In view of Huascaran, Peru's highest peak, I had to bow in awe of this extremely slow yet pronounced uplift from of the depths of the Pacific Ocean. Only a ten hour bus ride from Lima and a hundred miles from the ocean, this oasis of snow capped peaks just nine degrees south of the equator attracts mountaineers and trekkers from all over the planet. It was just a few years ago that an earthquake shook this beautiful mountain and broke a large piece of glacier from near its peak. The ensuing slide buried a town and its 70,000 inhabitants. The town rejuvenated itself and the travelers continue to marvel within its shadow.
We, with zero glacial experience yet tons of backcountry wanderings, strap on some crampons and lug some ice axes and rope to the base of the glacier at Vallanaraju (5885 meters above sea level). In one guide book, the author suggests that anyone who is a rookie with big mountaineering aspirations should not attempt their first peak in the Cordillera Blanca. Whatever!? The guy is just over cautious. We have hiked all over the Himalayas and I have spent months in the backcountry of southern Utah. With some phone discussion, thirty plus years behind us and our bravado slightly diminishing, we acquiesce to hiring a local guide and include a mountaineering course within the excursion package.
The campfire is absolutely the best part of camping, trekking or really anything backcountry (Skiing through fresh thigh-deep powder in Alta, Utah being a decided exception!) We are well above the tree line and the hike to base camp a 400 meter climb in an hour and a half on a trail too steep for mules does not encourage carrying wood. A stove would do just fine for cooking. Deforestation is another inhibitor. I read one account that stated that the random flickering of fire coals is strikingly similar to the flicker of the eyes in REM sleep. Who wouldn't love a little warmth and a day dream?
On the jagged outcrop perched below the glacier and above the ravine, my general fear of heights or more importantly
falling from heights and a fabulous companion at home, I lay awake in my tent. Really, what the hell am I doing up here. I have plenty of outdoor things on my plate and adding one with mountain weather being so inherantly sporatic and dangerous, not to mention the sport carrying a decently high price tag, is not so responsible.
Three in the morning, having already eaten some breakfast and drunken tea, I can only see the shin deep footsteps in the snow, the rope, and vaguely Chris in front of me with the glow of my head lamp. The brilliance of stars and the extreme thinness of the air is exilerating. Still tramping at 5:00, 5:30 am, the orange glow on the distant horizon gives faint light to the sky. The fresh snow on the undulating, other-worldly glacier is untouched save the trail of our slow, trodding steps. Our height, the cravasses and snow bridges become apparent. I have to refocus on my footsteps and take off the stupid mask because I am hyperventilating. Minutes later I am better. At about 8:00 am, I sit, perched or rather strattling a couch-sized snow cap with the whole world below us. This really is why I do this kind of stuff.
We, with zero glacial experience yet tons of backcountry wanderings, strap on some crampons and lug some ice axes and rope to the base of the glacier at Vallanaraju (5885 meters above sea level). In one guide book, the author suggests that anyone who is a rookie with big mountaineering aspirations should not attempt their first peak in the Cordillera Blanca. Whatever!? The guy is just over cautious. We have hiked all over the Himalayas and I have spent months in the backcountry of southern Utah. With some phone discussion, thirty plus years behind us and our bravado slightly diminishing, we acquiesce to hiring a local guide and include a mountaineering course within the excursion package. 
The campfire is absolutely the best part of camping, trekking or really anything backcountry (Skiing through fresh thigh-deep powder in Alta, Utah being a decided exception!) We are well above the tree line and the hike to base camp a 400 meter climb in an hour and a half on a trail too steep for mules does not encourage carrying wood. A stove would do just fine for cooking. Deforestation is another inhibitor. I read one account that stated that the random flickering of fire coals is strikingly similar to the flicker of the eyes in REM sleep. Who wouldn't love a little warmth and a day dream? 
On the jagged outcrop perched below the glacier and above the ravine, my general fear of heights or more importantly falling from heights and a fabulous companion at home, I lay awake in my tent. Really, what the hell am I doing up here. I have plenty of outdoor things on my plate and adding one with mountain weather being so inherantly sporatic and dangerous, not to mention the sport carrying a decently high price tag, is not so responsible.
Three in the morning, having already eaten some breakfast and drunken tea, I can only see the shin deep footsteps in the snow, the rope, and vaguely Chris in front of me with the glow of my head lamp. The brilliance of stars and the extreme thinness of the air is exilerating. Still tramping at 5:00, 5:30 am, the orange glow on the distant horizon gives faint light to the sky. The fresh snow on the undulating, other-worldly glacier is untouched save the trail of our slow, trodding steps. Our height, the cravasses and snow bridges become apparent. I have to refocus on my footsteps and take off the stupid mask because I am hyperventilating. Minutes later I am better. At about 8:00 am, I sit, perched or rather strattling a couch-sized snow cap with the whole world below us. This really is why I do this kind of stuff.
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