Andrew Chapman
A feeling of frustration waved over us as we descended from the base of Poincenot. We had not slept since two nights before and had broken trail for seven hours, and for over 4,500 feet, in undesirable snow conditions. Uggggggh! This didn't seem fair. Dave and I tried our best to keep things in a positive light. "We're getting in good shape, that's for sure," Dave would say. "Yeah, we'll cruise up here next round," I'd muster back. Just then we see our friends from Rio Blanco making their way over to Guillaumet to climb on the Northeast Buttress. "Thanks for breaking trail this morning guys," they yelled over to us. They had started the early morning plod from Rio Blanco Base Camp at 4am and seemed as fresh as could be.
"Okay, that's it, damnit! We're going climbing Dave! What do you say?" Dave had been up Guillaumet twice before and at this point it was about all we really had time to climb. Besides, our friends were now breaking trail to Guillaumet's base and I could feel a fourth wind of energy surging into my muscles. "Well," Dave said. "We're in Patagonia. It's sunny. Can't pass up a deal like that. Let's go climbing, Drew!"
Feeling a new sense of purpose and hope we soon caught up to the two rope teams in front of us. "No way! Look who it is," our friend Steve yelled down at us with surprise. As sounds of encouragement greeted us from the others, I felt a real sense of camaraderie. Since day one in Rio Blanco, this is a feeling that has been prevalent between all the expeditions. I feel like I've known some of these people now for a long time and will leave Rio Blanco having made many new friends.
We picked the Amy Couloir as our route up Guillaumet. It offered the best chance of success given the late hour of the day and general climbing conditions. Yet, as we started to simul-climb into the initial ice couloir on our route, the sun had already begun to cause turmoil. Point release avalanches were releasing around us and debris began to purge out of the couloir and off the rock above us. "Uh-oh, we're going to have to bail again. We just can't seem to win, can we," I though to myself.
Dave wisely set up a belay under a protected alcove and we decided to pitch the rest of the couloir out, to avoid both of us being exposed to potential danger at the same time. Most of the upper couloir stayed relatively shady and our nerves began to relax.
The ice was quite soft. Each swing of our axes plunged our picks deep into the ice with a satisfying thud. My calves still burned, however, as I tried to move quickly after Dave's leads. Dave made quick work of the 800 feet of 60-degree ice and soon it was my turn to take over the sharp end.
Thanks to mostly clear skies, the views at the top of the couloir were magnificent. For the first time we could see beyond the Fitz Roy massif and into the Cerro Torre valley. Beyond that, the Northern Ice Cap sprawled itself for as far as the eye could see. Steep granite spires exploded out of heavily crevassed glaciers and waterfalls cascaded for thousands of feet down into the valleys below. I stood there awestruck at the landscape before me. Dave snapped me back into the task at hand. "Your lead brother. Time to rock and roll." We exchanged high-fives and I was off.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. So good to be moving on rock again," I thought to myself as I began the 800-foot ascent of easy to moderate 5th class rock climbing. Climbing conditions were relatively pleasant; the rock was mostly dry and there was only a moderate wind. I couldn't have been happier. We were actually climbing. Even though the route was not technically challenging for us, I would have asked for nothing more that day than another 2,000 feet of the same.
After reclining on the summit of Guillaumet, soaking in every last drop of the spectacular vistas before us, we made our way back down. Four hours after we started up the Amy Couloir we were back at her base. Our friends who had all opted to climb a rock route on the Northeast Buttress loomed only a few hundred feet overhead. The next day we would find out that they encountered iced-up cracks, which forced them to aid much of their climb until the wee hours of the night.
As we exchanged waves goodbye to our compadres, Dave and I made our way back to camp for a deep sleep, which would last for 14 hours.
—
Andrew Chapman, MountainZone.com Correspondent
