Travelling with JD

Here is a short video about my travels I edited along with my brother the other day. Hope you enjoy it!

Second Ascent

“Perseverance is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did.” – Newt Gingrich

Five days after coming back from the Iztaccihuatl, I re-packed my backpack, put on my boots and left early in the morning to the bus station, back to Amecameca. I was determined to reach the summit this time.
I arrived to Ameca around 9am. I soon realized it would be more complicated to reach La Joya than I thought. Taxis charge around 200 pesos or more, and the collective taxis only go if you have a larger group. So I started walking and streched out my arm with my thumb out, hoping for a ride. Within a couple of minutes a pickup truck gave me a ride a few kilometers down the road to the intersection where the road bends to the left to go up the mountain. I hadn’t walked 100 meters when a minivan stopped to give me a ride. A lovely family was going up to El Paso de Cortés for a day trip and were kind enough to bring me up. Within half an hour up the winding road we reached El Paso. I bought my pass and started walking up the dirt road that leads to La Joya.

I was munching on some bread when two hungry dogs started following me, wagging their tails, anxiously awaiting whatever I gave to them. After a couple of kilometers an SUV came up from behind and the passengers were kind enough to give me a ride. So I threw my backpack up on the roof and hopped in. Soon we arrived at La Joya and I started my ascent. I noticed that this time the place seemed empty, but I continued to climb nonetheless. I reached the first pass within an hour and rested there a few minutes before continuing on.

Starting the ascent

There was less snow than last week, but the air was chilly. I was thouroughly enjoying the mountain, lost in my thoughts or simply enjoying the silence radiating from the scenery when I reached the second pass. I rested a little and kept going. Along the way a passed a couple coming down from a day trip. They told me there was a man going up ahead of me who planned on reaching the top also. “Good”, I thought, “I won’t be alone”. Soon I saw the lone figure of a man, slowly making his way up the mountain. I reached him just about the same time we arrived to the third pass. Only two hours had passed since I started the climb, I was happy with my progress. We sat down behind some rocks, away from the wind to rest a bit. I shared a Snickers bar with the man and we started to chat. I learned that today was his birthday. His 75th birthday! I congratulated him on his birthday and for the fact that at 75 years of age he still had it in him to climb a mountain! I asked him his name and he replied “Como el volcán” (Like the volcano) pointing his index finger towards the Popocatépetl. “Don Goyo” is the nickname of the Popocatépetl mountain, and this don Goyo seemed just as mystical as the mountain, the way he talked about the Iztaccihuatl, of his love for the mountain, how she could be unforgivable at times and how she could be peaceful for the soul. Maybe this is the soul of the grieving Popocatépetl that comes periodically to the Iztaccihuatl, his lover, to see that she is well taken care of, I thought.

At the third pass 2 hours into the climb.

Soon we were on our way again. Don Goyo told me of a shorter and more scenic route to the refuge, up a ridge and into the other side. I took his route and went ahead of Don Goyo, he said that at his age he was in no hurry to reach the destination in record times. Anyhow he was here to enjoy the view and meditate on his life. So I went ahead up the ridge. The view from up there was definitely better that from the trail that went along the side of the ridge from below. After about an hour of happily walking along the ridge I reached the refuge at 4830m. It had taken me 3 hours to climb what we did in almost 7 last week.

I went into the solitary refuge and put down my backpack, pulled out my sleeping bag and waited. About half an hour later Don Goyo arrived. The wind had picked up and clouds were approaching. We took out some food and started eating. It immediately became apparent that Don Goyo has much more experience in mountain climbing than me: he pulled out his gas canister and prepared us a hot chocolate. The stuff brings back the life into your body, no kidding! The wind kept picking up and the small refuge squeaked as though it was fighting for its life. Don Goyo wisely remarked that tomorrow the weather would not be auspicious for a climb to the top. Too much wind he said, and the clouds would prevent me from seeing anything he added. He also said he would not try to climb to the top. That sort of dissapointed me, since I was looking forward to having some experienced company with me to the top, and I secretly wished the weather would calm down in the morning. A small group of Germans and two Americans arrived, they were coming from the top and were resting a while before making their way down before sunset.

