Climbing Mt. Aconcagua With No Experience

Aconcagua vs the world's least experienced mountaineering duo

Origin

I’ve grown up with mountaineering in the far recesses of my imagination. I remember watching survival movies of men with ice axes and crampons fighting for their lives on the side of a cliff. It seemed like something interesting to do, but I never imagined that I’d ever actually be doing it. It is such a foreign and walled activity for people like me. I grew up in Connecticut, far from any glaciated mountain range. I knew zero mountaineers, and have only seen glaciers on TV. Mountaineering was something I thought was cool, but something I would never do, like drag racing, or becoming a professional baseball player. It was a pie in the sky.

After graduating university my life got very simple very quickly. I worked. I woke up at 6am, went for a run, then worked until I went to bed. I decided to balance a demanding job on Wall St with a Master’s degree in Computer Science, so my weekends were reserved for long runs, lectures, and cancelling plans. Monotony and stress became my best friends.

One year of this lifestyle and any sane person would look back and wonder what it is all for. Sure, I was able to save some money (I wasn’t spending any) and I worked my way out of imposter syndrome into some sort of financial security (I hope). I still wanted more, I needed a sense of adventure. I felt free and full of vitality - I needed to express it somehow.

Casey Neistat is my favorite YouTuber of all time. He can turn the most mundane day into a concerningly entertaining 10 minute video. His skill has me coming back to his videos intermittently throughout the years. One of this videos, The Day I Almost Died, shows him climbing Aconcagua. He did it without any porters, guides, or GPS. He also did it with very little experience, having only climbed Kilimanjaro (in sneakers) before.

This was perfect for me. I would climb Kilimanjaro with my buddies or with my brother. It would be a great adventure and I would be able to see if I am into this whole mountaineering thing. I looked up how to do it and was intensely disappointed. Kilimanjaro, by law, requires you to hire a porter and a guide. The government is trying to stimulate local business. Kind gesture, Tanzania, but no, thank you. I wanted an adventure, not a tour. Guides and porters will not do. I guess Aconcagua is the only way to do it.

I call my brother to discuss my plan with him. He is a quasi-influencer and is always up for a physical challenge, so it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree. We spoke with our bosses about a 2 week vacation and booked our incredibly expensive flights out to Mendoza. The adventure was real. Mountaineering was no longer this pie in the sky, it was something I’d be doing.

Preparation

After purchasing the flights to Mendoza (one way), I had to figure out how to actually climb this stupid rock in Argentina. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, as the only mountain I’ve ever climbed was 3k feet in New Hampshire, and the only time I’ve ever camped was with my Dad when I was 7 years old (an age so young that I really have never camped before in my life). I needed guidance.

I found the gear lists that all of the guiding companies posted for the expensive, guided expeditions. They were surprisingly detailed. I made a spreadsheet of everything I needed to buy and started purchasing. It was no cheap task. Down expedition style parka - $600, 8000M mittens - $250, double mountaineering boots - $1000. It added up quickly. So quickly that I actually became numb to spending money. Spending $20 used to hurt my soul, now $500 was just another day in the office. This may have been a bad idea.

The gear was incredibly important, but not the only requirement. You need excellent physical fitness to climb Aconcagua, especially if you plan to do it with no help at all. I have been a runner for many years, so I expected my cardio would be up to the task. But I was worried about my ability to carry 50-60 lbs on my back for hours at a time. I ordered two 45 lb plates on Amazon.

I would slide 45lbs in my backpack and walk 2 miles to and from work in NYC every day. This was incredibly difficult on day 1, but became manageable after about a week. This wasn’t enough though, Aconcagua, like most mountains, requires you to walk uphill. So, after work and on weekends, I would load up my backpack with weight and walk up and down the stairs of my 17 story apartment. That gets the blood pumping. A few weeks of this and I was sure I’d be ready to climb this mountain.

I also organized a last minute climb up Mt Hood (tallest peak in Oregon) to test myself. See that post here.

The Day After Christmas

My brother and I booked our flight to Mendoza on December 26th. We spent the day packing our bags and coming to terms with the situation we were about to put ourselves in. The bags were enormous. I thought 105L bags would leave plenty of room for all of our supplies. They didn’t. They were packed to the brim, and weighed around 50-60 pounds. No joke. The bag had our tent, sleeping bag, food (cliff bars and chocolate bars), and everything else one would need on the mountain. Our lives would be sustained and protected for the next two weeks by whatever was in these bags. We packed them into the car and set off for Argentina. It was exciting.

