Porter Fox Chimes in from Bolivia
Mario picked us up at our hostel (the president of Bolivia lived here in the '70s-a beautiful La Paz mansion with three courtyards and loads of balconies for $15-$20/night) at 5 a.m. in the Landcruiser, topped off and ready to head to the mountains. Over the next 10 hours we rode through villages and shepherd communities of the altiplano (high plain that sits at about 10,000 feet). Two in the front, three in the back, two in the jump seat in the way back where you had to lean your head to the side at about 30 degrees to fit... We stopped at a cafe at some point and ate steak and eggs and watched Germany beat Cameroon in the World Cup.
Two-and-a-half miles after commenting on how nice the paved road to the Quimsa Cruz was, the tar ended and we continued on a single-lane dirt road for four hours. The drive was painful, but worth it, as miners had built a semi-road to within a half-mile of our base camp at 14,500 feet. We began ferrying loads to base camp at about 4 p.m. and by nightfall, had set up. It was on a small step above an emerald lake and at the foot of four glacial moraines. A three-foot-deep, clear stream ran through the middle of camp, complete with a dish rock and bathing area. (The bathing area, unfortunately, did not get much use.)
After a rest day, we climbed to 16,500 feet and dropped all of our ice-climbing and skiing gear off at the foot of the glacier. It was great to see the snow, but sad to see how far the glacier had receded in the four years since the guidebook was written. It has pulled back about a quarter-mile in that time-about one tenth its total length. It will be completely gone in 20 years, and the valley's residents will go with it. The reason is global warming. The reason for global warming is pollution. (And anyone who wishes to dispute this I will gladly march up to this amazin' piece of ice-including the idiot currently kicking his feet up at the White House.) We cached our gear and walked back to base camp, pulling in just before dark to a great meal cooked up by our translator and camp guard, Oscar (who was packing a .22 Argentine pistolera).
After another rest day, we started our attempt of a first descent of 18,300-foot Korichuma at 4 a.m. and climbed in the dark until we reached out gear. Then we roped up and began climbing the glacier. After a while, we donned skins and made better time snaking between cracks and holes in the ice. Bissell Hazen and Ptor Spricenieks went ahead and were climbing by the time we reached the foot of Korichuma's 55-degree summit face. Wade McKoy and I continued skiing around the glacier to a vantage point on the opposite side of the cirque; we shot four rolls of Ptor and Bissell's hairy climb and ski of the biggest, most difficult peak in the Quimsa Cruz range. They were specks as they turned down the steep ice, and when they made it to the bottom, cheers erupted.
The following day, we rested and bought a lamb from a local Aymaran shepherd who skinned, cleaned, and delivered it the next day. Oscar dug a pit and lined it with rocks, built a fire in it, rubbed the lamb down with a curry paste, and then sandwiched the lamb between hot rocks and barbecued it. The feast was a scene. It was Lord of the Flies barbaric. We called the day Korichuma Day and plan on celebrating it from now on.
The following day was one of the best of my life. While Wade and Hal Thompson hiked the center of another glacier on Korichuma, Bissell and I climbed a somewhat sketchy, steep ice route to the top of an unnamed 17,700-foot peak and made the first ski descent of it. On the summit, we could almost see La Paz. The altiplano to the north was covered in clouds, and they smashed into our summit at around 50 mph. The clouds then shot straight up a 2,000-foot sluice on the north side and into the sky. It was an amazing sight; we called the run Bitch's Brew and skied it top to bottom in about 15 minutes.
At the same time, Ptor, Wade, and Hal made another first, skiing a peak to the east. The sun was dropping at this point, and bright-orange snow sprayed from their skis as they turned down the face. Bissell and I watched and laughed and screamed, and were so exhausted and excited that we talked nonstop the entire two-hour climb down to base camp. The rest of the crew walked home in the moonlight, and we held another celebration with the remnants of a bottle of Jack Daniels when they got back.
The final day, Ptor and Wade climbed the glacier again and Ptor skied a fourth first on a nearby peak while Wade shot it. The descent was one of the best of Ptor's storied career, he said. Wade proved himself, once again, to be an anomaly of a man: 50 years old, beating the kids up the mountain, skiing beautifully, and shooting pictures the whole time. It was inspiring to watch him work.
The drive home was equally painful, made easier by 12 beers we picked up in a tiny town near Korichuma. While they bought the beer, I played soccer with about a dozen kids and brought the house down when I pulled out the digital camera and showed the kids our pictures from the mountains. They yelled and screamed and three of the little ones climbed up on me. I carried them around for a half-hour until we were ready to go. Wonderful children.
Now we are back in La Paz. We had a double birthday party for Ptor and Bissell two nights ago, complete with apple pie and candles and flaming shots of something. The whole team arrived back at the hostel at 4:30 a.m. La Paz is beautiful. The presidential campaign is raging with hundreds of cars, thousands of incredibly loud fireworks, lots of banners, and many, many yelling people. We went to a soccer game yesterday in the huge central stadium and watched Oscar's favorite team, "Strongest," beat "Union Centrale" 2-0. It was a good game -- not World Cup, but good. We bought "Strongest" scarves and visors outside the stadium to support the team, ate strawberry frozen ice, and sang the Strongest "O-Lay-O-Lay" theme song while a man beat a bass drum behind us and dads and their kids cheered.
Wade and Bissell flew out last night. I think Bissell is rerouting to go surfing in Puerto Rico for a of couple days. The rest of us leave tomorrow. It has been one of the most amazing trips of our lives: a great group, a wonderful, peaceful country, and time in the mountains that we will never forget. We will have dinner at Oscar's tonight, say goodbye to all our friends here, and then move on.
Hope you all are well. All my best.
--Porter
P.S. This is really funny...a guy in a tux is handing us coffee con leche and empanadas while we type these e-mails. They are playing a waltz on the stereo...Ptor just said, "I feel like we should be in a hot air balloon."