Steph Davis

Today's Photos 6 images

Tuesday night we noticed a sudden silence. The wind had stopped howling down at our Rio Blanco Base Camp. It seemed like a sign that the weather might be changing. It was still cloudy up high, but if the wind stayed quiet we could definitely get something done.

We set our watches and got up at four the next morning. It was still very calm, but not entirely clear. We felt a little unprepared without a high camp yet established at Paso Superior at the foot of the peaks. The hike from Rio Blanco to Paso Superior can only be described as a slog. With empty packs, a lot of energy, and firm snow, you can make it in under three hours. With heavy packs, strong winds, and bad snow conditions it could take five or six. Ideally, you want to be waiting up at Paso Superior with all your gear, rested and ready for climbing when the weather gets good. To start with full packs from Rio Blanco, hoping to climb, will put you way behind in energy and time.

Still, if the weather was suddenly deciding to get good, we had to try to catch up. We decided to go up with as little as possible. If we arrived at Paso Superior in somewhat decent weather, we could at least quickly climb Guillaumet that afternoon. If the weather looked bad, we could start to dig out our snow cave to get the high camp established. This was a task neither one of us was looking forward to at all.

Bernd Arnold had told us that there were already four caves up there, being used by various climbers, and that it was all ice, and very difficult to dig now. "I hate this work!" Kurt Albert added jovially. Easy for him to say! They inherited the beginnings of a cave that another German team had left. "Those guys know what they're doing, Dean," I said enviously. "Why can't we inherit a cave from some Americans?"

As we hiked up the steep incline to the Lago de los Tres (Lake of the Three) in the early dawn, a huge black bird swooped overhead. Dean and I stopped, wondering if it was a raven, Dean's favorite bird. Five minutes later, another followed, so close above that I could make out the white band of feathers around its neck. Unmistakably a condor — the Patagonian climber's good luck bird. And indeed it was a beautiful day to head up to the pass. In our packs, we carried a full rack, two ropes, ice tools, crampons, rock shoes, snow shoes, a stove and fuel, a puffball sleeping bag and bivy sack, three days of food, GORE-TEX jackets and pants, headlamps and extra socks and gloves. Enough to do a route if the weather turned good, or to at least start our stash of high gear.

At the side of the lake, I eyed the second portion of the approach with some dislike. I remembered windy days of slogging up the relentlessly steep snow slopes, carrying a pack that always seemed much too heavy. We started up the snow at a moderate pace, taking deep breaths. It was still beautiful and windless, and we opted to explore another possibility for the approach. By heading straight up onto a rocky ridge after the first section of snow, we hoped to traverse on rock to the next snow slopes and avoid a section that is usually nasty, steep and crevassed.

After a half hour of slightly nerve-wracking traversing on the exposed loose ridge, we finally did a rappel and got back on track. Not a very practical variation to the more straightforward slogging of the standard approach, but beautiful ridge climbing and kind of fun exploration despite our heavyish packs.

We reached the final steep snow slope feeling excited. Maybe the weather was changing; after all, we did see a condor that morning. Suddenly a face appeared over the snow hump, followed by a body carrying a very heavy load. It turned out to be an American, Steve. He and his partner Jason were leaving to go home. Suddenly we found ourselves the proud inheritors of a snow cave and an extra supply of food and fuel. The condor was a good luck sign! We arrived in the snow cave just before noon feeling completely set. The weather was looking favorable, certainly good enough to try to climb a small summit quickly today. And with this extra supply of food and fuel, we could make it stretch up here for six or seven days if the weather was really going to break.

Happily, we began to organize climbing gear and melt water, thinking we might have the time and energy to go over and climb Guillaumet in an hour or so. I screwed a cartridge onto the stove, looking with satisfaction at our stash of seven new fuel cartridges, when I noticed that the stove top wouldn't turn tight. What? It turned out to be yet another variety of propane/butane cartridge. For some reason, stove manufacturers in foreign countries feel the need to supply the public with umpteen different cartridge types, none of which are compatible with other stoves, and many of which look deviously similar to each other. So here we were with everything we needed, and maybe even a break in the weather, but no fuel for melting water or cooking. Looked like it was time to go down. We both felt a little sick at the thought that this could be the start of some good weather, and we'd be running laps up and down from Paso Superior instead of getting ready to climb. "Oh well," I said. "At least we didn't have to dig this whole snow cave, and we have some gear up here."

Dean looked dejected for a minute and then suddenly got that "it's time to go solo Half Dome and El Cap" look in his eye. "I'm going to run back to camp and bring up another stove and the Bibler and another load," he announced. "Then we could stay up here for another week if the weather is turning. Then today isn't wasted."

"What??? You're crazy. Aren't you tired?"

"No. A little. I'll be back before night."

He took off and I started expanding the snow cave and heightening the ceiling to accomodate my insane six-and-a-half-foot partner. I was just finishing the final touches five hours later when Dean crawled in with another full load, looking pretty exhausted. "I'm not sure if I hope it's good or bad weather tomorrow," he said. "I'm kind of worked." "I'm not surprised," I said. "You're crazy."

At 3am this morning, I poked out of the snow cave like a groundhog for a weather check. The clouds were socking in the glacier and the wind was starting. By 5 o'clock, it was clear that today would not be a climbing day. With empty packs and stomachs, we arrived back at Base Camp ready for a big breakfast. Now one more smallish load carry will get us well established in our snow cave, totally ready for any good weather spell that might choose to arrive.

— Steph Davis, MountainZone.com Correspondent