Chachani: Climbing in the Playground of the Gods

This, my friends is the view from the top. This is looking from the peak of Chachani Volcano towards the sister volcano across the canyon below, Misti. 

I ached. My head was spinning. I was doing my best to keep my consciousness as I chased a breath that seemed always at the verge of escaping. Altitude was the mistress of this domain, and she ruled over it cruelly. I looked up, the few hundred meters left till I reached the summit seemed impossible to overcome. So I lowered my head.

 Right foot. Left foot. Ice Axe. Repeat. 

              Most people who come to Arequipa, Peru's second largest city, head directly for Colca Canyon. It is the world's second deepest canyon and is easily accessible, making it prime backpacker territory. I had other plans. I noticed that there was a non-technical 6000m volcano that could be accessed from the city, and that the prices for an expedition was reasonable enough to entice me. After spending a quiet morning in town, I hopped from agency to agency until I found a group that was leaving the next day, and for the right price too! I signed myself up, extremely nervous to say the least since this was the biggest mountain I had ever attempted. Its higher than any peak in the U.S..  Its higher than Kilimanjaro. 

                   I had been living in Cusco, which is 3500m, for the last few weeks so I figured that I was fairly well acclimatized, or at least as good as I was gonna get in the time I had left. So I packed my bag and caught an early night's restless sleep. In the morning, the guide collected me from my hostel and I met my two other companions. They were a pair from Austria, Gerhard and Maria (there was no end to the Biblical jokes since our guide was named Jesus). We all crammed in the Land Cruiser, and set off for the mountain we had all been dreaming about.

               It was nearly a 3 hour drive from downtown Arequipa to the start of our trek at 4900m. The majority was on dirt roads that passed through a reserve of Vicuna and Huanaco, which are the two wild cousins of Alpaca and Llama. We reached the start of our hike at the same time as a snow thunderstorm. The landscape before us was lunar, with a massive crater splattered with massive red boulders being lit by  lightning stabbing through the thick snowfall. We hiked over the boulder field, passed an ancient pre-Incan settlement,  and reached the flat plain that made up our base camp somewhere right above 5000m.

              We hurried to set our tents up and dove in for cover from the storm outside, while our guide cooked us an early dinner of soup and tuna spaghetti. We reluctantly popped out for our brief meal, where we were joined by a curious fox silently prowling the edges of our camp. After our dinner, we prepped our bags and headed for an early night in for our 3am departure time. The day ahead of us promised to be a challenging one.

         The temperatures dropped rapidly with the sunset, and a fresh snowstorm engulfed our little camp.  As long as we huddled inside our tents we were chilly, but fine. At one point, Gerhard nearly got lost in the blizzard as he went out to use the toilet but couldn't find his tracks back because of the torrential snowfall. Luckily he made it back to camp with some assistance. The cold night could have been extremely unpleasant, but my zero degree sleeping bag did the trick and I stayed fairly cozy. After a fitful sleep, we woke up at 2am to prepare. Jesus, the guide, waved us down. Due to the snowstorm, we waited till nearly four before leaving the tents.

                    We quickly ate a simple breakfast of bread and dulce de leche (basically milk mixed with caramel), and gulped down a hot cup of tea. We threw on our packs, and started off single file across the windswept plain towards the start of the climb. We started a series of switchbacks, reaching a spiny outcrop of boulders as the sun climbed high enough to tuck away our headlamps. We picked our way through the rocks, the wind sweeping around us in the rosy light of dawn.

                      We rounded a boulder the size of a small house, then made our way along the mountain face towards a series of switchbacks. They seemed to go on forever, and a headache was making itself prominent as the air slipped from my lungs. It was plodding, heavy work. The switchbacks themselves could be describes as gentle, and our crampons would have made easy work of them if it wasn't for the altitude. At this point we were over 5600m. The snow got thicker, and a now strong sun caused us to loosen our jackets and scarves. 

Feeling altitude sickness coming on, and desperately wanting to finish this hike, I took a slow and plodding pace. I was following the advice of my Australian mountain climbing friend (the one who got me started on this whole climbing thing) Alex, "Walk with your heartbeat mate." Slowly but steadily, we ate up the meters until we finally got to the cusp of the crater that marked the summit. We laid down for a few minutes and set our gear down for a break before the last quick march to the crest. I tried my best not to fall asleep, as lack of oxygen was taking its toll on my body. I was tired, disoriented, and dealing with a massive headache. 

