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The cold wakes me. I must have been asleep for a couple of hours. My body is too excited and cold to rest. Clear moonlight shines through the thin-ice coating on my tent. I'm at 4,500 meters, under snow and ice, 10 hours walk from the closest paved road, in the middle of the vast altiplano. There's not a soul for miles. Only an empty mountain cabin stands alone at the snowline, halfway to the peak. The last group of climbers left two weeks ago. I waited four days in my tent for someone to show up to be my climbing buddy - a must in the high Andes. Last night I ran out of food. This is my last chance to make it to the top. Alone.
I reach for my watch. It's 3 am. Damn. I was supposed to start the ascent 2 hours ago so I could reach the peak before sunset. Above the clouds, the morning sun is quickly melting the surface of the ice. Soon, the heat will turn the glaciers into a slick, straight slide to death. At once, my brain focuses on my task. As I hastily roll up my gear, cold, hunger and fatigue vanish to make room for the snowy giant waiting outside.
Outside the tent the cold drops to -10 Fahrenheit (-20 with the icy wind). The sky, crisp and clear as the snow below, predicts good weather for the climb: 300 floors above my head, in the halo of a billion stars stands the perfect cone of the Cotopaxi--a divine guardian of nature, ready to accept my visit.
No one has walked here for weeks. Old footsteps are now covered with thick, fresh, frozen snow. My first steps break the silence with a fateful crackle. Almost immediately I set the pace of my ascent, the crampon comes off my right foot. Battling cold fingers and frozen screws, I lose 40 precious minutes fixing it. Five minutes later the same crampon comes off again. I've just learned my first lesson: never climb with brand new gear.
Finally set, I launch into a quick jog uphill, reaching the first steep ridges around half-past four. The snow is still frozen solid under my feet, but I only have a couple of hours left until sunrise. From here I will surely need another 5 hours to the top. As the sky brightens, I assess my chances. If the ice thins over the steep mountainside, I could easily end up in a deep crevasse, with only a slim chance of being discovered--if I survive the fall. With the picture of a miserable death in my mind, I speed up my steps.
Not more than ten minutes later, I have to stop again. Mouth gaping, my lungs scream for oxygen. It feels like someone has shoved a sponge down my throat. Alpine climbers never experience this feeling. At 5,000 meters different rules apply. I recall what Reinhold Meissner said about the skills he had learned from the sherpas on his first trips to the Himalayas. "10-15 quick steps up, then stop and catch your breath."
With the jog and pause technique I manage to reach the clouds by sunrise. The air is still freezing cold, keeping the clouds at bay. I sense good luck, and the feeling of success boosts my energy. I progress quickly on the sea of frozen snow. At least one foot of snow fell last night, paving a smooth path up the mountainside.
Trying to keep my momentum, I suddenly realize that all the route markers also must have been covered with fresh snow. Having drifted off the northern route, I run into an impasse. A four meter tall snow and rock wall stands in front of me. On either side of the path are steep drops. It seems impossible to continue this way. After four failed attempts to climb the wall, I give up the struggle, and decide to backtrack to the next possible pass. The rising temperature makes the clouds grow visibly--I can see them swell and spread. The ice has already started melting. But I don't care; only the peak matters now.
Emerging from the clouds, the gigantic ice cone looms 600 meters above. On the northern side I notice a long glacier that leads up to what seems to be the final ascent to the rocky crater. Focused on my tired muscles, I start off. Ten quick steps, breathe; Ten quick steps, breathe. Humboldt, my childhood hero, who explored the Andes from Ecuador through Chile, never made it to the top. He said it was impossible. I want to make sure his soul makes it this time, with me.
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