Pico de Orizaba, Mexico Trip Report – April/May 2012 – David Hyland & Levi Hyland
El Pico de Orizaba (≈18,400-‐18,700 ft)
Mexico Somehow, given all my various travels, I had never been to Mexico. What an oversight. It’s a huge, unique, diverse, fascinating country. And the food… I’ve always loved Mexican food, but having the real thing was so much better and fresher than the cheese-‐ drenched variety we’re familiar with. A taco stand at 2:00 in the morning in the central plaza of just about any town in Mexico is so much better than what we get in the States. The mantra I came up with for getting to know Mexico and experiencing the culture is, “eat the food and visit the churches.” Meaning, eat the food that the locals prepare and eat themselves, not the food at the high-‐end tourist restaurants, and visit the extraordinary churches that grace the center of every village and town in the land. The architecture is amazing and there’s always some quasi-‐Catholic festival or celebration taking place that’s fun to watch. And they all have a story to tell. The most incredible story is that of the largest cathedral in all of Latin America, the Cathedral of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Zamora, Michoacan. Construction on this church began fairly recently in the late 1800’s. Unfortunately, construction was halted by the Mexican Revolution and during that time was used by the army as a place of execution. The cathedral
has only very recently been completed, but as a memorial, a section of one of the walls, pockmarked with hundreds of bullet holes, was left unfinished to bear witness to the many who died there. Pretty powerful. Road Trip I hadn’t planned on going to Mexico. After the amazing experience climbing Ama Dablam in Nepal I was thinking about the higher but easier Aconcagua (22,841 ft) in Argentina or maybe the technically difficult and remote Mt Hunter (14,573 ft) in Alaska, but my budget was saying something a little different. At the same time Levi was due to return to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, to resume some architectural work. So a new plan was hatched. I’d help him with the long drive in his soon to be not so trusty, 27-‐ year-‐old VW Vanagon, AKA “The Westy” or “The Militant,” get to see the country, and maybe do some rock climbing at El Potrero Chico near Monterrey or perhaps climb the gorgeous volcanoes in the central part of the country. It sounded like a good deal for both of us. And it was, right up until we started leaking oil like a sieve in Lubbock, Texas. What was suppose to be a three-‐day road trip turned into a slow-‐motion seven-‐day odyssey from Denver to San Miguel de Allende with four of those days stuck in Lubbock. But in fairness to Lubbock and its Lubbock-‐ness, we surprisingly enjoyed our time there. Besides the failed transmission seal in Lubbock, we had undetected failures of the radiator fan that led to much more exciting failures of the coolant system, and multiple failures of the starter. Can you picture two gringos repeatedly push starting an old van down the road in the middle of Mexico? At least it had the desired effect of ensuring we weren’t attractive kidnapping candidates as we drove down one leg of Mexico’s Triangle of Death. Ha. Yep, there is such a thing. We even hit a deer in the middle of the night in southern Texas. Well, really it hit us. Was that before or after we ran out of gas? Guess what else was not entirely dependable: the gas gauge. And prior to the trip the van spent nearly two weeks in the shop getting the top half of the engine rebuilt. So we thought it was all OK. Umm, not quite. But we made it. El Potrero Chico was now out of the picture, but the big volcanoes certainly were within the realm of possibility. They were both attractive and not terribly far. So we aimed for Orizaba, the highest mountain in Mexico. Orizaba Orizaba is impressive, but outside of Mexico it is not well known. And even though it is Mexico’s highest mountain, the third highest in North America, more than 4,000 feet higher than any peak in the contiguous US, and the world's fourth-‐tallest mountain outside the high ranges of Asia and South America, unbelievably no one knows with
