To get the most from this story, please make sure you’ve read the previous Parts 1-6 already posted on the site.

Monday, December 31, 1990 – New Year’s Eve. My gear was all set for a summit bid. I slept poorly, probably because I was anxious about the weather. At 3:30 AM, I poked my head outside – it was snowing and socked in – no way! It was the same at 5:30, 8:00 and 9:00. Once in a while, the sun would shine through a break in the clouds but only briefly. It was very windy, so much so that it would add an extra element of danger to a climb. At least my resting pulse was down to 80. I slept on and off, and at around one in the afternoon I heard voices. Venturing outside, I saw that the two Swiss guys I’d met yesterday were back. They’d decided to move their camp lower out of the bad weather and were going to set up again with all their gear at around 19,900 feet at a spot called Piedras Blancas. Then, as soon as there was a break in the weather, they’d head up and keep going until either the weather forced them back or they reached the summit. I wished them luck and they moved up to their new campsite. Their strategy was the right one, though – I knew I had to do the same.

My God, how I have grown to hate this place, this Berlin camp. The weather is always the shits – it grinds you down. I absolutely must leave here tomorrow or I fear I’ll go crazy if I have to spend even one more day here confined to my tent. It’s hard to describe how much I despise it here, it is so f—–g awful. All routines break down here, life degenerates to a sub-human state. Even the slightest effort leaves you gasping for breath. Counting my last trip to Aconcagua, I have now spent a total of 6 nights here at almost 20,000 feet. I finally fell asleep, full of hope that tomorrow would be fair and I could climb.

3:30 AM. I awoke and poked my head outside – the weather looked iffy, with clouds scudding by. No matter, I finished getting ready, and by 4:15 I set out by the light of the full moon – the clouds had vanished and the sky was completely clear. It was bitterly cold, and I was wearing every piece of clothing I had, as follows: on my torso – expedition-weight polypropylene long-sleeved undershirt; long-sleeved cotton over-shirt; very thick down parka; Gore-tex jacket. On my bottom – underpants; expedition-weight polypro longjohn bottoms; cotton over-pants; down-filled bib overalls; Gore-tex bib overalls. On my hands I wore polypro gloves; felt inner mitts; Gore-tex over-mitts. On my back was a light day-pack with water, a bit of food and a first-aid kit.

I climbed slowly but steadily up, and when I reached Piedras Blancas I saw no sign of the Swiss. Man, was it windy! Sunrise came, and it was welcome indeed. I crested a ridge, and there was the Independencia hut, at 21,477 feet elevation, rumored to be the highest building on the planet. I had climbed 1,500 vertical feet to this point.

The Independencia Hut, at 21,477 feet above sea level

Continuing from there, I went up a small rise and then I saw a path continuing across the top of the Gran Acarreo. As I plodded along, the winds were almost unbelievable. My left toes were very cold – I stopped behind some big rocks out of the wind and stamped my feet a lot to try to get some feeling back in my toes – I was concerned enough that I even briefly considered turning back. I’m glad I didn’t, though, as I got some circulation going and my feet warmed up. It was ten below zero F. in the shade (I always carry a thermometer in my first-aid kit).

When I looked back, I saw others crossing the Gran Acarreo – by the time they reached me, my feet had warmed up. I continued, and soon stood at the bottom of the Canaleta. This is a part of the climb I’d been dreading – I’d read so much about it, how so many climbers turned back here. The best way to describe it is this – a 400-to-500-foot wide channel up between rock walls, steeply-inclined (maybe 40 or 45 degrees), with rocks sitting on loose dirt.

Standing at 22,000′ elevation, looking up the Canaleta

If you arrive on a good day, the rocks are held in place with a lot of snow and ice; on a bad, it’s all loose. That was the case on my day – take two steps up, slide back one. When I reached the bottom of this slope, at 22,000 feet, it was 7:15 AM – it had taken me 3 hours to arrive here from my tent.

What occurred next is the strangest, most inexplicable thing that has ever happened to me in my 54 years of climbing. The Canaleta is 700 or 800 vertical feet, and it’s not difficult – all you need to do is put one foot in front of the other. So that’s what I did. I paused many times, more than I could count, that day while I plodded slowly, very slowly up the Canaleta. I remember having a headache (from the altitude) and gasping for breath a lot, but I didn’t feel cold. The footing wasn’t really a problem – I just tried to be careful where I stepped – sure, I slid back a lot, but that was more annoying than anything else. I made steady progress, but I don’t think I was very aware of the passage of time – or maybe I was but didn’t much care. Somehow, my day slipped into some kind of strange time-warp. I, to this day, cannot understand or explain how it took me so long to reach the top of the Caneleta. I could see the top of it getting closer, and when I finally did reach it, I walked along the narrow ridge for the last 100 or 150 vertical feet, being careful to stay away from the top of the 10,000-foot south face (one of the world’s tallest).

The west ridge; the top of the south face (left); the top of the Canaleta (right)

When I finally reached the broad summit, it was 3:15 PM. As hard as it was to believe, it had taken me EIGHT HOURS to climb up the Caneleta to the summit. I’m sure that if you look in the Guiness Book of World Records under “slowest climb of Cerro Aconcagua”, you will see my name and picture. When I share my story with other climbers, they are always incredulous – how could I have averaged 100 feet per hour in the Caneleta? Beats me, I can’t explain it.

Anyway, here I was, on top of Cerro Aconcagua, elevation 22,832 feet above sea level – it is the highest peak in the western hemisphere and also the southern hemisphere.

On the summit

There was a metal cross on the summit, festooned with decals and a rosary – a statue of the Virgin Mary lay at its base.

The metal cross on the summit

It was a very emotional moment for me. The only others on the summit were two Germans – we hugged and all shed tears.

The two Germans on top of Aconcagua

I spent half an hour on the summit, took a few pictures, then noticed that clouds were moving in – it was time to leave, before conditions worsened. When I had descended back down to the base of the Canaleta, I met the guys from Boise – they were still ascending – it seemed awfully late to be doing that. I carried on down the mountain, taking this look back at one point. I was glad I was going down when I saw the weather conditions up top.

Looking back toward the summit from around 21,500 feet.

When I arrived back at the Independencia Hut, I was in for a shock. Two Japanese men were there, one of them lying on the ground – he was incoherent and barely conscious, and I could tell he was suffering from high-altitude cerebral edema. His friend, the leader of their group, said the others in their climbing party were on their way down from the summit. I offered to help him take his friend down the mountain, telling him that every minute counted and his friend was at risk of dying if he didn’t descend to a lower elevation immediately. He thanked me for my offer to help him, but insisted he’d handle things his own way. I wished him well and continued on down. Before long, I was standing on the steep slope above my tent.

Looking down to my tent and Berlin camp

I stumbled into my tent at 6:45 PM, completely exhausted. Finally, it was over – I’d accomplished my goal of climbing Aconcagua – it took two tries, but I was done. I didn’t eat anything, but fell asleep right away, too tired to even feel joyful – I knew that’d come later. Happy New Year! My climb had taken 14 1/2 hours round-trip. Several hours after I’d turned in, I was awoken by voices – it was the Japanese group helping their sick friend down the mountain. Once they’d passed, I fell right back to sleep. That night, I got 12 hours of the best rest of the entire trip.

Please stay tuned for the continuation of this story, which will appear as: Return to the Andes: Part 8

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