Trip Report: Solo Mission to the Summit of the Americas

Aconcagua is the highest mountain in the world outside of Asia, and it was calling my name. I decided to take on this project in December of last year. Although I had been training regularly to maintain my condition in anticipation of future climbing and ski excursions, and Aconcagua had been on my mind for a while, this was something else altogether. Climbing Aconcagua is not a technical challenge; however, it requires solid planning, logistical coordination, and fairly intense physical training. I also wanted to add my own personal twist on this climb, as I typically like to do with my adventures. In this particular case, I decided it would be my first solo expedition, and I wanted to put my training to the test by attempting to conquer the mountain in an expedited timeframe. This would also be my first time above ~6,000 meters (Kilimanjaro). With just weeks to go before my intended departure, I had my work cut out.

?Why solo?

Since Aconcagua does not feature any sections of extreme or sustained vertically exposed climbing, and therefore does not require the use of technical rope-work, a partner was not an absolute necessity. Without the need for a belayer on any sections of the route, I was convinced that this expedition would be the perfect way to stretch my comfort zone in a significant way, without placing myself in a position of undue risk. The opportunity to climb one of the Seven Summits, alone, was the perfect next least comfortable step, within reason, in my progression as a climber – and hopefully more broadly as a person.

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Climbing is a sport of progression. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to climb one of the highest mountains in the world on your own (however I do endorse it). Although this would be the highest I had ever been, by a margin of approximately a vertical kilometer, I had climbed much more technical mountains, had fared well at relatively high elevations on several other climbs, and knew that my current fitness level was more than sufficient for the task at hand. Furthermore, some internet research demonstrated that it had been done solo several times before and therefore wasn’t a totally outlandish idea.

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Another important consideration was understanding exactly what going solo meant. I was climbing the mountain during high season, and I was planning to tackle the climb via the Normal Route, which is the most popular means of attacking the peak. Consequently, I was unlikely to ever find myself completely alone. With somewhere between a 20-30% summit success ratio, the crowds would thin out as I progressed up the mountain, however odds were I would be able to navigate my way through a combination of studying the route, applying the natural route-finding abilities I have developed in the mountains over many years and climbs around the world, and hopefully following cues from other climbers on the route as I moved up the mountain.

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Ultimately, my motivation to take on this expedition alone was informed and driven by my current life situation, which involved struggling through several personal and professional challenges over the last couple of years. Basically, I needed a win. Taking on a seemingly absurd challenge that would require comprehensive focus, determination, and commitment, was my self-prescribed remedy. Self-reliance is a lifelong pursuit, often sought via professional means to achieve financial freedom and independence. Climbing a mountain is often recognized as a metaphorical distillation of life’s broader trials and tribulations, and if I could not only survive, but thrive under severely adverse physical and psychological conditions, I would hopefully emerge a stronger person on the other side. As in life, there are numerous incremental steps to this process, and thus I felt that success on this mission would constitute meaningful progress in further building my resilience in the face of adversity, that I could subsequently build upon in my continued journey both on and off the mountain.

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Training, Preparation, Logistics

I immediately researched the available literature on the mountain and ordered several books and topographical maps of Aconcagua. I had to case the joint. I was mentally committed but had yet to purchase my flights. Needed to make sure I wasn’t in over my head first.

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Most guided expeditions on Aconcagua are three-week programs. I had been sleeping in a hypobaric chamber regularly at the equivalent oxygen saturation of approximately 14,000 ft., so I was keen to put my training to the test by going straight up the mountain with no acclimatization considerations influencing my path to the summit. Although this was a bit of a gamble, I was confident that my body could handle a direct ascent. Since I was alone, I could change my itinerary on the fly. I packed 8 days’ worth of food; needing only five days’ worth for my intended itinerary, I figured three extra days as contingency would hold me over in case of poor weather or acclimatization issues. Worst case scenario I could retreat to base camp and figure out extra rations for another, accelerated, push towards the summit.

