Langtang Lirung - October 2022

The first time I heard about Thomas Humar was in 2007 when he climbed the south face of Annapurna. The selfie he took at the summit marked me in many ways. In that photo, you can barely see the image of a cold face, high up in one of the wildest places that humans have been to, behind his shoulder there is a snowed summit and in the reflection of his goggles you can see mountains all around. The energy that this image irradiates, captivated me and was an inspiration to seek my own adventures, although I don't particularly seek to embark on these adventures alone, this reference of commitment, love for climbing and discipline became important in the creation of my own vision and style. 

A couple years later when I learned that he died climbing in Nepal, the news struck as the end of an era. A man whose climbs inspired many to seek their own, had just died in a mountain called Langtang Lirung. Ever since those days, the name of this mountain stayed in my mind as a place I would like to visit some day and see with my own eyes what this human, whose life was a reference for many, saw in his last days.

At the end of 2020 my friend Joshua Jarrin, with whom I had climbed since my first days in the high places, called me inviting to climb “something big”. It had been a few years since the last time we climbed together and the joy of a possibility of adventure with an old friend was all I needed to start planning this trip.

We discussed a few options of places we would like to go and one thing was clear, we wanted to climb a 7000m peak. Joshua mentioned that he had been to the Langtang area a few years back and that Langtang Lirung could be an interesting option of something to go out and try hard. We didn't need to talk any further... finally the moment to see Langtang Lirung had arrived, and we were going to have a shot at one of the unclimbed faces of this beauty.

Knowing that we would need a bigger team, we started thinking about friends that would be willing to come, and I suggested my longtime friend Roberto Morales. All around crusher, who is always up for a big adventure. Although they had never climbed together before, they knew each other from guiding and climbing in Ecuador and in a very natural way we didn't need to discuss anymore: we had a plan for the autumn.

Landing in Kathmandu was bitter; a few days before our arrival, Hillaree Nelson had died while skiing Manaslu. The loss of Hilaree was soul crushing. We managed to finish all our arrangements to leave for the mountains in the same day that we arrived to Kathmandu, and although we were all jet lagged and tired from traveling all around the world to come climb, we knew that in such a sad moment, the best way to make sense out of that situation was to keep moving and see the mountains as soon as we could. 

Hilaree once said that it’s truly a necessity to have a passion as a compass in life. In those days, as the tragedy of her dead made us all feel the pain of loss and the cold of vulnerability, our heads sunk full of questions about the risks we take; we knew that going out and trying hard as soon as we could was going to recalibrate all our compasses.

The approach to the Langtang area is relatively easy, from Kathmandu you only have to drive 145km to the town of Syabru Besi, where a trail that swings north towards Tibet takes you to Kyanjin Gompa after aproximately 32km, starting at 1467m and finishing at 3900m. We decided to do the hike in three days.

In the mountains, and especially in the Himalaya, nothing is granted. Our easy six hour drive ended up being a whole day adventure. An old truck carrying metal from a mine at the beginning of the valley was brokedown creating a roadblock that could take days. Thanks to our friend Subash who helps us with the logistics of climbing in Nepal we found a truck in Syabru Besi that came down to the roadblock so we could transfer the bags and continue. Tired but happy that we overcame our first obstacle, we arrived at Syabru.

The next three days took us through all of the climate stages that the Himalayas have. Sometimes it is easy to forget all the life that thrives around the great mountain ranges, the macaques at 2000m, the roaring rivers and waterfalls and the magic of the rhododendron forests made us connect with the place we were going. In the trekking we had the luck to see what I believe was a red panda, what a beautiful tail, playing in the distance and giving a testimony of how much more elevation we needed to gain before we could even think about climbing pitches; I couldn't help to think about Master Shifu and one of my favorite quotes of his: “If you only do what you can do, you will never be more than who you are”... with a smile and Claptone playing live in my earbuds I couldn't have thought of a better quote to echo in my mind before going to the big mountains.

Imagining the first climbers coming to see the mysteries that this valley guards and the first tibetans that came down from the north and encountered this lush lands, was an opportunity to start getting tuned with what we were doing: seeking for adventure. This trip wasn't only about getting to the top of a big mountain, it was about climbing and all that this magic word encapsulates. The approach to the unknown and the conversation that one establishes with the mountains and the life around them. I was surprised and very happy to cross many locals in the approach, nepalese people that had come out, and were enjoying the beauty of these places. Occasionally trash and rests of human passage made us all remember the importance of keeping these places as we find them.

Waking up to the sounds of jungle around the tea houses, the charming sound of rain at night, the smoke of burning yak dunk, the salty buttery tea, the refreshing smile of the locals saying Namaste… it was all part of getting to know this magic place before we could find passage to the high mountains.

The Langtang valley is mostly populated by the Tamang caste, this is originally a tibetan-burmese culture, and as in most of Nepal the smiles and kindness of this people along the trek started to make us feel welcome. In our second day of trekking as we passed by the remains of what was the old village of Langtang, we had an impactful reminder of the 2015 earthquake, in the weeks to come after, we learned the stories that some of this families had to endure during such a tragedy and it was inspiring to see the bravery, determination and humbleness that the inhabitants of this valley had to rebuild their lives from ground zero. 

