Climbing Cotopaxi (aka: The Hardest Day of Our Lives)

Current Location: Latacunga, Ecuador
Distance Cycled to Date: 11,923 km
Highest Elevation We've Been to Date: 5,897 m
Number that made the summit, of the 11 of us who climbed Mt. Cotopaxi: 5

Leaving Quito, we stumbled on a major road closed to vehicles, and full of cyclists only a block away from the house we had been living in for the two weeks prior. We had read that Quito has a cyclopaseo once every two weeks, a time when the city closes roads and creates a 25 km long bike trail along the length of the city. We had no idea when or where it was, but apparently it happens on Sunday mornings, and runs from our house to the southern edge of the city. And so while we had been prepared to fight traffic and battle our way out of the city as we usually need to do, we just enjoyed ourselves cycling with thousands of others, enjoying their free water stations every few kilometres!

We didn't really have much of a plan on what we would do in Ecuador, but on our second day after leaving Quito we passed through Latacunga, which we had read was a base for climbing Mt. Cotopaxi, Ecuador's second highest peak. We had been talking of doing some sort of mountaineering somewhere along the way, and decided we might as well check this one out. We knew practically nothing about the climb, except that our guidebook said it was a popular climb in Ecuador, and that if you were inexperienced climbing ice and snow that you would need a guide. Well, that didn't sound so bad, and so we found an tour operator that would rent us the equipment needed, and hire us a guide. When we entered the agency to ask them about the difficulty of the climb they told us being cyclists we were likely in fine shape and shouldn't have any problem. As well, since we had been in Quito at 2,800 m, the climb up to 5,897 m shouldn't affect us too much. Well great – it sounded like a fun, easy climb with spectacular views and a chance to get to use some stylish crampons and some sweet ice axes. Who wouldn't sign up for such an adventure?

The next morning we were being fitted into our gear in the shop, and while trying on our over-sized parkas and 3 layers of pants, we met two other Dutch travelers who would be doing the climb with us. Do you think you'll be able to make it to the summit? They asked us. Well, of course we would we thought. Why wouldn't we? Then they told us stories of others they had met who attempted the climb and had to stop short because of the intense difficult of the climb, and even of one girl who needed to have her guide undo her pants and hold her up while she went to the bathroom part way up, because she was so physically spent she was unable to do it herself. This concerned us a little bit, but still we thought being the fit cyclists we are we should be alright.

A couple hours later we arrived in the parking lot, and we all loaded up our backpacks with the supplies we would need for the night, and for the climb the next morning. It was only a 200 metre climb up to the refuge at 4,800 m, but even that short a climb left us a little breathless. The whole area was shrouded in fog, but for a minute the clouds parted and we were able to catch a glimpse of the snow-covered volcano towering about the refuge. It was a little bigger than we had thought...

We spent the afternoon and evening at the refuge with the rest of the travelers who would be attempting the climb the next morning. In total there were 11 of us – 4 European men who kept to themselves, and 7 of us who spent our time trading stories and having a great time getting to know each other. There was us, the Canadian cyclists who you all know so well, the two Dutch guys on a six week tour through Ecuador and Peru who were both doing their pilots training with KLM, the Canadian brother-sister team from Ontario who we greatly enjoyed getting to know, and then the one 40-something Polish lady who none of us could ever remember the name of. None of us had any experience climbing, but we all were very excited for the next day. We wanted to go to bed by 7 or so since we would be waking up at midnight to get ready to climb, but with the snow falling outside and the excitement in the air it felt too much like Christmas Eve, and we found it very difficult to break up such a fun gathering and go to bed.

At midnight, after getting little more than 2 hours of a restless sleep we got out of our bunks and started to dress for our adventure. Four layers of clothing later, we went downstairs and began our breakfast of yoghurt and granola, and despite the lack of sleep, talked excitedly with our new friends. I ate a few bowls of the delicious granola/yoghurt mix, but Jeff was already experiencing a weak stomach, likely the affects of the altitude and such a poor sleep. He managed to get a few spoonfuls of yoghurt down before we both were fitted with our harnesses and set out to conquer the mountain. We were the last team of 3 (the two of us, and our guide) to leave the refuge, and as we started shuffling up the snow-dusted trail behind our guide I thought, this is going to take forever! He was going so slow it seemed like it would be a frustrating climb. It didn't take too long until we reached the thicker snow where we put on our crampons and latched ourselves together with rope, and continued up the steep snow at our same pace.

As we slowly made our way up the clouds lifted, and we were able to see the majesty of the snow-capped peak in full. There was a nearly full moon and a star filled sky, and as we looked ahead we could see the rest of the teams with their headlamps lighting the snow around them, dotting the mountain above. It was here that we really could appreciate the grand scale of the mountain and our insignificant size relative to it. If we knew at this time how our vision would start to blur and how little we would be able to see or appreciate further up the mountain, we probably would have spent a few more minutes taking it all in.

From here on, we kept slowly trudging up the incredibly steep slope. Our guide in front, and us behind, roped together, in what was initially for safety but later became the only way to keep us moving. Our guide kept up his methodical pace, and the further we went the faster it seemed to become. It didn't matter how slow we were moving – it never seemed slow enough to catch our breath. Every time we stopped to rest both of us would collapse to the ground, our heads pounding and chests heaving, breathing harder than we had ever before. After a minute or two of this our guide would call out 'vamos', give the rope a tug, and we would fight off our feelings of nausea as best we could and continue on. Only a few hours into the climb, we passed the group of Europeans heading back down. At first we were excited by this sight, thinking it meant the summit was very close. However, we found out that they just were unable to complete the difficult climb.

