Expedition to the Ultra Mountains of Central Mexico - Part II

The effort complete around noon, most of us explore a restaurant and order blue corn quesadillas for take-out. They are quite delicious, and set the standard that we hereafter seek at several other feeding opportunities. I particularly like the chorizo and potato variety.

Restaurant cook prepares our food in the traditional fashion. (DG)

Bob departs for Texas, and will be county highpointing there - eventually getting ten more including a "virgin" as Zavala County.

We caravan into major city Toluca using backroads rather than suffering through Mexico City. Bodega Aurrera is a supermarket chain, and we purchase water and much snack food.

Inside the restaurant and oblivious to all. (BP)

Nevado de Toluca looms ever-larger in our views. It's an impressive sight indeed, its beauty heightened with more than a dusting of snow at the higher elevations.

We camp in the national park at a pullout, our elevation 12,400 feet. We could have driven farther to the current trailhead, yet I feel that 13,600 feet will bring headaches. Besides, sleeping at 12,400 feet is very adequate anyway for acclimatization.

I have been spared any symptoms whatsoever, and attribute this, in part, to the Diamox I have taken prophylactically - a diuretic which alters the body's carbonate / bicarbonate ion concentrations. These changes enhance one's ability to acclimatize at high altitude.

"Sun" and "moon" lakes from high on Toluca. (GS)

The author is not concerned about Collin's future high altitude prospects. AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) can effect anybody with a seeming randomness which physiologists have yet to decipher. On the next trip I could be stricken while Collin remains healthy.

View back towards the top during Duane's descent. (DG)

Several thousand feet lower and in decent temperatures we stop at the first Pemex to discuss our driving options for getting around both Toluca and Mexico City. We decide to simply meet at our trailhead, not realizing that on weekends traffic would be considerably less onerous.

In Mexico City Duane, Rob and I are temporarily lost, and somewhat humorously, after taking a wrong turn and entering a major bus terminal! The many employees are amused by our error, and we laugh alongside.

We have a lunch break at the highway's highest point at some 10,500 feet and just north of the Ixtaccíhuatl / Popocatépetl pair. It's a nice way to remain acclimatized while providing relief from the driving monotony. My pint of canned carrots, tuna fish, corn tortilla chips, hot salsa and bland cheese is eaten, as usual, as passenger to pass the time.

Dozens of local visitors swarm at the 14,000 foot saddle. (DG)

We pass through Puebla and head north, viewing our next goal from the west. The storm of New Year's Day has left its mark on it as well, with snow on the top thousand feet or so.

I get a cell phone call from the other group - they are already at the trailhead, have secured a nice cabin for all of us, and have notified a park employee of our arrival.

The IMSS has created a most comfortable place to stay. Our cabin has hot showers, a refrigerator, portable electric radiator, and seats in addition to six bunks and plenty of bedding.

Our cabin at the base of Volcán La Malinche. (GS)

We eat dinner at a bona fide restaurant! Both Mexican and American-style food is served. While Rob and I are wonderfully adventurous, many have cheeseburgers with french fries. Rob's dessert of peaches drenched in rompope liqueur has me jealous - it's arguably even tastier than my blackberry cheesecake slice. Then too his egg / garlic soup sounds quite appealing...

Duane gets enough to eat even though he's generally a vegetarian through special orders not on the menu such as black beans with melted cheese.

Within Señor Reyes' compound prior to Pico de Orizaba. Dog is "Canela" - "cinnamon". (GS)

Collin and I remain behind. My original intent was to guard gear for climbers at the hut. However on learning of the $70 transfer fee per person I change my mind completely, and spend a pleasant day in town after the truck departs.

After ice cream we have an extended Internet session. Then we have lunch at a pizzeria, Collin with a medium-size pepperoni and myself with a plate of hot chicken wings plus extra condiments on request. His appetite has returned, eating five pizza slices and a soft drink. In fact, he is thinking of Ixtaccíhuatl three days from now.

40 horsepower motor for running machinery in the soap factory. (AH)

A Belgian couple spots us in the central square around 4:30 p.m., and we direct them to the Reyes edifice for their own climbing bid. They have bicycled from Canada to the Mexican border, and seem most fit and eager to explore what's it like far, far higher than they've ever been.

The dormitory is upstairs in an old soap factory. It's a fascinating place, with all manner of industrial-size mechanical devices for soap production, ranging from a steam boiler that generates 40 horsepower to giant pots for holding assorted liquids in the manufacturing process.

