An excellent compilation of the complete trip from Mendoza to the highest point in the Americas is available here from Adam Helman. But, my story is a different story...

14-Janary-2006, Mendoza, Argentina:
I arrived in Mendoza, Argentina. My mission: an ascent of the highest point in the western hemisphere -- Cerro Aconcagua (22841'). In contravention to my usual, casual, throw caution to the wind mode of operation, for this trip, I would join the expedition of three experienced mountaineers (Adam Helman: mountain prominence author and maintainer of the County Highpoints website, Edward Earl: experienced prominence and county high point mountaineer, and John Spye: cardiologist and experienced high altitude mountaineer). Despite this cautious approach and my most earnest desires, Aconcagua would soon join the list of mountains which refused to yield to me. But for now, I revelled in the warm summertime of Argentina.

Our group had several last minute arrangements to make: food to purchase, gas to purchase, gear to sort, and permits to acquire. All these things were easily accomplished, due in large part, to Adam's masterful command of the Spanish language. For myself, I knew about two words of Spanish, "si" and "non" included! While walking around Mendoza, Adam, distressed over a period where I carried my passport and trip papers packet in my hand gave me a big speech on burying it in my pack to prevent robbery. I, the vastly experienced world traveler, felt compelled to tell him that in all my years, I had never been robbed. I think his reply was "that's like saying, in all my years, I've never been killed". Much later, I would remember this conversation, but not quite "fondly".

The Big Beast, 17 January 2006, Puenta del Inca, Argentina:
The first day of the real expedition began. Edward, Adam, and I ventured down into a gully to reach the 8841' (14000' lower than the summit) point. We then began the 12.74 km hike to Confluenza camp (at 3433m). This day was fairly easy -- so easy that we added some 6 km to the hike by walking from Puenta del Inca to the start of the park. But, I had already made a grevious mistake -- opting to wear my heavy hiking boots instead of my lighter hiking shoes. The size and seriousness of the mountain before us had convinced me that this was the best course.

I found the hike quite pleasant overall. The grade and temperature made for fairly easy hiking. For future mountain novices reading this trip report, the part before the bridge is very easy, and the grade after the bridge is much more strenuous. Also, it has been reported to me that hikers may hike as far as the bridge without paying either the summit permit or the three day "hiking" permit for Aconcagua. This is a great alternative for casual visitors who would like to get a taste of Aconcagua without the excitement of tents, mules, and two hundred pounds of gear!

Speed is always an issue that sits at the forefront of my mind when hiking with others, especially with a new group. At the end of the first day, I finished in 4:06. My time from start of the park to Confluenza was 2:28. This was about 15 minutes behind the rest of the group, and also 15 minutes behind the official park estimate (2:15). I felt like this was an ok pace -- however, when I did a more thorough analysis of the pace, it led me to an estimate of 9:36 for Base Camp (compared to the park estimate of 7:25). This meant that I'd finish almost 2 hours behind my group on day 2 by my best computation.

Confluenza Camp is quite comfortable, with running water (hot in the middle of the day, cold at night), food tents, and even "barracks" tents (your closest alternative to a hotel before base camp). Medical facilities are available, and I recorded a O2 blood saturation of 91% at this camp.

Base Camp, 18 January 2006, Plaza de Mulas, Argentina:
The day to reach base camp is the first serious taste of hiking on Aconcagua. I'll cut to the chase and immediately say that my time to base camp was 9:57, slightly behind my earlier estimation, but just about the offset from group speed anticipated. At the end of this approach hike, my group had clearly determined that the speed differential was an Issue, though they were by-and-large kind enough to pretend blissful ignorance.

This hike led up to the Horcones River valley, which entailed some moderately steep ascent directly above Confluenza Camp. The portion through the valley itself was relatively flat, although the stream lent its own difficulties to the mix. At one point, the trail goes along the side of the stream, against a steep hillside. This results in some "fun" rock-hopping along the stream bank. After about 500' of doing this, I determined that the other side of the stream (in the big flat open area) looked much easier to me, so I jumped over to the far side of the stream. Now, I was able to walk across the flat area, easily. The only bad part was eventually all the streams liked together and left me on a little island surrounded by 4-5 foot wide rapidly flowing (and seemingly deep!) water. I tried to remember junior high fitness tests where we did the standing long jump, and was (mostly) successful in gazelle-ing back across to the correct trail. I don't recommend this approach without extra shoes to get wet (which would have been "ok" given the temperatures).

