Rombakstøtta for Xmas

The past two weeks have featured some longer days at work and the time available for getting out into the mountains has been limited, instead I've been discovering the painful variety of satisfaction which comes from interval skinning sessions on groomers.

Rombakstøtta as it looks on the approach.

Yesterday morning however, after 17 hours at work in the previous 24, I decided that it was time to get some real touring done and get myself a summit to stand on. Rombakstøtta, or as the locals like to call it Tøttatoppen, is a beautifully pinnacled summit only a few kilometres from town. Despite its imposing silhouette when seen on the approach, there is a moderate route which goes up from the SE and features only two short sections of easy climbing- no rope necessary.

The upper slopes of the local classic: S'et (photo from last April)

 I've had a growing infatuation with this peak over the past year, its distinctly jagged shape and proximity to town make it something of an icon for anyone who lives in Narvik and sees it on a daily basis. Contrary to first impressions of the peak, which suggest that it is too steep and rocky to offer any decent skiing, there are actually some great couloirs on its northern face including the famous S'et, a steepish line which twists and curves between some cliffs on the north face with immense views over the fjord below. I've skied 3 different lines on Tøtta it in the past and during the summer months its on one of my favourite mountain runs in the area, I must've stood on its summit close to a dozen times this past summer. Of all my time spent on this mountain I'd never actually stood on its summit during the winter (on another ski trips I'd dropped in lower off the ridge without visiting its summit) today seemed like a good day to finally remedy this situation.

Final scramble up to the summit of Rombakstøtta with the town of Narvik in the background.

Skinning through the forest on the approach was fast on a firm trail compacted by XC skiers and many weeks since the last snowfall. Up higher the snow cover was more marginal but skinning was still possible right up the 1150 metres on the summit ridge, to the entrance on S'et (which needs a little more snow before it'll be ready to ski). I left the skis here and continued on foot to the summit, I was glad to be familiar with the route when climbing the short dihedrals which offer plenty of holds which were hidden under snow. Climbing these moves I was so familiar with from the summer was great fun, jamming my ski boots in the wide cracks and wrapping my gloved hands around the juggy holds which a few months ago I was scrambling over. I topped out a little under 3 hours after setting out and signed the summit log. From here it was a quick scramble down back to the skis and some fun turns back to town before a classic Christmas eve feast and a few litres of mulled wine. A Happy Chrismas indeed!

There Goes The Sun- Nonsfjellet and Segeltind enchainment

Last Wednesday at 12:02 pm the sun set in Narvik and it won't rise again for another five weeks, but rather than using this as an excuse for not getting out in the mountains this past week has featured some quality ski tours.

Skiing at this time of the year in the supposed "dark time" is not as difficult as most people would imagine; with a decent headlamp and a starting time which ensures you make your descents between 10 am and 2 pm the skiing can actually be pretty damn good. The few hours of twilight which we do get every day are like an extended sunrise/ sunset, with lots of pretty pink hues, even if it can be kinda murky at times. And if you're lucky and time things right making ski descents illuminated by Aurora Borealis are the sort of mind-bending experience which lead you to actually start looking forward to this season with a strange sort of anticipation.

Skiing under an Aurora Borealis sky- a mind bending experience and highlight of this time of the year.
Photo courtesy of Markus Eriksson

Anna suggested an outing on Nonsfjellet for Saturday, a summit which neither of us had stood on before, despite skiing a nice little couloir close to it last year. We parked the car near a few farmhouses at the head of Segeldalen beside Grovfjord and soon found a narrow track through the woods leading up the valley.

Skinning conditions were fast on a firm snow base and with the help of some ski crampons we were able to skin all the way to the summit, 2:30 for the roughly 1200 vertical metres and 8 km from the car. The descent on the south face was a treat, with nice steep turns towards an orange glowing horizon. Unfortunately my camera wasn't coping very well with the cold temps and hence I didn't get a single photo.

There was an implicit and unspoken agreement that if we had the time we'd ski Segeltind as well on the way back to the car. This peak is a a 5-star classic of the region, its east face is conspicuously visible from Narvik as a steep looking and perfectly planar slope shaped like the square sails on old fishing boats. It has been on my 'to ski' list for quite some time and so we didn't waste any time in making our way over to the peak.

