Peak(s):	Huandoy Norte - 20981 Shaqsha - 18711
Date Posted:	08/25/2016
Modified:	09/01/2016
Date Climbed:	07/12/2016
Author:	Monster5
Additional Members:	areed20, Boggy B, Kylie, Emily, Grimpeur

Peru - A Tale of Two Almosts
There are three distinct moments in my life when I figured I might die. And no, I don't mean the bumpy airplane or the almost car wreck, the sketchy back alley, bar fight gone bad, or reach-out-and-touch 'em bear type of nearly died. I mean the next stage. A flip of a switch and the shadows and murk clouding one's life retreat to the corners, leaving the remains starkly exposed. Our surrounds, our reality, confronts us and we accept them as is, shed of the irrelevancy of the past and void of a future. I used to never dance; 25 years of my life spent avoiding the dance floor and standing awkwardly by the snack table. But after I-Should-Have-Died Event Number 2, the insecurities seemed rather silly. Cayesh Huandoy Norte (20,981 ft) and Shaqsha (18,711 ft) Cordillera, Blanca, Peru July 2016 Acclimatization peaks: Maparaju, San Juan (aborted due to weather), Pisco Gear: Technical snow, ice, and rock Resources: Brad Johnson's guide, online Partners: Austen Beason, Ben Ammon - Maparaju, San Juan, Pisco, and Huandoy Sur Andrew Reed - Maparaju, Pisco and Huandoy Sur Emily Hendrick - Maparaju, San Juan and Pisco. Chopi with Tyson Tyson Titensor - Pisco and Chopi Boggy, and Kylie - Shaqsha (other peaks separately) Most of the crew PC: Andrew We were over a week into the trip, having tasted both success and failure. Ben and Austen were a natural pair on a rope, working through the crevasses, slopes, and technical challenges with practiced competence. Andrew, Emily, and I had never roped together before and set different paces. It showed, but we managed just fine. Conditions in Peru are fairly dry. The difficulty of peaks is often a half grade or grade higher than reported in guide books as the glaciers retreat and ice cliffs form where ice slopes once existed. Emily might write a report on the earlier peaks, a summit of Chopicalqui, and other Peru ventures. There were excellent photos taken early on. Also, Austen put together a video. I have several clips but haven't yet figured out how to so much as rotate them. A few pictures from the acclimatization peaks: Maparaju: San Juan: Pisco: PC: Ben PC: Ben Pisco high camp, at a bit over 16,000 ft, was deserted. It is not a popular place, which worked in our favor after returning from the conga line boot pack on Pisco. Somebody had taken the time to fit rocks between a couple boulders to form a respectable kitchen tucked behind our tents. Tyson is an experienced and well-traveled kayaker and stoked Austen's and Ben's burgeoning interests around the stoves with the rest of us randomly disappearing and returning with yet another layer of down and stowing cameras as the sun descended below the horizon. Camp Life PC: Andrew Andrew's Night Sky PC: Andrew In the morning, Emily and Tyson hiked out to climb Chopi across the valley and we stashed gear to begin the approach to Huandoy Norte. The Approach We follow cairns up the moraine ridge from Pisco high camp and across the polished bedrock to the base of the glacier footing the Huandoys. We're surprised and pleased to find a faint two-pass boot pack climbing high and then traversing. We know this will save us some route-finding time. Glacier travel is a tedious affair, fighting a frozen ocean of rolling waves, sharp crests, and descending troughs. Up and down but mostly up, weaving through the bridges and around the crevasses with vertical sides descending from white to pale blue, navy, and then black, depending on the position of the sun. A sight best viewed at a distance. PC: Ben PC: Austen We contour up and across, beneath the menacing slopes of Huandoy Este. One crevasse jump gives us pause and we're toasting under the sun on the gleaming expanse. Austen and Ben camp below the bergschrund wall. Andrew and I assess a similar site but aren't keen on ice danglers above and hidden openings below. We nestle our tent behind a large fallen serac block and hack out a suitable platform with our ice tools. The tent is up, dinner made, water boiled, and the view appreciated. A small corner of our tent peaks out from behind the serac. Sometime in the night, a crystalline tinkle is heard, followed by a staccato thump and BOOM as ice hits the exposed corner. I shoot upright yelling and Andrew follows, alarmed and confused. In the morning, we see the ice chunk was probably fist sized. Tents are liars, the biggest braggarts of them all, continually exaggerating the sounds without and elevating a light sprinkle to a deluge, were one to go by noise alone. The Climb Sunrise found Andrew and I several hundred feet above camp, having climbed and simul-climbed several pitches of alpine ice and snow. The morning started off with an ice chute bisecting ice cliffs, directly above our sheltered camp. Andrew led the first block behind Ben and Austen and I was at the rear, rather annoyed by the constant bombardment of ice and listening to larger pieces slice through the stillness. Andrew set a belay in a sheltered spot and I started up a second ice step prior to a long stretch of steepening snow and interrupted by the occasional patch of alpine ice and rock. The "Standard Route," touched by one or two parties a year. An earlier start would've been better, as we always say, but try telling that to a bundle of goose down and nylon at two o'clock in the morning. PC: Ben Gargoyle seracs and layered cream rolls cling to the ridges and ledges above and to the sides, occasionally shedding debris into our rather expedient, though exposed, chute. A surreal scene: rock of a salt and pepper hue with trickles of milky and gun metal veins on right and nondescript dull browns rising high to the left, almost to the summit. Glacial ice, old and ancient, with variegated shades of navy and white and the occasional streak of darker debris belying the hazard of our sport. A narrow pyramid of snow rose above us, splitting the scene and providing direction. PC: Austen Our overall pace complemented that of Austen and Ben and we hit the anchor spots just about as they were leaving. Andrew was hooting and hollering, overjoyed at the climbing and scenery. I'd been belaying off a munter for the past few pitches, having lost my ATC pulling a twin gate off my belay loop. Anyways, this particular anchor consisted of a nut slotted between rock and ice, another "don't lean sideways" nut, and my tool embedded in body weight ice, all dependent on an ice-veined boulder that was thankfully shaded. I.e. a relatively bomber alpine anchor. The sun was on us and, more alarming, on the slope. We were moving much slower than expected given snow conditions and a lack of pickets for extending lead blocks. Andrew reached the belay and his mood had changed. The snow wasn't very good - soft storm snow with only hints of the expected alpine ice. He had been having altitude issues throughout the trip and wasn't sure about continuing. Okay. Up or down, but we can't stay here. I leaned towards ascending to the col and waiting until the face is in shade, but the unknown says down and