After exiting the river valley, the bulk of the ascent occurs. This part is fairly strenuous, and leads to the ruins of the old Plaza de Mulas hut. Above this, the trail switchbacks up to an apparent flat spot. This is the required false summit. After reaching it, the actual base camp is still several winding (and climbing) kilometers away. I was glad to see the windsock on the hill above base camp, and then shortly afterwards, to round a bend and finally see base camp itself. For, by this time, I was in quite some pain...

The Hard Decision, 20 January 2006, Plaza de Mulas, Argentina:
The source of my pain: massive blisters on both heels. The one pictured is the lesser of the two. Imagine, if you will, one so bad that the entire liner sock was soaked with blood. One so bad, that the pain was enough I could not even take a picture. That was foot number two. To what do I blame this calamity. Those evil heavy duty hiking boots. A "gift" from my brother (for whom they were too large), these were slightly too small for me. Now, I've done a lot of hiking in them over the last five years. A lot. All single day trips. In fact, in retrospect, as I thought about it, I realized every time I'd used them on a multi-day trip, blisters that took weeks to heal had resulted. Ah, an epiphany, but neither the time nor the place for it. But it was what it was.

By the 20th, it was apparent the rest of my group was "ready to go". Plans were being reworked to accomodate carries to higher camps, which was necessary. But, a side effect was that rest time at each camp had to be cut (to allow for multiple trips between camps for carries). I had hoped that by simply laying around for days my feet would heal sufficiently to allow me to switch to my plastic boots (which had entirely different wear/hot spots). This was not the case. The bathroom was twenty feet from my tent, and yet I found myself painfully avoiding going to the bathroom until I reached the "bursting" point simply to avoid the slow painful hobble over that twenty feet.

My forced inactivity had also had other bad effects, robbing me of the ability to go out and get a bit more altitude to help acclimitization move its course. By the final night, I spent the entire night awake, pondering my fate. The "evil" legions aligned against me were many: a marginally slower hiking speed at best conditions relative to the rest of the team, severe blisters, and poorer acclimitization relative to the team. None of these were insurmountable, but with only one rest day remaining in base camp, I wasn't going to be at the same level as the rest of the team. However, as a team member, they would be "required" to assist me. It was important to me that my net effect on the team be positive. I, particularly, didn't want to do either of two things: (1) put myself in a position where other members of the team would have to abort a summit attempt to take care of me, or (2) continue at such a debilitated state as to endanger other team members. Against these two considerations, I had to balance the things which the rest of the team relied on me for -- luckily, in this case, those items were minimal and inconsequential. I determined that I would have to stay behind while the rest of the team climbed higher; the point of divergence in the team and I had arrived.

My assessment was that I need about another five days of near zero activity to allow my feet to come back into "shape". Given this, the calculus now became whether I could continue solo after this time. Our original summit window was five days, so if I consumed five additional days in base camp, I would have to cut days from the original ascent schedule to compensate. I considered the use of high altitude porters (porters are available to carry gear as high as Camp Berlin). This would alleviate the requirement to do double carries. However, altitude would still be an unrelenting factor. I briefly considered a push direct from a lower camp to the summit -- but I was already slower, and wouldn't be fully foot-healed -- expecting myself to make a longer, harder day than the original plan seemed unrealistic. Indeed, I needed to go the other direction. I needed a shorter, easier set of days. The only day of particular concern was the final summit day. I considered a planned bivvy at the highest possible point (the ruined General Peron shelter). But even this still left more than 2/3 of the summit day ahead. I could look forward to 3 days over 20,000 feet, and one of those a 8-10 hour day. I would have to travel light, which meant no tent, only a sleeping bag, in the tiny lean-to shelter ruins. Could it have been done. Maybe. But I was starting to feel like I should arrange for the helicopters to come get me with one of their big barrels in advance.

The mountain had administred some tough lessons. They were ones I had to learn and respect such that I might return in more "style" if not more "substance" the next time. The hardest decision of mountaineering (that to turn back from the summit) made, I proceeded post-haste to beat a retreat in the hopes of garnering some time in Chile if nothing else for this long trip.

Why Chile Sucks, Santiago, Chile:
After a single day retreat from base camp (24 km of pain which made me want to scream at every step), I reached the comfort of the Refugio in Puenta del Inca. I recovered there for several days, and enjoyed a fun day trip into Mendoza and back by bus just to get $50 in cash to pay my entry fee to Chile. I was finally ready to move on to Santiago.