We got up, and trudged the final hill to the summit, marked by a pair of iron crosses. I pity the poor bastard that had to carry those up. The view from the top was simply stunning. We were high above most of the clouds, joined across the plains by other volcanoes of similar heights poking through the white mantle. The earth sloped away visibly, and the sky was an inky shade of blue above us. After a few minutes of picture taking, we decided it was best to head back down since some clouds were advancing on our perch, threatening to make the hike down even more perilous. 

             We gathered our gear and set off straight down the face of the mountain, making use of the large amounts of collected snow. Plodding down was hard work, and my headache was getting worse and now was coupled with strong bouts of nausea that threatened to unleash itself. We descended fairly rapidly, but the snowstorm caught up with us. The wind pelted small hail stones against our exposed skin, stinging and cold. Eventually we reached a path of scree that allowed me to bound down the mountain much more quickly, trying to outrun my worsening altitude sickness and those little pellets. 

I reached base camp, and immediately started packing. I needed to relieve the pressure in my head, and             I knew that the only way to do that was to get below 4000m. After we had the camp cleared out, I shouldered our tent along with my pack and we headed back across the boulder field. As we neared the far lip of the crater where our vehicle awaited us, fog and snow rolled around us, with more lightening crashing. The silver Land Cruiser was a welcome relief, and with much gusto we threw our packs into the back and piled in. 

             The bumpy ride back was less relief than I had expected however. A thick fog had rolled in along the highland routes home, and it was literally impossible to see anything beyond 5 feet in front of the vehicle. Knowing that there was a large drop on one side, and wanting to celebrate my success with a Monte Cristo Cubano, I was fairly tense to say the least as we slammed around corners and blasted over the bumpy terrain. It was far too fast for a clear day on this quality of road, much less with fog as thick as pea soup!

 We eventually got back on the main roads and cleared the fog as we descended back into civilization and comfort. I took a moment to look back. Chachani was wreathed in a white veil of clouds. So I did what I had to do. I looked forward. That journey was done, that experience was had, now it was time to plan the next one! 

As we leave town, Chanchani Volcano looms over the city, barely visible from its thick mantle of clouds.

Misti Volcano as seen from our drive up to the starting point of our trek.

A wild Vicuna grazing in the reserve that surrounds Chanchani Volcano. These are the smallest cousins of the llama, they are totally wild, and can only be caught and sheared every two years. Their wool is some of the finest in the world, making coats made from it several thousand dollars.

The volcano crater below Chanchani.

Red rocks and boulders the size of mobile homes line the inside of the crater.

This picture was originally much darker (thanks a lot google), which showed the intensity of the snow thunderstorm (yes you read that correctly) we started in.

The view down from base camp.

Our base camp with Chachani looming overhead.

Life is fragile at 5000m, this is one of the few plants that were to be found here, clinging on despite the cold and lack of nutrients.

Ancient lava floes had left incredible colors along the valley.

Our base camp, huddled against the driving snow.

During a break in the storm a fox came to investigate!

Zorro is how you say fox in Spanish. This little guy made a great mascot.

This little fella was stealing the show all day!

Our tracks leading up the hill away from our basecamp as we make final checks of gear in the icy morning, the sun slowly chasing us over the mountains.

Sunrise at 5200m.

Another volcano, the only one bigger in the area, weighing in at 6300m.

The stunning beauty was worth it!

A view from the top of Chanchani Volcano of it's sister, Misti Volcano

Two crosses mark the peak of Chanchani. At 6075m you are just about close enough to shake hands with whatever God you choose to.

Me at the peak, looking slightly dazed because I was fighting off a touch of altitude sickness... HACE is no joke!

Looking back over the crater of Chanchani.

We thought our adventures were over when we got in the car, but on the ride back down the narrow, winding, poor condition dirt roads the fog rolled in. This picture shows how much you could see. Shadows. Shadows of bushes, rocks, and the edge of a cliff.