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certainty how high it is. Is it 18,405 or 18,410 feet tall? Could it be 18,490 or 18,491 or 18,504? Perhaps it is 18,701? All are variously reported as the true height of this classic volcano. No matter its height, Orizaba, also known as Citlaltépetl, rises impressively from the 7,000-‐foot high basin to its immediate west. It lies at the eastern end of the Trans-‐ Mexican Volcanic Belt and is only 62 miles from the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. These and other circumstances of its setting combine to create a peak of unusual dominance. For those interested in the arcane facts of mountain geography, in terms of topographic prominence, Orizaba is the seventh most prominent mountain in the world. However, perhaps more impressive than its prominence, is its crater. Hidden from view until the very summit is a spectacularly large, jagged, and steep-‐sided crater that, at more than 1,000 feet deep, could swallow whole the famed Chrysler Building in New York City. With regard to volcanic activity, and Mexico certainly has its share, Orizaba was last active in the 16th and 17th centuries. It was responsible for major eruptions in 1569, 1613, and 1687, but has since remained dormant. On the other hand, Popocatépetl, less than 100 miles to the west and on the doorstep to Mexico City, is currently very active and all inhabitants within an 8-‐km radius have been asked to evacuate. Tlachichuca So we pointed the “trusty” Westy east towards Orizaba. We left San Miguel in late morning and after tooling by the rather large city of Querétaro we hopped on the all too expensive, but efficient Arco Norte toll road around Mexico City. Then it was on through Puebla at rush hour past the huge VW plant where we considered stocking up on Vanagon parts. And consider that whenever we needed to stop we had to be careful to do so on an incline so we could more easily push-‐start Mr. Westy, because by this point the starter was not even working intermittently as it had been before. Then it was on around the smaller volcano of La Malinche on a variety of confusing cuota roads (toll roads) and libres roads (free roads) until at dusk we rolled into the town of Tlachichuca. Tlachichuca is a small town that sits at the base of Orizaba and is something of a haven and base of operations for climbers. Tlachichuca can also lay claim to the best taco stand in all of Mexico (Yep, all of Mexico… Well, at least the ones I sampled.). They set up operations in the town plaza every evening. So of course the first thing we did upon rolling into town was to sidle up to the taco stand and order, oh, about 16 tacos, 8 for each of us. To be fair, there were some language interpretation issues as we thought we had ordered eight and then, feeling like we still had room, four more for dessert. But we happily ate them all.
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The best known of the climbers’ services in Tlachichuca is an outfit called Servimont, run for many decades now by the Reyes family. We needed a secure place for the night, minimally so we could pop the top of the Westy and car camp. We hadn’t contacted Sr. Reyes but figured we’d try to find his place. It was not well marked but we eventually found it a couple blocks off the plaza. He answered the buzzer, came to the main door of the large compound, but looked none too pleased to be bothered by the likes of us. We asked about the mountain but he wasn’t going to answer any questions unless we were willing to pay for his services. I think he thought we were some rummies who had no clue about mountains. When it slowly became more apparent that we weren’t some hapless dirtbaggers, though we certainly looked the part, and we said we would pay for a place for the night, he switched to perfect English and welcomed us in. He still wasn’t very forthcoming but we had a bunk bed, shower, and kitchen access in the climbers’ hostel he runs as part of his operations. That’s all we needed. The hostel is actually a very cool place. The building that now functions as the bunkhouse, was built by his great-‐ grandfather as a soap manufacturing plant well over a century ago. Most of the machinery is still intact and so the building doubles as something of a museum. In the yard are a number of old Dodge Powerwagons outfitted to take climbers up the rough 4-‐wheel drive road to the Piedra Grande Climbers Hut at 14,000 feet. But we were going on our own. Attempt Number 1 The idea was to drive up to the tiny village of Hidalgo at 11,000 feet, find a place to secure the van, and then hike up to the climbers’ huts at 14,000 feet as part of our acclimatization plan. We’d spend the night at the huts then move higher up the mountain and set up a high camp from which we could more easily make a summit attempt. We wanted the time not only for acclimatization purposes but so that we could scout out the route. Unlike the vast majority of the attempts made on the mountain, we weren’t going with a guide.