My 2:30pm bus to Santiago did not appear for hours and hours, until almost 4:30pm. After passing through the check point -- which, humorously did NOT need the $50 I'd so carefully retrieved, we went down the steeply switchbacked road to the Chile side of the border. This part was very cool.

The ride to Santiago fades into the oblivion of dark and cramped micro-bus history. By about 10pm, we arrived at the Santiago main bus station (Estacion Centrale). This place was a mad house. So many people coming and going. A mad rush. But I had my plan. Take my 117 pounds of bags, get them checked into the Tur Bus left luggage depot and continue on with my day pack. I also needed to convert my Argentinian money to Chilean to pay for the left luggage since I had (unfortunately) decided not to do that at the border crossing so that I could make sure not to miss my bus further in. Frankly speaking, I felt that I was in a "window of vulnerability" while I had all my gear with me as it was hard for me to keep track of it all, and harder to unload it if I had to deal with a "third party action".

Upon entering the main terminal, I found immediately a currency conversion booth. Ah, part 1 of the required tasks complete! I converted the $50 into 12,500 Chilean pesos, put it all in my wallet, put my wallet in my front pants pocket, zipped the pocket, and put the velcro flap down. The currency booth fellow was kind enough to give me directions to the left luggage -- just across the main passage, down some steps, and around a corner. Easy. Or so I thought.

Not five minutes later, as I arrived at the left luggage counter, I determined that my wallet was indeed gone. In retrospect, I felt two "bumps" to the region of the pocket. I guess one was the velcro and one the zipper. I never felt the "lift" at all. And it was all done in the jammed hallway, where I was being jostled and hit from all directions by everyone else anyway. None of my other pockets were disturbed at all (they all had items in them). I can only assume that I was targeted and the game plan determined while I was doing the currency exchange. I salute the skill ... but back then, I had a problem. The problem was I now had only about 30 pesos in change to my name. 30 pesos isn't much.

I got to visit a carbinero (yes, it might sound like a chilean hot pepper), but it's actually the police. They said pretty much what you'd expect, "wow, that sucks, did you see them? no? too bad. good luck!" Actually they said it a bit more politely and compassionately than that, but the end result was the same. After about 30 minutes of hard conversation (the police in Chile don't really speak English), I managed to figure out the spanish word for Embassy and got him to provide me information about the US Embassy. He was even nice enough to give me a free subway token so I could get out to the right part of town. Unfortunately his directions were a bit vague "go to the subway station, it's about 2 blocks away".

As an American citizen, I always figure the US Embassy will help me if I'm in desperate times. 11:30pm, no money, no hotel, no credit cards, 120 pounds of very expensive luggage just screaming "please mug me and take my stuff". I counted that as desperate times. To their credit, I was able with pretty minimal formalities to get cleared into the compound, and talking to the duty officer. That was pretty cool. It was very James Bondesque to have an elicit chat with the duty officer in the middle of the night. But things went downhill from there. They wouldn't put me in a safe house. In fact, I think she almost laughed when I asked that. So much for my thoughts of joining the CIA on the fly! She did say they had some "welfare agencies" that might be able to put me up until morning. But they were all closed. They certainly wouldn't give me a few dollars so I could stay somewhere. The conversation wasn't going well. As she bid me farewell, and I took my non-cash belongings off into the night, I noted that "US Citizen Services" might be a bit overly ambitious. In fact, I didn't even have enough coins to call anyone in the US. It wasn't looking good.

Luckily, I had one thing going for me. I have one credit card, which I don't travel with, committed to memory. Card #, expiration date, even the CSV verification code. Now the challenge was to find some place that would take my card, without the card. Sounds like fraud, doesn't it? But it was South America, I was sure someone wanted my money badly enough they'd turn a blind eye to the fact that I didn't really have a card.

It took about 3 hours walking the streets to finally find a hotel that would do it. The good news was it was a decent hotel, I now had phones, I had internet connectivity, and I even had (gasp) room service. And all tied to this magic card that was safely sitting in a lockbox back in the States. Yay. I cancelled my stolen credit card and my ATM card (they got $75 on the VISA card before I got them). Bank of America sympathized with my plight, and promised they would overnight a replacement credit card to me "within two days". That was awesome. I loved that I had the fancy "Signature Card" with its "Emergency Travel Benefits". My bank (USAA) was even better -- they had a local Chile number, and they too promised a new ATM card in two days. Fantastic! (and all this for only about $175 worth of calls to the US... conveniently charged to Erwin W. Fletcher ... err I mean my card ... of course)