Señor Reyes' father has training in chemistry as I deduce from the Spanish language chemistry textbook lying about published in Barcelona - during the Second World War. Later he confirms my hypothesis, and with that a certain rapport has been established.

Ground level interior of Señor Reyes' dormitory. (AH)

As I sleep in my bunk bed thoughts are almost exclusively of the four companions poised to climb Mexico's highest mountain.

The following is an excerpt from Greg Slayden's Orizaba report as posted at peakbagger.com, serving here as their story.

"We paid Sr. Reyes his money in dollars, and his driver soon loaded our packs on to the roof on a modified pickup truck. The four of us clambered into the back compartment of the truck, a rather claustrophobic space with not many windows and bench seats facing each other.

Joining us for the trip were two climbers from San Diego, Blair (who sat up front with the driver, since he could speak Spanish), and Vlad, who sat back with us. We left a little after 11 AM, pretty much on schedule.

Orizaba during the Piedra Grande hut approach drive.

The jeep ride to Piedra Grande took about an hour and a half, the last part of it on a very rough, rutted, rocky road. I think most of us in back were a bit motion sick from the jostling and lack of windows — I was glad to have taken a Dramamine pill. We stopped a couple times to get out and take photos of the imposing form of Orizaba ahead, its summit area impossibly white with fresh snowfall.

By 1 PM we arrived at Piedra Grande—I tipped the driver and he told us he’d be back at 4 PM tomorrow for us. A large group was leaving as we arrived, so we had almost the entire large hut to ourselves at first. A smaller hut uphill was also empty, and Blair and Vlad took space there, but we thought it was too cramped for us. The big hut had nice windows and was relatively clean and well kept. The outhouses, though, were quite grim, practically overflowing and therefore barely usable.

After the 4 of us claimed bunk space on the second of three levels of plywood planks, hung out for a bit, and then Rob and Duane decided to do a reconnaissance hike uphill bit, hoping to avoid any route-finding errors in the dark tomorrow morning. Ryan and I hung out inside the hut, trying to nap unsuccessfully and chatting with the other groups there.

Piedra Grande hut

A young Polish couple was there with 2 Mexican guides, and a party with some Spaniards I chatted with for a while, and another group. Overall the hut was not super crowded, though—I could picture it with far more people.

Duane and Rob returned after a couple hours, having climbed about 500 meters up the trail— I was glad I had rested instead, saving myself for tomorrow’s effort. We cooked our meals, tried on our crampons, and relaxed until it got dark.

Not long after we finally settled into our sleeping bags for the night, we heard Duane muttering about some liquid dripping down on him from above, where the Polish couple was sleeping on the third sleeping level. He started mopping it up, but something seemed odd to him. Then the Polish woman came down the ladder, apologizing, saying her husband has just thrown up— she handed Duane a pile of napkins to help with the cleanup. What a mess—the vomit had leaked through the seam in the plywood sheets. The Poles had come to this hut (4200 m) after only one night in Mexico City, definitely too fast.

Rob, Duane, and I were very happy to have Orizaba, the 7th most prominent peak in the world, under our belts. We had to fight cold, strong wind, icy conditions, and unusually low snow levels to make our climb, but the acclimatization hikes we had done over the past week allowed us to day-hike to the summit without too much trouble."

Greg and Duane at the summit. (GS)

Meantime Collin and I have a rather boring time with nothing much at all to do - let alone accomplish. I read from a climber register, from National Geographic, from assorted books lying about. Mostly I am just waiting for the others to return.

When they do return I am outside on the street as Greg hand-signs with three fingers to indicate how many of them made the summit - evidently, all but Ryan who did not get much above the hut.

We have a celebratory dinner at Casa Blanca which appears to be the only decent Mexican restaurant around. Rob and I order a bottle of red wine, and the full liter is enjoyed by others too. I am SURE that Greg, Duane and Rob are MOST PLEASED!

We enjoy a hot lunch at one of the only full-service restaurants. Ryan's pozole is sizeable and seems most enticing - a huge bowl of reddish hominy (lime-slaked corn) soup with pork and all manner of condiments.

Servimont contact information - Señor Reyes' company.

We stop at the famous Paso de Cortes where a museum is maintained at some 12,200 feet elevation between the two prominent mountains. Evidently a major effort is made to protect the local environment, and the museum's dioramas emphasize that significant point. Then, after verifying our permits a man opens this gate for our continuing progress to the trailhead.

The trailhead situation for Ixtaccíhuatl is a bit complicated. We drive to a 12,800 foot saddle and find a large television broadcast complex to our south atop a hill. Is that where our hut is located? The road turns to cobblestone and steepens, and we carefully drive there to confirm that, indeed, a smaller building houses climbers in each of three rooms - the Altzonomi Hostel.

