put out that easy on the first date?! Fuck off and die.

Maybe I read too much into it.

Tails between our legs and large packs on our backs, we humped our way back out in the rain. Such a low, low.

I remember hearing about the Yoder clan and their demise here on the mountain. Sobering to see this plaque. A good reminder to take time, make the right choices, and return home safely despite summits, or ski turns.

Defeat.

Our taxi arrived in the dark and dumped us back off at the hostel around midnight. We spent the next few days in Huarez drying out while it rained really hard. The locals said this much intense rain was very rare. The dancing and festival continued. Matt’s stomach bug evacuated, but I picked up a minor one. We had made the right call in exiting the mountains, so we felt good about that. However, our time was getting short and we didn’t feel great about that. More weather in the forecast, but a possible single day of clearing appeared. What to do? What to do? Part three, coming soon.