now. I communicated Andrew's and my plan up to Austen and Ben and they continued up, making slow progress. Reverse course: I belay Andrew down the steep pitch, he finds a marginal screw and picket, and I downclimb after. Andrew isn't moving all that well, a few inches at a time. We decide he should rappel and I continue to downclimb after, wishing we had more pickets to burn. There's a bit of rope spaghetti and I'm getting a bit irritated, swearing at the constant bombardment of ice shards, spindrift and lack of progress either up or down. After a few double rope rappels and downclimbs, we reach the dual ice bands: randkluft above bergschrund. I had to dig out the storm snow for this anchor, hammering home a ringer eventually. Andrew rappels. He makes it about 150 feet and is in the midst of the ice bands. He's feeling better too, knowing the tent is a stone's throw (and a long drop) away. The rope is about 30 feet too short though and dangling in the last ice band. Via radio, he's to either build a v-thread or burn a picket. Rather than burn two pickets and have none for the complicated glacier hike out, we decide it would be best to have him anchor, I downclimb 30 ft and re-set a burner picket, and we both rap on down to steep, but non-technical terrain. I look up to check the progress of Austen and Ben now several hundred feet up. A bit of spindrift obscures them. Shield the eyes and look again. A cream roll slinks from a ledge off right and explodes in the couloir above. A white powder spray of mist with a few blocks charging out of the plume. Avalanches make for a beautiful sight. Dynamic and flowing, simultaneously graceful and powerful and second only to a flickering fire with respect to intrigue. Contouring to the lay of the land and sculpting it as necessary, smoothing over flaws and harsh edges, a wave of froth crashing and spewing below a burgeoning cumulus of powder. There's no denying the power of an avalanche, even a small one such as this, and particularly when one is below it. I yell the warning and dive to my tool on arrest. The thundering draws near and the charge is announced by an impact and screaming pain in my shoulder. My tool slices through the snow and I drop a foot onto the picket. A breath or two and the initial roar passes, the impacts less painful and decreasing in volume. I think we might be home free. But then it hits Andrew. He's in the midst of a narrow choke on rappel and the full brunt deposits on top of him, immediately knocking him out and sweeping him down. The rope folds the picket in half and out it goes, me anchored to it. From above, Austen says it looks like I was ripped off the slope, a marionette on strings, pinballing down the ice chute and out of sight. I'm not sure where I read the theory on slowing life down. Probably Cosmo, maybe GQ, perhaps a book or romantic comedy. But the theory goes: if one settles into life and into a routine, life will fly by. The mundane, the comfortable, the familiar, and the traditional; The Four Deadly Sins and the youth's constant and exaggerated lament - birth, school, marriage, work, kids, house, retire and die. We cruise on through life and dive into our graves with but a tip of our hats and perhaps a wink from the special, the sands of life having trickled through one's fingers in the space of a few heartbeats. But there is a cure, so goes the theory, and it relies on one simple assumption: we measure life in memories. When we think back, we remember events, experiences, places, friends, and conversations. We remember sitting on the bow of a grandfather's sailboat, crashing through waves while dolphins glide playfully underneath and forgotten harbors pass on the sides. We remember the beautiful dance across a serrated ridgeline, shrugging the enticing draw of gravity with precise and nimble intent. We remember the partners we danced with, reveling in the synchronicity. We remember emotions, not time. As we generate strong and memorable emotions, and as we scribe chapters instead of footnotes, and if we look back on the past year and remember a hundred events rather than ten, then perhaps we will be able to slow life down and delay the perpetual. I'm conscious, attempting an arrest between end-over-end tumbles, and the oddest assortment of thoughts are screaming through the mind. Mostly, the thoughts are curious; the typical morbid and selfish fascination. Is this how it ends? I'm going to die. It doesn't hurt very much yet. Will it be painful or will it be quick? Have I fallen over the cliff yet? I bet I'll snap a leg there. I wish I could take my crampons off. This is taking a while. Will I black out before - Ow - that must've been the cliff. The arrest catches, which I'm quite happy for, knowing there's an inviting crevasse not too far down. Perhaps a few hundred feet closer than it was moments ago. Nothing is broken, I think, but my body is not doing what I ask. I stumble upright, twisted in coils, and survey the scene. There's Andrew, upside down, twenty feet lower, with a halo of red around his helmet and face. I stumble towards him mumbling his name. He comes to and asks the requisite "wheres" and "hows." Good sign. Time for action and a plan: try to shed the twin rope and tether spaghetti, help Andrew away from the hangfire zone, stumble back up the slopes for our glacier goggles, and then back up for the contents of my exploded pack, including first aid kit. It's hard to get a sense of scale, but we were carried over the ice cliffs shown. Hangfire from the rock cliffs on right: The picket Check the spine and then check the rest. I avoid the helmet but I guess it's time. The helmet, crushed in the back and dripping red, comes off . Then the hat. A hint of bone. A few inches, obscured by wet red hair. At least the bone appears intact, but I can't really tell. I flashback to a previous incident in which I hold up a tiny aid kit and survey a severed leg wondering at the impossibility. A bit more training and better circumstances nowadays. Gauze on the head, followed by a wrap and having him maintain compression and talk. Hit the emergency signal. Andrew's helmet Decisions in instances like these are hard. We have to get out from under the slope and I think Andrew is in the shape to do so. My confidence in the Casa de Guias' ability to respond quickly isn't the best after watching a recovery a few years back. They're solid, but resources are scarce. A whirly bird might trigger another failure above. We have no idea if Ben and Austen saw or even heard what happened. We figure we have to get down and we have to get out. So I pack up camp, taking everything in case we don't make it off the glacier. Shift the weight to me and make Andrew's pack as light as possible. Still quite heavy. Whenever I pause and allow the mind to wander, shock hits me and I find myself inexplicably racked with sobs and shaky breathing. Odd feeling, that. Keep packing. We follow our boot pack out. Andrew's head had stopped bleeding and he's moving well. I belay the steep sections and downclimb after. One three foot crevasse jump holds us up for a few minutes but Andrew makes it over with a shout along the lines of "I'm going home!" I'm trying to convince