Segeltind is the distinctive A4 shaped peak on the left. This is the view from a window at home.
Photo by Markus Eriksson.

After a long but uneventful traversing skin track we made it on to the perfectly planar slope and got crampons on, not knowing what sort of snow conditions we would encounter higher on the face, but expecting some boiler plate. In reality we found the snow to be much softer than we had anticipated, with a knee deep bootpack making for a laborious ascent directly up the slope.

Standing on the long summit ridge, the light was fading fast, so we didn't waste any time in stripping skins for the descent. And what a spectacular one it was! With views of the distant city lights of Narvik being reflected on the fjord, awesome peaks framing the view and our turns in the soft snow on the roughly 33 degree slope being illuminated by headlamp. Spectacular stuff, and I'm bummed I didn't have a functional camera to try to capture any of it.

Total round-trip time including stops and negotiating some tight trees on the way out was 5:20 for about 1800 metres of vert and two new summits.

Back in Norway- a Partisan abortion

Since Marmolejo I had a few weeks travelling back to Norway: Santiago, Buenos Aires, New York City, Montreal and Stockholm within 2 weeks, I felt like some sort of jet-setting businessman except that instead of a briefcase I was lugging around a busted up ski bag and instead of a suit I was clad in a duct-tape patched ski jacket.

Arriving back in Narvik I was happy to discover that the the snow is unseasonably deep, with some early season storms bringing snowline close to sea level. In the five days since I got back I've had 4 tours, with a total of 4700 metres. The most noteworthy outing was today's attempt on the celebrated Partisanleden with Micke (the guy who wrote the guidebook for skiing in the area- literally) even though we ended up bailing on our intended route.

This is the view you get with one hour worth of skinning from town

After finishing work at 8am I went home for a quick snack then met Micke at the base of the mountain at 9:30, we skinned up the closed ski runs at a decent tempo, reaching Tredjetoppen in less than 1.5 hours. From here our first descent was on a few inches of dry pow, wind affected in many places, but surprisingly good for this early in the season.

A few soft turns from Tredjetoppen (the sun doesn't get any higher above the horizon at the moment).

Enjoying the view into Skamdalen from the top of Moskočohkka.

Reaching Moskočohkka our assumption that the snow was thick and firm enough to allow us to downclimb without a rope was called into question. With only a few inches of sugary snow coating the rocks in the steep sections, the idea of continuing seemed rather foolhardy. So we turned around, and enjoyed a nice descent down to Forsnesvannet.

Beisfjordtøtta as seen from the start of our down climb.

We turned around at this point because the prospect of down climbing this cliff band coated in a thin layer of snow seemed a little sketchy.

 Even though we didn't follow through with our intended plan, I had a really good time, got to ski some nice descents and got a good workout with 1700 metres in about 4 hours. Looking forward to getting back there with a rope and a few stoppers in my pack.

Last turns of the trip: Cerro Marmolejo

With only a week left in South America I thought it was time to up the ante and try to ski something a little higher than anything I've attempted in the past. Cerro Marmolejo at 6108 metres seemed like a good candidate with easy access from Santiago and more snow than any other peaks of a similar altitude.

Camped at 4610 m, the summit of Marmolejo is hidden by the snowy lump in the centre of the image

Its currently early November-the beginning of summer in Chile. With all the ski resorts having closed for the season over a month ago, after what has been called the most abysmal snowfall year in recent memory, I wasn't optimistic about finding too much snow. So it came as a shock to see that during the last month the snowline had only receeded about 200 metres. After a mere hours hike from the closest road (I hitch-hiked from little pueblo of San Gabriel) I was skinning.

A self portrait on day three just before reaching my high camp and just after deciding that being dressed solely in black tights like a ninja was perfectly reasonable behaviour for a 27 year old.

On the first afternoon at an altitude of around 2900 metres I was forced to cross a creek- having tossed by skis across its 4 metre span I was tentatively making my way across, stepping from one slippery boulder to the next when, in a moment of clumsiness that is likely to stay with me for the rest of my life, I dropped one of my ski poles and watched, dumbfounded as it was caught by the current and carried downstream and under a thick snow bridge. Despite spending over an hour trying to retrieve it: intentionally collapsing snow bridges and even going so far as to strip off and walk through the current in case I might be able to feel the ski pole with my bare feet, I knew it was gone for good.

