Mule river crossing Photo: Diana Reid

I remember how this all got started. I was having brunch with my new friend Lynn on a warm spring weekend day earlier this year. An avid athlete, she was regaling me with tales of mountain climbing experiences on Rainier, Baker, Kilimanjaro and more. And telling me all about her plans to climb this huge mountain; Mt Aconcagua. At 22,834', it is the tallest peak in the Americas. While I couldn't quite pronounce it, I was fascinated. Lynn invited me to go with her. As an athlete and "outdoorsy-type" myself, I had read a dozen or so mountaineering books, and was quite intrigued with the sport - but primarily from a "Why do these people do this? What compels them to risk life and limb? What do they get out of such an adventure?" perspective. Sure, I have run a marathon and a bunch of smaller races, trekked 450 miles across Spain via the Camino de Santiago one hot July, done some rock climbing, and headed out into the back country on plenty of occasions, but what the hell did I know about mountain climbing? I politely laughed off her suggestion I climb with her.

Yet somehow later, as I went about my normal Sunday afternoon routine, I could not stop thinking about it. The idea quickly planted itself in my brain - and perhaps my soul - and grew with weed-like tenacity. The thought of embarking on an adventure that few consider, let alone execute, was heady. The idea of putting myself on the edge - both physically and metaphorically - was scary and thrilling. All of a sudden, not only did I want to do it, I had to. Within several days I had called Lynn and we signed up. And being the misery-loves-company kind of friend that I am (well, that's not exactly how I pitched it), I convinced my best friend Isolina to sign up too.

So, fast forward through numerous weekends of carrying heavy packs laden with gallon jugs of water up and down the Sierra, endless early mornings in the gym, countless trips to REI, and an exciting - and thankfully successful - 'practice' summit of Rainier, December 14th arrived, and it was time to put our money where our mouths were. We departed for Argentina.

The journey itself was uneventful - if you count two nearly 6' women crunched in coach for 17 hours uneventful. Isolina taunted Lynn and I from business class. We decided we were mentally preparing ourselves for the weeks of pain and small spaces. After a nine hour layover in Santiago, we finally arrived in Mendoza, Argentina. At 7:30pm the sun was shining, the weather was hot and dry. Ahh, God bless the southern hemisphere in December!

"Approaching Base Camp, the green hills gave way to incredibly steep snow-capped mountains, many covered in transparent, blue, glacier-covered slopes..."

Upon arrival at our hotel for the evening, aptly, the "Hotel Aconcagua," we met our guides and the other members of our team. Over dinner at a local Mendozan restaurant - where of course we consumed large quantities of two of Argentina's most renowned specialties; red wine and red meat - we chatted and got to know one another. Here in summary, is our cast of characters (In hindsight, I had thought of entitling this missive "The Real World Aconcagua: 17 days, 8 climbers, 3 tents, 1 mountain, endless frayed nerves," but I thought MTV might get a bit cranky).

Mike: Our lead guide and a native Seattle-ite. Mike has guided Aconcagua for over 5 years and is an experienced (and extreme!) rock climber, skier and snowboarder. Having spent a number of years working in Hollywood as a scenic designer, Mike can also be seen as an extra in PT Anderson's "Boogie Nights" and was often the source of some really bad rock music singing.

Ana: A native Argentinian, the first woman to ever guide Aconcagua (1986), and Mike's wife. Ana is about 5'1" and probably 100 pounds dripping wet, but can carry more weight in her pack than most men I know. She was never without a smile - yet was also absolutely a take-no-bullshit leader. She was also the hand that fed us.

David: An anthropology professor in Durango, CO, David is a rock climber with some 20+ years experience and several challenging first ascents under his belt. He is also the proud father of a not-quite-two year old little girl.

Tom: The kid brother of our expedition, Tom is completing his MD/PhD in high altitude physiology at Columbia. Tom is also an ironic combination of the quintessential New Yorker and a true outdoorsman. Tom's favorite hiking song, designed to help him keep pace on trekking trips, is "1 little, 2 little, 3 little Indians." We grew to despise Tom for planting this in our brains early on, but we forgave him anyway.