myself that I'm helping him, but he's moving better than me. My body is still in disconnect with my mind; perhaps a little league team threw me in a sack and started swinging. Still, a few hours pass and we reach the moraine and re-bandage Andrew's head. A few hours more, a bit tedious with some regain, and we stumble into the refuge. While hiking across the moraine, we watch Ben and Austen's slow descent down the route and see them reach camp just shy of dusk. They had turned back at the col, reporting steep snow cone ice and tedious anchors. Pisco A ways to go Oh yeah. We took a "happy to be off the glacier" selfie. The refuge hosts and guests treat us well. They do not want to disturb the bandage and re-start the bleeding, so they do what they can. To our pleasure, this consists of food and drink. Throughout our extraction, I had been messaging with the Inreach (made difficult by a screen cracked in the fall). Delorme's services were inefficient as they had to go through the embassy. However, my fiance was able to reach a couple of our good friends, Boggy and Kylie, resting in Huaraz. Boggy and Kylie marched over to the Casa de Guias and initiated rescue, showing them where we were and providing some insight into our thinking. This was incredibly helpful and prevented Andrew from spending a night at 15K with a gashed head. The lead guide, Cesar Vargas, reached us around 6:00 PM at the refuge leading a team of Policia. They too did not want to disturb the bandage and encouraged descending as soon as possible. Fine with us. Our packs were thrown on a horse and we walked out by moon light, myself having lost a headlamp in the fall. A few hours of dusty trail later, nine of us piled into a police Hilux for the 3-hour drive back to Huaraz. All in all, a dozen stitches, a CT scan, and some confusion on whether or not Andrew was allowed to shower. Cesar stuck with us in the hospital providing translation as necessary. The police escorted us to Zarelas around two in the morning. The tally: 200 soles for the horse, 1,200 soles for the rescue, and about 800 soles for medical. Plus tips. About $700 US, our lives, and perhaps the wrong kind of memories thrown in for good measure. Shaqsha It's hard to relate these experiences with any type of meaning. Some may accuse me of dramatization and others may get stuck on trivialities. But our thoughts and fundamental approaches to mountaineering are changed nonetheless. One change I could not allow was in the mind. I refuse to be crippled, a prisoner of irrational and, yes, rational fears, unable to act and unable to follow the tangential whims of inspiration. Thus, I needed another climb and I had some of my best friends around to accommodate. A day of rest and plans are made. The taxi deposits us at a nondescript intersection in Olleros, 45 minutes from Huaraz. The road we arrived on continues to a row of mud brick homes with deteriorating doors hanging haphazardly from scavenged frames. The intersecting road heads up, bounded by golden fields, and turns near a walled enclosure marking the local cemetery. Occasionally, an elderly local shuffles outside her door and cackles good-naturedly to us about jaguars on the hill in a spattering of native Quechua and Spanish. Eventually, our reluctant muleteer and less-reluctant mules arrive for the 4.5 hour uphill trek first on road and then on tundra up to high camp. Physically, my shoulder is still a mass of purple and angry blue. A persistent cough hints at more than the usual, but I swallow it as I suspect a fractured rib which takes precedence over the need to cough. My knee is pained, my body stiff, and my gait cautious. But mountaineering is mostly a mental exercise. We set camp amidst the cow pies and eat, listening to a deluge of light rain on the tent walls. I tend to be a light weight sort and bring just enough food to get by. Boggy and Kylie tend to feast and share said feast. Salami and crackers, chocolate and more; it certainly provides taste and good spirits to a freeze dried affair. Boggy and I scout the route up the ridge. It is well-cairned, following the top of the ridge before dropping left of a point and perhaps third class on the easiest line to the glacier. It was helpful to scout it out, given the easiest line is difficult to spot. Golden hues and rain clouds beckoned us to stay. So we do. Golden Fields Shaqsha Yes, they're romantics at heart I forget which hour of the morning we wake, but our plan is to reach the steep part of the climb by first light and we're successful in that regard. Once on the glacier, the route follows a gently rising flank prior to cutting under the face left and climbing an ice fall. Route description link here. Boggy and I swing simul blocks. The route is engaging. A series of crevasse steps like a dilapidated staircase. Short and steep pitches, the occasional step or jump over a gaping maw, and engaging weaving among icy aretes. Trepidation and doubt melt away. I relax, focusing on the movement and taking cues from Boggy's confident attitude. The joy of alpine ice entraps me in the dance of swing and kick, balancing, stemming and playing the puzzle of protection. A screw to protect a crevasse crossing, a picket to protect a slope, a bit of tension here and slack there. Hug the right side and then the left to avoid potential ice fall. A dance indeed and I feel I've made the right decision to dance rather than sit by my mental snack station. Our chute runs out and we move left, descending into a trough and climbing back out. We continue up the slopes and reach an impasse about a rope length from the summit. A small cul de sac of overhanging chandelier ice. We suspect we can move left, but that places us on the wrong side of a rock band. A solid stick in the chandelier is out of reach, and perhaps the chandelier is more solid it looks. The sun crests the ridge while we decide. The best option is to do a short rappel, traverse further right, and then set a belay and continue up steep alpine ice slopes to the summit. But we have a time limit and a muleteer waiting below. I see where we went wrong on the route finding. A benign matter of 30 ft right. Nearing our cul-de-sac A suggestion is made to descend and I'd be lying if that didn't sound good to me, trepidation returning with the sun beating on the seracs. I know the fear is mostly irrational given terrain traps to catch most of the ice fall, but I take comfort in our consensus. A series of our own V-threads, pickets, and burner pieces see us down in several rappels. Some short and some long. Some clean, but most undulating over the ice steps. Learning how and when to bail is an essential mountaineering skill. Where to set the ropes to ensure a clean pull and when to end the rappel to set the next anchor. A puzzle of its own and one easy enough when sharing the burden with Boggy. PC: Kylie We're an hour overdue and the muleteer is waiting for us at camp. We quickly pack and begin the long hike out. We might've failed on this particular peak, but the failure was on our own terms and dependent on our own decisions. What's more, we could not stop smiling at the beauty of the dance. Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

