You can’t get closer to space on earth. Chimborazo’s peak is higher than Everest – technically – when measured from the centre of the planet. I’ve come with a few friends and a single snowboard.
Soon we’ll discover that while there is only one way up, there are many ways down this mountain.
Despite Mount Chimborazo’s colossal size, or because of it, we can’t see it. Clouds caught by the volcano’s snow cap wrap us up in a chilly blanket. We’re only at 5,000 of the mountain’s 6,200 metres, fog blind and altitude drunk.
Simon Bolivar dubbed this peak the “Watchtower of the world.” Who knew that one of South America’s liberators had a poetic side?
His poem My Delirium on Chimborazo Mountain is a conversation he had with Time itself on this very summit.
“Oh time! How does the miserable mortal who has climbed so high not simply vanish? I have surpassed all men in fortune, for I have risen above them all. Here I stand with the Earth beneath my feet; I grasp the eternal with my hands; I feel the hellish pressures boiling beneath me; beside me I see the shining stars, the infinite suns; without astonishment I measure the space that encloses matter, and in your face I read the history of the past, and the thoughts of destiny.”
Delirium is the right word. At this altitude, we’re already giddy. Add another 1,200 metres to reach the peak and a chat with the universe could feasibly happen.
Hans, a vacationing German lawyer fidgets beside me in the jeep. His hands are glued to his knees, fingers tapping, and a half smirk appears on his face whenever he speaks.
Otherwise his eyes are glued to the otherworldly outside, as blank as the fog. He’s looking for the peak.
Chimborazo summit has a 40/60 success rate.
“He’ll sleep here and go with a guide at 4:00am to hike. There’s a chance to get a clear view in the morning when the clouds lift,” says Wlady, my friend and local adventure expert.
Success as in completion, not survival.
There are two times the peak might clear: sunrise and sunset. If you think climbing an icy volcano technically higher than Everest is dangerous, try descending it – in the dark. Sunrise is the only safe option.
Hans spontaneously decided to summit after we met a French couple who attempted it. Their faces wore the contagious post-hike glow of exhaustion and awe. They’d stopped a couple hundred metres from the top.
I wonder if that sways the 40/60 odds in Han’s favour.
The Jeep rounds one of the endless switchbacks on the road up. As morning dawns, the clouds unveil windows to the volcanic rock-land beyond.
Post from RICOH THETA. – Spherical Image – RICOH THETA
“Welcome to Mars,” Wlady says.
It’s true, nothing looks of this planet here. Vicuñas, tiny, llama-like creatures dance on dainty feet in and out of view. Their huge eyes, giraffe-like necks and bright orange fluff are cartoon-ish.
We could be in our own delirium. If we are imagining them, at least we’re in this trip together.
Born of the mountain.
Finally, the 4×4 halts beside a log cabin, a refugio. We jump out, shivering in full winter garb.
Ecuador may hug the Equator but at this altitude – it’s a cold embrace.
A man saunters out wearing a thin sweater and a knit hat. Those who work up here are essentially Ecuador’s sherpas. I recognise the guide, he had taken the French couple up the night before.
“How are you not frozen?” I ask. “And, how are you still awake?”
He and Wlady laugh.
“We’re hijos, sons of Chimborazo,” Wlady says.
That’s what people from Riobamba, the colonial city below, call themselves. The white pyramid of the volcano watches everything from the horizon, giving it god status.
We drop off Hans equipped with jagged foot weapons (crampons), thick ropes wound in figure eights, and a helmet so fluorescent we’ll be able to see him from the town below.
You don’t summit Chimborazo alone. It’s gear and guides.
“May the odds be ever in your favour,” I say with a hug and we part ways. He’s headed up the volcano as Wlady and I prepare to go down, the fun way.
Flying high and fast.
Bzoooom.
“Was that… was that a hummingbird?” I look around to make sure that the others saw it, hoping my own delirium is still manageable.
“Bet you didn’t expect to see one here! These are the highest altitude hummingbirds in the world,” says Wlady.
“Vamos! Let’s go!”
As well as bringing Hans to basecamp, we’ve also brought a snowboard. Wlady wrings every last drop of adventure out of a trip.
“We’ll slide down the mountain!” Wlady says.
There’s just one problem. Wlady and I don’t have proper boots and the board won’t attach.
“Well, it’ll make a fine sled!”
We agree and walk up to Condor Cocha, an alpine lake a few hundred metres farther along.
Celebrate good times
We quickly catch up to a group of Ecuadorians on the snowy path ahead. The boys are in flashy Converse sneakers. The girls are wearing ballet flats. There’s a cardboard box in their hands as mysterious as it is flimsy.
“There’s not a huge mountaineering or trekking culture in Ecuador yet, we assist mostly travellers from Europe and North America,” Wlady says.
He’s working on it. He runs Ecuador Eco Adventures from his home in Riobamba and travels the country every year to find others like him: Those who seek indescribable experiences in the most epic places.
When the group stops, we watch to see what’s in the box. Surprise!
“Feliz cumpleaños a ti, feliz cumple…” Suddenly, we’re singing Happy Birthday in Spanish.
“Wait, am I at a birthday party, on a volcano, farther from the centre of the earth than Everest?” I wonder.
For our performance, they plunk a piece of cake into our hands.
The fun way down
Chimborazo’s swirling clouds act as a transition between each of today’s experiences, until they feel like separate dreams.
I now fully grasp Bolivar’s delirium. Unfortunately, the snowboard still won’t grasp our feet.
“Let’s do this,” Wlady and I nod at each other.
I go first, demonstrating Canadian prowess at sledding on my backside. I narrowly dodge some rocks. Thankfully, they’re bright red: ancient lava in the snow.
We leap frog down, taking turns.
We are the first to snowboard-sled down from the closest point on earth to outer space (maybe).
Laughing at our madness, we eventually find our way back to the refugio.
Cafecito, literally meaning “little coffee,” is served indoors on wooden picnic tables. This time it means hot chocolate and cookies: fuel. At altitude and in the cold our bodies, as well as our minds, have been working overtime.
Hans is fast asleep by now, getting ready for a 3:00am start. We hop back in the jeep to leave our delirium and begin the descent back to the mortal world.
Yet, there’s one more mind trip in store.
As we reach the city below, jackets come off. It’s as warm down here as it was cold up there.
We’ve experienced two seasons in a single day. Perhaps time does play games atop Chimborazo volcano.
One thing is certain, sledding down from outer space is something I won’t soon believe.