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The next morning we sorted gear, packed up, and headed up the road to Hidalgo. Reyes had given us some pretty simplified directions and we had a ten-‐year-‐old guidebook that dealt with all the little roads in the area so we thought we were in good shape. Unknowingly, we were shortly going the wrong way. We soon figured out our mistake but figured we would continue anyway. Soon we were driving through beautiful parklands at about 10,000 feet. There wasn’t much of a road and we hadn’t figured out how to reconnect with the main dirt road when we happened upon a burro-‐ drawn wagon. Levi got a new set of directions that had us continue up a little ways further, cross a stream and then traverse across a hillside back to the main road. The Westy finally showed its mettle. We made it and the tiny village of Hidalgo, nestled up against the side of Orizaba at 11,000 feet, was just a little ways ahead. Sr. Reyes had told us to find and ask for Carlos Sanchez in Hidalgo. He would, for a modest sum, allow us to park the Westy at his home and he’d look after it. This was perfect. It didn’t take long to find his home on the edge of town. He wasn’t there but his wife took care of us. So far, everything was going according to plan. We ate our lunch, finished loading the backpacks and started up the super dusty and ashy 4-‐wheel drive road that goes to the climbers’ huts. It started out fine, but soon there were all of these little dirt lanes going to the high fields and grazing areas. The guidebook quickly turned to rubbish. It was hard to differentiate the primary 4-‐wheel drive single-‐lane dirt road from the famers’ 4-‐wheel drive single-‐lane dirt roads. They all looked relatively the same. We made another wrong turn. So we decided to abandon all roads and go our own way. Then as we got higher up the mountain it began to rain. Now it was becoming something of a bush-‐whacking slog. We finally regained what we thought was the main road at about 13,500 feet, enshrouded in clouds, mist, and rain. Then I saw the shiny, sheet-‐metal roof of the climbers’ hut far ahead and I knew we were all good. We stumbled, wet and tired, into the Piedra Grande Hut only to find all the windows broken out and a chill wind whistling through. So we checked out the smaller, older, and much darker Augusto Pellet Hut. Though snug, it seemed a little warmer and its tiny window was intact, so we chose it over the grander accommodations of Piedra Grande.
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We made it. We were at the base of the climb. It might have been raining but we were snug in the climbers’ hut and tomorrow we could begin to contemplate the way to the summit which soared 4,500 feet over our heads. It was nice not to have to break out and squeeze into my sturdy but little climber’s tent. The huts were great but a thin pad on hard plywood bunks does not make for good sleep. The next morning, after limbering up our achy bodies, we once again loaded up the packs and started up. We hiked up to 15,100ft where there was a nice spot to pitch the tent. We scouted out the route on up above and decided we’d start our attempt that night. But late in the afternoon the weather moved in and it began to snow and snow and snow. I was starting to wonder about whether we would go for it. Later that evening as the snow continued we decided to bag it and sleep in. We would wait a day. However, at 2:30 in the morning a party of three came by the tent and then another party of three came thru at 3:00am. They had started down below at the climbers’ huts. There was about 7-‐10 inches of new snow and route-‐finding would be difficult. Damn. My competitive spirit was feeling its comeuppance. But I consoled myself with the fact that they had guides and we were trying to figure out the route on our own. The section we were very much uncertain of is known as the Labyrinth. It represents the jumbled mess that was left behind when the tongue of the huge Jamapa Glacier retreated up the mountain. I could find no beta (climber’s-‐speak for route information) on this section. So the next day we scouted the route, then went all the way down to the huts to get some more food that we had stashed, came back up to the tent for a rest, set the alarm for 2:00 with the intention of getting on route around 3:00am. I knew Levi hadn't been feeling his best but it didn’t seem to be anything other than poor sleep and/or something he ate. He’s fit and strong, an expert skier, and been to 14,000+ feet innumerable times. But as we got higher in the cold and wind and snow and dark of that early morning, post-‐holing up the headwall after we had successfully negotiated the Labyrinth, he slowed down more and more. I felt like I was going to stumble over him. On Ama Dablam, Eric, with very little patience, had told me to keep moving. Movement is essential. So now I told Levi the same, keep moving. But that morning it wasn’t within him. He was nauseous, getting more so, and fatigued beyond