Peru - A Tale of Two Almosts

There are three distinct moments in my life when I figured I might die. And no, I don't mean the bumpy airplane or the almost car wreck, the sketchy back alley, bar fight gone bad, or reach-out-and-touch 'em bear type of nearly died. I mean the next stage. A flip of a switch and the shadows and murk clouding one's life retreat to the corners, leaving the remains starkly exposed. Our surrounds, our reality, confronts us and we accept them as is, shed of the irrelevancy of the past and void of a future.

I used to never dance; 25 years of my life spent avoiding the dance floor and standing awkwardly by the snack table. But after I-Should-Have-Died Event Number 2, the insecurities seemed rather silly.

Cayesh

Huandoy Norte (20,981 ft) and Shaqsha (18,711 ft)

Cordillera, Blanca, Peru
July 2016

Acclimatization peaks: Maparaju, San Juan (aborted due to weather), Pisco
Gear: Technical snow, ice, and rock
Resources: Brad Johnson's guide, online
Partners:
Austen Beason, Ben Ammon - Maparaju, San Juan, Pisco, and Huandoy Sur
Andrew Reed - Maparaju, Pisco and Huandoy Sur
Emily Hendrick - Maparaju, San Juan and Pisco. Chopi with Tyson
Tyson Titensor - Pisco and Chopi
Boggy, and Kylie - Shaqsha (other peaks separately)

Most of the crew

We were over a week into the trip, having tasted both success and failure. Ben and Austen were a natural pair on a rope, working through the crevasses, slopes, and technical challenges with practiced competence. Andrew, Emily, and I had never roped together before and set different paces. It showed, but we managed just fine. Conditions in Peru are fairly dry. The difficulty of peaks is often a half grade or grade higher than reported in guide books as the glaciers retreat and ice cliffs form where ice slopes once existed.

Emily might write a report on the earlier peaks, a summit of Chopicalqui, and other Peru ventures. There were excellent photos taken early on.

Also, Austen put together a video. I have several clips but haven't yet figured out how to so much as rotate them.

A few pictures from the acclimatization peaks:

Maparaju:

San Juan:

Pisco:

Pisco high camp, at a bit over 16,000 ft, was deserted. It is not a popular place, which worked in our favor after returning from the conga line boot pack on Pisco. Somebody had taken the time to fit rocks between a couple boulders to form a respectable kitchen tucked behind our tents. Tyson is an experienced and well-traveled kayaker and stoked Austen's and Ben's burgeoning interests around the stoves with the rest of us randomly disappearing and returning with yet another layer of down and stowing cameras as the sun descended below the horizon.

Camp Life

Andrew's Night Sky

In the morning, Emily and Tyson hiked out to climb Chopi across the valley and we stashed gear to begin the approach to Huandoy Norte.

The Approach

We follow cairns up the moraine ridge from Pisco high camp and across the polished bedrock to the base of the glacier footing the Huandoys. We're surprised and pleased to find a faint two-pass boot pack climbing high and then traversing. We know this will save us some route-finding time.

Glacier travel is a tedious affair, fighting a frozen ocean of rolling waves, sharp crests, and descending troughs. Up and down but mostly up, weaving through the bridges and around the crevasses with vertical sides descending from white to pale blue, navy, and then black, depending on the position of the sun. A sight best viewed at a distance.

We contour up and across, beneath the menacing slopes of Huandoy Este. One crevasse jump gives us pause and we're toasting under the sun on the gleaming expanse.

Austen and Ben camp below the bergschrund wall. Andrew and I assess a similar site but aren't keen on ice danglers above and hidden openings below. We nestle our tent behind a large fallen serac block and hack out a suitable platform with our ice tools. The tent is up, dinner made, water boiled, and the view appreciated.

