By 9:00 p.m., though, the weather was bloody awful outside – cold, windy, swirling and drifting snow. It looked like we were in the Arctic! The two Canadians and the two Chileans spent the evening getting ready to leave for the summit, but conditions were grim – it was hard to imagine how they could get very far. As it turned out, they woke up repeatedly to check the weather, but it was so bad they never did leave. When I awoke, it was so awfully cold – it was such an effort to crawl out of my sleeping bag and put on my ice-cold clothing – all of the guys were still here. Mario, one of the Chileans, had had enough and he descended. Mike, one of the Canadians, went back down to Nido to get more food and supplies, while his partner went up to 20,350 feet to check out the route.

We all huddled the rest of the day in the shelter, trying to stay warm and cooking food constantly. Outside, the wind howled and the snow piled up in deep drifts. Peter, the Englishman, turned out to be just about the clumsiest guy you’ve ever seen – he kept kicking over pots cooking on the stoves. The ones which used propane cylinders were the most unstable and produced a tiny flame, whereas the MSR stoves produced a big, hot flame. The day passed slowly, but at least there was companionship and good banter. Finally, it was time to sleep. For some reason, I tossed and turned until 2 or 3 in the morning.

Here at Berlin, all routines seemed to break down. I had stopped taking the Diamox, and probably hadn’t brushed my teeth for a week. In fact, performing all bodily functions was a misery. I learned that a Peruvian had been evacuated from the base camp with pulmonary edema, but had died in the helicopter on the flight out. A German had also died. Berlin is a grim place – much of our waking time was spent discussing whether to go back down the mountain, or wait for the weather to improve enough to try for the summit. Want to know a neat trick to last a month in the same underpants? After the first week, switch them front to back. One week later, turn them inside out, and, for the final week, still inside out, switch them front to back again. Saves the weight of carrying extra underwear!

February 15th – what a day! Rodrigo, the remaining Chilean, plus Mike and John, the two Canadians, left for the summit at 2:00 a.m. We were praying for their success. At 10:30 a.m., I was standing outside and saw Rodrigo descending the mountain back towards us – he was in a bad way. He made it all the way to the base of the Canaleta, at 22,000 feet, but had to turn back, as he was coughing up blood and no longer had any feeling in his feet. We did our best to warm him up, putting him into a sleeping bag and feeding him hot drinks. At 2:00 p.m., Mike and John returned. Mike felt he had hypothermia in his chest, and for sure a frost-bitten nose. That was enough for me! They were so strong – if they couldn’t make it, what chance would I have?

As I was packing up my gear and getting ready to leave, climbers started to arrive – seven members of the Argentine army, five Spaniards and Laurie Skreslet’s big group of ten Canadians. Full house at Berlin! That’s some big bunch of strong climbers – maybe they knew something I didn’t.

After having spent a week at almost 20,000 feet, it was with mixed feelings that I was planning to descend. I had given my all to this venture, feeling like I had done everything I could, and was now leaving without having succeeded. However, I was escaping the hell-hole that Berlin had become and was descending to warmth and good food. It was bittersweet.

I headed down to Nido, and Peter followed. The gear I had left there was still waiting for me. Daniel Eisenberger was there with two clients. He was a well-known local guide who was there for his 15th ascent, and he had never failed to summit on any of his attempts.

There was a dog with Daniel, a dog I had seen back in base camp. Its name was Makalu (how apt – Makalu was the name of the world’s fifth-highest mountain). This creature loved to follow climbers up and down the mountain, living off the food they gave it and even sharing their tents. Legend had it that Makalu had summitted Aconcagua over twenty times in the company of climbers.

I gathered up my gear and continued down from Nido. Once below Plaza Canada, I met some young guys from Andesport on the trail. They recognized me from the time I had spent at the base camp. I must have looked the worse for wear, as they seemed pretty shocked to see me. They said  “We thought you were dead!”. However, they offered to carry my huge pack down the rest of the way, so I let them. When we arrived at Plaza de Mulas, it was snowing. They invited me into their big tent for tea and bread, and while I was with them Peter arrived. He said that Rodrigo, the Chilean doctor, was descending, but very slowly. One of the Andesport guys went up to help him in. Once he was in, they took him to the Red Cross tent, where the medics determined that he had first-degree frostbite on three toes of one foot, and he still had no feeling in his feet.

Plaza de Mulas seemed positively balmy compared to Berlin, even though it was well below freezing. I had a great sleep, and arose late the next morning. It was then that I learned that a mule train was coming in, but would load up when it got there and turn right around and head back out to the highway. Since I wanted to send my gear out with them, I made the decision to pack pretty much everything into my big duffel bag and send it all out with them that day. I arranged a fee of forty dollars US and walked out of camp at 3:30 p.m. Oh yes, there were no more than 100 climbers at the base camp now – the persistent bad weather had driven most of them away.

The miles passed quickly. On the trail, I met Rodrigo, who was walking out in the company of another doctor friend. It was heartbreaking to see that he was moving so slowly – he told me that he still had no sensation in his feet. It was obvious he was concerned about his situation, but assured me he would be fine. I wept.

Miles later, near Confluencia, the mules passed me, carrying my bag. Peter caught me up and passed me too – back home in England, he was a marathon runner and doing the 26 miles out was no big deal to him. A bit later, I met some of the guys from the base camp Red Cross contingent, who were heading back in to the mountain. It turns out that they had escorted the wife of Laurie Skreslet out to Puente del Inca – she had been suffering from altitude sickness, and had made it back to Mendoza where she was doing well. A nice surprise was that the river crossing at Confluencia now had a new metal footbridge over it. Very nice indeed!

Once on the dirt road, I met a Chilean couple in a pickup, and they gave me a lift into Puente del Inca. At the Parador, I met Paula, Mario and Moti (the Chileans from Berlin), and Peter was there too. We celebrated our return to the lowlands of 9,000 feet by eating, drinking and staying up until all hours.

I slept poorly, because I was stuffed up from all the cigarette smoke in the Parador. A can of peaches I had left there on the way in to the mountain served as breakfast the next morning. A stroke of good luck – the Chilean couple with the truck from last night offered to give me and Peter a ride all the way to Mendoza.

Shortly after we left the village, we stopped to visit the cemetery for climbers who had perished on Aconcagua – it was a very moving experience, more so after having spent so much time on the mountain.

I walked around quite a bit and counted the graves of over 100 climbers from all parts of the world. The next photo shows the grave of General Plantamura, the first Argentine to climb Aconcagua back on March 8, 1934.

We endured three different police checkpoints on the way back to Mendoza. Peter made some snide remark to the officer at one of them, and for a bit I feared we would be detained. The lower we went, the warmer it got – by the time we arrived back in the city, it was 3:00 p.m. and it felt soooo good how the sun warmed our bones. It was hard to believe, now that I was back in the comforts of the city, that the trip to the mountain had consumed 26 days of my life.

To be continued……………………………..

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