Aconcagua: First time Expedition leader Duncan Bell looks at the perils, pitfalls and practical advantages of running your own expedition to the greater ranges.

Back in September 1998, I started to wonder what to do for the Millennium. Lying drunk in gutters being a reguar occupation of mine, I felt the need to do something a little bit special. Three criteria came to mind: To be as far South as possible (for the Sun), to be as high as possible, and to be with friends.

Mount Vinson being too expensive and difficult to access, I set upon Aconcagua, at 6954m. Not only one of the Seven Summits but also the highest mountain on earth outside of the Himalayas. I knew of Aconcagua through articles in climbing magazines and then got more detailed information from regional guidebooks, the internet, and word of mouth. An alternative would have been to consult the expedition reports registries at the BMC, Royal Geographic Society, or the Alpine Club. The more detail you can find out early on about your possible objective, the better, but even for a “popular” summit like Aconcagua, reality is sometimes far removed from the literature, so try to be conservative about your ambition.

The first big job was recruitment. Aconcagua has the reputation of a trekking peak but its altitude and climate account for their fair share of mountaineers, and I had already started ogling the “Polish Glacier” – the easiest climbing route on the mountain but substantially harder than the normal route. Living down South I’m not surrounded by climbers or experienced high altitude mountaineers, and a personal height record of Mont Blanc (feeling sick as a dog, wearing Ronhills and bendy boots) meant that this was truly going to be an amateur expedition.

But I’m fortunate in knowing a lot of outdoors people with their heads screwed on. This, rather than specialist experience, was the key determinant in my choice of team. In all, I contacted perhaps twenty people back in Jan 99. Being the Milennium, only those paying flights by the end of February could go, and a number of friends understandably didn’t want to commit to anything at that stage. By hook or by crook I assembled a team of six. This was the most important part of the planning process – the team knew each other well, would get on under trying circumstances, and the various personalities would lend balance to the decision making – a lucky break.

Then came the real work – equipping the team with skills, gear and crucially expectations appropriate to the trip. Half the team had never before set foot on a glacier, only two of us were proficient in ropework (and that was more or less limited to single pitch crag climbing.) We were also spread across the country between Northampton, Cardiff and Leeds (one member being in Germany all year) We got together roughly monthly for weekends of climbing, hillwalking and formal meeting sessions to discuss such matters as route choice, schedule, gear, fitness, medicine, weather etc.

“Aconcagua, a Climbing Guide” by RJ Secor became our bible, and the internet a source of further information particularly on such matters as altitude sickness (on which we all became paper experts) The team had specific responsibilities – for equipment, planning, logistics and so on. West Coast Outdoor Leisure in Fort William were key to our success, the expertise of their staff in advising six novices on equipment appropriate to those extreme conditions being second to none. Much of our gear came from Mountain Equipment, again with virtually no complaints on usage. However, a word to the wise: never go on expedition with untested gear. Equipment from stoves to gaiters behaves unpredictably at altitude and under stress. Whilst it is impossible to simulate the conditions it is imperative to intimately understand the idiosyncracies of each in order to make adjustments and repairs in the field. (We spent a week in the Alps which helped on this front).

We opted for the best commercially available gear. Aconcagua has a fearsome reputation for weather, with storms including 150mph winds and temperatures that plummed to –40C which precluded us from skimping on clothing and camping kit. Fortunately, in the event, the weather we had to deal with was much milder than this.

Official funding for these expeditions is hard to come by; most bodies reserve their pots for first or first British ascents by elite teams rather than our novices’ effort. However, by bulk buying equipment and securing articles such as this we managed to bring the costs down significantly. But be warned – the sponsorship arena is a competitive one and finding an “angle” is vital. Local newspapers are always keen on local interest stories, and the more coverage you can offer manufacturers, the more they are likely to offer you cheap kit. Alternatives could include gear testing (unlikely) or loaning equipment, but be prepared for a lot of rejections. You could also climb for a charity as we did (The Bendrigg Trust, an outdoor pursuits charity for disabled children based in Kendal) although this has little direct bearing on the willingness of manufacturers to supply kit.

You must also be flexible. Two of the team members dropped out in late summer, leaving us with just four. Whilst concerned at the loss of two friends, and concerned at our eventual ability to help a team mate in trouble, we ultimately realised that the logistical simplicity and speed offered by a party of four makes it a very effective mountaineering unit indeed. However, the absence of a qualified doctor on the team posed a number of problems, in the newsletter updates I wrote following each meeting it was made clear that “Ketch”, ex nurse and shortly to start at med school, was under no responsibility for the outcome of any diagnosis and treatment he might undertake for any of us. And vice versa should he be the sick one.

One of the key jobs was that of planning and managing the logistics, in particular food and fuel. People burn food at varying rates, and respond to repetitive food in varying ways. We wrongly assumed we could eat (very) similar meals every day for 3 weeks. Unfortunately, not only does good food become vital at altitude, but we also never suffered the supposed effect of high altitude anorexia. Indeed, we were permanently starving and the only constraint was how long we could be bothered to wait for (5 min pasta can take 40 mins + to cook at 5000m). Three stoves between five was a minimum as one was continually malfunctioning, and a couple of (different) team members were each day too shattered to do more than sit and watch, and the net result was that we ate enough, just.

The advantages of taking an hour each morning to double your porridge intake should not be neglected, as days at altitude tend to be relatively short (4-5 hrs except summit day). Equally, day food is critical as some people need to eat continually all day in order to continue whereas others don’t eat at all. Don’t let this group do the shopping! Shopping in itself can be an unnerving experience – we had planned on lots of chocolate and “power bars” for lunches, and were dismayed to find neither on sale. Again, being flexible and knowing the language are vital to this part of the planning.

Five of us used 8 litres of white gas (nearly Coleman fuel) in 14 days, but appreciably more was used at higher altitudes. Don’t take petrol lighters as the petrol evaporates, do take plenty of matches and gas lighters for back up are probably best. In practice, and contrary to most official advice, these are probably the only spares you should bring. Weight becomes more important than subjective safety and the spare pair of gloves, sunglasses etc will almost certainly be left out of your day sack. Certainly all our best intentions failed!
And so on to the expedition itself.

Again, we got lucky by my having a friend travelling through Argentina who helped us out over there. He found us a hostel, a supermarket and a place to buy white gas; he told us how and where to get climbing permits and transport to the roadhead. He helped us secure mules for the walk in for our gear and ultimately he accompanied us up the Polish glacier (Dave had always been a possible team member but the rest of the group wanted to meet him first). An easy if less sociable alternative to Dave are “smoothing charges” – payable to seemingly everyone you meet – which can save a day or two of hassle and a lot of frustration. Small co-operatives have sprung up in Mendoza, and we could have made a single upfront payment for all the services that Dave ultimately arranged, at both ends of the journey. The internet is probably the easiest place to find these groups.

We acclimatised over the course of 2 weeks by following the tried and tested “climb high, sleep low” theory which worked well – none of the group experienced anything worse than continuous fatigue and persistent headaches. No advice that I can give here could supplant the extensive writings that exist on this subject.

We successfully summitted at 6.30pm on New Year’s Eve, and returned to our tents after a 22 hour day at 1.30am so exhausted that not one of us realised we’d just walked through the millennium. On the way we’d been horrified to see a dead body (I thought that only happened in the Himalaya), happy to help a group in trouble with hypothermia, and relieved to get to the top after a small storm hit the mountain as we neared the summit ridge. In retrospect, we probably ran excessive risks by not turning back earlier, by continuing through the storm and by giving away all our emergency gear to the team in trouble – but aren’t decisions like these part of the essence of mountaineering.
 

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