A small corner of our tent peaks out from behind the serac. Sometime in the night, a crystalline tinkle is heard, followed by a staccato thump and BOOM as ice hits the exposed corner. I shoot upright yelling and Andrew follows, alarmed and confused. In the morning, we see the ice chunk was probably fist sized. Tents are liars, the biggest braggarts of them all, continually exaggerating the sounds without and elevating a light sprinkle to a deluge, were one to go by noise alone.

The Climb

Sunrise found Andrew and I several hundred feet above camp, having climbed and simul-climbed several pitches of alpine ice and snow. The morning started off with an ice chute bisecting ice cliffs, directly above our sheltered camp. Andrew led the first block behind Ben and Austen and I was at the rear, rather annoyed by the constant bombardment of ice and listening to larger pieces slice through the stillness. Andrew set a belay in a sheltered spot and I started up a second ice step prior to a long stretch of steepening snow and interrupted by the occasional patch of alpine ice and rock. The "Standard Route," touched by one or two parties a year.

An earlier start would've been better, as we always say, but try telling that to a bundle of goose down and nylon at two o'clock in the morning.

Gargoyle seracs and layered cream rolls cling to the ridges and ledges above and to the sides, occasionally shedding debris into our rather expedient, though exposed, chute. A surreal scene: rock of a salt and pepper hue with trickles of milky and gun metal veins on right and nondescript dull browns rising high to the left, almost to the summit. Glacial ice, old and ancient, with variegated shades of navy and white and the occasional streak of darker debris belying the hazard of our sport. A narrow pyramid of snow rose above us, splitting the scene and providing direction.

Our overall pace complemented that of Austen and Ben and we hit the anchor spots just about as they were leaving. Andrew was hooting and hollering, overjoyed at the climbing and scenery. I'd been belaying off a munter for the past few pitches, having lost my ATC pulling a twin gate off my belay loop. Anyways, this particular anchor consisted of a nut slotted between rock and ice, another "don't lean sideways" nut, and my tool embedded in body weight ice, all dependent on an ice-veined boulder that was thankfully shaded. I.e. a relatively bomber alpine anchor.

The sun was on us and, more alarming, on the slope. We were moving much slower than expected given snow conditions and a lack of pickets for extending lead blocks. Andrew reached the belay and his mood had changed. The snow wasn't very good - soft storm snow with only hints of the expected alpine ice. He had been having altitude issues throughout the trip and wasn't sure about continuing. Okay. Up or down, but we can't stay here. I leaned towards ascending to the col and waiting until the face is in shade, but the unknown says down and now. I communicated Andrew's and my plan up to Austen and Ben and they continued up, making slow progress.

Reverse course: I belay Andrew down the steep pitch, he finds a marginal screw and picket, and I downclimb after. Andrew isn't moving all that well, a few inches at a time. We decide he should rappel and I continue to downclimb after, wishing we had more pickets to burn. There's a bit of rope spaghetti and I'm getting a bit irritated, swearing at the constant bombardment of ice shards, spindrift and lack of progress either up or down.

After a few double rope rappels and downclimbs, we reach the dual ice bands: randkluft above bergschrund. I had to dig out the storm snow for this anchor, hammering home a ringer eventually. Andrew rappels. He makes it about 150 feet and is in the midst of the ice bands. He's feeling better too, knowing the tent is a stone's throw (and a long drop) away. The rope is about 30 feet too short though and dangling in the last ice band. Via radio, he's to either build a v-thread or burn a picket. Rather than burn two pickets and have none for the complicated glacier hike out, we decide it would be best to have him anchor, I downclimb 30 ft and re-set a burner picket, and we both rap on down to steep, but non-technical terrain.

I look up to check the progress of Austen and Ben now several hundred feet up. A bit of spindrift obscures them. Shield the eyes and look again. A cream roll slinks from a ledge off right and explodes in the couloir above. A white powder spray of mist with a few blocks charging out of the plume.

Avalanches make for a beautiful sight. Dynamic and flowing, simultaneously graceful and powerful and second only to a flickering fire with respect to intrigue. Contouring to the lay of the land and sculpting it as necessary, smoothing over flaws and harsh edges, a wave of froth crashing and spewing below a burgeoning cumulus of powder. There's no denying the power of an avalanche, even a small one such as this, and particularly when one is below it.

I yell the warning and dive to my tool on arrest. The thundering draws near and the charge is announced by an impact and screaming pain in my shoulder. My tool slices through the snow and I drop a foot onto the picket. A breath or two and the initial roar passes, the impacts less painful and decreasing in volume. I think we might be home free. But then it hits Andrew. He's in the midst of a narrow choke on rappel and the full brunt deposits on top of him, immediately knocking him out and sweeping him down. The rope folds the picket in half and out it goes, me anchored to it. From above, Austen says it looks like I was ripped off the slope, a marionette on strings, pinballing down the ice chute and out of sight.

I'm not sure where I read the theory on slowing life down. Probably Cosmo, maybe GQ, perhaps a book or romantic comedy. But the theory goes: if one settles into life and into a routine, life will fly by. The mundane, the comfortable, the familiar, and the traditional; The Four Deadly Sins and the youth's constant and exaggerated lament - birth, school, marriage, work, kids, house, retire and die. We cruise on through life and dive into our graves with but a tip of our hats and perhaps a wink from the special, the sands of life having trickled through one's fingers in the space of a few heartbeats.

But there is a cure, so goes the theory, and it relies on one simple assumption: we measure life in memories. When we think back, we remember events, experiences, places, friends, and conversations. We remember sitting on the bow of a grandfather's sailboat, crashing through waves while dolphins glide playfully underneath and forgotten harbors pass on the sides. We remember the beautiful dance across a serrated ridgeline, shrugging the enticing draw of gravity with precise and nimble intent. We remember the partners we danced with, reveling in the synchronicity.