Arrival in Mendoza, Transfer to Los Penitentes

Before continuing with the story, I should say how I used logistics services to my advantage. I used Acomcara Aconagua Expeditions as my “mule service” and “private transfer” to Penitentes. I used these two services because they were the cheapest available and would allow my brother and me to get permits at a discounted price. Permits alone would’ve cost us $1500 each, with these services, just $800.

So we arrived in Mendoza and Acomara had a car ready to take us to a hotel lobby where we would meet our driver and get our permits. It would take about 2 hours. So I went to a nearby mountaineering store to buy gas for our stove, not knowing how much I really needed, I just bought “a lot”.

We met up with our driver and began the two hour drive to Los Penitentes, to a refuge where we would spend the night and acclimatize. In the morning we would wake up early and begin the trek to Confluencia, the first camp on the way to the summit.

First Trek: Los Penitentes to Confluencia

The hostel keeper drove us to the trailhead. We showed our permits to the park rangers, were given our trash and poop bags, and we told “good luck”. We parted ways with the driver (who we became decent friends with) and set off to conquer this stupid rock.

The scenery was breathtaking. We were walking through a thick, deep gorge cut out by glaciers in the ice age. Green, gray, and white mountains towered over us. There was absolute and pure silence on the trail, sometimes interrupted by the sound of a hummingbird, or by a very unwelcome sound to an excited and fit hiker, “can we take a break?”

Ugh oh. We haven’t been moving for very long and my body-builder brother wants to a take a break. I couldn’t believe it. I questioned if he was fit enough, if he practiced rucking enough, if he was really up for this challenge, or if he was just going for it cowboy style. I was not happy, but didn’t show it, as that would only make things worse. I didn’t want to scare him with what was to come, this hike should be a walk in the park, easy, a joke. You should be able to do it 5 times in a day, one handed, blindfolded, while playing chess. YOU SHOULDN’T NEED A F**KING BREAK.

We arrived in Confluencia and were greeted by smiling faces. The park rangers asked us how we were doing and told us to see them in a few hours to get a medical check. We then met Maura, the woman who would have water ready for us and had the key tot he bathrooms. It was quite luxurious. Bathrooms, limitless water, and a nice space for our tent. This wasn’t going to be so bad.

My brother and I set up our tent for the first time outside and felt proud of ourselves. We were finally outdoorsmen, mountaineers. Sleeping at 10k feet in a tent that we built ourselves, eating food we brought from the trailhead. It felt good. Although my mind wasn’t all positive. I did notice that we only kept our tent down by placing rocks on the vestibule. We didn’t use any anchors or fixed lines, as I didn’t know what those were until I saw literally every other tent using them. Oh well, guess I’ll have to look into that when I get home. It should be fine.

As the night rolled in we hopped into the tent and tried to get some sleep. This was impossible. Wind was hitting the tent constantly, producing a flapping so irritating that it may be preferable to the sound of a baby crying, or of a steel gear being placed in a blender. Not only was sound an issue, there was also a feel of dis-ease. I live at sea level, in NYC, and I just ascended to 10k feet in two days. I didn’t feel very hungry, and I didn’t feel like I was myself. There was a strange discomfort in my head that kept me from sleeping at all that night. I would learn later that this is what we must deal with as mountaineers. Sleep at altitude doesn’t come easy. Oh, and there is one other factor that may have contributed to my lack of sleep - IT WAS MY FIRST TIME IN A TENT.

Second Trek: Confluencia to Plaza De Mulas (Base Camp)

The trek from Confluencia to base camp is supposed to take around 8 hours if you are only carrying a couple pounds of gear. Most people go for this option, as they load up the rest of their gear on a mule, which takes their stuff to base camp for them. I didn’t want to do it this way. I wanted to do everything myself. I wanted to climb Aconcagua “alpine style.” This was non-negotiable.

We got up at 6am. Took our tent down and went off to Plaza de Mulas, with all of our gear on our backs. It was going to be a long day, especially if we were going to be taking all those breaks! The distance is about 15 miles with an elevation gain of 4k ft. It is a solid hike, even without any weight on your back.

We trek for a couple of hours before we find what the Los Penitentes hostel keeper described as a “highway”. It was an arid, empty, brown riverbed that cut through the Andes. It looked endless. We’d be on this road for a while now.

It wasn’t hot, as we were at 10-11k feet, but I could feel the sun ripping through my shirt. I was getting burnt through my clothes. Sunblock may have been a good idea.