Amecameca-based Ixta-Popo- Zoquiapan Park office.

However the actual trailhead at "La Joyita" (there is also a former "La Joya" trailhead farther on) lies on the saddle's opposite side closer to Ixtaccíhuatl's true base. Go figure.

Everybody but myself packs for the next day. Indeed, both Collin and Ryan are going up - yet earlier than the others to account for different speeds.

I will bide my time in the building just reading and munching on snack food. When they are done a cell phone call will alert me to reach the saddle on-foot: nobody wants to drive the hill road again. If I do NOT get a cell signal then somebody will retrieve me. Regarldless, such plans, and without an overnight pack, force me to spend the day with a minimum of material as I will only have my daypack and empty hands to carry things down.

The Ixtaccíhuatl climb itself is described here as extracted from Greg Slayden's posted story.

"Rob, Duane and I got up at 5 AM, quickly ate some breakfast, got our packs ready, and then Duane drove us slowly and carefully down from the Altzonomi hostel and then on to La Joya, the end of the road and the usual Izta trailhead. By 6:20 AM we were hiking up the trail in the dark, soon discovering that our trailhead was actually “La Joyita” and the path led us to the real “La Joya”, no longer car-accessible. From there a narrower trail started a long traverse up the slopes of Izta. I had been on this path in 1993 (one day off from exactly 19 years ago) and tried to recall landmarks, but the fog of time was too much.

sandy trail (GS)

Our first notable place was a pass (the “first portillo”), where we rested and saw a memorial plaque. The path here descended briefly down the other side (and didn’t go up like I thought), then slabbed uphill on sandy, eroded braids to the next pass at 4400 meters (my 1993 turn-around point). From there the trail switched to the “left” side of the ridge and climbed up to a third pass at 4500 meters, the col between the “feet” of Izta and the main mass of the mountain. We were making OK time, and the sun was now out, but there was a strong wind and a fair number of low clouds blowing around.

From this pass the trail switched to the east side of the ridge and climbed uphill more, soon taking a steeper line towards some castle-like rock formations. These were easily bypassed with trivial scrambling, and the trail led up to the side of a high ridge before flattening out and then descending a short ways to the Grupo del Cien hut, a small white structure that we welcomed as a refuge from the wind. Ahead we saw the steep cliffs of the “knees” and thought we maybe saw climbers up high there.

Rob and rock pinnacles (GS)

Rob, Duane, and I sat inside the hut for a while, ate some food and warmed up. I went out after a while to see if the climbers were Collin and Ryan, but instead heard Spanish voices and saw a pair of climbers descending a large scree slope from the top of the knees. A bit later I went out again to greet the two Mexican climbers, who soon joined us in the hut. They were tough hombres who had spent last night in the hut with no sleeping bags. They did not recommend their route for us, since it was hard to find without the detailed knowledge of the mountain they had.

We took off again, and I thought the Mexicans had told us to go up to the ridge with the crosses on it above the hut. But my poor Spanish had led me to misunderstand them—we needed to stay low on the sand at first on the obvious trails, then head for the rocky ridgecrest. They yelled at us until we were on the right path. This was the longest sustained climb on Izta, a meandering path that went up sandy slopes and rock outcrops, and faint yellow paint spots marked the route. Up higher, there was some easy class 3 scrambling around a large metal cross.

rock mass outlier and colorful terrain

The top of the “knees” was a somewhat pointy peak, with ruins of an old hut, at over 5000 meters. We were excited because we thought the hard work for this climb was done, but ahead loomed several false summits, and we didn’t yet realize that the real top was not even in sight yet. At first we cruised along the crest of a high ridge with minor ups and downs to a windy high point where a large snowfield had to be crossed. Here we saw Collin and Ryan for the first time, heading across the snow. We three took a rest, put on our crampons, and descended icy snow for a bit and then did a long flat crossing of the crusty glacial remnant to the other side, where we finally caught up with Collin and Ryan.