Once in the village of Kyanjin Gompa we met Lhakpa, the owner of the oldest bakery in town; between laughs and attending his other clients, he tolds us why he had opened the bakery. It was his father's dream to own a business in the valley but he died without seeing this become a reality, his first motivation when things got hard after the earthquake was to keep his father's dream alive and through this, to honor and give peace to his father's memory. Without knowing, he explained a rare feeling that we all had as we approached these mountains, the lives of those who aren't with us anymore are always a beacon in our own paths. Maybe honor their memory, maybe bring peace to our own questions, but always to keep the torch alive.

The first day we arrived to Kyanjing Gompa, we decided to hike as close as possible to the base of the face and try to have some idea of a possible camp where we could set off from when the time came to try the face. Although in out first foray, the rain prevented us from going as high as we would have liked, we had a few glimpses of the face: wild, big and extremely beautiful. That day the descent to Kyanjin was an attempt to vocalize our first impressions of the wall.

Joy of seeing  the lines that could be good climbing and a little peace of mind that the terrain looked very promising to offer us different choices.

Some sections of the wall showed what seemed like beautiful and steep ice veins surrounded by rocky pillars. The roars of avalanches coming down the face and the elusive views make the imaginations think that there is a living giant up there, waiting to wake. The local folklore thinks of Langtang Lirung in many different ways, some people told stories of gods living up there, some thought of a raging bull, some told stories of gods themselves that turned into mountains and from time to time give evidence of their existence with the constant avalanches that one hears. In any case, everyone that talked to us made clear that Langtang Lirung might be an impossible mountain. It simply felt like we were in the right place at the right moment.

The following week passed really slow as a front of bad weather hit the himalayas and all we could do was some short hikes in the surroundings, play card games at the lodge and visit the bakeries of all town in the search of the best apple-pie in town. These days, the hospitality of Kaisang Dolma, the woman who owns the lodge we stayed in, and her son Gyalbu were heartwarming. They taught us about the local traditions and their life in these mountains.

As the first week of October was gone, a short two day period of relatively clear weather came and this was our quote to find a line, get to the beginning of the climb and leave a deposit.

We hired Sangay, Kaisang’s brother, to help carrying some equipment to a possible campsite near the base of the wall. As we passed 4500m and started to break knee deep trail sometimes, all of us started to wonder what was the wall going to be like, Sangay’s kindness helping to dig a platform for our tent at 4700m was a precise reminder of what we were doing there: having an adventure in the big mountains. Sometimes when the climb feels overwhelming it could be easy to loose perspective of the big picture. We want to climb hard and high, but you can also do that in many other places. The ambiance and the journey are what make these expeditions special.

Next morning we started early and after a couple hours of breaking trail we made it to 5000m. It was surprising how close the wall is and the possibilities it has. Also, as soon as the sun hit it, it was truly intimidating how active it became. We did a tour traversing along the base of the east face looking for possibilities. Pillars, couloirs, gullys, all the features to make one's imagination fly, and to make the hands sweat. The steepness and avalanche activity made clear to us that speed will be a very important factor in the ascent but also a very difficult thing to achieve in such a difficult and complex wall.

After a few hours at the base, some drone flights and running from a few sluffs we picked a line for a plan A and a couple possibilities of alternate plans. Our advanced base camp called strongly when the clouds came in. That night brought a little different weather and temperatures, so, since next morning was supposed to be clear until noon, we decided to go up again and see what more information we could gather from this beauty. After the second inspection, we confirmed some of the initial ideas, saw some big avalanches that helped to discard some other options and came down to Kyanjin Gompa. Still, with many unknowns but with a clarity in what probably mattered the most: we had found a damn hard line and thought that success was going to depend mostly about our ability to move fast and climb hard, of course you need luck in such a place, but the challenge didn’t appear at the moment as a kamikaze project.

The next days passed rather fast, between the last preparations and getting in the mindset for an attempt, as always some hangboarding and hiking to remind the body of what was coming, in one of those outtings we found something that hit my spirit and also lit the fire in preparation of what was coming. At the base of a boulder we found a carved rock that said:

Tomaz Humar

Langtang Lirung

10-11-2009.

The honor and privilege of doing what I love the most in the place that this incredible human also visited a long time ago made me think in the beauty of life; how hundreds of thousands of years of success and failure lead to the present moment and the gift of coming here and trying our best. Why?

 

And so, a couple rest days passed fast, waking every morning to Roberto’s smile while making coffee, Joshua’s jokes after dinner, Roberto’s face when Kaisang brought Chow Mein, Joshua’s determination to find the best apple pie… those days in Kyanjin Gompa were beautiful.

With an encouraging weather forecast we decided to leave town in the 13th of October. Roberto and I would head up to camp and Joshua was going to stay one more night in town, a little more rest didn’t sound like a bad idea to him and perhaps the apple pie quest motivated him to have another 24 hours down there. 