Gernot: The international representative of the bunch. "G" as we came to call him (much to his distaste), is a German businessman currently on sabbatical. G also recently summitted Mt. Elbrus and Mt. McKinley, so we were much impressed, until he demonstrated great surprise that we all trained hard for Aconcagua. "Well, I swam a little and jogged sometimes," he said. Ferociously energetic and wildly ambitious, G would have run up to the summit on Day one if our guides would have let him. In his own statement of fashion (think Mike Myers in the "Now is the time on sprockets when we dance" skits on old Saturday Night Live shows), G wore only black - and usually looked to be in his underwear. He became known as the "Poly-pro Ninja" somewhere along the way. Again, he was not really amused.

Diana, Lynn, Isolina: While I've not left out the names of the "guilty", I've left the descriptions to the imaginations and good nature of those closest to us.

PHASE 1: THE APPROACH TO BASE CAMP

The next morning, after collecting our permits, heading out to buy -sigh- more gear, and loading our bags and ourselves into a van, we headed off towards the mountains. As we went deeper into the hills, following alongside the Mendoza River, which cut fiercely through the hillsides, nearly over-flowing its banks, it really finally occurred to me: I'm in the Andes and I'm about to climb a 22,834' mountain. I spent much of the ride in silence, contemplating the enormity of what was ahead. After a stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant, we arrived at our hotel in Los Penitentes (8500'); the site of our last bed and hot shower for over two weeks. This was around the time we grasped the first of many critical mountaineering lessons we'd learn on this trip:

Lesson #1: When they tell you not to eat the local vegetables before you climb, DO NOT eat the local vegetables!

Needless to say, we dearly wished not to have learned this lesson the hard way. Our roadside lunch the day before had not been kind to Lynn, and she fell quite ill. I too would pay the price a day or so later. Despite the unhappy stomachs, the trek into base camp was beautiful. We spent three days covering the 35 mile journey, gradually ascending from 8000' to our 12,200' base camp destination. Following the Vacas River - which alternated between a trickling stream and a deafening roar - and trekking over green hills and rocky riverbeds, we spent time getting to know the members of our team and other expeditions, baking in the hot Argentinean summer sun, and enjoying, what we would dearly miss later, a nearly gourmet diet complete with lots of fresh fruit and vegetables.

The trek in was a interesting lesson in patience and anticipation. We walked and walked and walked, but still had yet to actually SEE the mountain we were to climb, as it remained hidden well up-valley. The suspense was both good and bad; without actually seeing the size of this thing, we could pretend in our minds that it would be easily surmountable. But, the not knowing became unsettling and nerve-wracking as well. What would it REALLY be like? Just how BIG is it?

We got our answer at around 11,000'. This was the day I was struggling with my own personal understanding of Lesson #1, and each step had been a battle over nausea and exhaustion. Ana had diligently followed closely behind me as I fell farther and farther behind my team, and gusting winds threw dust in my face and threatened my already precarious balance. After six hours of struggling, and a brief stream-side nap, just when I thought I would never even make it up to Base Camp, let alone to where we were camping that night, we came around a corner and there IT was. The glacier-covered south side of Aconcagua peeked above a band of clouds that hovered near the summit, taunting any would-be summiteers for that day. It was breathtaking. It was massive. And oh my god, it was still so far away.

We arrived at Base Camp late on Day 3, after winding our way through the green, and often marshy, Guanacos Valley - where our guide's website had promised we'd see "hundreds of guanacos" (llama-like animals). Well, not counting the skeletal remains of several we passed along the way, we found this to be not quite be so accurate. Approaching Base Camp, the green hills gave way to incredibly steep snow-capped mountains, many covered in transparent, blue, glacier-covered slopes, and the temperatures rapidly dropped.