Realising that having lost a pole wasn't really enough reason for me to cancel the trip, and also knowing that I didn't have enough time to head down to Santiago to find a replacement, I decided to simply continue on. On the second day it dawned on me just how great having two poles is, and how I had always taken it for granted, especially when you have a 20kg pack and are planning on climbing an additional 3200 metres...

This incident set the tone of the next few days as my mood alternated being 1) Being focussed on reaching the summit and skiing down from it, 2) Wondering what chance the sort of person who loses a ski pole a few hours in to a 5 day trip has of skiing from the summit of a 6000 metre peak and 3) Realising that I really ought to simply enjoy being in the mountains and not be so concentrated on the summit as the point of the trip.

I didn't arrive in my "high camp" until early afternoon on day three and made myself busy drinking tea, enjoying the views over the Loma Larga group and trying to conjure some motivation for an early start the following day. The afternoon was a warm one and lying outside the tent in the sun was pleasant, but in the same vein of self-deprecatory thoughts I'd had since losing my pole (see point #2 above) I started thinking about how perhaps I didn't have enough warm clothes for the summit push, especially if the wind picked up...

Immense views of the Loma Larga group from my high camp at 4620 metres.

A 20 second video showing an overexposed version my view from the high camp.

Sunsets from the tent never get old

My alarm went off at 5am, and after melting some snow for a quick cup of tea and forcing some oatmeal down, I was out of the tent and skinning up the moonlit mountain at 5:30. The past few weeks of living at 3000 metres or higher had paid off and I found that I was covering ground much faster and with less effort than I had on Taapaca. On the other hand the cold was much more severe than I have ever experienced in South America, and I didn't have any mitts or even spare gloves with me. By 8:00 I had reached 5350 metres, and if I continued at this pace I knew I ought to reach the summit between 11-12:00. The sun had risen long ago, but as I was climbing the western glacier, I was still in the shadow and wasn't getting any warmer. I continued up, crossing vast fields of sastrugi formations which varied from 20 cm to nearly a metre in height. I was even forced to put ski crampons on to cross a few patches where the wind had blown the snow away, leaving only blue ice.

If bottomless powder is at one end of the pleasure spectrum in skiing, then fields of sastrugi at high altitude like this would be at the other end. Great views atleast.

My fingers were so cold that I opted to skin with my hands tucked into my pockets, even though this forced me to slow my pace. My toes were starting to give me cause for concern too. I knew that once the sun was on me, I should be warmed up, but on further thought I knew that another 700 metres in elevation was going to balance out any warming effect of the sun. I made the snap decision that even though I was uncertain about how warm I would be in an hours time, higher up on the mountain, I didn't really feel like taking the chance to find out. Continuing on regardless crossed my mind, but just seemed like it'd be pushing my luck a bit too much, and besides the skiing was only going to be memorable for all the wrong reasons...

So I stripped the skins and high-tailed it back down to my camp, where I spent an hour in my sleeping bag before re-gaining feeling in my feet and hands. Then I packed up and enjoyed the rest of the ski descent. In total I had skied a little over 2600 metres of continuous vertical, not bad for November! 

I hitch hiked back to Santiago and by 6pm was munching on a piping hot empanada (queso y pollo) and sipping an ice cold beer (Escudo).

Skiing Taapaca (5848m) video

About three weeks ago (after a 30 hour bus ride from Santiago to Arica in the north of Chile) I headed towards some volcanoes near the border with Bolivia.

These mountains are renowned for their snow coverage being unpredictable, but I was keen to see what skiing in a high altitude desert was like... And now I know: long approaches, penitentes and incredible views!

Santa Cruz trail run

In a very rushed bout of researching hiking trails on the internet I came across what sounded like the perfect venue for a longer trail run- the Santa Cruz trek in the Cordillera Blanca of Peru. This was a mountain range that I´d been hearing about and seeing pictures from for years and I´m always curious to explore some new and exotic mountains.

Artesonraju- surely one of the most beautiful mountains in the world, as seen from the trail

The trail itself is regarded as one of the most popular in S. America, probably second only to the Inca trail near Cusco and some of the trails around Torres del Paine down in Patagonia. Hikers usually spend 3 nights/ four days covering the route which is "only" 50km, but which features some relatively high altitude with a pass at 4750 metres (15600 ft.) and never dipping below 3000 metres.