My boots and I watching the sunset

The sunset was marvelous, but I was too cold to get out of my sleeping bag to admire it from outside, so I just looked out the window. Soon darkness covered the mountain, and with the wind blowing through the cracks, solitude also seemed to envelop us.
The next hours were spent trying to sleep, but the cold was bitter and I could not figure a way to warm my toes. I still managed to doze off, only to wake up barely feeling my feet. Don Goyo also seemed to have a restless night. He shared with me a trick, he told me to wrap my sleeping bag with the foamy sheets that were on the wooden boards that served as our beds. That seemed to work, and soon my feet were warm enough for me to doze off. Later in the night Don Goyo got up and prepared us another hot chocolate to warm up our frigid bodies. At 2am I looked outside through the window. The weather was still horrible. I was debating wether to attempt the climb or not. The words of Don Goyo about being pushed off the upper ridge by the wind came back to mind. Maybe this is not my day I thought. So I stayed.

When the sun came up around 5.30am I got up and went out tu survey the view. The wind was still blowing strong, but the clouds didn’t seem so bad up on top. I decided to try my luck. The mountain looks less menacing during the day. So up I went up the steep incline, struggling against the loose rocks. The wind was restless, so I followed what looked like an alternative way up covered from the wind by a small ridge. All went well at first, but soon I found that this was a very slippery way up, full of loose volcanic rock. I had to go through a few narrowing experiences before reaching the ridge. The wind didn’t make things easier. Then, just as Don Goyo said, the clouds covered the top and I couldn’t see much. The wind was so strong it was blowing the snot out of my nose. So I decided for the side of reason and decided not to keep going. Not having been to the top before and not knowing the route to follow, the poor visibility, the strong winds which could easily push me off the slipery glacier on top of the mountain and the fact that I was all alone, I decided that even though I don’t usually shy down from a good challenge I am no fool, and I would not risk my life unnecesarily. Lesson one learned from Don Goyo. Henceforth I would consider him my first mountaineer teacher. And so I slowly made my way down the slippery path back to the refuge.

Down the slippery slope

I arrived in time for breakfast and a hot coffee. It is amazing how a cold person will chug down a boiling hot drink like it was lukewarm milk. But it works. It warms you up. Aftr breakfast we went back to our sleeping bags for a while. I wrote down on my journal and tried to rest a bit. At 10 we packed up, cleaned up the refuge and at 10.30 we started to make our way down. As we walked up the ridge the wind almost knocked me off my feet, good thing I wasn’t on slippery ground. Don Goyo led the way this time and we slowly made our way down, stopping shortly at the passes. On the way down Don Goyo was sharing with me all his stories about the times he had gone up the Iztaccihuatl, Popocatépetl and the Pico de Orizaba. He also told me about friends he had lost on the mountain, periodically pointing to the crosses that lined the trail, showing me were their remains rested, forever on looking out on the mountain and warning us about the dangers of not respecting her moods. We crossed a few people going up, a few would try to make their way up the next morning. We arrived to La Joya around 1pm, and Don Goyo was kind enough to give me a ride back to Mexico city. The man is a pleasure to speak with, experience and wonderful tales come out of his lips. He said he would take me to his home to give me some photographs he had taken a few years back of the mountain and the moon. He autographed them for me and I went on my way to the subway, among the noise and people of this crowded city. But I was happy, my mind was still up in the mountain, and although I had again failed to reach the top, I knew I had gained other things, and this only meant one thing: I will return.

Bunking down

Don Goyo lead the way!