For the first few hours of the climb we would leap-frog the other Canadians, and give each other a few words of encouragement as we passed, trying the best we could to stay positive in our exhausted state. It was amazing how much a simple fist pump or a 'you can do it' gave us an extra boost to keep going. Eventually our guide got the better of us and led us too far from the other group for them to catch us on our breaks, and we found ourselves alone, struggling up this massive peak.

After what seemed like forever, with both of us fighting our stomachs, Jeff's finally beat him and he fell over, covering the trail with his few spoonfuls of yoghurt, and anything else that had still been in his stomach. It didn't seem to be a big deal at all to our guide, and in fact, as Jeff was still kneeling on the ground, not sure if more was to come up, our guide gave the rope a tug and told us to keep moving again. He asked Jeff if he thought we could keep going, and after reassuring us it was only another 200 m or so, we decided to keep going. Jeff felt a bit better, and I managed to keep my stomach in check, and so we thought we were good to go for the last little leg.

Well, it turns out either our guide is a liar, or has perhaps just doesn't know his numbers in English. Later, on our way back down when we saw the Jeff's stained snow, we saw that at the time we were hardly even half way to the summit. From that point, the slope steepened, and we struggled mightily to make it up the 45 degree angle, having to use our ice axe to keep from falling backwards. We even came to an ice wall where we had to kick in the toes of our crampons and use our ice axe to pull ourselves up, eventually making it over the ice-wall. Had our heads not been pounding and had we been able to think clearly, we probably would have enjoyed this quite a bit, as the clouds were giving way to impressive views of ice and snow, and we likely looked like real mountain climbers.

At this point, we thought were just around the corner from the summit, and were ready to get our picture and get back down. However, this was not the case. We were disheartened to see the path descend down and around some impassable ice, losing elevation that we had never worked so hard to gain. Coming around a corner and up to what we thought must be the summit, we met the Dutch guys coming back down. They made it! We told them how Jeff had thrown up before, and they told us how just ahead we would see their own stains on the snow. Apparently the climb hadn't been any easier for them, but they assured us we were near the top, with only a little ways left to go. And so we kept going, with every step more difficult than the one before it. Our guide just kept going, his pace never changing, and us labouring behind. But then, just as we thought we couldn't go any more, we reached the top. He announced – this is it. We looked around and couldn't see anything besides white snow blending in to white clouds. But, it didn't seem like we could go any higher, and so we knew we were at the top. We collapsed to the ground (as we did anytime we stopped), and to celebrate pulled out a couple Ritz crackers. We took a couple pictures, and then our guide announced it was time to descend, and we were more than happy to comply.

We were given a quick lesson on our proper footwork for descending, and then started down the mountain. He kept calling out, first we thought to change our footwork, but then finally we realized he was just telling us to go faster. It seemed he wanted us to run down the mountain – it didn't seem to matter it was a nearly 45 degree angle on snow and ice – he told us since we were all tied together he could hold us if we started to fall down the slope. It turned out with our muscles as tired as they were, our legs were simply unable to go much faster. However, he still had the opportunity to demonstrate his ability at holding us, as both us of couldn't stay on our feet a number of times despite our slow speed. As we went down, we realized just how far we'd come. Even with all the clouds it was now light out, and we could appreciate the immensity of the climb. We had hoped that the lower we got the better we'd feel, but it turned out that wasn't the case. We still collapsed onto the ground with every (infrequent) break, and both nearly emptied our stomaches again.

The last few hundred metres to the refuge we slid down on our snowpants, using our ice axe as a brake. We were so thankful we didn't have to hike down any further, and normally this would have been great fun, but as we both just felt horrible we didn't appreciate it as we could have. Finally, after what seemed like forever, we made it back to the refuge and stumbled up the stairs to the bunks. We were greeted by the Dutch as they were lying in their beds, practically unable to move. “I should be in a hospital right now”, and “This is the worst I have ever felt in my life”, and “That was the hardest thing I have ever done” were statements that we were all making as we lay in our beds. The Canadians came a little while later, and we learned that Paul had thrown up a number of times as well. However, his sister seemed to fare the best out of all of us, still smiling and bright and chipper as the rest of us lay collapsed in our beds. We still don't know how she kept such a positive attitude throughout the climb, but we admire her for it.

As we were all lying in our bunks, one of the guides came up the stairs to tell us it was nearly time to go, and we had to pack up. Nobody moved. This happened two or three more times before any action occurred and we somehow managed to pack our bags and put our boots back on. The hike back down to the parking lot wasn't as bad as we had imagined, and we managed to get into our Land Cruiser and survive the drive back to Latacunga (with a plastic bag in hand, just in case).

We have had a lot of difficult days riding in the past 7 months. And we both are confident that not one was as physically demanding as this climb. It was our first real taste of high altitude, and we now know just how hard it makes things. All in all, climbing Cotopaxi was an experience. We're still not exactly sure how we feel about the whole thing – we both are fairly sure we wouldn't do it again, and yet, we are both very glad we did it.

As a completely unrelated sidenote - we finally got our Central America photo album online. We know, it's about time. Check it out here.