We remember emotions, not time. As we generate strong and memorable emotions, and as we scribe chapters instead of footnotes, and if we look back on the past year and remember a hundred events rather than ten, then perhaps we will be able to slow life down and delay the perpetual.

I'm conscious, attempting an arrest between end-over-end tumbles, and the oddest assortment of thoughts are screaming through the mind. Mostly, the thoughts are curious; the typical morbid and selfish fascination.

Is this how it ends? I'm going to die. It doesn't hurt very much yet. Will it be painful or will it be quick? Have I fallen over the cliff yet? I bet I'll snap a leg there. I wish I could take my crampons off. This is taking a while. Will I black out before - Ow - that must've been the cliff.

The arrest catches, which I'm quite happy for, knowing there's an inviting crevasse not too far down. Perhaps a few hundred feet closer than it was moments ago. Nothing is broken, I think, but my body is not doing what I ask. I stumble upright, twisted in coils, and survey the scene. There's Andrew, upside down, twenty feet lower, with a halo of red around his helmet and face. I stumble towards him mumbling his name. He comes to and asks the requisite "wheres" and "hows." Good sign. Time for action and a plan: try to shed the twin rope and tether spaghetti, help Andrew away from the hangfire zone, stumble back up the slopes for our glacier goggles, and then back up for the contents of my exploded pack, including first aid kit.

It's hard to get a sense of scale, but we were carried over the ice cliffs shown. Hangfire from the rock cliffs on right:

The picket

Check the spine and then check the rest. I avoid the helmet but I guess it's time. The helmet, crushed in the back and dripping red, comes off . Then the hat. A hint of bone. A few inches, obscured by wet red hair. At least the bone appears intact, but I can't really tell. I flashback to a previous incident in which I hold up a tiny aid kit and survey a severed leg wondering at the impossibility. A bit more training and better circumstances nowadays. Gauze on the head, followed by a wrap and having him maintain compression and talk. Hit the emergency signal.

Andrew's helmet

Decisions in instances like these are hard. We have to get out from under the slope and I think Andrew is in the shape to do so. My confidence in the Casa de Guias' ability to respond quickly isn't the best after watching a recovery a few years back. They're solid, but resources are scarce. A whirly bird might trigger another failure above. We have no idea if Ben and Austen saw or even heard what happened. We figure we have to get down and we have to get out. So I pack up camp, taking everything in case we don't make it off the glacier. Shift the weight to me and make Andrew's pack as light as possible. Still quite heavy. Whenever I pause and allow the mind to wander, shock hits me and I find myself inexplicably racked with sobs and shaky breathing. Odd feeling, that. Keep packing.

We follow our boot pack out. Andrew's head had stopped bleeding and he's moving well. I belay the steep sections and downclimb after. One three foot crevasse jump holds us up for a few minutes but Andrew makes it over with a shout along the lines of "I'm going home!" I'm trying to convince myself that I'm helping him, but he's moving better than me. My body is still in disconnect with my mind; perhaps a little league team threw me in a sack and started swinging. Still, a few hours pass and we reach the moraine and re-bandage Andrew's head. A few hours more, a bit tedious with some regain, and we stumble into the refuge. While hiking across the moraine, we watch Ben and Austen's slow descent down the route and see them reach camp just shy of dusk. They had turned back at the col, reporting steep snow cone ice and tedious anchors.

Pisco

A ways to go

Oh yeah. We took a "happy to be off the glacier" selfie.

The refuge hosts and guests treat us well. They do not want to disturb the bandage and re-start the bleeding, so they do what they can. To our pleasure, this consists of food and drink. Throughout our extraction, I had been messaging with the Inreach (made difficult by a screen cracked in the fall). Delorme's services were inefficient as they had to go through the embassy. However, my fiance was able to reach a couple of our good friends, Boggy and Kylie, resting in Huaraz. Boggy and Kylie marched over to the Casa de Guias and initiated rescue, showing them where we were and providing some insight into our thinking. This was incredibly helpful and prevented Andrew from spending a night at 15K with a gashed head.

The lead guide, Cesar Vargas, reached us around 6:00 PM at the refuge leading a team of Policia. They too did not want to disturb the bandage and encouraged descending as soon as possible. Fine with us. Our packs were thrown on a horse and we walked out by moon light, myself having lost a headlamp in the fall. A few hours of dusty trail later, nine of us piled into a police Hilux for the 3-hour drive back to Huaraz.

All in all, a dozen stitches, a CT scan, and some confusion on whether or not Andrew was allowed to shower. Cesar stuck with us in the hospital providing translation as necessary. The police escorted us to Zarelas around two in the morning. The tally: 200 soles for the horse, 1,200 soles for the rescue, and about 800 soles for medical. Plus tips. About $700 US, our lives, and perhaps the wrong kind of memories thrown in for good measure.

Shaqsha

It's hard to relate these experiences with any type of meaning. Some may accuse me of dramatization and others may get stuck on trivialities. But our thoughts and fundamental approaches to mountaineering are changed nonetheless.

One change I could not allow was in the mind. I refuse to be crippled, a prisoner of irrational and, yes, rational fears, unable to act and unable to follow the tangential whims of inspiration.

Thus, I needed another climb and I had some of my best friends around to accommodate. A day of rest and plans are made.

The taxi deposits us at a nondescript intersection in Olleros, 45 minutes from Huaraz. The road we arrived on continues to a row of mud brick homes with deteriorating doors hanging haphazardly from scavenged frames. The intersecting road heads up, bounded by golden fields, and turns near a walled enclosure marking the local cemetery. Occasionally, an elderly local shuffles outside her door and cackles good-naturedly to us about jaguars on the hill in a spattering of native Quechua and Spanish.