With Master Goyo

Going back

Don Goyo with Don Goyo (Popocatépetl)

Popocatépetl in the background.

arriving at the refuge

New Heights

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain!” -Jack Kerouac

On January 1st 2014, when most people were sleeping and getting over their hangovers, we left Torreón at 7am. We packed our equipment and went direction south to Puebla, off to start the new year with an adventure!

Our group consisted of my  best friend and adventure junkie Victor, his gymnast sister Brenda, our distinguished bohemian/pilot friend Juanjo, my wilderness buff brother Jonathan and myself the vagabond, later to be rejoined by the 6th member of our group: Fabiola, a wanderlust girl in Puebla. So off we went with the goal of conquering the top of the Iztaccihuatl mountain in the states of Puebla and Mexico.

We had some trouble leaving the city because of car troubles, but we soon overcame them and went on our way with much anticipation hanging in the air. We drove non-stop, making only the minimum stops needed. We crossed Durango, Zacatecas, San Luis, Queretaro, Pachuca and we arrived to Puebla around 10.30pm to pick up our last expedition member. We slept for four hours in a small hotel room and left the next morning before sunrise, this time headed for Amecameca, the town at the foot of the mountain. As we aproached the mountain, the rising sun presented us with a magnificent spectacle. The snow covered peaks of the Popocateptl and the Iztaccihuatl (the second and thrid highest peaks in Mexico respectively) in all their splendour. While the rest of the crew was sound asleep, I was trying to focus on my driving, but I was mezmerized by the beauty of the mountains, my eyes fixing the formidable figure of the sleeping woman and thinking about the legends of how these came to be.

Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl

According to legend the Emperor and his wife, the Empress, were very worried because they had no children. One day the Empress said to the Emperor that she was going to give birth to a child. A baby girl was born and she was as beautiful as her mother. They called her Iztaccíhuatl, which in Náhuatl means “white lady”. All the natives loved Izta and her parents prepared her to be the Empress of the Aztecs. When she grew up, she fell in love with a captain of a tribe, his name was Popoca.

One day, a war broke out and the warriors had to go south to fight the enemy. The Emperor told Popoca that he had to bring the head of the enemy chief back from the war, so he could marry his daughter. After several months of combat, a warrior who hated Popoca sent a false message to the Emperor. The message said that his army had won the war, but that Popoca had died in battle. The Emperor was very sad when he heard the news, and when Izta heard she could not stop crying. She refused to go out and did not eat any more. A few days later, she became ill and she died of sadness.

When the Emperor was preparing Izta’s funeral, Popoca and his warriors arrived victorious from war. The Emperor was taken aback when he saw Popoca, and he told him that other warriors had announced his death. Then, he told him that Izta had died. Popoca was very sad. He took Izta’s body and left the town. He walked a long way until he arrived at some mountains where he ordered his warriors to build a funeral table with flowers and he put Izta lying on top. Then he kneeled down to watch over Izta and died of sadness too.

The Gods were touched by Popoca’s sacrifice and turned the tables and the bodies into great volcanoes. The biggest volcano is Popocatépetl, which in Náhuatl means “smoking mountain”. He sometimes throws out smoke, showing that he is still watching over Iztaccíhuatl, who sleeps by his side.

Legend of the sleeping woman and her guardian

From Ameca we went on to El Paso de Cortés, which is the entrance to the park. Here we bought our passes (28 pesos) and continued on a dirt road for another 9km until we arrived at La Joya. We unpacked our equipment and started the ascent from here. Since most of the group was not used to the altitude our ascent was slow paced. Me and Victor carried the most weight in our backpacks, and as the altitude increased so did the difficulty. Thankfully I never got altitude sickness or any kind of discomfort caused by altitude. My brother and Fabiola led the way. Brenda was the most affected by altitude, but she never gave up and kept pressing on.