On October 14 we woke up early, and Joshua arrived at camp from town. We all headed together to leave a cache at the base and have a final view of the line. Again, speed was going to be crucial. A couple hours at the base showed us that the bad weather in the past days did not change things much and that we could stick to the plan, the rest of the morning was a leisurely rest and stretch at camp looking at the face. This night, thanks to the last minute forecast we had from our friends in Tahoe we confirmed that the 16th of October was going to be a great day for being high, maybe the 17th could hold up but winds were coming strong afterwards. So we decided to leave on the 14th before midnight, get around sunrise to a place we think can be safe to spend the day while the monster wakes up and play, then wait for the monster to go to bed again and start a push to the top before midnight. In this case we could have the 17th to come down. The idea of climbing nearly 2500 meters of wild terrain in less than 48 hours made my hands sweat but also made me think about that red panda we saw on the way in. 

The alarms sound at 21h00, Roberto gets up first as usual, we have breakfast, last fist bumps and off we go at 22h05.

The next nine hours passed relatively quickly, just as one could expect when all you need is time to pass rather slowly... it's hard to put to words the amazing terrain we covered in those initial 1000m. Steep and delicate. Pure joy and concentration. We decided to divide in blocks, when I crossed the bergschrund and water was running underneath 5cm of vertical ice, we all had a moment of reflection about conditions but momentum and hope for colder conditions up higher kept us moving. Roberto had one of the wildest pitches any of us had done in a while: vertical snow that required more levitation than strength, full commitment with spare and dubious protection was all we needed for a midnight snack at that time. Some more simul climbing on steep mixed terrain put us at the beginning of the crux. Conditions were still climbable. A couple pitches to the center of what we envisioned was going to be delicate but cruiser ice did put us in a vertical maze of snow that defies gravity, very compact rock and the real crux of the route.

As the sun hit the wall, it didn't take much for the beast to wake. We were still at least a couple hundred meters away from our planned cave. Little blocks of ice led to sluffs, and eventually to the daily avalanches. I was in the lead and within minutes, a few centimeters of ice became slush waiting to go down with my weight. Spare protections and a “delicate” anchor in this situation made the possibility of the three of us flying down into space a real thing. In this moment, as the wall started to get more active, the push to climb became the push to survive, our dreams of reaching the summit became dreams of making it out of this wall in one piece.

After a few impacts that thankfully only caused screams of pain, lots of luck and a display of all our skills and imaginations to rappel down we made it safely to the bergschrund. We were not fast enough and the face wasn't cold enough. 

The smells during the hike to Kyanjin Gompa were stronger than ever and our friendship was stronger than ever. Licking the wounds after such an adventure brings a lot of reflection, but this time it wasnt the time for a long cogitation about the last few days, although the wind was hammering at 7000m with speeds of nearly 80 km/h, and we knew that Langtang Lirung was going to have to wait for another season, but we were still hungry.

Those two days resting went fast discussing options, we wanted a different aspect that could potentially bring colder temps and a mountain we saw in the descent of Langtang Lirung appealed as a good objective. A day approaching thru the Kimshung glacier put us to the bivy at 5600m, we had learned that a party tried the west face of a peak that goes up nearly 6200m. This peak forms the end of the west ridge of another unclimbed mountain called Dragpoche. They had not reached the summit, but climbed the majority of the face claiming that the climbing was superb. The motivation was clear, finish the line to the top of the 6200m point and see if we could continue traversing the ridge to the unclimbed Dragpoche. With this goal, a snowy few hours in the bivouac, laughs and some protein powder we went to sleep.

The next day delivered a lot of the exact opposite that Langtang Lirung had for us this year: solid, safe and cruiser ice conditions. We finished the face in good form in the early morning. A couple pitches of unstable and exposed ridge climbing gave us a good idea of why the prior team decided to not continue to the top and leave that for another team. For about 600m, and with difficulties up to WI4 we had a wonderful day in the wild, the west facing aspect of this peak was just what we needed to leave the valley with the stoke set to start planning a visit in the future.

Reaching the summit was beautiful, the views of Langtang Lirung gave us the right farewell. We decided to rappel the face since conditions to Dragpoche weren't encouraging and we were happy with the day. The hunger was replaced for absolute joy. In the descent we decided to drop in the east face of Dragpache towards the Yala Glacier; partly motivated by the idea to see more unknown terrain and mostly motivated by trying to avoid the crevasses and unconsolidated snow in the Kimshung Glacier, a few hundred meters of downclimbing, a couple rappels and some hours in the trail from Yala Peak put us back to Kyanjin Gompa, just in time for dinner at Kaisang's.

Now back at home, gratitude with the mountains and its people, love to my brothers Roberto and Joshua, and satisfaction from the days I lived up there make me see everything with a new color. When one has experienced this connection with the world, it is hard to let negative energy take over in life, it is like a battery has been replaced at the deepest level. I’m sure the lessons will take months and years to be truly understood, but one feeling is clear: we left a part of us in Langtang Lirung and we have to come back to pick it up.