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what I thought he could possibly be. I knew what it was. Altitude sickness. We made the top of the headwall at something like 16,200 feet, but that was it. All I could think of was the time he was about eight years old and in my charge while visiting Queen Victoria Park at Niagara Falls on the Canadian side. Somehow—I still have no clue how—I lost him and he went missing for several hours. So I knew if anything happened on Orizaba, his first time on a glacier, potentially his first time to extreme altitude (defined as being above 18,000 ft) his parents would be all too glad to hang me from the nearest yardarm. I turned him around and we headed down, back to the tent, thicker air, and rest. The next day we packed up and headed down to Hidalgo and 11,000 feet. And just like that, though disappointed, he was cured. But we had fun, had brilliant views from Orizaba, and saw a good chunk of countryside. So it was all good. AMS – Acute Mountain Sickness It’s estimated that something like 2,000 climbers try to reach the summit of Orizaba each year, but between 65 and 70 percent don’t make it. The altitude stops most of them, specifically, acute mountain sickness or AMS stops them. Acute mountain sickness is a very fickle malady. We understand the physiology of it. We know its effects. We know how it progresses. But what we don’t know at all is who it’s going to strike and at what altitude. You might be young, fit, and strong, but be unable to ascend past 10,000 feet without getting a pounding headache and feeling nauseous. You could be out of shape and middle-‐aged but have no symptoms of AMS until 20,000 feet. One year you might experience AMS while the next year you don’t. I think of acute mountain sickness the way I think about poison ivy. You might never have gotten it as a kid but then later in life you somehow get it every summer, or vice versa. And one year you get only a few blisters that quickly go away while another year it’s so severe you feel like you should be the subject of a medical study. That’s how AMS works. It’s unpredictable. Attempt Number 2 But we weren’t done with the volcanoes. When we left Colorado I meant to bring some Diamox with me just in case of altitude sickness, but I grabbed the wrong bag of meds. Diamox is primarily used for glaucoma. It’s also a diuretic and has the happy effect of facilitating the acclimatization to altitude process. I had used half doses on Ama Dablam just in case and had had no problems whatsoever with the altitude. If I had been able to give some to Levi maybe we would have made it the first time out.
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So nearly a month after our first attempt and with a fresh supply of the local version of Diamox in hand, we headed back to the volcanoes. We weren’t sure if we would attempt Orizaba again. We thought we’d first do an easier acclimatization climb on La Malinche (14,636 ft), Mexico’s fifth highest mountain. La Malinche proved to be quite enjoyable, especially with a couple of stray dogs that adopted us leading the way, but that’s another story. After La Malinche the plan was to drive into the city of Puebla to secure some topo maps and then head for Iztaccihuatl (17,159 ft). But we were late and the National Institute of Statistics and Geography office was closed. We headed for the Izta-‐Popo National Park anyway, still intending to climb Izta. I had already put together a plan for climbing it. Unfortunately the access areas on the south end of Izta were closed and off limits due to the nearby eruptions of Popocatépetl. And the park officials weren't terribly happy that we were there. In fact, a radius of 8 km around Popo had been evacuated. It's been active since January and particularly so from April until now. So we took some photos and video of Popo spewing some smoke and ash, headed back into Puebla, got our maps, and in a driving rainstorm pointed the Westy towards Orizaba. We were back. This time we were going to go in style. Levi thought, though I was a little uncertain, that he could coax the 2-‐wheel drive Westy up the 4-‐wheel drive road to the climbers’ huts at 14,000 feet. The idea was to sleep comfortably, cook good food, and have our own little private base of operations. Somehow we made it, although we nearly abandoned the effort until, using our new maps, we found a second, slightly easier road up the mountain. We’d also been through the Labyrinth a couple of times and knew the route. And