Now, I sat in my very expensive hotel, eating room service, watching cable TV, changing the dressing on my blisters. Life was good. I even saw some of Santiago. The free part. Someone asked me for money, I asked them to give me money instead. I was like the homeless except I had a home. Days came, days went. No cards came.... Finally, I called to get an update. Bank of America now changed their story, they said they didn't have any way to send cards to foreign countries, and that mine was sent normal instead of expedited. Evidentally to Chile though they didn't know how. They advised that I "might" receive it in the next 7-10 days. I wasn't impressed. USAA had no idea where their card was, but they confirmed it had been sent expedited via DHL. About this time, Bank of America also turned off my memorized card for "fraudulent activity". That caused another $100 worth of calls to the US. I know, I know, you're saying "why didn't you call collect like it says you should" -- have you ever tried to tell an operator who speaks only Spanish about calling collect in English. Trust me when I say it's a challenge.

After a bit more web surfing, I discovered that VISA USA does do emergency cash transfers for just my type of situation. With a bit of wrangling, I managed to get $500 wired to me. Now I had money, and my days were passing by --- so, it was time to see some of the country. I spread my cash in about 10 different places. Someone might steal some now, but at least they'd only get 1/10th of it. I converted my gear into one day pack (with basically some snacks and some water), grabbed my camera and off I went. Given my lack of gear, and my still not-so-substantial hikeability, I had to pass on the south of Chile (much more "naturally" interesting) and go north.

The Northern Beaches, Chile:
My travels first led through the beach communities around Santiago. The ascenteur-heavy city of Valpraiso was my first stop, where accomodations became a more reasonable $4 cash a night (with breakfast). After Valpo, I headed north, visiting the beach resort town of Vina del Mar and its vacation hotspot of Renaca (the coastline south of Renaca is pictured at right). At this point, I added sunburn to my list of maladies!! But the weather was fantastic, and I decided to continue northward. A short bus jaunt led me still further north to the final beach town of La Serena. The weather cooperated and I had very nice days in all these. I used the bus trips between towns copiously as either a cheap substitute for accomodation or a good way to rest my still recovering feet. The challenge was to see the world, but on my shoe-string and fixed budget. Because once I ran out of money, I was out!

The Far North, Arica, Chile and Tacna/Arequipa, Peru:
Leaving the beaches behind, I proceeded as far north as possible -- through the cities of Antofagasta, Tocopilla, Iquique, and Arica -- finally exiting the country of Chile and moving up into Peru. My bus journey had taken me some 2300 kilometers along the coast of South America. Peru is a different place altogether, much poorer, much cheaper. And yet, I found the people there much more friendly as well. As I moved inland, the coastal beaches seemlessly faded into wind swept deserts. The end of my trip was drawing close as such great distances can not be seen in anything numbering less than weeks. Soon I would have to return to Santiago, to meet with the others of my group, and hear their tales. But, before I did so, one final side trip remained, taking me to the famous Valley of the Moon, and San Pedro de Atacama, a tiny oasis in the middle of the Atacama Desert, the driest desert on earth. The scenery of northern Chile is breathtaking, but one must always sing the glories of sand... for it is everywhere.

Of Returns :
Pictured on the right -- a huge copper mine near Calama, Chile -- this mine is the 2nd largest in Chile, and measures some 10 miles across and over 4000 feet deep. For reference, the small little blocks on the roads in the picture are huge trucks, each carrying 150 tons of ore, and measuring about 40 feet high (I couldn't reach the top of their tires!). A quick flight from Calama brought me back to Santiago, and my favorite "I don't have a card" hotel. The funniest part is that one card did eventually show up, but the hotel returned it. Evidentally the long conversation I had with the person when I checked out about holding any mail until I returned didn't work so well in English, even though she appeared to understand at the time. By this time, it hardly mattered anyway. I spent the final two days with Adam and Edward, hearing the stories of their victory, and letting them bath in my envy. Oh, and I beat some guy at chess, the second game I'd played in about 25 years since I was in high school. And I tried to spend all my left over money, mostly at the airport buying expensive meals for $6/sandwich, much to Adam's amusement.

Overall, it was a great trip, the scenery of Northern Chile is something you only see in Death Valley and along the tops of mountains like White Mountain Peak in California, so it was quite different and enthralling for me. The long bus rides and the solitude of speaking no Spanish left me in a place where introspection and self reflection were the order of the day. The people I did meet who spoke English (mostly German and northern European travellers) were fantastic diversions and travel partners. But, at the end of the day, I have to say the trip would have been a lot sweeter at 22841. But, that, my friends, must wait for another day...