Some photos:

The east face of LL with our camp near the base:

The 6200m peak we climbed as farewell, the line goes up the big dihedral in the center right of the photo, the team that climbed this before us decided to name it "Burning Kharkas" (you can find this report in the AAJ or Barrabes, by Ibai Rico and Evan Miles), and although they didn't report reaching the summit, the name they used for their attempt is quite cool (I highly reccomend this climb to anyone looking for an objective of this character in the area):

 

Dhaulagiri - Spring 2021

 I'm writing this blog post with immense gratitude to everyone who supported our adventure in Dhaulagiri, to Tommy and Kellon for all their incessant work during the trip for documenting everything as close as a camera can capture reality and especially to Carla and Cory for the moments lived up there. Typing these lines brings me to the one of the ultimate goals in every adventure, the goal of sharing about an expedition that has become another turning point in this path of climbing mountains, and I do this with the utmost respect and joy.

There are many questions that have become important after that trip, a bunch of those surrounding the idea of believing in oneself and beating one's fears and doubts. In Dhaula I gained the opportunity to see inner strength that changed the way I operate today. This happened in the summit bid, when even without a summit, the reward of that day was a very unexpected and precious gift. After that season, a lot has happened, friends have left and the mountains have showed me new values and emotions. All this new events have helped bringing contrast and perspective, with the ultimate breeze of refreshment that has the realization of seeing how regardless of the outcome, every event in life is an opportunity to evolve.

In some ways these questions have roots in the spring of 2013, when coming down the slopes of the classic route on the north side of Everest I had the opportunity to see for the first time what I had only red in books. A moment of clarity that comes from the mix of physical tiredness and the acute mental state needed to survive at high altitude.  It was my first expedition to Everest, and we had decided to play the game without bringing oxygen tanks, trying to do all the work we could within the possibilities of a small team and trying to keep things as simple as we could. That minimal approach was for me the justification to go and pursue the goal of seeing how high I can really go. It was never about summiting Everest, it was all about opening a door that in the future could take us to the vertical world in the highest places.

As you can imagine, the unexpected became the normal in an journey like that, many things changed and changed us, and in the last days of that trip as I was coming down alone from the summit, at 7600m a storm was voraciously covering all the ropes and the path, then graciously the mountain uncovered a vision for me. Fighting like a wounded animal to get down to safety it became evident that this day was only the beginning, the clouds started to recede and as the stars shone above in the dark sky, as a mirror of this starry night a question started to shine inside: how can I take things one step further in that arena?. As simple as that, the idea of a new route on Everest became the center of the universe for me.

In that journey, trying to explore this new idea that felt like trying to explore a new universe, I met Cory, and together we unveiled some of the mysteries that this new adventure was hidding.

After an attempt with Cory in 2019, the beta, the experiences and the views of our evolution in the goal only strengthened the feeling that this is a path worthy of all the dedication, joy and discipline. The flow of life took us to Dhaulagiri, thankfully that flow brought a third member in the team, especially one that has been with me in some of the hardest moments before: Carla. And starting that expedition is when the tide brought the real hard questions.

Is normally during times of crisis and despair that fears and doubts start creeping in with a strength you didn't know those monsters could have.

After Cory decided to leave the expedition on the second day in base camp, my motivation to give my best certainly fell down. This loss of motivation was not rooted in experiences I had in my life before the expedition, it was connected to the practical fact that he stopped believing in himself as a value in this exploration, and hence his believing in the project hit rock bottom. A rope that connects a few humans in the mountains becomes a high tension wire that for me is not only the means to achieve some of the most glorious experiences I’ve had in life, it could also transmit one of the worst diseases I’ve been able to experience: lack of faith.

And that lack of faith is what feeds the demons within.

Initially after it became evident that the idea of the SW ridge wasn't going to be a realistic approach for our team of two, intuitively we moved on to the normal route as a way to make all the dark moments go away. Now I see that in the move from point A to point B, if darkness starts to make the path unclear, the worst one can do is to stay there and become a victim, the only way to find light is to move away, to keep the faith in that spark within and to just keep moving. 

The season proved to be a tough one and we got meters of snow, we got sick, we doubted our bodies and their ability to be at high altitude. Every time we reopened the route to the lower camps in waist deep snow, unburied our tents or walked kilometers of moraine that separated our lower base camp from the beginning of the classic route, the monsters gained strength. Fears and doubts attempted to bring us as far as possible from our essence.

It was the love for climbing what kept us trying. After a very tough couple days of breaking trail and giving a hard fight to get to high camp we were exhausted, weak and very poorly acclimatized since the mountain never gave us a chance to go high before that point. The laughs about the tiny eagle nest at 7300m that we were sleeping in, the camaraderie of sharing a tiny space in the middle of such a beautiful beast, the anecdotes of a day of deep snow and patches of hard bullet proof ice and the fire fed by curiosity were the elements that put us to bed that night.