6:30am: feeling good and enjoying the views

I was feeling reasonably well acclimated after the preceeding weeks of skiing at even higher altitudes, but a little uncertain as to what sort of running shape I was in, having managed a total of only 8 hours of running in the past week and none at all in the month before that whilst I was busy skiing. I was hoping that all the skinning and bootpacks would count for something.

A foolish moment of losing the trail resulted in over an hour walking through these hellish tufts of grass

In all likelihood I realised there was a good chance this would turn into more of a "hike-o-run" in the steep sections and towards the end. However with the promise of some stunning mountain scenery and the realisation that I probably wouldn´t be in this neck of the woods in the near future I decided to go for it.




Idealic trail running for the last few kilometres to the pass- Punta Union

The crux of the trip, as is often the case in S. America it seems, turned out to be the logisitics of getting to the trailhead. I´d elected to do the trip in the "counter-clockwise" direction starting from Vaqueria and finishing in Cashapampa in order to get the climbing intensive part done early in the day when I was freshest. I knew that an early start was going to be imperative as the sun sets at around 6:30pm currently. Vaqueria was about 3 hours in a collectivo minibus from the closest town of Yungay, so taking the bus on the same day as the run wasn´t going to be an option. I knew I was going to have to spend the nigh in Vaqueria in order to get an early enough start the next day. The complication in this plan however was that there are no hostels or hotels in the tiny hamlet of Vaqueria, and as I was going to be attempting to travelling fast I couldn´t be schlepping a sleeping bag and mat with me the following day on the trail. I knew I was going to have to convince some local family to let me pay them to sleep on their floor or something.

 

Finally at the pass! 30 km of downhill from here

It turned out to be quite easily achieved, during the three hour minivan ride over from Yungay (which featured some phenomenal views of Huascaran) I met a fellow on the bus who knew a lady called Clara who had a spare bed and a few blankets at her house. I spent a very relaxing evening enjoying views of the valley and eating avocado sandwiches.

  

View from the pass.

I was up and moving at first light around 5:20am and walked the first descent in the murky twilight while I munched down some dry bread for breakfast. After this brief descent I began the 1500 metre climb up to the Punto Union, some 20km away. This early part of the trail was idealic with the sun rising and the few families which farm the valley greeting me out of their smoke filled doorways. There was livestock everywhere: cows, horses, donkeys, pigs, sheep, goats, chicken mingling together: usually in the middle of the trail.

 

Looking back towards the pass (in the far right of the photo)

The weather followed the same pattern of the past few days with perfectly clear skies in the early morning, then a nearlly 100% cloud cover would form apparently out of nowhere around 9am. Thankfully I was up early enough to get some unobstucted views of many of the big peaks in the area such as the staggering Artesonraju.

A few kilometres worth of sand and rubble whilst running along the lookers left side of this valley.

After about two hours on the trail I knew I ought to be getting some food into me to avoid bonking badly later on, and it dawned on me that most of what I had been able to buy in Huaraz (a variety of sweet biscuits and a couple sesame bars) was totally unappetizing. I forced myself to chew down some biscuits anyway, but nearlly gagged and was left with a bad case of cotton mouth.

 

Livestock were everywhere along the trail, there was even sign of them having been up around the pass

It was around the same time that I was struggling to down some food, that I passed a campsite and foolishly followed an animal trail which soon petered out and resulted in me spending over an hour travelling cross country before I re-merged with the trail. This error cost me quite a bit of time I´m sure, it also caused my shoes to get soaked when I was crossing a boggy section. I reached the pass after about 4:40, kind of annoyed with myself for having wasted so much time by losing the trail.

 

50km and 9 hours later

The following 30 km of downhill went much better than anticipated, I was able to run nearly the entire way, save a few kilometres which went over sharp, fist sized rocks and really hurt my feet which were shod only in a pair of lightweight “minimal” slippers (The New Balance Minimus 10 Trail- a review coming soon...) These were definately the wrong shoes to use for the outing and I`m paying for it with really sore feet the day after. They were the only shoes I had with me though, and I think the discomfort was definately worth it.
  

