To get the most out of this piece, be sure you’ve read the previous installments, Parts 1-4 on this website, before you dive into this one.

On Thursday, December 20th, I was up and moving by 5:45 AM. I passed the soldiers’ campsite, a cold and windy spot, with the unlikely name of Shangri-La, also known as Ollada Camp.

Moving farther up the valley, I passed over a small peak, the site of the last available water. 2 1/2 hours after starting out, I reached a saddle between Lomas Amarillas and Cerro Plata. I was moving well and feeling good. There were four tent-sites in the saddle at around 16,700′, one of them occupied. Even with sunglasses, it was dazzlingly bright.

By ten o’clock, I had reached the Vallecitos-Plata saddle. The views were breath-taking, but it was extremely windy and cold. Check out these un-named 18,000-foot peaks – spectacular. Then look on the horizon on the far right – that’s Aconcagua in the distance.

Here’s another view, to the left of the above photo. That’s Cerro Tupungato on the far left, 21,555′, as well as other amazing peaks at the head of the Quebrada de la Jaula

It was slow going, not because it was steep or far (which it wasn’t) , but because I was feeling the altitude.

Almost six hours had passed by the time I’d reached the summit ridge, and here is what I saw.

I was almost there – negotiating the ridge was an airy, breathless scramble, and by noon I stood on the summit of Pico Vallecitos, at 18,866′ the highest summit I’d ever reached. There, I took this selfie before I even knew there was such a thing.

This wasn’t the last peak in the range I intended to climb. In fact, I now had a good view of my next goal, one I would climb in a couple of days. There it sat, Cerro Plata, almost 2,000 feet higher than where I now stood.

I descended to the 16,700′ saddle, where I ate some lunch. The two young folks who’d pitched their tent there returned from their climb of Cerro Plata – it was their intention to walk all the way back down to the ski lodge that evening. After chatting a while, I headed down the valley and was back at my tent by 4:00 PM. It had been another good day spent up high, with 12 miles covered and almost 4,200 vertical feet under my belt. I felt good – the altitude wasn’t bothering me at all at this point.

While I was eating some supper, the two youngsters from higher up passed by – both were sick from the altitude. As I lay in my sleeping bag reading Aztec and listening to my little FM radio (great reception up here) I heard a noise outside. It was Laura and four of her friends (they were part of the CAI group I’d met at the hut eleven days earlier). The five of them crammed into a small tent, and we shared tea. We didn’t visit long, and I soon retired. They’d had a long day, climbing up 6,000′ from the ski lodge in one push.

The next morning, we all slept in late, then packed everything up. It was our goal to move camp higher. As we all set out with big packs, they informed me that they intended to set up camp at the Plata-Vallecitos saddle. You’ve gotta be kidding me! I told their leader I thought they were trying to go up too high too fast. In retrospect, I guess I should’ve kept my mouth shut – he told me he was a trained guide and I shouldn’t worry about them. He was probably right, but even though the climbers in these parts climb high and fast, moving their camp up to 18,000 feet that quickly seemed a bit much.

I pulled out farther and farther ahead and reached my goal, the saddle at 16,700 feet, after 3 1/2 hours. It took a while to set up my tent, in strong winds, but it was finally done and I settled in and got comfy. In a place like this, few things are more comforting than a solid four-season tent.

Hours later, Laura and her guide stumbled up to the saddle. I’d melted snow and had a pot of hot water waiting for them so they could make a quick brew, then told them to bring me the pot later, at their convenience. They didn’t even seem to appreciate it. They told me one girl was exhausted, another was vomiting and they were slowly ascending to the pass.

I lazed about all afternoon, reading, drinking, eating. I felt great, the others felt like death warmed over – at least I knew that all my time spent up high was acclimating me well. My hopes were high that I’d have a successful climb the next day to the range high point.

Please read the piece entitled “A Good Day in the Cordón del Plata” , Parts One and Two, on the early part of this website under “Stories” to see how my climb went the next day to the range high point.

My one-way time to the summit was 8 hours and 17 minutes. There were some very impressive peaks nearby – I didn’t know anything about them, but they certainly held my attention, as did the lenticular cloud over Aconcagua all day. Here are some photos I took on the day of the climb.

