Day 9 - Camp I Rest Day (5,000M)

Where'd the Day Go?

We are becoming adept at making the hours flush from a rest day by frequent naps, short walks, and the constant shuffling and dealing of cards.



An afternoon "Cacho Meeting" brought the group back into focus. From this point on every step becomes a "do or die" scenario where one is either moving forward or headed down.



An excursion amongst the penitentes seemed like a good distraction just before dinner. Their composition was surprisingly hard as stone with sharply honed edges, from the persistent melt and freeze cycles.



At a distance the penitente field looks like a random jumble...



... but looking downhill reveals organized wind swept alleys, that serve as partially constructed wind tunnels for the late afternoon air current transfer.



One of the benefits of the blown formations is that naturally forming designs develop, some of them mimicking wildlife. This sea horse is a good example, with other sightings of dragons and even a rhino.



Then there was the rare sighting of a Thomas-Con-Icicle-ous, a breed rarely seen outside of Paris but on occasion rare mountain glimpses can be captured. Thomas is a French journalist from Paris, who has successfully climbed most of Aconcagua in not much more than a pair of jeans, wool jumper, and tennis shoes. He is putting the rest of us to shame who spent hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, on technical gear. Thomas' vision is to summit in jeans and ...



... he is willing to defend his French fashion prerogative against all gortex clad challengers.



Adam, the singing Texan, joined the growing penitente crew just before the sun finally dipped behind the precipice of the shadowing ridge.

Camp I sits exposed on its 5,000 meters perch, just shy of a descending cliff face.  This leaves the camp naked to what ever the mountain decides to send down the mountain bowl, in the form of weather.

We all faced the same daily predicament of what to do with 5 to 7 liters of necessary void.  To help keep the camp relatively clean, we each stepped up to the cliff's edge several times a day.  There are two obvious and opposite dangers: an unexpected updraft or a strong downhill gust.  The first is just a matter of surprise and momentary laughter that Mother Nature succeeded in her personalized joke, but the second could be a real problem.  It wouldn't be inconceivable for a late night drowsy journey to the edge to end in a long fall.  So the darker it gets, the greater the receding safety zone.  (Relative Anonymity.)

We were treated to a less brilliant version of a "red sky at night" and hoped that it would provide enough good weather to carry us to the summit.  As one of the last expeditions of the year, the "weather window" for a summit bid was closing quickly.  The weather patterns were obviously changing, but no one wanted to be held back from the peak because of changes in atmospheric currents.