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Volcan Sajama & Huayna Potosi, Bolivia 1995 |
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In 1995, my friend Alex Stylianides and I set off on a voyage of discovery to Bolivia. Our intention to climb a 20,000 foot mountain, any 20,000 foot mountain! I had chosen Bolivia for a number of reasons: 1) Its very stable weather made for good, safe climbing opportunities which coincided with the main British holiday period. 2) The mountains provided straight forward routes. 3) The hills were within easy reach from the comforts of La Paz. 4) We wanted to go to South America. Things started off as they were to continue
for the next month; we got stuck in a major traffic jam on the M25 en route to
Heathrow airport. The next hiccup was the cancellation of the second leg
of our flight to Buenos Aires from Madrid!! Delayed 12 hours, we embarked
on the 12 hour flight to Argentina knowing we'd be stuck in BA for a night at
least. However, that didn't exactly turn out to be a bind, as the city is
teeming with beautiful girls. If only the Argentine government had
offered the inhabitants of the Falkland Islands an Argentine wife instead of
half a million pounds each, I somehow think the blue and white flag would be
flying over those islands instead of their beloved Union Jack. Reluctantly, we left BA and its numerous georgeous women, for Lima
and eventually La Paz. 24 hours late we arrived at El Alto international
airport in Bolivia, the highest international airport in the world, and were
promptly ripped off by our taxi driver on the journey to La Paz. If you
are intending to enter Bolivia through this airport be careful ! Don't
pay more than a couple of US dollars, and insist on going to your chosen hotel
instead of his mates flea pit !! After a good nights sleep we headed off
into town and promptly relocated to the Hotel Austria. It's cheap,
cheerful, clean and safe, we recommend it. For the next few days we hung
around La Paz undergoing a very rapid period of acclimatization. To help
this we headed up to Chacaltaya, the highest ski resort in the world at 5,300
metres, where we spent an uncomfortable night. The headaches were worth
it though, as we were treated to a cold yet magnificent view of the sun rising
upon our chosen peak, Huayna Potosi (6,088m). We headed back down to La
Paz to stock up on hill food and pack our rucksacks for the climb. We had arranged our transport to Huayna Potosi the previous
day from a tour company at the top of Sagarnaga street (good shops), We carefully stabilized him using the windshield as a makeshift stretcher and flagged down a passing jeep to get him to La Paz. As it turned out our fears of a broken back were misplaced, and it turned out to only be a broken rib, however, his arm was indeed broken and his head injuries were quite bad. We returned to our hotel bruised, battered and covered in Spanish blood, laying our story of heroism on pretty thick for some cute girls we had met a couple of days earlier.
The weather was
perfect. We made good progress up a very beaten track. As we
ascended the parties that had left so early in the morning were beginning to
pass us on the way down. I watched in amusement as some teams set up
elaborate belays to cross narrow crevasses that had clearly withstood the
weight of hundreds of climbers over the previous weeks. I suppose they
thought us reckless as we skipped over the same slots, although given how
shallow they were, they hardly seemed worth the effort to rope up as one could
easily climb back out (Things do change between seasons so make sure you do
have a rope for this eventuality). By late morning we approached the
summit ridge. Here I dropped the rope as there was a clear trench leading
all the way to the top. Although this ridge route is far from technical,
the 2,000 ft drop down the west face certainly made it a serious
proposition. After a total of 4 hours climbing that morning we reached
the summit at 1pm exactly, achieving our goal of reaching the magic figure of
20,000 feet. This we managed by
hooking up with George (Austrian) and Norbert (Swiss) who were able to lend us
a tent for our next goal. This involved a long bus journey across the
Altiplano to Volcan Sajama (6,542m / 21,458ft), the highest mountain in
Bolivia, which is situated near the Chilean boarder on the main road between
Potosi and Arica. Buses run twice a week between the two towns and
booking is advisable, although we found paying over the odds, or plain old
bribery, secures a seat! The bus from Potosi dropped us at a tiny truck
stop called Laguna at 2:30 am. There is absolutely nothing at Laguna, so
don't even think for a moment that there will be any accommodation. We
bivied along the side of the road (no problems after Huayna Potosi) and were
rewarded with a spectacular sunrise over the twin summits of Pallachata
volcanoes that lie along the Chile-Bolivia boarder. Laguna is
located 18km from the Volcan Sajama, and its village namesake. We decided
to walk in to the base of the mountain, as vehicles are rare on the Sajama
road, which was not as hard work as we had initially feared as the valley was
flat with little or no perceivable increase in altitude. However, as the
streams are all frozen at this time of year we had to carry all our water needs
for this first day. After reaching Sajama village we found a small shop
(not difficult as every house is part shop) where we could leave unrequired
equipment without charge. Keep in mind that these small shops / homes can
be locked up for days at a time, so when returning for the kit you may find
that you have to walk to the next village to find the owner and ask them nicely
to open up for you. After the 18 km in the morning we shouldered our