Now a five man party, we cached our crampons and climbed up some rocky/sandy slopes uphill towards another false summit. I was a bit winded from the altitude on this stretch, and Ryan was lagging a bit, too. I followed others to the left side of the rounded peak but this was sketchy terrain with loose scree—on the way back we found it was easier to go over the top. Up here I waited for Ryan while the others dropped down a nice snowy arête and headed up the next rise. Once on the false summit Ryan told me he was turning back—he was lagging, and had already smashed his old personal height record (we were just over 17,000 feet), and he was worried about being slow on the descent.

false summits (GS)

I followed the others down the arête and then up a short slope of about 100 vertical feet to our last false summit of the day, a rounded top one might call the South Summit. Ahead was another huge flat field of snow, and the snake-like ridge on its far side appeared to be the real summit. So the four of us, led by the energetic Rob, trudged crampon-less across this expanse, up the east end of the little rocky ridge, then along the crest for 150 horizontal meters to a high point crowned with some small metal crosses—the summit at last! It was about 1 PM.

We took a bunch of photos and had hearty hugs and congratulations all around—Duane, Rob, and I were especially happy for Collin, making his first climb of the trip since he was hit hard by the altitude a week earlier on Toluca, and in the process setting a new personal highest point. The wind was pretty strong here, though, so after our photo session we decided to go back along the ridge and find some rocks to sit in the lee and take a rest and eat.

more false summits and Popocatépetl

After a snack and a nice rest basking in the intermittent sun and the happiness of reaching the summit, we headed down the little ridge and decided to make a detour over to a hump one could call the West Summit that looked just as high as both the cross-marked North Summit and the South Summit we had already been to. The West Summit was a bit icy and tricky without crampons, but we traversed it and then back to the South Summit. Our GPS units read pretty much the same elevation on all three humps, so we felt good about being thorough in hitting all of them, but the presence of crosses and cairns on the North Summit likely means that was surveyed as the highest.

The descent was fairly long and tiring as we dealt with all the false summits, just as they had worn us out on the ascent. We caught up with Ryan pretty quickly, as we were crossing the large snowfield where we used crampons once again. He was pretty tired, though, and needed extra time to descend the steep rocks and sandy scree of the big slope above the hut. We stayed with him and made sure we all made it to the hut safely, where we took a nice rest. The weather had been improving, and it was now wind-free and sunny, so we didn’t bother going inside the hut—the rocks outside were very pleasant resting spots.

Crossing the crater icefield and Popocatépetl.

From the hut we headed down the well-marked path, with its crossings of the ridge on passes and occasional short uphills, as the afternoon turned into evening. We knew we would be pretty late in getting down, so we tried to call Adam a few times on Collin's cellphone to let him know we were behind schedule, but we had connection problems—I think he got the general message, though.

At the 4400-meter saddle we let Rob and Duane go ahead so they could get to their car and pick up a likely bored Adam from the Altzonomi hostel, while Collin and I stayed back to make sure Ryan got down safely. I felt sorry for Ryan, trapped on a trip with some very fast hikers—at his own pace, he could have made the summit and maybe spent the night at the hut or gotten down super late but still safely. But our current plans meant we had to get down tonight, so he bravely slogged on down. The rocky braided trail section below the 4400-meter saddle was actually pretty difficult to hike heading down, too, even for experienced hikers like Collin and I.

Collin's highest mountaintop! (GS)

The sun set as we made the long traverse down from the final saddle, and eventually Collin and I took off to get to the car and start the process of loading it up. It got dark, though, and we missed the path to La Joyita and had to bushwhack across the grassy tussocks to our parking lot at the end. We arrived back around 6:45 PM.

At the car Collin and I loaded up our packs and waited for Ryan, who made the same route-finding error as we did and also had to bushwhack in the dark down to the car. At 7 PM we drove the 2 km up the rutted dirt road to the Altzonomi turn-off, where Duane, Rob, and Adam were waiting for us. I insisted that we arrange our stuff for a few minutes—our car had all Adam’s bags in it and there was hardly any room for us at all. So Adam got his things out, and I retrieved my sneakers from Duane’s car to make driving easier, and we were soon off, headed back to the Paso de Cortés."

Atop our final ultra prominence: From left: Collin, Duane, Rob (GS)

We caravan downhill, have the gate opened (a guard is still in the museum), and head for Amecameca. All I want, and what I've been waiting for some 12 hours, is something hot to eat - even just a bowl of soup and with Ryan's pozole at the list's top-end. However I am unanimously outvoted: everybody else wants to get hotel rooms and shower. Sleep attenuates my hunger, and I try without success on the windy road.

We arrive to a moderately expensive "auto motel" only to suspect that it's a place for cheating husbands to have extramarital sex: Greg notes curtains hide the parked automobiles. So we return to downtown and get a pair of cheap rooms in the San Carlos for just 250 Pesos apiece.

rock and moon composition

Everybody else now showers as I lie down with nothing to do but dream of hot soup. Finally, after 9 p.m. we find the nearby restaurants closed - including the one my heart is set on where we had lunch yesterday. Only food stalls are open for business - and a pizza place that neither Greg nor I want. I remind folks, facetiously, that we HAVE, at least, secured a hotel room and showered. My words are not well received.