Starting the trek up the mountain

A little after reaching the second pass a thick cloud came over us and covered the mountain, and as we kept moving on the wind picked up and soon snowflakes starting falling, much to the pleasure of those who had never seen snow before. Around 5pm the wind picked up more intensity and serious snow started to fall. Soon we were joined by an electrical storm, lightning falling left and right all around us. The air was full of static electricity and we could actually feel the lightning approaching. For a while we lost track of the trail as the mounting snow started covering the markers. But we pressed on, we knew we were close to destination. Finally we saw the refuge through the falling snow. This refuge is called El refugio de los cien (the Refuge of the Hundred), it is located near the “feet” of the sleeping woman at an altitude of 4785m. We discarded the option of camping and instead opted for sleeping in the small refuge. We arrived just before nightfall. It took us almost 7 hours to get here.

Snowstorm

Refuge at 4785m

The night was long and cold. The refuge was almost full and people kept arriving late into the night. At 4am, Fabiola woke us up to start the final ascent with the rest of the climbers who were there. Juanjo, Victor and Brenda decided to stay, being to tired and affected by the altitude. So the three of us that decided to continue followed the other two groups ascending. There was a large group of germans and another group of mexicans. As we had only one lamp between the three of us we had to follow the rest of the group. That morning I fell in love with mountaneering. Its harsh climate is not to be trifled with, the mountain can kill you, and the crosses lining the trail up the top testify to that. Yet as I was ascending in the darkness, and observed the small lights, bobbing up and down, hanging on the heads of these small creatures trying to conquer the mountain, and the stars iluminating the night sky with their splendour, I became enamored by it all. How small the human being, yet with a giant spirit, pushing it to conquer even the highest mountains in its quest for life. Search no more, I said to myself, you found your resolution: to one day climb to the top of the world.

So we pressed on. This particular part of the climb is said to be the most tiring part, as the angle is steep and the rocks are loose. The wind was blowing with force and seemed to penetrate my bones, chilling my whole body. And I felt how the cold was slowly weakening me and grabbing hold of me. My coat was made with goose feathers, but it was an old coat, with a bad design, and so the goose feathers were useless as all the wind came in through the bottom and around the neck and chilled me. The temperature here must have been around minus 14°C with the wind chills. After an hour of climbing (passed the 5000m mark) I could not feel my fingers and I felt hipothermia coming, I started to shake incontrolably. Being an EMT I decided that this was it. So I searched for a cover from the wind behind a miserable rock to protect myself from the elements. I told my brother I was getting hipothermia, but he must have not heard me and kept going. I told Fabiola to stick to the group, but she refused to leave me alone behind the rock. So she stayed. I know how much she wanted to reach the summit, but nevertheless she stayed. So I promised her I would make it up to her, and we would return one day to conquer the summit. We huddled behind a rock and waited for the sun to come up. To the right we could see the Popocateptl, in front of us we could see afar off the Pico de Orizaba (Mexico’s highest peak). The red sky kept shinning more and more until the luminous star peeked across the horizon. We then started our descent to the refuge. Needless to say we were a bit down-spirited because we did not reach the summit.

Great company and great view.

I spent the rest of the morning atop  a ridge, covered from the wind by a rock, with my face to the sun drinking up the scenery like it was an energy drink. As a lizard sunbathing on a rock.
Victor, Juanjo and Brenda started their descent around 11am. Me and Fabiola waited for Jonathan to come back from the top. He arrived half an hour later, having succesfully reached the summit at 5230m. He rested and ate a bit and then we started our descent back to La Joya. We reached the others at the second pass and we all reached the bottom together. There we ate some quesadillas and returned to Ameca. Here our paths separated, each to their next destination, to new adventures.

So I did not reach the summit this time. But I remembered the words of Sir Ranulph Fiennes (one of the greatest explorers alive) who said “there is no such thing as bad weather, only innapropriate equipment.” So there is one lesson learned the hard way, but as he adds “There is no point in crying over spilt milk, the key is to learn from failures and then to keep going.” So I resolved there that this was not the end of the story…

This slideshow requires JavaScript.