Levi was taking half doses of Diamox. Just to be certain, I soon joined him in taking the meds. We were stacking the deck in our favor. The next morning we planned to do a reconnaissance/acclimatization climb. We’d return to base and then in the wee hours of the following morning start our summit attempt. We got away and were on route at 7:30am. I was dragging slightly and having one of those down days when your body doesn’t feel as strong as it usually does. We made it back to our high camp of the previous month in a little over an hour. I thought that was slow. We took a short break and headed into the Labyrinth. Everything had completely changed. All the snow below the glacier was nearly gone. The weather and climate there are kind of strange. The normal climbing season is
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winter when it’s dry. Summer is the wet season when Orizaba receives the majority of its snow. It’s very weird. Mexico + summer = snow? Huh? Yep. I was expecting more snow, but instead it was nearly gone. That could make it easier for us unless the glacier was now solid ice with no covering snow. And looking up I thought the glacier looked icier. It was a nice day, sunny and bright. We moved easily through the Labyrinth with the benefit of daylight and familiarity. The headwall looked very different but we soon found our landmarks and ascended with no problems. I felt sluggish, but we were still moving well. It was only 10:30. We wove our way through the moonscape between the headwall and the base of the glacier. It was only 11:00. Usually the clouds and w eather begin to move in sometime around midday, but today the weather was looking good. Ahead there were two guided parties moving up on the glacier. They had started in the middle of the night, but we weren’t terribly far behind. Could we make it? And what from a distance I took to be ice was rotten but firm snow. We would be able to move quickly. We had water with us but not much extra food. And since this was suppose to be a brief acclimatization climb and not a summit attempt, we weren’t really properly outfitted for high altitude and glacier travel. Fortunately, we did have crampons and ice axes with us. So we decided to go for it. We put the crampons back on, moved up on to the glacier and plotted a traversing zig-‐zag course for the summit. We just had to be mindful of the weather. We also had to be aware of crevasses. Typically there are few crevasses on this part of the glacier and those that are there are quite small. It wasn’t much of a worry and there was no need to rope up, but you still need to be alert. We were rapidly gaining on the other parties. About three-‐quarters of the way up we passed the first party. And the weather was still looking good. We were on the move. At 1:20pm we crested the crater rim. The wind suddenly accelerated and it was cold. There were some clouds closing in but amazingly the weather was still quite decent. The crater was just stupendous and huge and deep. The true summit was a bit further along the crater rim and less than 100 feet above. It was cold and the clouds were
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approaching. After about 10 minutes we decided we were close enough. It was time to descend. We wanted no part of a potential white-‐out on that huge glacier. If you go the wrong way you can easily walk right off a cliff on the west face. We flew down the glacier, plunge-‐ stepping the whole way. I encountered one foot-‐wide crevasse but it was no hindrance. In 30 minutes we were off. We found a shorter route down the headwall and at its base caught and passed the other party that had started in the middle of the night. We stopped for a little lunch, cleaned and packed away the crampons, and continued down. The weather continued to hold but the winds were now ripping at gale force pelting us with grit and small rocks at every gust. Every reason to keep moving. At 4:00pm we were back at the van and ready for a nap. Two hours later the last of the groups that had summited made it safely back. In total, what is usually billed as an 11-‐hour trip, and many—like those we saw that day—take longer, had taken us 8½ hours. We had done it quickly, efficiently, safely, and we didn’t even have to start in the middle of the night. Who knew? That evening we drove part way down the mountain to a favorite sheltered camping area. The next day we toured the area near the mountain, bombing down farmers’ lanes, repeatedly getting nearly stuck in the deep and loose volcanic ash that makes up the rich soil, and stumbled upon a beautiful, 200-‐year-‐old, but abandoned hacienda that perfectly framed a perfect Pico de Orizaba and a perfect trip.
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