10 minutes after finishing- thankfully there was a small shack selling ice-cold bottles of Cerveza Cusqueña!

I stopped twice for about 15 minutes during the 4:30 I spent travelling down from the pass, to force some food down and change into dry socks. Given my navigational error earlier in the morning I´d given up hopes I had of finishing sub 8 hours and simply focussed on enjoying the trail- which I certainly did! I finally arrived in Cashapampa 9:06 after setting out, and immediately pulled up a chair in the shade of a small kiosk shack to recuperate with a bottle of the local brew. I got a ride back to Yungay in a beat up old taxi, stopping on the way for the driver to visit his buddies for a few cups of Chicha de jora (fermented corn beer) before continuing on.

Now I´m in Huaraz and about to spend the next 70 hours travelling by bus back down to Santiago-hopefully I have enough reading material to last the journey...

A change in plans...

(I thought I´d posted this several weeks ago- turns out it didn´t quite finish uploading...)

One of the most frustrating aspects of ski mountaineering in any foreign country has got to be lugging around all the necessary equipment. On this trip I have been travelling with: one swix ski bag (2 metres long and designed to hold several pairs of skis) stuffed to capacity; a 100 litre backpack, also quite full and then my 35 litre "daypack".

Ofcourse the majority of this gear stays in a hostel in town whilst I´m out in the mountains- but whilst carrying ca. 50 kg of luggage the usually simple process of navigating a new city and public transport is transforemed into a particularly sweaty and stressful experience. On several occassions I´ve actually been turned down by taxis, unwilling to deal with all the baggage I was lugging around with me.

A few weeks into this trip I began fantasizing and the idea struck me that I might simply take a break from skiing for a few weeks, leave my mountain gear stashed in a hostel in Chile and spend some time trail-running and seeing the sights in Bolivia and Peru. The abysmal snow conditions I found on my last ski descent of Taapaca in northern Chile (video to come!) were enough to convince me to take a little break and see some new places.

Skiing high

After the leaving the Las Lenas area, Mel and I spent a few rest/ travel/ organization days travelling to Santiago and spending spare moments filling our mouths with every item containing dulce de leche we could get our hands on. On Sunday morning we were finally ready, backpacks filled to the point of bursting we descended into the Santiago metro and began our "approach": two trains, three buses and one hitch-hike in a pick-up truck, which took all of 6 hours despite only being a total of 80km from Santiago.

This is what gear and food for a ten day of ski mountaineering trip in  the high Andes looks like on my back. 

Our destination was Cajon del Maipo, a zone which is incredibly close to the capital city, with corresponding easy access, but which has some truly awe inspiring mountains up to an altitude of over 6000 metres. The two jewels of the area are Volcan San Jose (5856m) and Cerro Marmolejo (6109m), we intended to give them a shot if weather and our short acclimatization period allowed. With food for two people for ten days our packs were heavy, so it was with great relief that after an hour of hiking we reached snowline and a camp-site for the night in the picture perfect Engorda Valley at about 2500 metres. We pitched the tent and enjoyed some beautiful albeit intimidating views of the west face of Volcan San Jose rising 3300 metres above us.

The mighty west face of Volcan San Jose as seen from the campsite on our first night- the summit is 3300 metres above us and promised a ski descent of 2900 metres!

 The next morning we left a food cache for the second half of the trip beneath some boulders whilst we were up on San Jose. Then we skinned up to the Plantat Refugio at 3130m. and dumped our packs before heading out for the afternoon up the “Directo Couloir”, a climbing route up the west face which sounded like it might be a spectacular ski descents, all reports and route descriptions I could find on the internet said that the crux of the couloir was quite steep- in the realm of 60°, so it seemed wise to check it out and see it with our own eyes before committing to it on a summit attempt. We only made it up the lower third of the couloir to 4100 metres before failing light forced us to turn around- the climbing up to this point was very mellow, never exceeding mid thirties, but the top definitely looked steeper...



Photo by Mel

The next day dawned bluebird and warmed up considerably such that by the time we reached our highpoint in the couloir where putting in a bootpack seemed more efficient than skinning, I was sinking in up to my shins. Combined with the lack of acclimitization I wasn't feeling too great by the time we reached the steep left hand exit of the couloir at 4400m. Thankfully the crux looked significantly easier than route descriptions had warned, it didn't appear to exceed the low 50°s and looked very skiable so, we decided to give it a go.




