At 6.400 meters I stop. My head aches, I can’t breathe and my toes are cold. It is still another 596 meters to the summit of Aconcagua, the highest point in South America.
I brace my back to the wind and try together my thoughts. The lack of oxygen in the very thin air makes thinking difficult, and the wind chill cutting through my five layers of clothing is not helping. The past weeks on the Mountain have been severe: ferocious winds, extreme cold, and loads of snow. in the past few days, one Japanese died of edema, and one Polish man froze to death on the glacier. The handful who did manage to summit, had frostbitten toes, fingers, and faces to prove it.
I decided to turn back. I had a warm drink from my thermos, tightened the straps on my crampons, and took one last look around, at a beautiful but most inhospitable place. I arrived back at base camp, more exhausted then I have ever been in my life.
Many come to Aconcagua as part of an organized expedition, or with one or two climbing partners. I climbed solo. This meant carrying everything up and down the mountain, including a tent just for myself, all my food and fuel, and doing all the cooking and snow melting.
The only help I received, was from a mule that carried 30kl of gear to the base camp.
The hardest part for me climbing solo was making all decisions, and the knowledge that I am one hundred percent responsible for them.