rucksacks and headed up to the mountain and base camp. This walk is quite
tough as the flanks of Sajama generally have no running streams, because the
melt water runs into the volcanic ash that lines the valleys and
Altiplano, so
we were forced to get as high as possible until we found a frozen stream where
we could melt ice for drinking and cooking. Next day we
That night we were invited to stay, free of charge, with a local man who reared Alpaca for their wool. We were served dinner that night and not to our surprise ate some ropey old Alpaca meat with a variety of unusual coloured potatoes, for which the Altiplano is famed. The following day we had to wait for the lady to open the shop where we had cached our extra gear. We took advance of this time to walk out to the hot springs that lie to the west of Volcan Sajama. These hot streams and pools are well worth the long walk, as we were rewarded with our first bath for about 6 days. The water temperature was 42 degrees centigrade - it was sheer unadulterated pleasure! Unfortunately, our hopes of heading back to La Paz the following day were dashed on arrival back at Laguna. The truck drivers that toil across the sandy roads of the Altiplano every day of their lives turned out to be a right bunch of bastards. They took great enjoyment in argeeing to give us a ride to Potosi on the back of their trailer (for which we said we'd pay) only to either leave us waiting at a given spot, while they cleared off, or watch as we ran carrying all our kit before driving off just as we were about to get on the truck. This was not amusing. We were stuck at Laguna for 3 days, slowly but surely eating and drinking the only cafe in the village out of all its supplies, while being surrounded by an assortment of drunks and unsavoury characters. Fortunately on the fourth day the twice weekly bus arrived. After initially being told there were no seats available, we offered the driver more cash only to find that 4 seats had suddenly become available. I have the feeling that we were taken at the expense of some locals with genuine tickets due to be picked up further along the route. However, my guilt about this was tempered somewhat by the treatment we'd received at the hands of the truckers. Due to all the delays we'd incurred because of our flight debacle at the start of our holiday, not to mention the jeep crash, we spent our remaining few days souvenir shopping in La Paz. While we hunted down the best deal for pan-pipes our friends Norbert and George were on their way to Illimani. Never mind, it gives me the excuse to return again soon.
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and
were picked up on time from our hotel. Two Spanish climbers were also in
the jeep with us, as we started the one hour journey to the base of the
mountain. Things went well until we were in sight of the mountain
base. Our driver who had been watching another Toyota Landcruiser
disappearing away into the distance for the past 10 minutes, suffered a rush of
blood and by putting his foot down, lost control of the vehicle. We
swerved back and forth across the road before sliding sideways off the road and
completing one and a half turns with pike before coming to a halt upside
down. I pushed the rucksacks off me that had been thrown around during
our spill, and crawled out of the side window of the
Landcruiser. The
sounds of a man crying in pain made me feel sick. We were in the middle
of nowhere and it was going to be up to us to do something about it. One of the
Spanish chaps had got badly hurt and was wedged in the window frame of the
front passenger door. After extracting him from an awful position I set
about bandaging some bad gashes to his head and arms. It was clear he had
probably seriously injured his back and had broken his arm.
and continuous
brewing. I needn't have worried about dehydrating as after a few hours
sleep I awoke bursting for a pee, "that's a good sign", I thought. Hoare
frost showered down into my sleeping bag from the inside of my goretex bivi bag
as I struggled to get the combined bags down far enough to urinate (a few years
later I learned the ways of the pee bottle and never looked back). It was
-15 degrees centigrade, I finished my business quickly and clambered back into
the warmth, smug with the thought that we were doing this hill in a pure manner
(I'd obviously been reading too many books, and hadn't hear the saying "any
fool can be uncomfortable"). We heard the others leave in the small hours
of the morning but followed the advice of an Austrian climber who said that a
late start was not a problem as the snow did not degenerate that badly.
Therefore, we awoke at sunrise, had our breakfast, packed our rucksacks which
we were to leave behind, and carrying only a rope set off for the
summit. 
The summit is very satisfying as it is a
small snowy point at the apex of the ridge, which is too small and unstable to
stand on. Using a wide angle lens I managed to take the summit shots of
Alex waering one of our old university 'T'-shirts, before having a
Snickers bar and some juice. We sat and marvelled at the view for about
half an hour before the afternoon clouds began to close in. This snapped
us out of our daydream and sent us scuttling down the ridge and back to Campo
Argentino. We arrived at the camp and too our relief our rucksacks were
still there (thieves are not uncommon at this camp, with locals raiding the
tents in the early morning when climbers are on the hill). We continued
down the mountain at all haste not wishing to tackle the rock strewn lower
glaciers in the dark. This we achieved, just, and only had to walk along
the water conduits around the base of the mountain in the dark until we reached
the refugio. Hot tea and some food was provide by the mountain hut.