Below is the schedule I landed on immediately prior to my departure:

Day 1 (Jan 15): Land in Mendoza, buy gas canisters, pick up climbing permit, drive to mountain, check in at Horcones Ranger Station, hike to Confluencia

Day 2: Hike to Plaza de Mulas

Day 3: Final prep and rest at base camp (Plaza de Mulas)

Day 4: Hike to camp Canada

Day 5: Hike to camp Nido de Condores

Day 6: Rest day at camp Nido de Condores

Day 7: Hike to camp Cólera

Day 8: Summit bid, return to camp Cólera

Day 9: Descent to base camp (Plaza de Mulas)

Day 10: Return to Mendoza for steak dinner & vino

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To keep my fitness up, apart from regular gym sessions, biking and swimming multiple times per week, and being conscientious of what I was eating and how well I was sleeping, the heavy pack training proved to be absolutely indispensable. Getting on a Stairmaster with my expedition pack loaded up with 65 lbs. of sandbags for an hour straight, three times per week, definitely paid dividends. While this particular form of training isn’t usually part of my regimen for rock climbs, any multi-day expedition that requires carrying equipment would benefit tremendously from this form of training.

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The gear list was also critical. I cross referenced several gear lists tailored for Aconcagua published by various reputable guiding companies, including that of Alpine Ascents International, the group with which I had done my foundational 10-day mountaineering course a few years back (https://www.alpineascents.com/school/rainier-10day/).?I had to add key equipment to these lists, as they are all tailored to guided expeditions. I needed to make sure I had everything necessary to sustain myself independently – and safely – but nothing more, as carrying superfluous items would just weigh me down. The most important additional items I needed were my own shelter and a means to feed and hydrate myself. I ended up going with the Rab Latok Summit for shelter, a tiny single wall tent for alpine climbing, weighing only 1,600 g / 56 oz. Looking back on the experience, the tent performed flawlessly, however the greatest drawback was the lack of a vestibule, which would have made lighting my stove in windy conditions significantly easier. Fortunately, I was invited to join some of the local AMG (Aconcagua Mountain Guides) guides to cook together in a dome tent at a couple of the high camps, which also added a pleasant social dimension to the climb. As for boiling snow and ice for food and hydration, the MSR Reactor was a fantastic choice, and I would recommend it for anyone seeking an efficient stove system for the backcountry.

When I was training for a full traverse of the Matterhorn several years ago (Climbing a Swiss National Icon on the Swiss National Holiday While Skirting a Thunderstorm:?https://youtu.be/1Mwe5v98_Vg), I quickly recognized the limiting influence of alcohol. I cut out this ubiquitous toxin from my system for approximately six months prior to taking on the Matterhorn traverse, and this commitment appeared to have paid dividends. I cut out all alcohol and drugs in anticipation of this new objective accordingly. And yes, that meant not a single drop of wine or vodka during the holidays, and not even a champagne toast on New Year’s Eve.

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A Selfish Pursuit?

Climbing is often perceived as a selfish pursuit – one where personal glory and achievement is prioritized ahead of other considerations that often dictate our personal and professional relationships. On the flipside, climbers view their ascents as emblematic of the greater challenges that they face in their lives beyond the mountains. I firmly believe that my mountain activities and training positively influence my professional pursuits and make me a stronger and more productive member of both corporate and entrepreneurial realms.

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If I was going to climb this mountain, I figured I might as well do something positive for others in the process. People do all sorts of things to raise awareness and funds for charitable causes. Climbing one of the highest peaks in the world felt like a reasonable challenge worthy of attention in support of a cause, so I set out researching various charities that would resonate with me and my quest. The greatest distinguishing factor in my solo expedition from a guided trip, other than not having a guide to rely on, was my need to source and generate water at every camp. Ultimately, I chose to align myself with charity: water, an organization that covers all their overhead from corporate donors, so all proceeds raised by my campaign would go directly to water projects around the world, providing access to clean water where it was previously unavailable.