And here’s one of Tupungato, elevation 21,555 feet. It is only 45 miles away, to the west, in Chile.

The descent was easy, all on a good trail. At about 19,250′ I met Laura’s group still ascending – either they started late or were going very slowly. At their present rate, I estimated they were still three hours from the summit. I was finally back down to my tent by 3:30 PM, almost 12 hours after I’d started out. The others didn’t get back until many hours later.

I slept well, but overnight the temperature plummeted – my water bottles inside my sleeping bag froze solid once again. I slept in, not rousing until the sun hit my tent. Packing up was a chore, especially the tent, as the winds became extremely strong. The others left ahead of me – they’d had a miserable night, all suffering from the altitude. By the time I started down, they were long gone. When I reached El Salto, my campsite of a few days earlier, I came upon a tent occupied by three young girls who had unsuccessfully tried to summit Cerro Plata. Julia (19), and Gilda and Natacha (both 18) belonged to CUDA, one of the Mendoza climbing clubs. They’d borrowed all their gear from other club members. I really admired their pluck, and hung out while they packed up – we’d walk back down together.

On a very steep part of the trail just below El Salto, Gilda slipped and tumbled head over heels for maybe 30 feet wearing her full pack. We all rushed over to her, but aside from a few tears, she was none the worse for wear. It was a close call – if she’d rolled a bit farther, she’d have been badly hurt, or worse. As we continued down, I gave Natacha some antacids to ease her nausea from the altitude. It took us about four hours to descend the 5,000′, much of it in cloud, back to El Esquí Club. The walk back out covered 8 1/2 miles. Once there, 10,000′ lower than Cerro Plata, I felt like I could leap tall buildings with a single bound.

Jorge was there, as well as his family who were visiting him for Christmas. Also there was a man and his kids who’d driven up from Mendoza for the day – they offered me a ride back to town if I could be ready within the hour – I jumped at the chance and packed up quickly. My last item of business was to offer my heartfelt thanks to Jorge and lay some serious cash on him for all he’d done for me.

Aside from a flat tire, the return to the city was uneventful. Once there, over 17,000 vertical feet below Plata, I felt so good I was convinced I could have run up Everest non-stop. Since the hostel in which I’d stayed was full up, I ended up the next two nights at the Hospedaje San Fernando next door, clearly a step down. That evening, a girl I’d met in the Cordón del Plata (plus boyfriend) stopped by and invited me to her home for Christmas eve dinner.

The next day, the 24th, was spent running countless errands, principal among them being the permit to climb Aconcagua. The entire process had been streamlined – no forms to fill out, no medical exam – just pay $80.00 US and you walk out with your permit in hand. Sweet! I bought flowers as a thank-you for Flavia’s mother, then walked to their home. They welcomed me warmly, made me feel like part of their family. Rosa, the mother, is a university professor – to put things into perspective, she earned $400.00 US per month. Flavia’s older sister, Gala, is a fourth-year law student – she is so distractingly beautiful she should be put in jail! In Argentina, Nochebuena may be the most important day of the year to spend with family. After a sumptuous meal, they exchanged gifts, and even gave me one – a book by Richard Bach, Ningún Lugar Está Lejos, with a beautiful inscription I treasure to this very day.

We visited until 2:00 AM, then drove across town to a Christmas party of their fellow climbing-club members. It was good fun – music, dancing, booze – but by 5:00 AM I was so exhausted I couldn’t even see straight. My weeks in the mountains living a pure life hadn’t prepared me for such debauchery. They kindly drove me back to my rented room, where I grabbed two hours of sleep.

Still groggy, I packed up all my gear and dragged it out to the lobby. Just then, my friend Rodolfo Molesini arrived to invite me to his home to dine. I told him I’d have to take a raincheck, as I was heading over to the home of yet another climber I’d met in the Cordón del Plata who’d already invited me to meet his family and spend the night at their home. “No problem”, he said, and cheerfully loaded my gear into his pickup and drove me to the home of the Cangiani family. What a guy! The next, and most important, phase of my journey was about to begin – my return to Aconcagua. Had my carefully-orchestrated two weeks of climbing high prepared me? I’d know soon enough.

Please stay tuned for Part 6 of this saga.

Please visit our Facebook page at   https://www.facebook.com/pages/Desert-Mountaineer/192730747542690