We woke up and we continued with a clear idea: to not lose faith and go to the end of the journey. To be in the mountains and be part of that beautiful place. To climb as high as we could.

At around 7500 meters, after hours in the darkness trenching up in deep snow, when Carla realized that her fingers and toes were calling for her to descend and head to our eagle nest to rewarm them, a big moment came for me. My first reaction, given the intensity of the situation, was to call it good for both of us and go down with her. She is probably the one that knows me the best and she also understood that a big opportunity to get closer to my truth was unexpectedly just appearing in front of me. With some words of encouragement but also of clarity she helped me to see that my journey wasn't over that day.

And so I kept going up. A couple more hours of deep snow gave me access to better conditions, and with the sun rising I also saw closer the opportunity to stand in the highest point. At about 7800m, in the beginning of the infamous traverse things changed drastically. Alone I understood that the slope could avalanche off at any point, the potential of avalanches was a constant for the whole trip, but at that moment the risk went beyond that line that makes all efforts justifiable. I couldn't find a way to get in the ridge as the first ascensionist did and a moment of truth came.

A couple hours negotiating, maybe a little higher, maybe a little lower…

Going down is always bitter but this time it was also refreshing, I had pushed my faith more than I could have imagined and this push let me see some strength and clarity that became my gift from Dhaula after that trip.

In moments of doubt I believe that the first step is narrowing one's window to the most basic thing: the next second.

To me this has opened an opportunity to see my true essence in circumstances when the difficulties that one face take you far away from your truth. After many years of pursuing my vision of a perfect line or a line that pushes me to elevate and aim for the best version of me, I have seen that my truth, thought as that idea that is worth living and dying for, is not hidden anywhere close to the tops of the highest mountains or protected by mountains of accumulated success, my truth is dancing somewhere in the deep connection with the mountains: that moment when I can be one with the world and give my best.

Today I know that in the hardships of life one has to let beauty take over. Let the beauty of the mountains sink in and simply take over. This will bring the light to see all the circumstances as they are: just circumstances. And only then see through the fog and find the questions that encourage one to stay in the path. To stay in this path and maintain these acts of love and faith  as signs of proximity towards that idea that constitutes my escence, that idea for which we live and die.

Gangapurna 2022

ESPAÑOL:

En el otoño de 1988 una figura que sigue siendo misteriosa para los jóvenes escaladores ecuatorianos hizo realidad una idea que para algunos se vuelve la historia de una vida entera en las alturas: una nueva ruta en un pico de 8000m. 

Su nombre era Ramiro Navarrete, en octubre de ese año hizo cumbre en el Annapurna por la ruta que utilizaban Kukuzca y Hajzer para su descenso tras escalar el Annapurna Este desde el sur. Fueron los primeros en llegar a la cima por esa ruta. Lamentablemente su vida fue arrebatada por una cornisa que se derrumbó. Lo que hizo Ramiro se adelantó generaciones a su tiempo en Latinoamérica. 

Aunque su recuerdo se lleva en un puñado de jóvenes; como con todo aquel que perdió la vida en la montaña, yo siempre me pregunto: ¿qué hubiera pasado después si esa persona no hubiera desaparecido?

En noviembre de 2021, después de regresar de un trabajo guiando en Nepal, Carla y yo comenzamos a planificar el año siguiente. Como siempre tratamos de poner en equilibrio nuestro trabajo como Guías de Montaña y las ideas u oportunidades de hacer algo que viene de nuestras propias ambiciones. Fuimos invitados un día a una exposición organizada por un amigo sobre la historia de la escalada en el Ecuador, en una de las esquinas había una pared llena de carteles antiguos de algunas expediciones ecuatorianas importantes del pasado: la primera al Aconcagua, la primera a la cara oeste del Huayna Potosí, la primera al Denali… y así como llamando nuestra atención, en una esquina uno decía: Annapurna 1988. Expedición Internacional. Kukuczka/Navarrete. Ambos nos miramos y entendimos el mensaje, tenemos que ir allí. ¿Pero cuando? ¿Cómo?

Después de un par de horas de tazas de café y pasteles, decidimos que 2022 no sería el año para probar la cara sur del Annapurna, pero tal vez podría ser el año para una misión de exploración en el área.

Mirando los picos alrededor de Annapurna, la posición de estos picos y el aspecto histórico/técnico, decidimos que el área en la que se encuentra un pico llamado Gangapurna podría darnos mucho terreno para jugar y posiblemente un gran punto de vista para ver nuestros planes para el futuro. Poco después de estas conversaciones, Carla decidió enfocar el 2022 en continuar con su proyecto de escalar los 5 picos más altos sin O2 suplementario (¿por qué los 5? eso es tema para otro blog) y asistir a uno de sus dos últimos exámenes UIAGM. Esto significaba que no iba a poder unirse a esta misión de exploración...

