I felt like balls the second day and to make matters worse, I had a wet dream in my sleeping bag. Things just seemed to be going from bad to worse. In the day light, our base camp was surrounded by cow patties and boulders. Even at 4100m the locals still graze cows and sheep. The stream is clean and fast running, but the cow standing in the middle of it upstream doesn't quite convince me that the water is pure.
Above us, Rondoy (5807m), Jirishanca (6094m), Rasac (6017m) and Yerupaja (6654m) loom magnificently. They don't quite beckon us, rather standing proud and indiffernet to our ambitions. The Cordilleria Huayhuash is the scene of Joe Simpson's “Touching the Void” tale and its reputaion precedes it. What foolish ambitions man has some days.






Patrice and I caught the bus from Huaraz early the day before and we bounced and repaired gear boxes all the way along the switch-backed, dirt roads to Llamac. Fischer meet us with four donkeys and we were on our way. The 15km and 1000m gain in elevation was pleasant and easy considering the donkeys were shouldering all our gear and food for 20 days.
I got my strength back on the third day and we wandered up to morraine camp to get some altitude, the blood moving and a better look at things. The mountains in front of us, however, dont really resemble anything the photos in the guidebook depict- things are really dry, and some ice routes don't even exist anymore. The glaciers have receded immensely and it's a new game from year to year.






We decide to make an attempt on Rasac to acclimatise, so go back down to basecamp to pack and rest some more. Rasac is the easiest to access, one of the smallest at 6017m and the glacier rises to ~5400m leaving us 500m of real exertion.






We finally get our climbing underway after bivouacing in the dirt at Morraine camp. We stumble up the stacked piles of rocks that form the morraine until we can gain the glacier. Waiting for the light to see the east face, we are dwarfed by the westface of Yerupaja behind us. We will leave that for another day and pick a jagged line of mixed snow and rock.
The climbing is suprisingly quick and straightforward. The last 300m of rock was crumbling and loose, but not particluarly difficult. At the summit though, I was greeted by a thumping head ache that declared, “Welcome to 6000m. Are you ready to suffer!?!”






It was only 10am and by traversing the summit ridge we thought we would be home early and that I wouldn't have to endure the growing thump in my head. Wrong.

From the base, the ridge looked easy and quick to descend, but in reality, it was rotten ice and a heavily corniced knife edge. We down climbed short pitches, belaying each other from snow stakes while the sun took the liberty of roasting us.

Six hours later we were finally back on the galacier and I was spent. This altitude business was heavy work and this was a stroll compared what we were working towards. "What have I gotten myself into?" I wondered.

We bivied at morraine camp and stumbled into base camp the next day, still sporting a dull headache and fearing that the gastro bug was rearing its ugly head again.






Sure enough, it was back and I was running to the toilet. Weak and tired and sunburnt, we rested for a few days and read, slept, ate and used a local farmers fishng pole in a vain attempt to catch some trout. We failed dismally and resorted to bartering cheese and salami for a few fish with passing farmers. The fish tasted the same, but our hunter and gather pride was a little dented.

We recovered sufficiently after 3 days and dragged ourselves up the morraine again and across the most broken glacier I have ever been on. It wasn't particularly dangerous since the crevasses weren't wide, but the glacier was just piled up high above your head. So long as you didn't walk under something, you were fine. We camped at Ghost Col and searched the face for the Americans making a last ditch attempt to climb Jirishanca before they left. The face was cloaked in sticky clouds and the sky was gray and we took great joy in the warmth and comfort our tent afforded us. The clouds parted around dusk and revealed them creaping towards the summit before the weather closed in again.






“I'm so glad it's them and not us,” I said as I zipped the tent shut for the night.
“If the sky is clear at 3am, we go. If not, we roll over, yeah?” Patrice suggested in his French acsent and the wind gusted outside.
Those poor guys. Still climbing at dusk as a storm swirled around them, while we savoured not being them and the bombproof shelter of the tent, down bag and sleep.






I was going to savour this sleep. Little did I know, it would be a while before I enjoyed my next, and that I would relish the next one even more.

To check out Part 2 on Jirishanca, click here