Amecameca - unexpected juxtaposition of butchers playing chess.

First Duane and I deposit Rob at Terminal 2 for his earlier flight. We return the rental car near Terminal 1, and suffer the standard ritual of checking-in our luggage, going through security, and waiting at the actual gate.

About one-half hour prior to boarding an announcement is made that all passengers should check with the desk. I present my passport and boarding pass. They ask for a green tourist card. I don't have it. I am told to go elsewhere and get a new one with a stamp.

Amecameca - parade

(Question: WHY is this document not collected sooner in the check-in process than immediately before one's flight?
  Answer: It's a government scam, designed to fill people with anxiety so as to force payment rather than losing one's flight.)

I visit a small kiosk and the official examines my passport. He finds no stamp for my entry into Mexico and says (on translation)

"You are in trouble. Go to the office before security checkpoint and explain."

I go ballistic, dashing back to the gate and running so hard that the cell phone falls out of my pocket. I shout to Duane and Greg to watch our luggage. (Greg has just arrived to join us on the same Houston-bound flight.) I try to recall instructions yet cannot find the exit for getting back before security.

at Sacromonte Chalchiumomozco

I solicit the assistance of another airline staff member who tells me that United / Continental is required to assist me in finding the immigration office. I return to the gate desk and they refuse to help. However a map is drawn, and I use it to locate the remote office. By now it's too late for making my flight.

The immigration lady (DAMN HER) asks for "tee-ket" as proof that I entered Mexico at so-and-so date and location. Yet I already told her that I arrived by automobile through Nogales on December 23, such that it is impossible to present an airline ticket.

Then I search my passport and find a stamp for December 23 ... yet with the "2010" not visible. This was when I passed through Mexico City enroute to La Paz, Bolivia 13 months earlier - a coincidence. Then I find a stamp for January 15, 2011 (today's month and day) ... when I passed again through this very airport on the way home from Bolivia. Neither passport stamps have any bearing, although I showed them to her anyway in case she was THAT stupid as to exonerate me.

Sacromonte Chalchiumomozco - the second possible highest ground with Duane (left) and Adam.

Without proof of having legally entered she quotes a figure of five thousand nine hundred eighty-two Pesos as fine. I realize that's about $450, a rather excessive amount indeed in my view. A bank teller is immediately available, yet he will not accept credit card payment.

(Of course not: by this means transactions are untraceable.)

Miraculously there is an ATM machine just outside the office. Is that coincidence? I should think NOT. Inserting my credit card I request a 6,000 Peso cash advance. I enter the wrong PIN number and am rejected. Now the office's security guard is watching me. He snickers and seems to be laughing at my predicament. I tell him to "Go to Hell".

Sacromonte Chalchiumomozco - Adam and sign identifying the hill's name.

Now the sum of all fears is upon me: a rejected PIN number means one is locked-out of the system. If I don't get this money I don't know WHAT will happen next.

I try another PIN number - and it works. With a bit of relief and a huge amount of dissatisfaction I pay the bank cashier. There follows a large number of forms to fill-out, including one with a written description, in the language of my choice, as to why I don't have the required documents.

At the security checkpoint my boarding pass is rejected because it's too late for that flight. I return to airline check-in where I get a new boarding pass for the very next flight to Houston. My bags are already being transferred to that flight anyway.

Amecameca - Adam holds dinner: a whole garlic-enhanced fish.

I am placed on stand-by until an actual seat can be assigned.

Right after sitting in 12-E I eat the balance of a peanut butter strawberry jam sandwich Duane made for me the night before so I don't have to pay for airline food. I was not hungry for it. Rather, it was a "reward" for having dodged a bullet. Thank you Duane!

The flight is uneventful. A tasteless sandwich is served, and the potato chips are flavored with my Cajun spices and parmesan cheese.

U.S.A. customs is very efficient. I examine the electronic boards and guess which flight Duane and Greg will shortly take to Seattle/Tacoma. Then at Gate E2 I meet them, once again, and only to let them know that I am indeed back in the USA.

They board while I have over an hour until my own flight. A triple dip ice cream settles my nerves, with banana pudding, mocha chip and "birthday cake" flavors atop a waffle cone. Normally I would not spend $5.95 like this. However I really "needed it" in an emotional sense.