6,893 metres. The highest volcano on Earth. And the one thing that wouldn't leave my head.
Before I co-founded Neomium, while I was travelling Latin America, this mountain got into my head and wouldn't leave. Two years later I went back to go through with it: Ojos del Salado, 6,893 metres, the highest volcano on Earth. I had no idea whether it would work out at all. As it turned out, two attempts were enough.
You don't just show up at 6,000 metres. It starts weeks earlier and far to the north, near Putre, with day-hikes among the volcanoes of the altiplano, the twin cones of Parinacota and Pomerape on the horizon, vicuñas watching you pass.
The whole time, your body is quietly learning to work on less and less oxygen. The mountain just sits there, getting no closer and no smaller.
Then south, into the Atacama proper. You stage at Laguna Verde, a turquoise lagoon sitting in a bowl of volcanoes, and from there the mountain finally comes into view. The light out here is enormous.
The plan is simple on paper. Hike up to Refugio Tejos, a red steel box on a grey slope, "sleep" one night at around 5,800 metres, and start for the summit a few hours later in complete darkness.
Simple on paper.
The first rope was four of us: me, two experienced mountaineers with 6,000 m summits already on their résumés, and two guides, a seasoned one with dozens of summits and a younger one with two.
That first night at Tejos, both of the experienced climbers were hit by altitude sickness and went back down the next morning with the younger guide. The senior guide and I pushed on for the summit. An hour or two in, a virus he had caught days earlier caught up with him and he started throwing up. We turned around.
So we regrouped. Two days later we summited San Francisco (6,016 m) instead, partly to stay sharp. A day after that, I went back up Ojos with the younger guide. His third summit ever, my second attempt.
Complete darkness, 60 to 70 kph wind, temperatures far below freezing. Any exposed patch of skin gets engulfed; it feels like being hit with leashes.
Some hours later, eight hundred metres up, you reach the crater. You can already see the summit. Just some rocks, and then you're up. Right?
Wrong. What would take twenty minutes at sea level took two hours at over 6,500 metres, with less than half the oxygen left.
Then, finally, the wind calmed, the sun came up, and the summit was within reach. A few more steps through the rocks, and I was flashed by one of the most exhilarating views I have ever seen. All the exhaustion, gone.
For a minute at least, before remembering there is also a way down. 🙃
"Twenty minutes at sea level took two hours at 6,500 m, with less than half the oxygen left."
Not for the "higher, faster, stronger" of it. Three things stuck with me on the way down.
That one thing at the top of your head that won't leave you alone: is it actually possible? If yes, why haven't you done it?
I am no mountaineer. What got me up there, besides proper acclimatisation and a very capable guide, was routine. If you want the full potential of body and mind, you need an at-least-daily practice across strength, endurance, focus, mindfulness, mobility and balance. You don't need to climb Everest to feel the benefit; even a 15-minute daily yoga session compounds. Start there and build.
Luck plays a bigger role than we like to admit. Two climbers far more experienced than me turned back with altitude sickness, and my first guide fell ill; I happened to stay healthy and got a second window. Recognising that does two things: it keeps success from fooling you ("success is a lousy teacher," as Gates put it), and it makes trying again easier.
Field Notes is for exactly this: not lifestyle content, but a log of what travelling, training and thinking actually teach me. This one happened to come with a 6,893-metre view.
P.S. Please take care of our planet. She's beautiful. :)