Photo by Mel

The actual snow was predictably straightforward   steep but very secure with an axe, and the snow was soft enough that climbing it without crampons never felt hazardous. The exit however posed another problem... From below it looked as though a short traverse left would allow me to break through a baby cornice (the term "windlip" is probably more descriptive) and avoid having to make a mantel move in ski boots onto the über rotten rockband at the right. However when I started heading left at the top the snow became very loose and unconsolidated the closer I got to the rocks.
Self belaying with the ice axe only offered support of the psychological variety, because the snow was so powdery, and I became more and more aware of the cliffs which were waiting directly below me if I were to make any mistake. Hoping that the snow might improve again in a few metres I began making what I thought was a decent platform for me to traverse on: tentatively compacting snow with one boot and the basket of my whippet until it appeared stable enough to hold my weight. I carefully transferred my weight on to it only to find that my boot kept sinking into the soft, almost bottomless snow raising my pulse and leaving a sick feeling in my gut. I looked down at the airy cliffs  below my heels and then up again at the rotten rock band and realized that though it was far from ideal it would provide the quickest way out of the couloir. I quickly climbed up to the base of the rock and stashed the axe between my back and pack to feel the rocks: a quick examination confirmed my fears that the area was a small choss heap of volcanic rock- frozen sand supported pebbles which supported mini-fridge sized blocks of rock, my first attempt at finding a decent foothold ended with a 20kg rock being set free and bouncing down the steep snow and over the cliff below. After a little more searching and testing and I finally found a few holds which seemed reasonable and committed to the mantle, one of the most terrifying and memorable ones of my life, and suddenly I was in the horizontal realm again.

Photo by Mel

We checked out the snow filled Mackenrick Refugio at 4500 and drank some tea before returning the way we had come. Skiing the upper section of the couloir proved to be much simpler than our drawn out ascent would suggest, as always the worst snow for climbing provided the nicest snow for skiing. And what a descent we had! The couloir was indeed just as magnificent a ski descent as I had dreamt it would be- long and sustained with pow up high and corn down low and vast view over the lower valley- one of the best views for a ski run which I've ever heard of.

Photo by Mel

The next day we set out a little earlier in order to get out of the couloir before it warmed up too much, and hopefully be able to traverse left and punch through the small windlip whilst the snow was colder and firmer, so as to avoid the loose rocks we'd experienced the day before. However warmer weather meant that conditions weren't too dissimilar from the previous day. With a bootpack already in place and being more acclimatised, however we made quicker time through the upper section of the couloir and the mantle move on to rocks felt a lot more comfortable knowing that at least the rocks had held the last time. By around 4pm we had arrived at 4600 metres- the altitude we intended to spend the night, and quickly found a flat spot on the glacier to pitch the tent- after some hasty digging and building some ghetto snow-walls we got inside and started melting snow.

The rock directly below the skis is the one which nearly hit out tent Photo by Mel

Our long evening  of snow melting was only interrupted by one bizarre occurrence  at around 6pm, we heard what sounded like a bit of snow rolling by, and assumed that it was one of the shoddy snow bricks for the wall which had collapsed. When I left the tent to get some more snow for melting however I noticed a big rock (about 30kg) which was sitting two metres from our tent, which hadn't been there earlier! Its track in the snow clearly revealed where it had come loose from a moraine about 100 metres away and rolled down  in an arc towards our tent, not with much speed apparently as it had stopped just beside our tent.. The remarkable thing about it was what a mellow slope angle it had rolled on, I had considered rock fall when selecting the campsite and thought that we were in an extremely safe and sheltered position- a flat area with a 100 metre slope at an angle not exceeding 10° above that .

Views from the tent during our 3 hour snow melting fiesta.

That evening Mel experienced a headache, not severe but persistent, which came and went constantly over the course of the evening- thankfully we had a few Diamox tablets given to us from a fellow called Nelson down at Plantat, these seemed to help and we decided to make decision for the following day in the morning. We had enough food and gas to spend two days at this high-camp if necessary, however a weather forecast which was calling for unstable weather in the coming days made us eager to make an attempt at the summit sooner rather than later. Peaking out the tent during the night showed nothing but clear sky's  so despite a forecast for potentially unstable weather it seemed likely that we would have a chance at the summit the next day.