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Climbing expeditions tend to strip daily reality down to life's bare essentials, reminding us of the basic elements required to sustain ourselves. Water is by far the most pivotal consideration, directing many of the critical logistical decisions leading up to and during a climb. On a high-altitude mission this becomes even more important, as proper hydration staves off AMS (acute mountain sickness), pulmonary and cerebral edema, as well as the debilitating effects of exposure, including susceptibility to hypothermia. Life at high camps requires the boiling of snow and ice to yield the life sustaining water necessary for hydration of oneself, and the freeze-dried food rations needed to fuel the ascent. The harsh conditions on a high-altitude peak serve as a stark reminder of the critical nature of water to sustain life. 771 million people - almost one in ten worldwide - live without clean water. I am grateful for all those who joined me in donating to this worthy cause as I toiled on the mountain. Thank you.

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The Climb

I flew overnight from Miami to Mendoza with a stopover in Santiago. While waiting to board my flight in Santiago, I noticed a familiar face. Turns out Alex Honnold – one of, if not the most famous rock climber in the world – was on my flight. He and a friend were also planning on tackling Aconcagua and incredibly had the same planned itinerary as me, however they were attacking the mountain from the other side, via Plaza Argentina. We swapped some notes and looked forward to crossing paths at Camp Cólera, the main high camp at ~19,600 ft. (~6,000 m) where the two routes meet immediately prior to the final summit push. Unfortunately, I never did end up seeing Honnold at high camp, however he had just completed an expedition to Antarctica that included a climb of Mt. Vinson, and so clearly the esteemed master of rock has taken an interest in more high-altitude alpine endeavors – or what he referred to as “an experiment” when I asked about his objectives on Aconcagua.

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My plan was to make haste and spend my first night in Argentina immediately on the mountain. I landed in Mendoza, retrieved my duffel bag, was picked up by my driver, and we made two pit stops en route to the mountain. First, I had to pick up my climbing permit. Second, I needed to pick up fuel for my stove, a blend of propane and isobutane – the one critical element of my kit I could not fly with, as gas cannisters are prohibited on planes. We drove to the Horcones ranger station at the base of the mountain, where my climbing permit was reviewed and authorized, and I was off to the races. I dropped off my duffel bag with one of the arrieros, or muleteros, and my driver was kind enough to take me up the last hundred meters to the trailhead, and the climb had officially begun. My immediate objective was to make it to my first camp, Confluencia (~10,830 ft / 3,300 m), before dark.

I had arranged for base camp services in both Confluencia and Plaza de Mulas (~14,100 ft / 4,300 m), which was my next stop. I had access to running water, outhouses, a cozy dome tent to hang out in and take refuge from the extreme elements of cold wind and burning sun, and was fed three meals a day – warm breakfast with eggs and toast in the morning, a nice warm dinner in the evening, and a bagged lunch for my hike to the next destination. This was nice. Once I left Plaza de Mulas base camp, I was on my own.

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Plaza de Mulas

Base camp was a mini city. There were dozens of tents, with guiding companies from all around the world. There were small bars and restaurants. There was even an art gallery. I met several guided groups and got to know a bunch of the guides and their clients. It was a good idea to spend two nights in Plaza de Mulas. It gave me the chance to fuel up and rest a bit before making the push higher up the mountain. I had also been receiving daily weather updates from my friend and professional climber, Joda Hankins. It was looking like January 22nd was going to be an optimal weather window, which coincided perfectly with my intended itinerary. I really hoped it would hold.

A day at base camp also allowed me to reassess my gear. I left a small duffel bag with whatever city clothes I didn’t need higher up the mountain and set about repacking my climbing pack. I also decided to hire a local porter to help me carry a load higher up the mountain. This way I wouldn’t need to carry all of my food, stove, gas cannisters, and equipment from camp to camp, or have to make multiple carries myself. A porter typically carries a max load of 20 kg. So I guess I hired half a porter. Either way, it was a welcome bit of assistance I wouldn’t have had the chance to arrange if it weren’t for a rest day at base camp in Plaza de Mulas.

