Text by Jorge González.
Together with my partner Félix, we accumulated a dozen expeditions, which meant that not a few things were taken for granted. The decision to go to San Juan alone, to a high mountain, did not take more than agreeing on matters of form. The train took us without rush, while we let the landscape flow through that square eye of the window. Guillermo, our contact in the foothills, waited for us under the generous January sun and we set off towards Barreal. The objective was the Polaco peak, to the east, a fantastic mass of ice in the Cordón de la Ramada, one of the most beautiful I have traveled in our central Andes.
The difficulties at the beginning of the march would put us to the test much earlier than expected. But if the experience had brought its share of teaching for her, now was the time to go to her, ponder each decision and reserve the energy for the final arrest.
The heated air became almost unbreathable and, under the weight of the backpacks, the sun mercilessly punished us until we reached the Gendarmerie post. There was our chance to get animals to transport the heavy load to the base camp. A single mule helped spread the weight; and looking at the distant edges made the desire to arrive sprout in every muscle. With the mule we reached Los Corredores, a bivouac place for after the first day of the march, but with a serious problem: that we stopped crossing the furious and turbulent waters of the Colorado River beforehand. Of course, when we don’t renounce situations, something always comes to our aid: believe it or not, an expedition of Italians happened to pass through the place and, obligingly, responded to our request, and with their animals they brought our cargo across to us. the opposite shore.
Outlining the night and stretched out on the clovers, looking at the hypnotic flames of an improvised stove, we once again had with Félix, a dome full of stars above our eyes, and the joy of having already successfully completed the first stage. We enjoyed it with full awareness, until sleep slowly overcame us.
Dawn brought us back to the path and, almost by mid-afternoon, we reached 4,200 meters, where we once again set up our tent, with the imposing cirque of mountains and the magnificent view of the southern wall of the Mercedario. It is beautiful to hear the closing of the tent in that extraordinary solitude, and that a lantern illuminates the last moments of our nocturnal rituals: mine, writing and smoking a cigarette that I support and at the end I put out in a pâté can; and that of my friend Félix, reading a few pages of a book until he fell asleep.
Aware that we must be in good shape for the Polaco peak, and in order to get out of the difficulty quickly, we opted to try the south wall of Cerro Negro, with a difference in altitude that we calculate at about 700 meters. We transported cargo and equipment to the foot to study the access and the entrance rimaya, and we returned to the base, looking for the shelter of a hot and repairing mug of coffee.
Enduring the first biting cold of the early morning, we set out towards our objective to find consistent ice and solve the wall as quickly as possible, so as not to be exposed to falling stones. It is known that the sun loosens the rocks welded to the ice, and drops them into the void, like real projectiles. They whistle in the air and are gaining speed, and when they hit stones they add to the landslide.
Luckily, at that moment, we were already out of danger and he passed us the last hundred meters, until the edge that, clearly, was drawn on the sky, and it seemed unreachable. Missing the last stretch, the legs weigh like lead and it seems that the air never reaches the lungs. Except for the incessant whistling of the wind, the silence is heard and is universal. All around, a world of rocks and ice, is flooded with the summer sun and shines. We reached the edge and we will have about a hundred meters of unevenness left to reach the summit, that highest point, that level that, inexplicably, will always continue to attract us like a dream. An intimidating fall towards the Mercedario forced us to move with great care and foresight, given the gusts of wind that seemed to gain unusual force there.
The evaluation was coincidental: we must summit one at a time and do it quickly, because we urgently needed to find a protected place to cross the night. The last reflections of the afternoon were gradually disappearing, but like ghosts, and it was at that moment that, without further ado, we hugged my adventure partner, because we had achieved the wall and the second ascent along that route. I told him then:
-“Félix, you reach the summit and I prepare the bivouac. In this plastic photo roll jar, I put a piece of paper with our names and the date. I am more interested in our security for the night than in the summit, but if you want to go, here it is”.
Félix, unperturbed and with calm eyes, slowly answered me:
– “We already made the wall, friend, and I think about these things the same as you. For people who know us and who don’t climb, that we are here is crazy. I don’t think we need to leave it signed.”
by Juan Ferrari
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