Climbing the Stairway to Heaven

Looking back, I’m not sure why I was worried about climbing the highest mountain in the world, even though the hardest thing I ever climbed was a flight of stairs.

Maybe I just got psyched out. In every group there’s always one person you point to as you say to yourself, “If he can do it, so can I.” As I waited in a pub here for the dozen others who would join me on this Andean expedition to Mt. Chimborazo, I kept expecting that guy to appear.

When we took our seats at the table, I looked around at all the well-conditioned mountaineers full of swaggering tales about traversing knife-edge ridges in howling winds, and the light began to dawn. I was that guy, the one everyone else would point to for reassurance, the only one who believed the brochure for this climb that said, “No experience necessary.”

When they turned their attention to me, I tried to distract them by telling them of my recent high-altitude excursion to Lake Tahoe (6,200 feet) when, one night, I drank an abundance of vodka cranberries while playing blackjack. They laughed but remained focused. “No, really,” they said. “What have you done?”

As I thought about it, I wondered exactly what I had done, and the voice inside my head began barking its own questions. What fate lay ahead in these mountains? Was one of those guys hatching a bestseller in which I played the starring but tragic lead? Could I get my money back?

I stayed, and in the days to come, the answers unfolded before me, like the vistas on that glorious day when I stood on top of the world in every sense of the word.

We’ve all read about those people whose lifelong ambition is to climb Mt. Everest. I was not among them. There are many places I want to visit, but Everest’s not-so-subtly-named Death Zone held little charm for me. Its rate of safe return for climbers made Russian roulette seem more fun. I didn’t want to pay $65,000 for the honor, nor did I want to spend weeks enduring the pain of acclimatizing to 29,000 feet. And I preferred to keep all my appendages free from frostbite and connected to my body.

Still, I wanted to stand on the summit of the tallest mountain on the planet and see the view I had imagined in my mind’s eye. It was clear to me that until someone figured out a way to airlift me to the top of Everest in some sort of pressurized suit, my dream of standing on top of the world would remain just that.

Like many office dwellers, my reading list included true-life adventure tales about people freezing to death, drowning, dying of scurvy, being eaten alive or, better yet, eating one another. But my favorites were the high-altitude mountaineering disasters, some of the more literary rubbernecking one can engage in.

One day I began to see the parallels. Many of the victims held regular jobs, just as I had, and they left their jobs in pursuit of peak experiences, just as I had, although in my case it wasn’t exactly voluntarily, thanks to the crumbling tech economy.

As I was figuring out what to do next, I ran across a glossy brochure from the American Alpine Institute that advertised “High Altitude Ecuadorean Excursions. No experience necessary.” The timing was perfect. I was hooked.

Two weeks later, after a 12-hour flight from San Francisco, I was in Quito, questioning my sanity and awaiting my crack at the highest mountain in the world.

Some math is in order here. Certainly, at 29,028 feet, Everest is the tallest mountain above sea level. But despite what your globe suggests, Earth is not a sphere but an ellipsoid--like many of its occupants, it bulges in the middle. The closer to the equator, the larger the bulge. Chimborazo, the highest point in the Cordillera Real, is 20,561 feet above sea level, but it is just 1.5 degrees off the equator, so it gets the benefit of the bulge--a bonus of more than 16,000 feet. That means the summit of this dormant Ecuadorean volcano extends 7,000 feet farther from the center of Earth than Everest.

No longer envious, I felt sorry for those poor Everest climbers seeking the ultimate high. They were climbing the wrong mountain.

You may quibble about the math of the bulge, but certainly not about the learning curve I had as a 35-year-old novice. When I began this trip, I didn’t know a crampon from a carabineer, or pulmonary edema from emphysema. As we did practice climbs on smaller peaks around Ecuador’s capital, I learned how to put on a climbing harness (imagine an escape artist trying to wriggle out of a straitjacket) and how to tie all sorts of knots that somehow managed to disappear when I pulled the rope.

I also learned how to talk the mountaineer’s talk. I learned, for instance, that we were not “hiking” but “climbing,” that we were not “students” but “clients” and, most important, that we would not “try to get to the top of this thing” but instead “attempt a bid for the summit.”

The one Ecuadorean and three American instructors were patient with my struggles. Although they were all in their 20s, they had plenty of experience in rock and alpine climbing throughout the world and certainly must have seen worse.

The days between climbs were routine. We arose early and had a hearty breakfast; then we were in class, where we had lessons on ice conditions, rescue techniques, safety considerations and high-altitude physiology. Lunch was usually followed by a hike or glacier training, and dinner was followed by equipment preparation, packing and sleep.

At higher altitudes we were lethargic, so any free time between meals or lessons was spent in bed, enjoying our lethargy.