No costó mucho convencer a mi amigo Jonathan García de unirse a este viaje: solo nosotros dos en una zona remota del Himalaya al final del invierno, justo antes de que llegara la primavera. Él había escalado antes el Annapurna I, con un amigo en común que ya no está físicamente con nosotros pero que su recuerdo acompaña nuestro esfuerzo en las alturas,  Alberto Zerain; y la idea de probar Marzo resonaba mucho en su mente. ¿Por qué marzo? Habíamos escuchado y experimentado antes, que parte del mejor clima en esta área llega en marzo. Después de todo enero observando el clima de cerca y algunos datos provenientes de amigos que viven cerca de los Annapurnas sugiriendo que diciembre tuvo bastante nieve, pensamos que un enero soleado podría haber llenado algunas líneas que teníamos en mente con preciosas y espesas líneas de hielo en los aspectos orientados al sur.

Una vez en Katmandú, el tiempo pasó muy rápido. A veces en medio de la agitación, a veces con el sonido entumecedor y apacible de las oraciones, este pueblo es la puerta de entrada perfecta a las aventuras más inciertas. Algunas cenas con amigos, algún boulder para mantener el cuerpo activo y muchos mandados: comprar comida para treinta días, permisos de escalada y los últimos detalles.

Mientras planeábamos la aproximación, decidimos no usar porteadores para llegar a la base porque la última parte de la aproximación es muy difícil y, por lo tanto, peligrosa para quien no está acostumbrado a estas andanzas, por lo que no pudimos encontrar personas dispuestas a hacer esa caminata en esta época del año, además de que no nos sentíamos bien presionando a los aldeanos para que hicieran algo que pudiera atentar contra su bienestar. En vez volaríamos en helicóptero tan cerca de la pared como el sentido común y las habilidades del piloto nos indiquen. 

 Entonces, después de un par de días de planificación y arreglos logísticos con nuestros amigos en Kathmandú, la idea fue más clara: volar el 6 de marzo a un lugar que parece seguro para Campo Base a unos 4700 m. 

El objetivo era escalar la cara sur, idealmente a través de una hermosa línea de hielo que nos hizo sudar las manos y brillar los ojos. En el caso de que la pared no estuviera en condiciones, tendríamos la opción de intentar acceder a la cresta Oeste desde el sur como una posibilidad para continuar con la idea de tener la oportunidad de ver Annapurna en marzo.

Después de volar a CB, nos tomó un par de días instalar nuestro domo que sirvió como hogar y una pequeña carpa de cocina. Las primeras vistas de la montaña no eran muy alentadoras para nuestros proyectos más ambiciosos. No se formaron todas las líneas que creíamos posibles y la única opción para la cara sur era la línea coreana que tampoco parecía muy alentadora por su sequedad. Empezamos a hablar más seriamente de la opción de ir por la arista O; en cualquier caso ese día decidimos que bien para una cara Sur más rocosa o bien para la arista Oeste, lo que necesitábamos primero era aclimatarnos un poco y explorar la aproximación a la base.

Así que el 9 de marzo fuimos a una misión a 6000 m para ver las condiciones y tomar algunas fotos.

Empezamos el día despreocupados, el desayuno y esa sensación de querer superar la parte aburrida y poder empezar a vivir en la vertical.

Aproximadamente a los 5100m, nuestro día cambió. Navegando enfocados en las aristas sobre el campo base, nos habíamos encontrado con un terreno fácil y divertido y estábamos hablando de la buena progresión que habíamos hecho hasta ese momento. 

Lentamente empezamos a tener nieve hasta la cintura que a veces era lo suficientemente profunda como para mantenerte atrapado por un tiempo luchando para salir solo para que pudieras dar otro paso. Después de unos doscientos metros de esto, riéndonos cuando el otro parecía atrapado hasta el cuello, justo cuando nuestro GPS marcaba 5400m decidimos que esta vez no iba a ser posible.

 Las temperaturas frías y la dirección de los vientos, además de la nieve profunda/facetada que encontramos bajo una capa afectada por el viento de ~15 cm, fueron suficientes para hacernos darnos cuenta de que las condiciones no iban a cambiar ni un poco en el futuro cercano o tal vez durante el resto de la temporada, al menos en el largo y comprometido acercamiento a la línea de nuestros sueños. Las vistas de una pared más seca de lo esperado, combinadas con las condiciones para llegar a la base, fueron la sustancia de nuestra decisión de volver a intentarlo en el futuro pero después de que el monzón visite estas montañas.

Después de unas horas discutiendo opciones e ideas, con el corazón medio roto por no haber podido siquiera probar la pared, decidimos llamar al helicóptero para salir.

 ¿Por qué no nos quedamos más tiempo? Este tipo de nieve tardaría semanas o incluso meses en consolidarse porque estaba cubierta por una capa considerable. Estas condiciones de nieve estaban presentes en varios aspectos (como probamos ese día) por lo que nuestras opciones de escalar otros picos para aclimatarnos y esperar eran extremadamente pequeñas, si no nulas. Permanecer inactivos en CB durante al menos un par de semanas no era una posibilidad, e incluso en este caso, para cuando las temperaturas cálidas consolidaran el manto, entonces el poco hielo presente podría haber desaparecido. El riesgo de permanecer en un lugar así, rodeado de seracs supera las esperanzas de posibilidades a mejores condiciones, tal riesgo no era justificable por tanto tiempo sin escalar.

