Night on Bald Mountain

In hindsight I can hardly believe that I got myself into the following situation. Usually I am a very careful person that takes all the normal precautions whenever I get myself into something. Yet somehow within a twelve-hour period I pushed myself as close to the precipice of death as I have probably ever been.

Our weekend excursion was supposed to be challenging, a little bit of hard work, and a whole lot of fun. Eight Canadians from our group, including my girlfriend Jennifer, were led by one student’s host father Colonel Louis on a climb of the nearby mountain Pasochoa. We all met at his house in the early afternoon and after the truck we had rented picked us up, we were off on our adventure.

The trip began as ideally as any trip could have. Sitting in the open back of the truck we had the wind in our faces and a common feeling of enthusiasm. Our trek up the mountain was like entering into an entirely different world. Although we only went a few minutes down the road from Sangolqui’s urban core, we were instantly in an entirely different rural setting. The road up the mountain had a small town feel: cobbled mixed with dirt roads, huge stretches of farmland, small family owned plots, and the occasional stable or corner store. As we moved further up the mountain it became a bit greener, there were lush green eucalyptus plantations around us, and we were given a magnificent view of the valley below us. Our enthusiasm was high and pushed forward with a sense of adventure.

The truck dropped us off at the Pasochoa hydroelectric dam and after exploring that for a bit we walked up a well worn path nearby. This part of the mountain appeared more jungle like with its intense greenery, sounds of birds, and thick foliage growing down the sides of the path we were walking. Occasionally there would be a lone flower that would stick out which made for some excellent photography. At one point I was a bit confused to find myself walking through a stretch of pine trees, clearly not a native species. I later learned that a foreign company had convinced Ecuadorians to plant them there and elsewhere in the country.

After hiking for about an hour we reached an abandoned house that seemed like it would be a good place to stop a camp and from which we could attempt the summit the next morning. Some of us, feeling a few rain drops, quickly ran off to collect some firewood. When we returned however we found that the group had decided to push on and camp near the summit; we would then be able to climb it tomorrow morning and make our descent. Having been assured that there was a camping spot we picked up our bags and moved on.

Immediately after the house there was an abrupt change in scenery. Thick low grasses, thorny shrubs, and different kinds of cacti replaced the thick forest. In one of our classes we had learned about this kind of area, known as a paramo, but seeing it for real was even better. A little further up we passed through a thicket of blueberries and although we were offered some, were told not to eat the black ones because they were hallucinogenic.
With what was about to happen, perhaps I should have taken some along with me.
At this point our climb became noticeably harder. Walking through the tough grass our legs picked up a lot of water, which slowed us down, and got our clothes wet. The path we were on was a bit steeper and because of some previous rain, quite muddy. To make matters worse it passed next to a small ravine. At times the drop was not much at all, at others, you would have been in serious trouble. This made us think twice about how fast we moved and a result our pace slowed down. As we inched our way up the hill the sun inched closer to the horizon, the wind picked up slightly, and the rain began to sprinkle down our backs.

Throughout this entire trek I had been hanging at the back of the group so I could be with Jennifer. She was feeling a little out of the breath from the altitude and because we were so close to the ravine I felt I should stick with her. Reflecting back I realized how this position affected how we contributed to the group. Because the others were always waiting for us any important decisions had already been made by the time we caught up. As a result all we could do was blindly follow those who were in front of us and trust they had made a good decision.

After surviving the ravine trek and passing through a barb wired fence we knew we were really on the mountain. All of the plant life was gone; the only surviving species was that same persistent knee high grass. The angle of the ascent was also quite steep and we were thus slowed down again. By now darkness had clearly set in and ominously the rain had picked up. Falling even further behind I suddenly realized that I had been so focused on helping Jennifer that I couldn’t see anyone of our group in front of us. As the fog set in around us I felt the first pangs of panic in my stomach. Where was everyone? Why weren’t we at the campsite yet? Who was leading this expedition? It was only at this point that I realized how grave our situation was. The darkness combined with fog meant that even with her glasses Jennifer could see nothing and I had no idea where we were going: literally the blind leading the blind.