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High Camps

High camps included Camp Canada (~16,600 ft / 5,050 m), Nido de Condores (~18,000 ft / 5,560 m), and Camp Cólera (~19,600 ft / 6,000 m). Moving from camp to camp consisted of boiling snow and ice for a hot cup of coffee, eating breakfast (pouring boiling water into a bag of freeze-dried food), packing up camp, hiking up to the next destination, setting up camp, and foraging for fresh snow and ice for dinner and replenishing my water supply for the following day.

To add intrigue to the expedition, the porters decided to go on strike the morning I left base camp. Fortunately, I had spent several hours socializing with the porters, sharing a meal, coordinating emergency protocols and inputting frequencies on my radio, all in my somewhat stale Spanish, during my day at base camp. I was lucky to have built a rapport and coordinated logistics directly with the porter team, otherwise my plan of attack would have had to be modified on the fly the morning I was setting off for Camp Canada. Never a dull moment!

Summit Day

“Ok, ok, I’m awake… What time is it? 4:45am… Could I have set my alarm for later? No, no, at this altitude I’m going to be slow, take my time getting ready. Plus, it’s so damn cold… Ok, get out of your sleeping bag and get a move on…

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“Alright, there’s lots of commotion out there. Today’s the optimal weather window, so there’ll probably be a bunch of people attempting the summit today. As long as I can follow some lights, I should have no problem navigating the path in the dark.

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“Alright. I’ve got all my gear. I’ve got food. I have two and a half liters of water. I think I’m good to go. It’s actually not that cold out here. This isn’t as bad as a cold day of skiing at Jay Peak or Tremblant. I’ve experienced way worse weather than this. Do I really need my high-altitude mittens? I’ll toss `em back in the tent. One fewer thing to carry.

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“Ok, time to mobilize. The adventure begins.

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“Hold on. You’ve still got a thousand meters of altitude gain to make today. This is the highest, most exposed, and toughest day of the trip. What if it does get colder, even as the sun comes up? Those high-altitude mitts are often referred to as summit mitts for a reason. Dude, do you really want to run the risk of having to turn back in the middle of your summit push because you messed up and left your mitts back in the tent… on purpose? Or worse yet, maybe lose some fingers? Ok, how long have I been walking now? Maybe five minutes. Ok, turn around and get your mitts. What a moron. First poor decision of the day. Can’t afford another lapse of judgement like this.

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“Alright, now we’re good to go. It’s approaching 6am... Time to mobilize.

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“Man, some of these people are slow. Didn’t expect traffic jams so early in the day in the dark like this. Glad I put fresh batteries in my headlamp. Ok, maybe I can pass on this switchback. They’re pulling over for a break. Awesome. Oh wow, this cluster of folks I’ve been within is all one group. Sweet, open road ahead. Don’t push too fast, though. Remember: pole, pole. You’re at higher altitude than you’ve ever been now. Don’t exhaust yourself. Keep a strong yet steady pace.”

Independencia

“Ok, looks like I’ve arrived at a little plateau or shoulder on the mountain. There’s a broken little bivvy hut and there’s some folks congregating around here. Makes sense – looks like a good natural rest spot. This must be Independencia. Time to chill for a moment. Sun’s coming out. This is nice. But I have to admit, I’m a little tired. Let’s take a couple of swigs of water, hydrate a bit. Looks like a bunch of folks are putting their goggles on. I think I heard a guide telling his clients to do so as well. They must know something I don’t… I’ll pull my goggles out of my pack just in case. Ok, let’s get a move on before these other folks start moving. Don’t wanna get stuck behind a group.”

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The Windy Traverse

“Holy shit it’s cold. Wow, I can barely feel my fingers. Actually, hold on a sec, I can’t feel a couple of them. It feels like I’m holding pieces of wood in my hand. Alright, warm them up. Rub your hands inside your gloves. This ridgeline is intense. The sun is hidden behind the mountain now, it’s dark again, the wind is absolutely brutal, and fuck is it ever cold. Glad I’m sporting my goggles and not sunglasses. Gotta swap out to my high-altitude mittens when I have a moment to take off my pack… So glad I went back for those.”

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La Cueva

“Man, that was a bit intense. Looks like I’ve finally made it to another natural resting point. This must be the cave. A bunch of folks are chilling here. I should too. Damn, I’m pretty tired. Alright, take a few minutes.”

