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Trekking in El Altar
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We found a comfortable
sandy place on the rocky valley floor next to a stream and quickly
set up camp before dark. We changed into dry socks and shoes, and proceeded
to light up the camp stoves for soup and Mariano's Tortilla Española.
Diego uncorked one of three bottles of wine he had packed. We huddled
around the small fire for warmth, drinking hot chocolate, coca tea,
and Merlot. Santi wandered off to find his own personal throne behind
a rock. We still weren't able to make out the jagged snowy peaks of
El Altar because of the everpresent fog. Later at night the sky cleared
up just enough to spot a few bright stars, the sight of which reminded
us of the beauty of camping high in the Andes.
I woke before dawn on Sunday to the sound of heavy
rain. I groaned and huddled in my sleeping bag to try to doze past
seven, to no avail. We emerged from the tents to a thick fog and tried
to warm up with oatmeal and hot chocolate. Margarita, Santi, Matt,
and I crawled back into the tents to wait for a break in the fog.
Mariano and Diego chided us for our laziness and started the two-hour
hike up from the campground toward the glacier.
A couple hours later, we gathered the
gumption and energy to face more mud and uphill climbing.
We met Mariano and Diego at one of the small peaks overlooking
the lake in the middle of the crater. We followed a ridge
looking for a spot to climb up towards the glacier which
was about 200 meters higher. The only way up looked terrifyingly
rocky, slippery and dangerous. We decided it would take
more equipment, experience, and grit than we had, so we
contented ourselves with the majestic view of the rocky
mountain walls, the crater, and the gray-green lake, called
Laguna Amarilla. Every so often we would hear the thunderous
crack of a piece of the glacier breaking off and plunging
into the crater. This natural phenomenon is one of the
qualities of El Altar that attracts climbers.
On the hike back down to camp, we passed
through a patch of moss-hung trees. We decided to rest
and wait there for the laggers under an overhang, sheltered
from the wind and rain. Diego took off his pack and pulled
out his camp stove, a pile of pita bread, a small jar
of olive oil, some fine cuts of beef, and another bottle
of wine. We praised him again for his ingenuity and gobbled
down a tasty lunch before continuing down the mountain.
That night, we all slept earlier and sounder than the
first night.
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On Monday morning we awoke to a brief clearing in the fog and an
amazing view of El Obispo, the highest peak of El Altar at about 5300
meters, located on the South side of the crescent-shaped valley. We
all sat humbled and speechless for a few moments, imagining what it
would be like to scale this immense and foreboding peak - something
very few people have accomplished. We took advantage of the cloud break
for a few photos. Shortly after, we dismantled camp and prepared for
the climb down.
It would have been easier with skis. With
Diego and Mariano far ahead, Matt, Santi and I were bogged
down by the mud, this time with much less cursing and complaining.
We carelessly let gravity and the mud carry us down the
mountain, sometimes on hands and knees and, many times,
on our rear ends. In less than three hours we arrived at
the Hacienda and the cars, black with mud up to the knees
and higher. We changed, aired out, and rested while waiting
for Margarita who was plodding her way down on a mule.
After the long 175 km drive back to Quito,
we arrived exhausted, filthy but satisfied with ourselves.
We made a beeline for Adam's Rib. We blessed the
place with our stench and indulged our appetites with great
burgers and ribs.
I was grateful to have experienced El
Altar. There is something about the craggy glacial landscape,
and the cold wet isolation of the paramo that demands
humility and respect. It also seems to bring out the honesty
and genuineness in people, inevitably bringing folks closer
together in a situation one can never find in the impersonal
climate of a city. I was glad to have spent three cold,
wet, gritty days with people that never lost their sense
of humor. We decided we would attempt El Altar again some
day, with the hope of better weather, and that we hire mules,
like smart Margarita.
Returning to my pad, I still had the daunting task
of correcting a pile of student essays before Tuesday classes resumed.
Strangely enough, I breezed through the papers. The El Altar experience
had energized me more than any comfortable, lazy weekend in Quito could
ever have.
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