Escribo esto desde Katmandú. Hace unas semanas, las mañanas aún eran frescas y los colores del cielo traían un tono más azul de lo normal a la vida. Hoy el aire es más cálido y eso significa que la primavera se está abriendo camino. Al igual que los colores en el cielo, algo ha cambiado en nosotros, cambios delicados que te hacen apreciar la inocencia de hace dos semanas cuando todo lo que importaba era planear, prepararte para salir de la ciudad, conectarse con la montaña y reír.

Indudablemente estoy muy triste por no llevar el apoyo que muchos amigos me han dado a la cima de un pico salvaje en el Himalaya; mi agradecimiento por todo el apoyo económico, moral y emocional que me brindan va más allá de las palabras y es primordial para mí hacer lo máximo con toda la energía que invierten en mí, con la energía que yo mismo he invertido en estos proyectos, es normal sentir que nos he fallado de alguna manera. 

Pero por otro lado me alegro de estar de vuelta con vida y haber tenido la oportunidad de ver esta montaña, visitar esta nueva zona y conocer mejor a un ser humano con quién ojalá pueda escalar más líneas como esta en el futuro. En última instancia, no hemos fallado a nuestros propios instintos y convicciones y estoy seguro de que, si la vida lo permite, tendremos otra oportunidad con esta idea.

Como saben, cada experiencia abre un mundo nuevo y transforma el que ya existe. Esta no fue la excepción, aunque esta vez ni siquiera tuvimos la oportunidad de fracasar propiamente en la pared, estoy agradecido por las lecciones aprendidas y la oportunidad de continuar en el camino.

A veces, las montañas que escalamos deciden poner fin abrupto a las cosas, me alegro de que esta vez haya significado retirarse y planificar otra visita en el futuro.

Cuando uno se lanza a buscar un camino en lo desconocido, las consecuencias de fracasar no se limitan a el poder o no poder pararse en la cima de una montaña, las consecuencias son la muerte, propia o de los que amamos. Entendiendo que todo tiene su razón de ser, acepto las consecuencias posibles de esta búsqueda, pero también comprendo que el camino es largo y la humildad de entender a la montaña no viene únicamente con los tragos dulces del éxito, viene también en los momentos amargos. En esos días es cuando uno crea y almacena el combustible para entregarlo todo a las alturas cuando el día apropiado llegue. Lo único que le pido al universo es tener la capacidad de ver cuando ese día se presente.

ENGLISH:

In the fall of 1988, a figure that remains mysterious to young Ecuadorian climbers cristalized an idea that for some has become the story of a lifetime in the big mountains: a new route on an 8,000m peak.

His name was Ramiro Navarrete, in October of that year he reached the summit of Annapurna along the route used by Kukuzca and Hajzer for their descent after climbing Annapurna East from the south. They were the first to reach the top by that route. Unfortunately his life was taken by a cornice that collapsed under his feet. What Ramiro did was generations ahead of his time in Latin America.

Although his memory is carried by a handful of young people; as with everyone who lost their life in the mountains, I always ask myself: what would have happened later if that person had not disappeared?

In November 2021, after returning from a job guiding in Nepal, Carla and I started planning for the following year. As always we try to balance our work as Mountain Guides and the ideas or opportunities to do something that comes from our own ambitions. That month we were invited to an exhibition organized by a friend about the history of climbing in Ecuador, in one of the corners there was a wall full of old posters of some important Ecuadorian expeditions of the past: the first to Aconcagua, the first to the west face of Hayna Potosí, the first to Denali… and as if drawing our attention, in a corner one said: Annapurna 1988. International Expedition. Kukuczka/Navarrete. We both looked at each other and got the message, we have to go there. But when? How?

After a couple of hours of cups of coffee and pastries, we decided that 2022 would not be the year to visit the south side of Annapurna, but maybe it could be the year for an exploration mission in the area.

Looking at the peaks around Annapurna, the position of these peaks and the historical/technical aspect, we decided that the area in which a peak called Gangapurna is located could give us a lot of ground to play with and possibly a great vantage point to see our plans for the future. Shortly after these conversations, Carla decided to focus in 2022 on continuing her project of climbing the 5 highest peaks without supplemental O2 (why all 5? That's a topic for another blog) and attending one of her last two IFMGA exams. . This meant that she would not be able to join this scouting mission...

It didn't take long to convince my friend Jonathan Garcia to join this trip: just the two of us in a remote part of the Himalayas at the end of winter, just before spring arrived. He had climbed Annapurna I before, with a mutual friend who is no longer physically with us but whose memory accompanies our effort on the heights, Alberto Zerain; and the idea of trying March resonated a lot in his mind. Why March? We had heard and experienced before that some of the best weather in this area comes in March. After all of January watching the weather up close and some data from friends who live near the Annapurnas suggesting that December had quite a bit of snow, we thought that a sunny January might have filled some lines we had in mind with thick ice lines on south facing aspects.