We trek on through this monotonous, deathly riverbed. My brother continues to ask for breaks, and gets a bit pouty about our decision not to use mules. Remember, we did purchase a mule through Acomara, I just decided not to use it because I wanted to climb like an alpinist. I did not hold my brother to this standard, he was just stubborn, like me, and wanted to go alpine style as well. Although he didn’t seem to happy with his decision, given how much he seemed to not like this trek.

We drag on for hours longer, hours and hours. We meet a couple of people along the way that tell us there are only 4km left. We feel a sense of relief. It is like we’ve done it! My brother finishes the last of his water in celebration, we will be there soon.

The couple walks ahead of us, as we are getting quite slow at this point. The packs are digging our shoulder blades into our liver, our hips are getting cut from the waist strap, and each step is agony. It is fine though, we are close. We turn the corner and see that the river bed is finally coming to a stop, but then we see the elevation gain. Hills for as long as the eye can see. Ugh oh.

We drudge along some more, there is no turning back, we have to keep going. It is 3pm, we’ve been hiking for 9 hours - we are behind schedule. We take breaks, and I am starting to get concerned for my brother because they are becoming more common, and he has no water left. There is certainly a lot longer to go, but I don’t want to mention that, he isn’t looking too good.

Just one step at a time, slowly, but surely. Don’t stop and look up, just look at your feet, keep stepping. Don’t push too hard, just keep moving forward. You can do it.

Another couple of hours pass by and we turn another corner. I was sure that after this corner we’d be at base camp. I turn. Miles of more hills, and probably another 2k feet of elevation gain. This is not good. I see the colors of the tents of base camp. “I can see it!” I scream at my brother, as I’ve moved quite a bit ahead as his pace is frustrating me. I wait for him to arrive. He is not as pleased as I am.

We can see base camp from here, but it is not close. It is probably 2 hours away if you don’t have any gear and are a fit hiker. We are out of water, and my brother won’t stop talking about how he “literally has no energy left.” His spirits were broken. “I can’t make it up there.” We take shelter behind a rock.

He tells me how he can’t do it, how he just wants to lay down and go to sleep. He has no energy left. “You can’t do that,” I say, “you have no choice but to get to base camp, otherwise we set up camp here and spent the night without water.” I am getting pretty frustrated at this point, as we HAVE to keep going. There is no way I am going to spend the night alone here, without anyone to look after my brother. I beg him to get up and keep pushing. He isn’t having it. “Ok if you can’t do it then drop your pack! We can get to base camp, get some water, and I’ll come back for your pack tomorrow.” He stubbornly declines. “THEN WHAT ARE WE DOING TO DO!?”

He gets up, and we begin walking again, at an agonizing pace. This is not good. He tells me how he’s never been this scared before in his life, and how stupid I am to have done this without mules. (sorry bro, you should’ve trained harder). Just as I am thinking that we aren’t going to make it to base camp, I see a couple of hikers coming up from behind us. They are much faster. I ask them if they speak English. “Yes.” they respond in an American accent. Thank God, Americans.

I tell them what is going on. They respond calmly and offer my brother food and water. He accepts. They tell us not to worry about the clouds, that we have time to get to base camp. They tell us they are going to send help when the get to camp, and that we just need to keep pushing. We’ll get there.

Their calmness and encouragement had a great effect on my brother. He was able to get up now and push, with all the effort he could muster. They gave us a sense of safety, and made us feel like we could do it. They were true mountaineers.

The agonizing pace up the mountain continues. Step by step, we slowly ascend. No one is coming it looks like. We just have to keep going. Step by step, we slowly ascend. I am worried for my brother, and frustrated, as I was hoping he’d be able to do this more easily than me, as he is much stronger (body builder, remember?). We start to treat the trail as a series of mini-summits. Hit this mini-summit, then rest. Continue. The trail never stops.

By 8pm I am very close to the base, but far from my brother. I wait for 10-20 minutes, when he arrives within shouting distance, I tell him that I am going to camp to get water. I rush to the ranger station, check in with my permit, and ask for water. The ranger fills up 2L of water for me and I go running to my brother with water. We’ve made it. It was close to 9pm, the sun was setting. It was time to set up the tent. We were home free… at least I thought.

Serious Altitude

Base camp is at 4300 meters above sea level. Over 14k feet. We are essentially as high as the continental US gets. Trying to sleep. After 3 days of acclimatization. I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep, but I felt just fine. Proud of my ability to bring all my stuff to base camp. We had a rest day coming up, I was feeling good.