Eventually, our reluctant muleteer and less-reluctant mules arrive for the 4.5 hour uphill trek first on road and then on tundra up to high camp. Physically, my shoulder is still a mass of purple and angry blue. A persistent cough hints at more than the usual, but I swallow it as I suspect a fractured rib which takes precedence over the need to cough. My knee is pained, my body stiff, and my gait cautious. But mountaineering is mostly a mental exercise.

We set camp amidst the cow pies and eat, listening to a deluge of light rain on the tent walls. I tend to be a light weight sort and bring just enough food to get by. Boggy and Kylie tend to feast and share said feast. Salami and crackers, chocolate and more; it certainly provides taste and good spirits to a freeze dried affair.

Boggy and I scout the route up the ridge. It is well-cairned, following the top of the ridge before dropping left of a point and perhaps third class on the easiest line to the glacier. It was helpful to scout it out, given the easiest line is difficult to spot.

Golden hues and rain clouds beckoned us to stay. So we do.

Golden Fields

Shaqsha

Yes, they're romantics at heart

I forget which hour of the morning we wake, but our plan is to reach the steep part of the climb by first light and we're successful in that regard. Once on the glacier, the route follows a gently rising flank prior to cutting under the face left and climbing an ice fall. Route description link here.

Boggy and I swing simul blocks. The route is engaging. A series of crevasse steps like a dilapidated staircase. Short and steep pitches, the occasional step or jump over a gaping maw, and engaging weaving among icy aretes.

Trepidation and doubt melt away. I relax, focusing on the movement and taking cues from Boggy's confident attitude. The joy of alpine ice entraps me in the dance of swing and kick, balancing, stemming and playing the puzzle of protection. A screw to protect a crevasse crossing, a picket to protect a slope, a bit of tension here and slack there. Hug the right side and then the left to avoid potential ice fall. A dance indeed and I feel I've made the right decision to dance rather than sit by my mental snack station.

Our chute runs out and we move left, descending into a trough and climbing back out.

We continue up the slopes and reach an impasse about a rope length from the summit. A small cul de sac of overhanging chandelier ice. We suspect we can move left, but that places us on the wrong side of a rock band. A solid stick in the chandelier is out of reach, and perhaps the chandelier is more solid it looks. The sun crests the ridge while we decide. The best option is to do a short rappel, traverse further right, and then set a belay and continue up steep alpine ice slopes to the summit. But we have a time limit and a muleteer waiting below.

I see where we went wrong on the route finding. A benign matter of 30 ft right.

Nearing our cul-de-sac

A suggestion is made to descend and I'd be lying if that didn't sound good to me, trepidation returning with the sun beating on the seracs. I know the fear is mostly irrational given terrain traps to catch most of the ice fall, but I take comfort in our consensus.

A series of our own V-threads, pickets, and burner pieces see us down in several rappels. Some short and some long. Some clean, but most undulating over the ice steps. Learning how and when to bail is an essential mountaineering skill. Where to set the ropes to ensure a clean pull and when to end the rappel to set the next anchor. A puzzle of its own and one easy enough when sharing the burden with Boggy.

We're an hour overdue and the muleteer is waiting for us at camp. We quickly pack and begin the long hike out.

We might've failed on this particular peak, but the failure was on our own terms and dependent on our own decisions.

What's more, we could not stop smiling at the beauty of the dance.

Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

Comments or Questions

Floyd	Glad you're OK 8/25/2016 11:54am Ryan, that's an emotional ride, old friend. You and Andrew are blessed to come out of that under your own power. You're quite the mountaineer and it sounds like your previous experiences saved both of your lives. Happy to hear your sense of humor didn't go down the crevasse. "Ow - was that a cliff?" After the fact, that's a pretty funny statement and I picture Homer Simpson bouncing down the Matterhorn. I can say that since I know you guys are fine now! Impressed you got right back in the saddle and your last sentence and picture tell the whole story of what's truly important.
scramble	Woah! 8/25/2016 1:36pm Glad you and Andrew are ok!!!! (Beautiful pictures, too.)
Somewhat of a Prick	I knew this would be... 8/25/2016 1:46pm Awesome so I liked it before I read it. I stand by my like
FireOnTheMountain	pic 6 8/25/2016 1:58pm is why mountaineering is the shit and drives me away from the crag! really glad you guys had B/K to help organize the rescue. solid work and TR
piper14er	existential crisis 8/25/2016 3:27pm Ryan I would have to say this report "waxes poetic" also. The narrative is compelling and the pictures make you feel like you are standing there with you. Glad you made it through all the "adventures".
Rainier_Wolfcastle	Heard about this 8/26/2016 10:49am I heard about this, but wouldn't have believed the hike out and medical assistance went so smoothly. I've had moments where I thought I might look up to see what you did, but never have, glad you are here to share the story! Btw, how does an engineer, that once lived in a van down by the river, write so well?
TomPierce	Nature of the beast... 8/25/2016 5:51pm Ryan, A well written, thought provoking report. Obviously I'm glad you and your friend made it out alive, I hope you're both on the mend. But IMO these sorts of events are unfortunately the nature of the climbing beast, particularly for alpine routes with higher objective hazards. My perspective is that, for a tech climber, experience is the proverbial double edge sword: Given a climber's thirst to solve challenging problems, as experience increases so does the thirst to solve ever more challenging problems, with an attendant increase in risk. IMO no way to escape that conundrum, it's just part of the game. As you sit down to play poker with Gravity and his friend, Death, I suppose all you can do is know when to hold, know when to...well, this report shows you already know how to end that sentence. Don't mean to be a downer! I hope you have few similar events in the future, if any. The winners of the climbing game are the climbers who die peacefully in their sleep. Great report, be safe out there.
d_baker	Wow 8/25/2016 8:32pm Great writing and introspection on a tough day in the mountains. I personally think it's a wise thing to get back on the horse quickly when your passion is as strong as yours. Nice job, Ryan. And I hope for a full mental & physical recovery for you guys. To Boggy & Kylie, whom I've never met, you rock! Well, so does Monster.....
litote312	I'd buy the book 8/25/2016 9:01pm if you wrote more, this was nothing short of incredible. Thank you for sharing in the best TR I've read. Made me numb while reading.
jbchalk	My gosh, Ryan... 8/26/2016 9:37am ...pretty amazing stuff here, buddy. For an engineer, you write better than all the english & poetry majors I've certainly ever known. What a hell of a trip and am so glad you guys made it out on the other end. Huge kudos for getting back on the horse and getting on Shaqsha with Boggy & Kylie. Anyway, one of your best reports and that's saying something! See you soon, buddy
Monster5	Thanks! 8/26/2016 10:13am -Floyd's human: I imagined the scene from the Goofy Movie where Goofy tumbles down a waterfall. We should get out again soon. Perhaps Aug 22nd-24th, 2018 provides suitable notice? -Thanks Sara, Nick, and litote! -Lost phone noob: cost/benefit ratio and such -Al: thanks for the kind words. "Waxes poetic" is quite the complement coming from you. -Shawn: truth is, I didn't live down by the creek. I lived in-between the sororities and the rec center. Not a bad position back then. -Tom: I like that you describe it as a game. I agree with your well-phrased juxtaposition of risk vs reward. There are very few alpine challenges that can be solved without an increase in risk, from choss piles like Curecanti to the high peaks. -Baker with one R: I agree with the horse. I think some of us would go crazy sitting around after a mishap. -The Good Buddy Chalk: There's a land surveyor up above who writes better than an engineer. See ya Sunday!
DArcyS	wow 8/27/2016 1:37pm Glad you guys are okay. Always respected your groups' talent from afar, you folks are doing some amazing stuff. And just a suggestion -- if it were me and if I had bought that Petzl helmet from REI, I think I'd return it under their 100% satisfaction guarantee and claim a small part of me is just a little bit disappointed that it didn't fully prevent me from bleeding. Sure it saved my life, but... (And FireontheMountain -- I'm glad my post on spelling out four-letter words took hold. )
dereferenced	Thanks for writing about this 8/28/2016 12:38am I'm glad you both ended up safe. The bent picket picture is startling. Was it in shallow snow, placed in as deep as the bend? I wonder if a T-bar picket would be stronger to that kind of failure than one of the Yates ones. Of course, with that kind of force, even an indestructable picket could just rip out of the snow. Could you maybe write up some recommendations for how to handle an emergency with an inreach, in Peru? I've never thought about what happens past pressing the SOS button. I heard you guys had a lot of confusion with the embassy. Is there a better way to handle it? Just text your emergency contact, have them call Casa de Guias, or zarela, or? What should you do if Casa de Guias is closed?
Gueza	Holy $hit 8/28/2016 2:02pm Absolutely incredible, thank you for sharing.
Monster5	Re 8/29/2016 12:26pm Unfortunately, I purchased the helmet from STP. The Petzl Meteor II is pretty fragile and frankly, not a great helmet (particularly for mountaineering). But it's soooo light! My Elios is well-suited but the foam fell out of it. Peter - the picket was placed in fairly deep snow/icy snow. The bottom was in fairly icy stuff while the top was in somewhat softer snow. I had excavated a few inches inches of storm snow. I think a T picket might have held, but I'm not sure if that would have been a good thing in this particular case. The fall didn't break anything so perhaps it was better to fall with the snow rather than resist the complete force of the debris. Not sure. I think the best thing, which I recommended to friends heading down later, is to hit the SOS and have your emergency contact immediately contact CdG (number and info provided in advance). If the victim has the physical ability to text, then have CdG's number or email saved as a contact on the device and message them directly in addition to hitting SOS. When the SOS is hit, the people following the device don't see it. Instead, Delorme is notified and they then call the emergency contact and the local embassy. The device begins broadcasting a location every 20 minutes (useful on the move). The embassy contacts the Peruvian rep, who contacts local police who then contact CdG. The process can take hours. However, the embassy has far more pull to organize a heli evac than CdG, so if that level of rescue is necessary, perhaps the CdG and the embassy can coordinate better. In this case, Steph contacted Boggy/Kylie, they told Zarela, and Zarela had them head over to CdG. Boggy and Kylie logged on to my Delorme from the CdG and pointed out the route (the guides guessed we were on a different route and were gearing up for that), where we were, and showed the CdG coordinator how to text us. The CdG brought in a couple guides and they contacted the police rescue team for truck/manpower. If the CdG is closed, then eventually the police rescue team will call up a guide and respond. Same result, but a lengthier process.
Boggy B	Wait, so... 8/29/2016 2:57pm do you actually dance? Nicely written. Survival 4 lyf!
Floyd	I don't know man... 8/30/2016 7:28am Wednesday's are tough for me. But, if you can keep it under 5.stiff and 10k of vert maybe we can work something out.
rocky_mtn_high	An amazing account 8/30/2016 9:40pm Thanks for sharing, Ryan. Beautiful -- both the photos and the prose. Glad it ended well. - John
Kylie	eh-em 8/31/2016 10:19pm How come I'm not an "additional member" on this fine TR? You definitely gave us a scare there Ryan. Glad we got to do that climb, it was a lot of fun

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Huandoy Norte (20,981 ft) and Shaqsha (18,711 ft)

The Approach

The Climb

Shaqsha

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