After four days at 10,000 feet and more, we visited our first glacier at the base of Mt. Cayambe. My vocabulary lessons went from abstract to concrete when I saw my first crevasse, a separation in the ice whose depth and dangers were hidden. In one of the most euphemistically creative phrases I’ve ever heard, I learned I would not “fall into that big crack” but instead “find myself in a crevasse.” I had to laugh aloud. It would be like “finding myself” in a Turkish prison or “finding myself” tied up, handcuffed and submerged in an underwater chamber. The most somber of the guides, Joe Stock, from Spokane, Wash., who has a master’s degree in something called snow science, was instructing at the time and did not share my amusement.

After a week of acclimating, which included intestinal problems caused by the food, water and altitude, we were ready to climb a real mountain.

The peaks we tested on the way to Chimborazo seemed to have been chosen based on the good trivia questions they posed. Our first foray was up to “a place where the temperature and latitude are both zero degrees”: 18,996-foot Mt. Cayambe. We followed this with “the tallest active volcano on Earth”: 19,347-foot Cotopaxi. Our first “bid” was rejected (we overheard words like “avalanche” and “unconsolidated snow” before we made a U-turn), but we made it to the summit of Cotopaxi.

More important, I was doing OK compared with the others. Some had altitude sickness and couldn’t get out of bed. Others turned back during the climbs because of exhaustion. I learned that high-altitude climbing success comes more from a roll of the genetic dice than from physical conditioning. Apparently, the mixture of my father’s Danish and my mother’s Colombian genes was just the right recipe. I called and thanked my parents; my DNA was really paying off, and I recognized that I might be able to do this after all.

Twelve sometimes-exhausting days tinged by worry had come and gone before it was time for our climb of Chimborazo. On our five-hour bus ride from Quito to the base of the mountain, we caught glimpses of clouds swirling around the peak. Eventually the cloud mantle parted and revealed a massive mountain; then, in an instant, the cloud cover returned. Chimborazo had seemed to peek at us as if deciding whether it would open its arms or turn us away. Then again, maybe it wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe it was just the weather.

That night, about two dozen climbers bivouacked at a simple dormitory-style refuge 16,000 feet up. I somehow managed to sleep a bit despite the cacophony of oxygen-deprived coughing.

At 10 p.m. it was time to get up and prepare for our climb. (We climbed at night so that the spikes of our crampons could cut and hold onto the firm snow). Standing in the beam of halogen headlamps, roped together in the dark, dressed in high-tech insulated polypropylene outfits and draped with harnesses, we looked like extraterrestrial beings. This was absurd. This was completely exciting.

At five minutes past 11 it was time to get to the top of this thing. We began to walk.

A nearly full moon kept us company as we climbed the frozen face of Chimborazo. The stars reflected their silvery light on the slopes, making it easy to walk even in darkness.

The inspiration from the moon was snuffed out an hour into the climb when we passed through an area marked by about a dozen gravestones, a monument to the people who had died while climbing here.

I thought back to that glossy brochure. It had not mentioned death. It had talked about sunrises, travels on air-conditioned buses, views from the top and, of course, no experience necessary. I wondered what had gone so terribly wrong that these people never made it off the mountain. Could they have had less experience than I? Did they find themselves in a crevasse and forget how to tie their knots properly? Or was this activity just inherently dangerous?

The other climbers and I did not talk about what we saw, but my mind was racing. It kept repeating to the cadence of my steps: “No experience necessary; anybody can die on this mountain.”

The view changed little during the climb. There were no trees, no plants, no birds, just eerie bluish mountains all around us, along with giant icicles and rocks.

Hampered by exhaustion from the lack of oxygen, three climbers decided to stop about five hours into the trek, but I felt good and continued on with six others.

Everything was reduced to the most basic of motions: Take a step, rest for a split second, then take a breath. As we approached 20,000 feet, the task became step, rest, breathe twice. Step, rest, breathe twice. Not since my days as a government employee had my life been as simple. Step, rest, breathe twice.

We continued to step, rest and breathe for four more hours. I thought back to my first conversation with a guide in which I asked how hard it was to climb Chimborazo. Technically easy, he said; all you have to do is walk uphill for nine hours. All you have to do? Thankfully, my group was moving at a good pace. The weather was cooperating, with temperatures in the 20s, and the perfectly frozen snow held our crampons tight.

When our altimeter showed 20,000 feet, the sun rose from behind the mountain and cast a gigantic pyramid shadow of the mighty Chimborazo on the clouds below us. It occurred to me at that point that we were closer to the sun than any other humans on Earth.

Heartened by the inspiration from the light, we continued to climb even closer.

With 300 vertical feet to go, though, we lost our advantage. Climbing the final 50-degree slope, we encountered new snow, 18 inches deep. The altitude imposed its own burden. Now, instead of walking, resting and breathing, we were sliding, crawling and gasping. If this were a StairMaster, I would have gotten off. If this were a sporting event, I would have called for a sub. But we had climbed for nearly nine hours and passed 20,000 feet. We were so close. We had to keep going.

