Base Camp at Shisha
Warm greetings from our BC.
I write to
you to inform about the development of our expedition.
21 we did our first incursion to where Camp 1 will be. Initially we had
planned to do it the day before, Thursday 20, but unfortunately our teammate
Edurne was not fit for the journey, so we all gladly agreed to stay at Base as
a gesture of solidarity with our chief of the expedition.
We left our
Base Camp on Friday at seven twenty in the morning.
part of the journey goes along the edge of what could be described as an
immense tide of ice that has been, apparently, immobilized in time. Some of
the crests are pointy, others are flat; some of them rise proudly, others
descend exhausted to sip a little of the water that run by their feet.
takes a couple of hours until we arrive to the place called Depot, because
there is the place where we can safely leave the big boots, campons, piolets
and ski canes that will be used for the next part. While I put on my boots
and prepare the crampons, some boys from Maule arrive, Basque-French, who
immediately start chatting with Edurne and Asier, it is funny to listen to
them: a hard language like Euskera spoken in the Gallic accent of Pepe le Pu.
Caption: We climb by the edge of
an immense tide of ice that has been, apparently, immobilized in time.
In the background, to the left,
the top part of Shisha. (Picture, I. Vallejo)
We get into
the glacier and the first thing to do is to surf in this static field of ice
waves. Up and down; ascend and descend; first the crest and then the bottom,
or first the bottom and then the crest; it is the same, what matters is that
it goes up and down. The water slithers between these immobile crests while
it sings and it makes its own music sound in the silence of this scenery.
Some of these waves are between eight and ten meters high, my surfboard are
the irons of my crampons, I fix with them on the white surface, I turn and
spin. From time to time when the wave rises steep and abruptly, I feel sad to
think that I have to hurt it with the end of my piolet, but I give just the
right hit so that there are no more than the necessary splinters, so that my
hit would not damage the aesthetics of this frozen sea.
recedes, the waves are weaker and now it is just a long and steep slope of
Caption: We get into the glacier and the first thing to do is to surf
in this static field of ice waves. (Picture, M. Benito)
The four of us mountain
climbers and Manolo climb by this slope where there is an infernal heat,
thirty four degrees Celsius in the thermometer. And I had planned to take it
easy during the first weeks of September in my pre-season training on the face
of Dhaulagiri and here I am, in this heat, with my backpack on my back at
around six thousand meters and with my little heart running at a hundred and
sixty beats. What a way to start the pre-season. But any way I have to thank
life for its generosity, to put me back on the Himalayas in a wink, at the
foot of one of the highest mountains of the world and hopefully, in a few
weeks, on its summit.
I am happy, or better said,
At twelve thirty we I arrive
to the location of Camp 1, a slope with very little inclination which will be
a nice place to install our tents, there are about fifteen in the place. My
teammates arrive one by one and we celebrate the journey. The GPS marks 6,345
m of altitude, a little higher that the highest summit of my town, Chimborazo
(6,310 m). We mix the hugs with slices of orange and sips of lemonade.
On our way down we descend
skiing by the slope which now has a wonderful snow, it takes us just twenty
minutes to undo what we did in almost three hours climbing. We surf the ice
waves again, we change our boots and we walk back by the edge of the frozen
sea. I turn on the MP3 and I go down slowly letting the sun of four in the
afternoon to shower my back, shoulders and my backpack. I listen to the slow
rhythm of vallenato Te mando flores (I send you flowers) and I laugh alone
wondering, but how, if she is so far away?
To continue with the process of acclimatization the next step is to climb to
sleep two nights in Camp 1 at 6,345 m and one night in Camp 2 at 6,800 m,
approximately. We leave on Monday or Tuesday, depending on the weather.
Ivan Vallejo Ricaurte
Translated form Spanish by Jorge Rivera
Madrid, Monday September 10, 2007
Dear friends of Ecuador and the world.
I send you warm greetings from Marques de
Urquijo in Madrid, from this so loved house that shelters me and takes care of
me. Now I am on my way to Shisha Pangma, a mountain of 8,046m located on the
Tibetan plateau. I learned that I had to prepare a backpack and get on the
airplane again just a week ago when I was coming from vacations. You see,
here I am on the middle of the road between Ecuador and Tibet.
The purpose of this expedition is to go
along with my dear friend Edurne Pasaban who is going to get, God willing, her
tenth eight-thousand, to level up with the same number of eight-thousand that
Nives Meroi (Italy) and Gerlinde Kalterbruner (Austria) have on the same
I was in Shisha Pangma during the fall of
2004, reaching the summit of that mountain by the difficult south wall with
Santiago Sagaste, who sadly died last May 13, buried by an avalanche, along
with my other great friend Ricardo Valencia, on the northeast side of
Dhaulagiri. Now we go to Shisha by the north side and we will film the ascent
for Al Filo de lo Imposible, for Televisión Española. The members of the
expedition, besides Edurne, are: Juanito Oiarzábal, Asier Izaguirre, Manolo
Benito, as cameraman for Al Filo, and yours truly.
On the flight I took from Quito to Madrid
between Saturday and Sunday, I wrote this first chronicle I have titled AS A
BLANK SHEET. I share it with you and I hope you enjoy it.
