Andrew Chapman
Friday, Feb. 2:"Andrew... Andrew..." As I opened one bloodshot eye to see what and where this noise was coming from, my mind slowly drifted away from my pleasant dream and back into consciousness. "It's 7, bro!" So much for our alpine start.
The morning was beautiful! Bluebird skies and a calm wind heightened our excitement to make our way up to high camp at Paso Superior. We had planned to leave early to prevent post-holing but snow conditions ended up being perfect. Steps were easy to kick in the sun-baked snow and almost immediately we were hiking in our base layers. So far this season climbers had barely seen a single day this clear. I felt a little spoiled that we were heading out to go climbing on our second day in the Fitz. Well, maybe not that spoiled.
Dave and I arrived at Paso Superior around 1pm. The Fitz Roy massif was displayed in front of us adorned in shimmering coats of ice and snow. The last storm cycle had plastered everything head to toe. I felt like I was in a fairy tale.
Steph and Dean could be seen off in the distance entering the Amy Couloir on Guillaumet. I want to climb. BAD! Not a lot was feasible given the late hour, poor climbing conditions, and the fact Dave had climbed the Amy Couloir the year before. After briefly considering soloing up after Dean and Steph, I decided to help take care of business at Paso Superior.
We needed to dig a home in the snow for the next month. A few other teams were already installed in snow caves so Dave and I poked our heads around to see if there was room. The first cave, a matrix of about four rooms, looked promising until our German friends showed up and took claim of the last open cavity. Rooms were all checked out. Time to start digging.
We found an old entrance to a cave that had been abandoned so we decided to dig it out and use it to save us time and energy. After an hour's digging we finally were about installed when Dave, unfortunately, discovered an unpleasant present left by the previous guests. Initially, we knew the cave had a strange smell to it but passed it off as mold or something (yeah, right, mold). Needless to say, Dave took care of the dirty deed with a steel shovel as I looked on in disgust.
By 7pm, exhausted, we were in our new beds catching up on some much needed sleep before climbing the next day. Ahhhhhhhh. "We're going climbing," I thought. "Goodnight, Dave."
Saturday, Feb. 3: "@!z#$z!" That's all I needed to hear to know we missed our alarms again. It was 7am. "We must be tired," I thought as light glowed in from the entrance of our damp snow cave. High winds and poor visibility quickly settled my nervousness. Weather had taken a turn for the worse. Typical at least. An hour later, after packing, downing a hot chocolate and a couple Power Bars, Dave and I carefully negotiated our way over wind crust down to the Rio Blanco Base Camp. Arriving back at our second homes, in a persistent rain, we both hit our bags for an hour's snooze.
By noon we were ready to take a jog into town to pick up fuel and extra provisions. First stop, El Rancho Grandé for a hot sandwich and coffee. We found it surprisingly busy with trekkers and tourists, all seeking shelter from the rain. Immediately I found myself immersed in interesting conversations with people from all over the world: Switzerland, Holland, and Buenos Aires. I'd forgotten how fun it was to travel abroad and meet different people.
Feeling a little sensory overload, however, we made our way back into the rain and off to collect our extensive food list: cheese, meat, and pasta. Somehow that took us a couple of hours. Don't ask. All I know is thank God Dave has some Spanish speaking skills. Not that I don't try but it I usually end up saying phrases that couldn't be decoded by the most advance intelligence equipment being developed.
Feeling the need for something sweet, Dave diverted my attention to the chocolate shop. Actually, it resembles something more like a neat old climbing hut from France. Inside sat old wood tables, a loft, toasty wood burning stove and climbing equipment on the walls. I peeled off my saturated Gore-Tex —which now felt more like second skin—and settled down for some fresh lemon meringue pie. Yeah, this will work. Indulging once more, Dave and I rested our weary bones and chatted with an energetic group of kids in the loft.
As time ticked by, we totally forgot that we were here to climb, that we were even in Patagonia, that we were just 5,000ft and eight miles away in a snow cave earlier in the morning, and that we still have to hike back home! "Aaaaahhhh! Dave! It's 8 bro. We got to go."
We said farewell to Chaltén, knowing we would be back again soon and speedily made our way back to Rio Blanco for a late dinner. Tomorrow we'll climb!!!! "Goodnight Dave," I said as I made my way back to my Mountain Hardwear Assault that I call home for half the year. "Goodnight, Drew. 3am weather check..."
—
Andrew Chapman, MountainZone.com Correspondent