One step forward was followed by a frustrating slide back two steps. “How cruel can this mountain be?” I wondered. Everything had been going so well, and now, with the summit so close, we weren’t progressing.

The sun began to melt the ice, increasing the chances of an icefall during our descent. If we didn’t make it to the top soon, we would have to turn around.

I lived every moment in fear that the guide would call for a retreat. Finally, after an hour of this painful game of Chutes and Ladders, we stumbled to an unmarked, discrete and gradually sloping peak.

To my surprise, the highest point on Earth was barren--no plaques, no flags--seemingly just another place on the planet, but we knew otherwise. The world spread out for hundreds of miles in every direction.

To the south I could see the mountains of Peru; to the west, the blues of the Pacific Ocean; and to the north, snowcapped Cotopaxi. I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of what my eyes could take in.

Exhaustion and emotion are a volatile combination for an oxygen-starved brain. Some climbers collapsed in the snow. Some cried. Others hugged. I did a little of each before turning my attention to the view before me, the view from the top of the world.

Guidebook: Andean Expedition

* Getting there: From Los Angeles, connecting service to Quito, Ecuador, is available on Continental, American, LACSA and Avianca. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $667.

Bus travel within Ecuador is convenient and inexpensive but certainly not luxurious. Prices usually are about a dollar for every hour of travel. There are some luxury “tourist” buses for the more heavily traveled and longer routes. Prices vary significantly on these but typically range from $3 to $4 per hour of travel.

The train system is unreliable. A subcompact car can be rented for $50 a day, though road conditions are poor outside the major cities and a four-wheel-drive (about $100 a day) is needed. However, driving on Ecuadorean roads can be dangerous and difficult and is not recommended.

* Mountaineering groups: The group I chose was the American Alpine Institute, 1515 12th St., Bellingham, WA 98225; telephone (360) 671-1505, fax (360) 734-8890, Internet https://www.aai.cc. The two-week “Ecuador High Altitude Expedition,” in which Cayambe, Cotopaxi and Chimborazo are attempted, costs $2,540, which includes lodging, guides and transportation on the course (air fare to Ecuador is not included). Jon Krakauer, author of “Into Thin Air,” has called the institute “the best all-around climbing school and guide service in North America,” and I certainly recommend it.

If you want to create your own itinerary, an Ecuadorean group, Safari Tours, Calama 380 y Juan Leon Mera, Quito, Ecuador, tel. (800) 434-8182, fax 011-593-2-223-381, https://www.safari.com.ec, can arrange customized trips. Each climb costs $220. The outfit also has a 10-day program in which you climb progressively higher peaks as you acclimate. The cost is $740 per person, not including hotels. Its guides are registered with the Assn. of Mountain Guides of Ecuador.

* Where to stay: The modern Hotel Quito, 2500 Avenida Gonzalez Suarez, Quito N27 142, tel. 011-593-2-544-600, fax 011-593-2-567-284, https://www.hotelquito.com, has a great pool, clean rooms, a helpful staff and a wonderful view of the city. Doubles about $120.

La Casa Sol Bed & Breakfast, Calama 127 y Avenida 6 de Diciembre, Quito, tel. 011-593-2-230-798, fax 011-593-2-223-383, https://www.lacasasol.com, has clean rooms, private baths and a relaxing courtyard for the much more reasonable price of $28 for a double.

For a bit of character, try Antinea Apart-Hotel, Juan Rodriguez 175 y Diego de Almagro, tel. 011-593-2-506-838, fax 011-593-2-504-404, https://www.hotelantinea.com. Lodging is in old apartments that have been converted to a comfortable inn. Doubles start at $44.

* Where to eat: For traditional Ecuadorean dishes in a nice outdoor setting, visit La Querencia, 2530 Eloy Alfaro, local tel. 461-664. Expect to spend less than $20 per person.

The nicest Italian restaurant and some of the best Italian food in town is at Il Risotto, 209 Pinto, tel. 220-400, with prices running about $20 a meal.

The Magic Bean Cafe, 681 Foch, tel. 566-181, serves great food at cheap prices ($8 a meal) and is popular with travelers.

For vegetarians, El Maple, 510 Calama, tel. 231-503, is recommended. Meals cost about $5.

* For more information: South American Explorers, https://www.sa explorers.org, is the best source of travel information throughout the country.

The Latin American Travel Advisor, (888) 215-9511, fax 011-593-2-562-566, https://www.amerispan.com/lata/, is also a good source of maps, travel assistance and the latest travel information.

* For information on the country: Consulate General of Ecuador, Tourist Information, 8484 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 540, Beverly Hills, CA 90211; tel. (323) 658-6020, fax (323) 658-1934, https://www.ecuador.org.