Once in Kathmandu, time passed very quickly. Sometimes in the midst of turmoil, sometimes with the numbing and peaceful sound of prayers, this town is the perfect gateway to the most uncertain adventures. Some dinners with friends, some bouldering to keep the body active and many errands: buying food for thirty days, climbing permits and the last details.

While planning the approach, we decided not to use porters to get to the base because the last part of the approach is very difficult and therefore dangerous for someone not used to this hazards, so we couldn't find people willing to do that walk at this time of year carrying the loads for an expedition, plus we didn't feel comfortable pressuring the villagers to do something that might harm their well-being. Instead we would fly the helicopter as close to the wall as made sense

So, after a couple days of planning and logistical arrangements with our friends in Kathmandu, the idea became clearer: fly on March 6 to a place that seems safe for Base Camp at about 4700m.

The goal was to climb the south face, ideally through a beautiful line of ice that made our palms sweat and our eyes shine. In the event that the wall was not in good condition, we would have the option of trying to access the West Ridge from the south as a possibility to continue with the idea of having the opportunity to see Annapurna in March.

After flying to BC, it took us a couple of days to set up our dome that served as a home and a small kitchen tent. The first views of the mountain were not very encouraging for our most ambitious projects. The lines we thought were possible were not formed and the only option for the south face was the Korean line which did not look very encouraging due to its dryness. We started talking more seriously about the option of going up the W ridge, in any case that day we decided that either for a rockier S face or for the W ridge, what we needed first was to acclimatize a bit and explore the approach to the base.

So on March 9th we went on a mission at 6000m to see the conditions and take some photos.

We started the day casually and relaxed, breakfast and that feeling of wanting to get over the boring part and start living vertically.

At about 5100m our day changed. As we navigated on the ridges above base camp, we had found some easy and fun terrain and were talking about the good progress we had made so far. Although we were telling jokes and the mood was easy going, I loved the focus and connection that we started to create.

We slowly started getting waist deep snow that was sometimes deep enough to keep you stuck for a while struggling to get out just so you could take another step. After about two hundred meters of this, laughing as the other seemed trapped up to his neck, just as our GPS read 5400m we decided that this time it wasn't going to be possible.

The cold temperatures and wind direction, plus the deep/faceted snow we found under a ~15cm wind affected layer, were enough to make us realize that conditions weren't going to change in a bit or maybe for the rest of the season, at least in the long and committed approach to our dream line. The views of a drier than expected wall, combined with the conditions to get to the base, were the substance of our decision to try again in the future after the monsoon visits these mountains.

After a few hours discussing options and ideas, heartbroken because we couldn't even test the wall, we decided to call the helicopter to get out.

Why don't we stay longer? This type of snow would take weeks or even months to consolidate because it was covered by a considerable layer. These snow conditions were present in various aspects (as we tested that day) so our options of climbing other peaks to acclimatize and wait were extremely small, if not zero. Laying without activity in CB for at least a couple  weeks was not a possibility, and even then, by the time warm temperatures consolidate the snowpack, then what little ice was present might be long gone. The risk of remaining in such a place, surrounded by seracs, exceeds the hopes of possibilities for better conditions, such a risk was not justifiable for so long without climbing.

I write this from Kathmandu. A few weeks ago, the mornings were still cool and the colors of the sky brought a bluer-than-normal hue to life. Today the air is warmer and that means spring is making its way. Like the colors in the sky, something has changed in us, delicate changes that make you appreciate the innocence of two weeks ago when all that mattered was planning, preparing to leave the city, connecting with the mountain and laughing.

I am undoubtedly very sad that I am not carrying the support that many friends have given me to the top of a wild peak in the Himalaya; my gratitude for all the financial, moral and emotional support they give me goes beyond words and it is always essential for me to do the most with all the energy they invest in me, that I myself have invested in these projects!, it is normal to feel that I have failed us in some way.

But on the other hand I'm glad to be back alive and to have had the opportunity to see this mountain, visit this new area and get to know closer a human being with whom I hope I can climb more lines like this in the future. Ultimately, we have not failed to our own instincts and convictions and I am sure that, life permitting, we will have another go at this idea.

As you know, each experience opens a new world and transforms the one that already exists. This was no exception, although this time we didn't even have a chance to fail properly, I'm grateful for the lessons learned and the opportunity to continue on the path.

Sometimes the mountains we climb decide to bring things to an abrupt end, I'm glad this time it meant backing off and planning another visit in the future.

When one sets out to find a way into the unknown, the consequences of failure are not simply being or not being able to stand on top of a mountain, the consequences are death. Understanding that everything that happens to us has a whole reason for being, I accept the possible consequences of this quest, but I also understand that the road is long and the humility of understanding the mountain does not only come with the sweet drinks of glory, it also comes in the bitter moments when your heart is broken. On those days is when one creates and stores the fuel that will make one give it all to the mountains, when the appropriate day arrives. All I ask of the universe today is to have the ability and humility to see when that day comes.