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La Canaleta

“Ok, this must be the Canaleta I’ve read and heard so much about. This is the last push, albeit a pretty long one. Just keep going.

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“Something doesn’t feel right… Shit, don’t stumble. What the hell are you doing? Wanna fall down the mountain? Dude, I’m feeling weak. When did you last eat? Did I eat or drink at the cave? Did I eat or drink at the cave?? How long since I last ate anything for that matter? I had some sips of water way back at Independencia… Dude… you haven’t eaten anything since leaving the tent this morning, and even then, that was just a Cliff bar. Ok, the moment I can safely stop and remove my pack, I desperately need energy. Dude, you need to stop and fuel up. This is getting serious. You can’t pass out here and tumble down the face of the mountain.

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“Ok, I can stop at this rock safely. Take down a couple of GU gels. NOW. You should have a third. Make it four. Ok, now put a few in your pocket.

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“Amazing. I really needed that. How stupid can I be? I took breaks and I didn’t eat. What an idiot. Ok, you’re good now. I feel more alert. Put your pack back on and push forth.”

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El Cumbre

“Dude, you’re here. You finally made it. Gotta admit, that was a tough slog. It’s just past noon. A thousand meters in somewhere between six and seven hours. Is that good? Whatever. Either way, I gotta soak this in and head back down. Oh, and I should get a photo. Let’s wait for someone and ask to snap a shot on my phone. Glad the wind’s not too intense and I can safely remove my mitt for a few moments. Alright, let’s ask this guy.”

Concluding Remarks

I met many folks from around the world on the mountain. It turned out that going alone was the best way to make new friends. I shared the walk down from Independencia to Camp Cólera with Andrea Lanfri (https://www.instagram.com/lanfri_andrea/) from Italy. This guy had lost both of his legs and several fingers to meningitis and had recently climbed Mt. Everest. And he was plowing down the mountain fast despite his prosthetic legs – what an inspiring dude!

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Several people died or succumbed to serious injuries on the mountain while I was there. One guy tumbled hundreds of feet after tripping along the windy traverse on summit day, fracturing his skull and getting a leg amputated. An American suffered a heart attack shortly after reaching the summit. A Russian climber arrived in base camp with black fingers, toes, and nose, all of which had to be amputated. Fortunately, most of these accounts reached me once I was descending or off the mountain altogether. It was a stark reminder that such endeavors are serious business and that any expedition must be pursued with a sober recognition of the risks involved, with constant reassessment of objective and subjective hazard throughout the journey.

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My descent from Plaza de Mulas back to civilization was a pleasant way to conclude this chapter of the trip. A group I had gotten to know while on the mountain had proposed to splurge on a helicopter flight out from base camp the previous night to get back into Mendoza without delay, however I’m glad I didn’t join in. One of the local guides, who also happened to be the first responder who saved the life of the climber who fell at the traverse, was descending with his wife – also a mountain guide, at the same time as me. A home-grown Argentinian porro and good company certainly made for a relaxing and uplifting descent back to civilization.

I thought climbing Aconcagua solo would change me in some way, or at least leave a mark, whereby I could learn more about myself. Perhaps it just hasn’t sunk in yet. Victory tastes good, but it’s short-lived. I took some time to decompress after the climb and explored Buenos Aires and the coast of Uruguay. If you want – or need – to get off the grid, you would be hard pressed to do better than Cabo Polonio, a quaint little beach town with minimal electricity only accessible by off-road truck through pine forest and sand dunes. This place sets its pace for you; you just settle into it. Having the time to reflect on my journey and the many interesting people I met along the way, I resolved to continue to apply the same determination and rigor to my personal life as I do in my professional life. In this welcome moment of respite, one other thing became clear: the mountains continue to call.

Until next time,

AR

Post Scriptum: If you are in the market for promotional collateral featuring your corporate logo on the summit of the European continent, a Himalayan peak, or have similar adventure-related initiatives in mind, please direct message me to discuss. I will be sure to take care of it personally.