This is a continuation of the previous installment entitled “Part 1”. I wanted to mention at this point that some of the mountain elevations in the area described in this series are sketchy. I have used the heights as they were known back when I was there simply for historical correctness.
So here it was – Friday, December 7, 1990 – the day I was heading into the mountains for a trial-by-fire, a weekend of climbing up high very quickly. I’d soon see what I was made of. I got ready and made the short walk over to the bus terminal where I met up with several others. Argentina is a country which has an excellent public transit system – you can take a bus almost anywhere. For four dollars, I bought a round-trip ticket to El Salto. It was a 2-hour ride through pleasant country, taking us into the Andean foothills. It’s cooler there than down in Mendoza, and a lucky few have a summer home there, including the family of my friend Fito with whom I was traveling today.
The bus dropped us off at 5,740′ elevation and we started walking. In 3 1/2 hours, we covered 5.9 miles and climbed up to 7,580′, where we stopped for the night. The eight of us spent an enjoyable evening, ate a lot of food and talked, camped under the overhang of a huge rock called Piedra Grande. This was the exact spot where Fito, his brother Pablo and I left the valley and started up the slopes of Cerro Castaño back in January. This was a young group, mostly high-school age – I was older than most of their fathers.
The young group at the Piedra Grande campsite
The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, we left at 8:45. Our goal today was a hut high up in the Cordón del Plata. We followed a good trail all the way, up through spectacular country.
Quebrado de la Manga, from 10,000′
I remember seeing two groups of guanacos and plenty of Andean condors. It took me seven full hours to climb with full pack up to 11,700 feet, where I staggered into the hut – I was by far the slowest. I felt like crap, and swore I wouldn’t climb anything the following day. However, after an hour of eating and drinking, with no pack on my back, I decided that maybe I could try something after all. That evening, many others arrived – in all, there were 17 of us crammed into a hut with four small beds, which the cutest girls got – the rest of us slept on the floor.
The hut at 11,700′
The next morning, four of us got a late start. Even though I was carrying a light day pack, it was still too heavy for my liking. My three companions quickly pulled out ahead. I rested often, took lots of pictures, and kept eating and drinking to keep my energy up.
From 14,000′, looking northwest to Cerro Salto
From 15,500′, looking up to the top of Cerro Falso Santa Elena. Zoom in to see the white and red dots on the summit, two of my friends.
The guys waited over an hour for me to catch up (they were probably afraid to leave the old guy there, in case he had a heart attack or something) but I finally did. They said we were on a peak called Falso Santa Elena, elevation 16,405′. It had taken me 5 1/2 hours to make the climb, and that was as far as I was going to go. The others headed down to the hut by a different route while I slowly retraced my steps. The slopes were mostly talus and rubble. By the time I returned to the hut, I noticed that my new Vasque leather boots were becoming unstitched – bummer, I didn’t see that coming.
Just as it was getting dark, the group of seven from CAI (Club Alpino Italiano) who’d arrived late last night, came in to the hut. They’d been out for 14 hours and had completed a popular circuit up high, climbing Cerro Santa Elena (17,380′) and Cerro Agustín Alvarez (17,380′) in one push. There were four girls and three boys in the group, ages 15-19, and what they’d done was outrageous by North American standards. They’d started from Mendoza the first day, climbed the second, and would be back home on the third. Mendoza sits at the same elevation as my home town of Tucson, Arizona, about 2,500′, so it’s not like they live up high and are already acclimatized. In climbing so high so quickly, they break every rule in the book that I’d learned, and they seem to do it with no ill effects. They’re lucky to live in a place where high peaks are so close, their very own alpine playground.
Before leaving Tucson, I’d boasted that I’d try to climb all of the named peaks in the Cordón del Plata as a warm-up for Aconcagua – hollow words, I could now see. The next morning, the weather turned rainy, so I left with several others and we headed down. We took our sweet time, talking and enjoying the scenery as we walked all the way back to El Salto.
The group from the Club Alpino Italiano (CAI)
Once there, after something to eat, we boarded the bus for Mendoza. I guess the elevation caught up to me, because as we entered the city, I felt sick. Gustavo had the driver pull over so I could vomit on the sidewalk, then we continued on to the station. After saying goodbye to my friends, I managed to get a room at the Residencial Betty once again.
The weekend trip into the mountains had helped me to acclimatize a bit, I’m sure, but it was only a start. The Cordón had plenty of high peaks, but I had to solve two problems before I could go. The first was transportation – no buses went to the ski resort of Vallecitos, which I thought’d make a good base of operations. The second was – where would I stay once I got there?
Things started to come together. My friend Rodolfo Molesini, Fito’s father, had returned from his business trip to Buenos Aires. When I told him of my predicament, without hesitation he offered me the ride I needed. I had two days to kill before we’d leave, so I used the time wisely. A cobbler fixed my boots; I did laundry, then bought supplies for my stay in the Cordón. I figured I could find a spot to camp up there and do all my climbing from that base. In the meantime, I ate in restaurants and took it easy. In 1990, it was a real hassle to make an international phone call in Argentina. You had to go to the phone company building , tell them what you wanted, go sit in a booth and they’d make the connection for you. And pricey! My call home lasted all of seven minutes and cost me 24 bucks.
A couple of the kids I’d met on the climb the previous weekend told me I might be able to arrange something with the caretaker at the ski lodge. It was the off-season and the place was otherwise empty, so I hoped it’d work in my favor. Here in the city, I’m walking everywhere, so that’s a good thing. I could take buses, but if a place is within 3 or 4 miles, I don’t mind walking. The people here are really friendly and helpful. One of the girls, Flavia, invited me to spend Nochebuena with them after my return from the Cordón. I was honored, as that’s the biggest holiday of the year down here.
Thursday, December 13th – I’d been gone ten days from home already, but it felt longer. Since I was getting a ride up into the mountains, I didn’t hold back on supplies, especially the wine. At one o’clock, Rodolfo showed up with a friend. We then picked up his son and two other boys and drove out of the city. We passed El Salto, came to the turn-off to Las Vegas, and from there drove the last 16 KM to Vallecitos on a steep road climbing up into the Andes. We stopped at the ski resort (called the Ski Club) at the end of the road, at 9,850′ elevation. There are a lot of buildings, and the ski-lift starts there and goes way uphill. I met Jorge, who’s been the caretaker for four seasons.
Rodolfo and the others wanted to climb something, so we all set out and worked up a good sweat getting to the top of Lomas Blancas, at about 12,500′. It took us an hour and a half to get to the top. It was a chilly day, we could see our breath. Once back down, Jorge invited us all in for tea and toast. That done, the guys all hopped in the truck and went back to Mendoza. I went back in to visit with Jorge, and three others joined us. We had a good time socializing over tea and home-made fry-bread until almost midnight. Jorge told me to crash in a building which was a dormitory filled with bunk beds – I guess that during ski season, they really pack them in here. I had a huge room to myself, with a comfy foam mattress for my sleeping bag. Jorge told me that his boss would visit the next day so I should make myself scarce, but he thought it’d be okay for me to stay there after that. This could be the lucky break I’d been looking for – I was really hoping it would work out. It was surely a lot better than camping out for the next many days.
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