Blog #11: Antisana

We’re halfway through expedition! I can’t believe that it has gone by so fast.

We left Palugo Monday morning on foot and trekked uphill for 12 kms through farms and on dirt roads. We made it to a beautiful campsite beside a river in good time, with only a few bruises and blisters on our hips and feet.

The next morning we packed up camp, painfully put on our backpacks and set off uphill again, led by Amy, our first leader of the day. We followed a canal and a few dirt roads, but by the end of the day we were in the wilderness, surrounded by gigantic mountains, marshy wetlands and knee-high grasses. As we hiked it got colder, mistier and rainier. We arrived to our camp, soaked and shivering and our sleeping bags had never felt as good as they did that night.  In the morning, fully rested and warmed, we began the trek across the highlands, this time led by Bethany.  The weather almost held, with only a small hail shower and flurries in the afternoon that made us think of winter and Christmas. We followed the ridge off the mountains, marveling at their sheer height, at the expanse of bright blue sky, at the rainclouds coming ever closer, at the huge condors catching thermals and soaring down in the valley below us. That night we camped below a still, silent lake, surrounded by towering mountains.

On Thursday, we had our first group solo of the expedition, led by Adin. It was like walking through fairyland. Small blue, white and bright yellow flowers dotted the landscape, among the tufts of grasses and mounds of solid green that hold inside them all the water of the Paramo. It is amazing to think that these marshy highlands are the source of the rivers we paddled in the jungle. That night, we arrived at camp just as the sun sank behind the mountains and we ate peanut butter and honey nestled in our tents for dinner.

In the morning we were rejoined by Laurel, Mathias and Roberto to hike the last 8 kms to the basecamp on Antisana. It is a beautiful spot, with a fresh glacial stream and moraines on either side, enclosing us.

On Saturday morning, we climbed to the top of Antisanilla, a small rocky peak at the base of Antisana. We took the afternoon to catch up on letter writing, journaling, and reading aloud from Isabel Allende’s House of the Spirits.  Sunday too, was a rest day to acclimatize and to make the 45 min. trek up to high camp where we left our mountaineering gear and watched the clouds race and dance below us. That night, back at base camp, we laughed at the llamas grazing on the ridge above us, watched apprehensively as the wolf snuck close up for leftovers, and marveled as the clouds turned light purple and grey green with the setting sun.

Monday and Tuesday we spent at glacier school with Mathias, Roberto, and Poco who joined us especially for the mountain. On the glacier at the base of Antisana we learned to walk with crampons, to self-arrest in order to stop sliding, and to work together on a rope team.

Tuesday night, we made camp near the base of the glacier and at midnight in a light drizzle, we set off for our first high altitude push. It was eerily beautiful to push up the mountain in the still, cold hours before dawn with only the small circles of light from our headlamps to illuminate the snow in front of us. We did not summit, but we climbed to the base of the cap where we could see the sunrise around the peak and the tops of the morning clouds. After our second breakfast of salami and cheese on top of the world, we climbed our way back down, sliding the last few hills on our rain pants and having an absolute blast.

Now we are back at the Antisana base camp, trying to stay awake after our midnight push and preparing for our 3-day solo, which begins tomorrow!

Hasta luego,

Mary Kate

Reflections:

THE CONDOR Amelia Walsh

King of the sky, I see you fly

Black as the night, collar as white

Over the Andes,

Through the clouds

Not a feather ruffled

Nor wing flapped

Catching thermals, slicing through frosty air

King of the Andes

On top of the world.

PARAMO Rose

Inside my tent, I dream of mountains. Harsh mountains. Beautiful mountains. Mountains that stretch from the deep valleys to the untouchable sky. Mountains carved out in strange whorls by the wind, and covered in grasses, yellowed, tussocky, sharp, still as deep winter. Mountains where dense clouds come with startling swiftness to pour over high Andes, disappearing the world. Mountains where the condors, black, white winged, ring necked, soar on the hidden movements of air. Where a lake, gently ridged, reflects the steep edges of its bowl. Where thunder echoes and bounces off the rocks, and ice-bead hail hides in shadows.  Where rain soaks into spongy ground and tiny colored faces of flowers watch silently.

Mountains where feet are walking. Up, up, up, carrying the weight of living.

Am I dreaming of today, or yesterday, or tomorrow? I am dreaming of the time of mountains. I am dreaming of forever.

THE PARAMO Lucas

Cold tundra high up, mountains loom out of the cold soil, protruding large black rock faces. Wild horses run freely, their black manes flying as they kick up a small chunk of frozen land.

Winds howl across the land, clouds form, thunder booms ominously, ricocheting across the mountains.

Just as fast as the storm started, it ceases, giving way to the blue sky. Blistering sun rains down on you, cracking your skin and making it peel.

The king of the Paramo soars overhead, watching your slow progress over the landscape.