Rucu Pichincha 1/9/2011 – How High?

Today was the best day ever. Our original destination was ruled out due to a massive landslide that wiped out part of the road and a small town. Instead, we put our hands up in the air sometime, in the party bus that transported us to the base of the Teleferico, not to be confused with the Teleferique, that would bring us closer to our backup climb. We were terrified of bandits, so we asked the kind employees for advice in case of an emergency. “Call 51.” Err, 911. Things aren’t that different out here. We were also told security would be waiting at the top to escort us to well-depicted maps of trails. False.



A ten-minute ride took us to Cruz Loma at 13,500 feet. Our trusty tall leader, Andrew D., felt under the weather (which was an eerie fog, appropriately), turning back with two companions. Alas, the team journeyed on with Tripp’s encouragement and expertise.



False peaks, false hopes. Rolling hills (some steeper than others) hid our true destination, which was a rocky summit several miles off in the distance.



Following a lunch of Dutch cheese, animal crackers, airborne grapes, and PB&J, we hit the most dynamic and technical hike that many of us had ever experienced. Rocky ridges, muddy waterfalls, sandy steeps. We pushed it to the summit, about four times. Through the fog guerillas appeared below frightened us; to our relief, it was our two missing companions (Burrito Bohnengel and Nerf comma Andrew) whose drive and determination, despite not having lunch, inspired the rest of us slackers. Finally we made it to our destination, which was where we bravely shed layers and displayed our true colors: orange WILD shirts and a Duke banner, to be returned at a later date to the bookstore (we’re poor grad students).



The descent was decent. Actually, it was great. Slip sliding down the sand. Blazing on through the muck and the mud. Everything was glorious until one leading member felt a little naus. Tripp suggested that we put Shal on a caballero, but upon Kat’s translation we realized there were no men willing to transport Shal to the TeleTransportStation. Kat instead suggested we put Shal on one of the nearby caballos and the native gaucho guided him back to the Teleferico. Safely collected back at the base we again put our hands up in the air for a thrilling rendition of YMCA on the corto autobus.

Back at the hostile, we were briefed and scared by CarpeDM climbing consultant, Paul 5, on our Cotopaxi summit bid. We ate, packed, crossed our fingers that Kirsten wouldn’t snore and wake up the entire room with a screaming terror fit when awoken. Partial success.