My favourite photo from the trip: our high-camp just after sunset.
Photo by Mel.

It was disheartening to look out the tent the next morning and see wall of clouds to the north west which hadn't been there the previous evening. We were both feeling okay, despite a fitful night's sleep, and decided that it would be worthwhile to make an attempt on the summit, in case a storm settled in an made climbing the following day too difficult.

We followed the edge of a narrow glacier, skinning at first and then swapping over to crampons when it became steeper. Mel decided to leave her skis at around 4800 metres because they were feeling too heavy to carry. We made steady progress- about 300 vertical metres per hour up to the top of the glacier at around 5400 metres and I left my skis there, planning to hike to the summit without them. Not long after this the clouds which had been gradually accumulating all morning, started seeming a lot more ominous; we couldn't see the peaks on the other side of the valley at all and a strengthening wind was making it feel much colder than it actually was.

We continued hiking slowly up the slopes, which wasn't very steep, but was hard work none the less due to the altitude, wind and loose unstable scree which our ski boots would sink and slide in- two steps up and then slide one step back down. Mel's hands were starting to feel excessively cold, and the clouds around us were thickening with a light snow beginning to fall, so at an altitude of 5700 m, roughly one hour from the summit we made the difficult decision to forget the summit and start our descent. Within 15 minutes of turning around we were in a full on white-out, with roughly 20 metres of visibility and the snow fall had become much heavier. By the time we reached then tent again at 3pm about 10cm of snow had fallen and completly covered our tracks. Suddenly our decision to bail on the summit seemed like a good one.

Descending the mountain in a white out after aborting our summit attempt at 5700 m.

We rested in the tent for an hour and when we got out we were surprised to see that another 20cm of snow had falled during the last hour. We quickly packed the tent and got ready to ski back down to the Refugio Plantat. The couloir was overloaded with fresh snow and was sloughing with a vengeance and the poor visibility made skiing a wildly different experience to what we had enjoyed in the couloir the preceding day.

 The harsh weather stayed that evening, and the following morning we woke to see that the entire upper section of the mountain which is normally bare rock, was completely white. Whilst a little dissappointed to have turned around so close to the summit, it felt like we had made a wise decision given the incoming storm which would have required navigating in much worse conditions if we had started our descent any later. The new snow cover wasn't necessarily enough to ski, but just enough to cover the scree and make hiking in it very arduous, so we decided against starting a second attempt and moved our camp over to Valle Morado to enjoy some ski touring at a lower more benign altitude.

Hiking out through the Engorda Valley with the immense, freshly dusted west face of Volcan San Jose in the background.

This entire zone is one which I am really excited to re-visit in the future. The potential for ski touring and ski mountaineering is vast and varied, with everything from steep couloirs, huge open bowls and descents of up to 3000 metres! Definitely coming back for more!

A windy week in Camp Donkey

Just returned from seven days camped out beside the Arroyo de los Burros, in what became known as Camp Donkey. This base gave us access to a picturesque valley a few hours touring west from Las Lenas. We were served a generous portion of the infamous Andean wind- it blasted our camp constantly and on the ridge tops was strong enough to blow us off our feet on occassion. These strong winds combined with a rapidly melting snowpack meant that we didn't realize all of the ski plans we had in mind.

Still we enjoyed plenty of laps on the nearby Cuchilla de los Bajos in a variety of different snow conditions from windblown pow, to breakable crust, to boilerplate to corn. 

                         

The approach route alternated between hiking a 4WD track and skinning narrow strips of snow in a creek.

Evenings were spent beside the campfire, enjoying spectacular sunsets, smoking pipes and eating a variety of powdered foods.

 Mel farming corn early in the week 

 Celebrating a new summit.

 Photo by Mel

The snow was mostly wind hammered, however the occassional turn was delightfully soft. (Photo by Mel)

 Every day started and ended with crossing a creek, it wasn't any warmer than it looks. (Photo by Mel)

 This shot shows how windy it usually was (Photo by Mel)

 Photo by Mel

 Our main objective for the trip was Cerro Matancilla, however a lack of snow in the two couloirs on its south face turned us back, going to have to come back next year.

The last turns before arriving back at Camp Donkey