Not wanting to trek along the muddy ravine in the dark I realized that the only thing we could do was push forward with the group. Hopefully we could trust our guide and find a campsite nearby. Wanting to catch up with the others I managed some sort of a whistle with my freezing hands and the dug through my bag for my flashlight. At this point my hands were so cold that I could hardly even move the zipper to get it. Even worse I had been sitting with Jennifer so long that even my feet where beginning to go numb. Realizing that I would have to warm up quickly I dug into my backpack and pulled out my jacket. To do so I had to untie my sleeping bag and part of our tent that was attached to the top of my bag. Turning to Jennifer I said, “come on let’s go.”

The only problem was, Jennifer wasn’t going anywhere. The rain, the fog, all the wet clothes, the cold, the constant up and down of the mountains had finally gotten to her. In exasperation she had decided to lie down and was not going to budge. When I tried to get her to move she yelled, “Matthew, I don’t want to die of hypothermia.” We needed help. Not knowing where to put the tent I stuffed it inside my jacket and grabbing Jennifer’s bag proceeded to dash as fast as I could with it up the hill. Once at the top I found that the rest of our group was doing no better. One guy was helping his girlfriend, who was in about the same shape as Jennifer, moving along as fast as they could. The rest of the group was up ahead but they had still not found the supposed campsite. Enlisting the help of one of our group members we were able to lead Jennifer up the hill and on to a small flat plateau. I felt for sure that we could go no further but no! We pushed on down into another valley and up another hill. Finally we were told to stop and pitch the tent, on the side of the hill! I do not exaggerate when I say that if you accidentally slipped on this hill you might easily find yourself a few hundred feet downhill in no time! With freezing hands we somehow got a six and two person tent set up and quickly threw ourselves into them. It was only at that point that we realized it was only 8:30 and that we would have to last at least another ten cold hours in that tent.

If the time up to this point was hell, then the rest of the night was purgatory. I still don’t understand how we survived that night. Some of our group members were so unprepared they hadn’t even brought dry clothes or a sleeping bag. Two of them spent most of the night curled up in a small blanket that could hardly fit around the two of them. Jennifer and I both had sleeping bags but hers was so wet that we both ended up curling up with both of them thrown over us in whatever way worked. Sleeping was impossible as we had to constantly to stop ourselves from rolling down the hill. The only one who didn’t seem to notice was our fearless leader. Upon entering the tent he proclaimed, “Ah, just like my bed at home,” and proceeded to fall right asleep.

Seven people in a six person tent, all cold, all tired, all desperately searching for heat can make for a very tense situation. Oddly enough we finally all relaxed enough that no matter what anyone said it all ended up being hilarious. After not having slept all night I’m sure you can imagine how funny it is to hear someone say “Olsen’s Standard Book of British Birds, the expedited version.”(For all you fans of obscure Monty Python references). At this point the absurdity of the situation had reached such a height that searching for heat we all ended up pilling on top of each only to realize that we didn’t generate that much heat and those on the bottom didn’t like having their organs crushed.

Waking up after having been in the freezing cold for ten hours was oddly like Christmas morning. With the sun came some heat and the clearing of the fog and we were given the gift of a spectacular view of what we had climbed last night. If we had seen that hike before we had done it in the dark there is no way we would have ever done it. There was the also the joy of discovering what was lying in the tattered remains of our tent. Socks, pants, underwear, bras, hats, coats, food, pillows, some clean, all wet, were ceremoniously dragged out and thrown to whoever claimed them. The tent on the other hand was destroyed, but I don’t think anyone cared.

Our joy was so great at seeing the sun that we quickly got down the mountain and after some breakfast, our first food in hours, got back to the city as soon as we could. On the slow trudge home I tried to find the words to explain to myself what had happened but couldn’t. The whole last night seemed like a blur of action that I had been dragged through against my will. Only later did I recognize the significance of it all: all of this had happened on Friday the 13th.