My brother exits the tent and lets in some cold air. Fine - he probably just has to pee. Water hits the ground, but it isn’t urine. Vicious vomiting begins. Once, twice, thrice. It doesn’t stop. Ugh oh, I hope that isn’t him. Someone else opens up their tent and says “medico?”. He takes the person to the medical tent. I wait a few minutes, my brother hasn’t returned. It must’ve been him. I visit the medical tent. He is sitting there blue faced. Ugh oh.

The doctor gives him tea and medication for his nausea, but says these are normal symptoms of altitude sickness. My worry deepens further. He might not make it.

We return to the tent and are given bags so that my brother won’t be vomiting all over our stuff. Funny. He wakes me up from my fake sleep with more vomit. It is all over his sleeping bag, all over the tent. Great. Just let it freeze. Nothing we can do.

Welcome to altitude, brother!

Rest Days at Base Camp

As my brother starts to settle in to altitude, I know it is necessary that we take some well deserved rest days for recovery and acclimatization.

We meet some incredibly interesting people who are resting and acclimatizing as well. A man from Monaco who is climbing a mountain just to show his friends he can. An Alaskan firefighter who spends 6 months out of the year travelling, and the other 6 fighting wildfires in the arctic. A power couple from Vancouver working tech jobs. A group of Mexican climbers - one who wants to see who she is made of, and another who can do Denali in a single day. We spent the days talking to and getting to know these fascinating people. We drank mate, played cards, shared stories, interests, and cultures. It was incredible. There is nothing to do at base camp except eat, drink, and talk. There is no service, no wifi, and everyone is too sick to read. We just socialize without inhibition. I practiced my Spanish with the Argentinians, and they used me to practice their English. The sense of community was strong, but we all knew of its transience.

To The High Camps

We spent three nights in base camp, at 4300 meters. We were ready to ascend. I was feeling good, and the doctors gave us the OK. Let’s go to camp 1. We were to carry our stuff to camp 1 (Camp Canada), set up the tent, and then walk up to camp 2 (Nido de Condores) for extra acclimatization. We would spend 2 nights at camp 1, two at camp 2, and then push for the summit. The weather window was short, so this was our only option. It seemed doable, as long as my brother could avoid sickness.

The push for the high camp was long and grueling. Incredibly steep hiking on snow. Crampons were advised for the climbers with little experience. We pushed our way up. Slowly taking it one step at a time. Just ascend. Keep breathing. One more step.

When we got passed by a guided expedition I knew something was up. We took breaks, walked too slowly. Another bad sign.

Still, we pushed on. After about 5-6 hours we made it to camp 1 with all of our stuff. It was time to set up camp. This was when I started to feel the altitude for the first time. I was tired. Didn’t want to do anything. No headache, no nausea, no pain. I was just tired. My brother, however, seemed to be doing just fine. Great news. He was talking to other climbers, taking pictures, and was telling me ad nauseum how he was “going to summit.” Things were looking up.

The next morning, my brother reported feeling terrible once again. He needed a rest day. That is ok. I would just climb up to camp 2 alone to make sure I acclimatized properly. He would be ok. I started to walk up without any gear on. I probably ascended 500 feet or so, but decided to turn back, as something didn’t feel right.

As I returned I saw my brother outside the tent in fetal position. He wasn’t doing any better. He said it got worse. A guide tells us the only way to ameliorate the situation is to descend. I tell him that is what we need to do. After some convincing, we decide to descend.

It takes 3 hours of horrible downclimbing to reach base camp. He still isn’t feeling better. The doctor injects him with multiple shots. He feels a bit better. They organize a helicopter evacuation for him. Cool. They say it will cost me $400 to join him. No thanks, I’ll walk.

He gets sent down on his merry way. I spend the night drinking wine and playing foosball with the base camp staff. I wake up at 4am and begin my dark descent back to the trailhead.

Aconcagua defeated us. I will be back though, for round 2. It will not defeat me again.

Bullet Reflections (I don’t want to write much more)

• Mountaineers are some of the nicest, most genuine people you will ever meet

  • Humility, graciousness, interest, care, kindness

• Respect the mountain

  • Mountaineering is hard, and the mountain will kill you if you aren’t prepared. -20 degrees and 100 mph wind is no joke. You will feel exposure like you’ve never felt before on a big mountain - don’t do what I did, come prepared.

• Small steps add up

  • Looking down and taking one step at a time may feel slow. But it is really amazing where that can take you. An impossible tall mountain can be conquered with this strategy, baby steps make it all work.

• A positive attitude is everything

  • Don’t complain. Have the strength to keep your negativity to yourself. Letting it out only makes things worse.