However, what should have been a perfect nights' sleep was ruined for me by my
sleeping bag being damp from the previous night's bivi. This should
certainly be taken into consideration when deciding whether to go light or take
a tent. We both swore that on the next mountain we'd get hold of a
tent. 
depoted our excess food and more equipment (all
luxuries were abandoned), and headed up the northwest ridge of the mountain to
high camp at 5,800m. The climb to high camp involves an endless ascent of
loose and at times steep scree. On the way up I had the dubious pleasure
of sharing a narrow ledge for a crap with our Austrian companion George.
Although it was a superb place for a scenic view, I prefer to dump in solitude.
Oh well, that's another taboo broken I suppose! Anyway, high camp is
situated on a narrow ledge adjacent to a prominent notch on the NW ridge with
space for about 4 tents. As with the rest of the mountain water was
gained from melting ice or snow, although with each year the distance one has
to travel to collect this ice is increasing. After a mug full of
cuppa-soup and some noodles we savoured the sunset and our spectacular
setting. The rich brown, red and yellow colours of the volcanic rocks
combined with the ebbing warmth of the setting sun to temporally take the edge
off the frigid air temperature. However, we were soon forced into our
sleeping bags, and with inner boots and damp socks safely tucked into my bag, I
drifted off into a fitful high altitude sleep. As was typical for this
trip we woke late, well after another group and left for the summit, and a
quick couple of mugs of coca tea and some soup we also headed up the ridge to
the base of a long mixed gully that lead to the upper glacier.
Although this gully is merely a awkward rock scramble, with the addition of
some steep snow, a combination of the biting cold on my fingers, delicate
edging in plastic boots, the altitude and more importantly the huge drop down
the west face of the mountain, made my ascent a little unpleasant. Once
the gully had been climbed the grunt to the top started. 
The hardest section of the glacial slopes
was a surreal section of water ice, which defended the upper slopes of the
mountain for about 200m. This water ice had melted and frozen repeatedly
over innumerable years to form a series of steps about 1 to 1.5m in height that
were coated in long icicles. This section really drained my energy.
In hindsight, it may have been easier to avoid this section by traversing out
onto steeper snow overhanging the west face, although at the time I figured
that it may be hard work but at least I can sit down without worrying about me
or my rucksack sliding off the mountain. The final couple of hundred metres
were straight forward enough, just a matter of slogging on up.
Unfortunately, I was completely spent and was getting slower and slower.
Our pre-arranged turn back time in the event we were short of the summit was
2pm and it was 5 minutes to go. I looked up the slope. No sign of
the others and no sight of the summit. "Shit" I thought. 
convex nature of the slope and
the flat top of the summit, I was about 10 minutes from the top. Norbert
shouldered my empty rucksack and despite the fact that I'd only been relieved
of about 2 kg, we sped up the final few metres and across the flat expanse that
is the summit of Sajama. It's amazing how the body can be fooled by one's
mind in such circumstances. The views were immense as Sajama stands
virtually alone like a sentinel in this part of the Altiplano. I
marvelled also at the story we'd been told of a team of scientists who had
lived on this summit for 10 days, while collecting ice cores of palaeoclimate
studies ! Its a shame that the same people have spoilt the summit of this great
mountain by subsequently installing a huge automatic weather system in 1996
(click here for a 
After the obligatory summit photos we headed down the icy
slopes as quickly as was safe. The section of stepped water ice was even
worse on the way down, if that's possible. My tired knees and legs
buckled frequently as I jumped from one step to the next. Having exited
the last steps of this torturous route, my thoughts shifted to descending the
gully, it was getting late and the snow would be soft. On reaching
the gully we were not disappointed. With feet sinking through rotten,
soft snow I opted to slip my harness on and get belayed down until I reached
the safety of the main rock outcrops. It was getting dark, and cold,
while I waited for the others to join me at me awkward stance. Once we
were all assembled we were forced to edge, slip and throw ourselves down the
remain rock sections so as to get to the top of the giant scree slope before
darkness. This I managed by sliding down the final section of gravel
covered ice and arresting my slide by catching a piton strategically placed by
a previous party at the base of the gully. For the next 15 minutes we
enjoyed a great scree run down to high camp, and a cup of coca tea and the
ubiquitous cuppa-soup and noodles. That night we sleep like logs despite
spending our second night at almost 6,000m. The final day of the descent
was a tiresome scree slope, and a dusty walk before picking up our food and kit
cache at base camp. We all managed to scoff down a couple of chocolate
bars before heading off to the Sajama road where we were lucky enough to hitch
a lift back to Sajama village. 