I will continue with the development of
this new adventure through words. I hope you have a cool week.
With my great
It’s been a
hundred and twenty thousand kilometers of flight, five books read, thousands
of precious words by Benedetti, dozens of blocks walked in the airports and
sixteen thousand a hundred and thirty seven meters ascended without oxygen
between Nepal (Annapurna, 8,091m) and Pakistan (Broad Peak, 8,047m). Now I go
again on a plane to add another twenty five thousand kilometers of flight
holding hands with the fair woman (I mean, the Fair Woman (Mujer Justa), by
Sandor Marai). I am trying to remember which backpack I used to go around the
block on the night of last December 31, because you should know that I do that
ceremenoy all the time: the 12 grapes for the wishes and health, the red
underwear for the arts of love, to jump over the fire of the dummy we use to
burn in Ecuador to leave there, into the fire, the bad vibes of the year that
is about to end, and then go around the block with luggage, in my case with a
backpack, because of the trips and my summits. Anyway, no matter the backpack
I used for wishing, there is no doubt that it was one of the most generous
with trips and mountains. The voyage has been intense and entertaining: from
Quito to Madrid and from there to Katmandu to climb a mountain. From Nepal to
Spain and then to Ecuador to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3 with my angel.
From the Middle of the world back again to Madrid, via Doha and then to
Islamabad. Climb another mountain. From Pakistan to the Emirates, go by
Madid and go back to Ecuador. Short vacations, with my angel of course, and
today from Ecuador to Tibet via Amsterdam, Madrid and the Emirates on the way
to Shisha Pangma (8,046m).
As I usually
do, I have slept very little before the trip, just two hours. The alarm goes
off and zas to the shower, zas to the airport and zas to the plane. To cheer
up in the middle of this hangover with no alcohol I think about the night
before the summit of Broad Peak, the early morning of last July 12, in camp 3
at around seven thousand meters of altitude. We don’t sleep a minute (because
we can’t due to the lack of oxygen). At ten in the evening we start to prep
up. At twelve we leave towards the summit. All the predawn morning (24
degrees below zero) and all morning climbing. At noon we are finally on the
summit. Once there, one hour of happiness, hugs, pictures, to feel ourselves
a part of the summit of the world and then descend. At five in the afternoon,
exhausted and dry, back again around seven thousand meters in camp 3. That is
seventeen little hours of competition without having slept the previous hour.
memory I cheer up thinking that the present hangover is nothing, or it is, is
pretty: Two hours slept in my bed, holding Kamila who was warm, then the
shower, the airport, the plane and now sitting down, very comfortable, doing
nothing, at an altitude which is above any of the thirteen eight-thousands I
have climbed and much better, with a lot of oxygen.
Isn’t this a
The couple of
fresh lattés and croissants offered by the flight attendant leave me lighten
up, I turn on the computer and I find in
My Pictures the folder called
Broad Peak 2007, I watch the pictures again and I notice that in
them I am always happy, always smiling.
Now when I
remember this last expedition of just seven weeks ago I feel happy because I
was there happy, I feel joyful because I was there
What is the
meaning for me to climb the same mountain by the same route for the second
time, knowing that it is always demanding while you feel useless above seven
When I see
myself in each of the pictures I find the answer. It has meant identical
illusion, the same enthusiasm and with the same will as if it was my first
mountain, my first eight-thousand. That is the key to enjoy that which we
could catalog as routine, which we use to lay a cold and pale tombstone, over
the most appreciated gifts of any human alive: the capacity to amaze, that
same capacity that we sometimes wrongly think belongs only to children. To
have the possibility to be surprised each day is an act of humbleness, to
believe everything is already know is an act of pride which keeps us from
growing, to improve and, in its most important and deep form, to enjoy and be
happy. It is an act of humbleness to give ourselves each day as a blank sheet
which is going to be written by the lessons of the universe and life, by
everything in the list, by the most prosaic and the greatest.
It is true that
I have climbed Broad Peak in 1998 and that the Baltoro Glacier, which leads to
this mountain and others of the three highest in the world, was going to be
covered for the fourth time. But when I accepted the proposal of going with
my dear teammate Edurne Pasaban I was aware that I had to go back as a blank
It is good I
did it and then the light, the wind, the colors of dawns and dusks, the silver
of the moon, the faces of baltis, their songs and their dances, the wind and
cold of the summit day, and finally the happiness, the hugs and happiness of
the summit of Broad Peak wrote new words for me, new paragraphs, new verses.
To push away
the fetid odor of routine there is the fresh breath of the things that have to
be made with love, the capacity of being able to reinvent each time it is
necessary, the intelligence of not losing grace to be amazed just like kids,
and above all the humbleness of wanting to learn always.
At noon on last
July 12 I was on the summit of Broad Peak with the same illusion and the same
smile as always. Now I am on my way to Shisha Pangma for the second time,
again with Edurne, with an added value: we will climb by the north face (in
2004 I did is by the demanding south face), so the advantage is even greater.
Let’s hope that
the colors, the images, the light, the sun and the wind of Shisha Pangma will
write more verses on my blank sheet.
Spanish by Jorge Rivera
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