Jimmy Chin
I am sitting high on my rocky perch above Campo Bridwell. Looking across the lake and cracked blue glacier, I can see the base of the Torre with the upper two-thirds of the formations consumed by clouds. This is my fifth visit to the perch this morning. I come here to check the weather. Over the last few weeks, I have studied every possible clue that the weather patterns, wind directions, and subtle changes in barometric pressure, can tell me. But if I have learned anything, I have learned conventional means of reading weather are useless here. In Patagoina, tossing chicken bones or consulting the I Ching are better means to divining the weather than graphing barometric pressure readings.
When the winds are nuking through camp and the rain is coming down in sheets, it is easy to relax. We read, sleep, eat, practice Jedi mind tricks on each other—"You will give me the last pancake..." But when the weather hovers between good and bad, or there is some perceived change in the weather pattern, the entire camp turns upside down as climbers wallow in indecision about what to do. You have to time things carefully here; if you miss the window, you've missed the window. The worst case scenario involves trudging to high camp and waiting out several days of bad weather. You end up eating all your high camp food and climbing food and come back down to Base Camp hungry, tired and grouchy, just as the sky opens up to reveal a perfect day of climbing.
Last night the weather changed. Brady and I got up to check the weather at four this morning. Over the course of the day, Brady and I would make a decision to head to high camp or stay in Base Camp and then the weather would change. It can be frustrating, but I am gradually getting accustomed to the routine. All the climbers deal with the weather differently. There is a fine line to walk. To maintain sanity, you have to be fairly detached, but not so detached that you become apathetic and miss the window.
As you might imagine, your emotional existence in Campo Bridwell rides like a rollercoaster. One minute you are laughing and bouldering around on the trees and the next minute there you are sitting with a scowl and furrowed brows trying to make impossible decisions.
Despite the ups and downs of camp life, the international village of climbers makes for good company. I find it amusing to watch the English-speaking climbers cussing unsuccessfully in Spanish and Spanish-speaking climbers cussing unsucessfully in English. "#$!!&*?!!" "No, no, no... you must say it like this...." I sense that Spanish may be more colorful than English.
Right now, I am able to enjoy a few minutes of tranquility. We have decided to stay in Campo Bridwell for the day. These are precious moments. The sun warms my face and Patagonia spills its raw beauty all around me.
—
Jimmy Chin, MountainZone.com Correspondent
