The North American Andean Expedition, 1964

Huandoy Sur and Chacraraju

Henry L. Abrons and Daniel E. Doody*

COPA, PALCARAJU, HUANDOY SUR

The best attempts to describe the 1964 North American Andean Expedition are prone to fall short, for it consisted of battles fought on many fronts. It was no simple problem with ten climbers, five 6000-meter peaks, and three months for organization, hardly simplified when the team was spread from Yosemite to the Shawangunks.

When the party assembled in late June in Huaraz, the point of departure for the peaks of the Cordillera Blanca of Peru, we took three weeks’ supplies to the town of Vicos, the base for our first two climbs. For acclimatization, we made an ascent from the south of Nevado Copa — "the easiest way in the world to get to 20,351 feet." The prime value of this climb is that it permits efficient evacuation in case of pulmonary edema. In actuality, the ascent turned out to be non-trivial. Arduous backpacking to the high camp, violent wind on the summit plateau, and the ultimate cornice — hazardously exposed and frail — made a worthy warm-up for more severe climbs. Copa was climbed in two shifts: by Leigh and Irene Ortenburger, Dorene Del Fium, John Kendall, and me on June 28; and the next day by Dan Doody, Dr. Herb Hultgren, Henry Kendall, and Graham Matthews. Leigh, Irene, and I also climbed Copa Norte (20,252 feet) on June 30, likewise a simple peak culminating in a delicate cornice. Illness kept Tom Frost in Base Camp in the company of our admirable porters, Eliseo Vargas, Pedro Baltazar, Fortunato Rosales, and Mauricio Camones.

After Copa, we went via Vicos to the Quebrada Honda, one of the largest and most populated canyons of the range, famed for waterfalls and paradisiacal flora, its lush pampas grazed by unbridled horses and sleepy cattle. Our objective was the second ascent of Palcaraju (20,584 feet). The lower glacier perplexed three reconnaissance parties until Dan Doody and Leigh Ortenburger discovered a practical access to the summit. The final climb began at two a.m. on July 10, as we climbed with headlamps up an ice chimney. Dan led the difficulties of the top pitches, whipping up a 400-foot flute and across the slanting backs of the final cornices. Except for Dorene Del Fium, who had returned home, the entire party reached the summit. Our route coincided generally with that of the first ascent in 1939, although our route-finding problems were so considerable that the glacier must now be in much worse condition.

We returned to Huaraz for a short interlude, and on July 17 drove north to the Quebrada Llanganuco, whose compact vertical rock walls are covered with swarms of clinging air-plants. Above the north rim of the canyon, the cavernous south face of the South Peak of Huandoy crouches over its own fearful shadow, staring at the north face of the North Peak of Huascaran. Sur! Norte! Este! Oeste! Unspeakable two-dimensional horrors! One should have guts before he looks closely. Yet Tom Frost, Dan Doody, and Henry Kendall did attempt this flawless Südwand, but were held to less than one pitch. In the meantime, Leigh and Irene Ortenburger, John Kendall and I climbed the South Peak (20,210 feet) via a new route from the west. Tom and Henry, joining the party on the last day after abandoning the south face, also went to the summit. The route involved about a dozen technical ice pitches above the second camp, which was placed on a snowfield south of the west shoulder at about 18,000 feet. Four days of reconnaissance in erratic weather were required to prepare the route. A traverse to the right led into a gully which brought us onto a small hanging glacier. From there we tended to the right of the point which culminates where the south buttress joins the west shoulder. Crossing the ridge crest, Leigh led delicately behind cornices to the saddle southwest of the gentle final ridge. Irene kicked steps to the summit, which overtops not only the stupendous south face, but also the northeast face, half smooth rock and half sheer snow standing side by side.

By the end of July, Herb Hultgren and Graham Matthews had already departed for home, and presently Irene Ortenburger and John and Henry Kendall had to leave. Leigh Ortenburger, Tom Frost, Dan Doody and I stayed on with the porters Eliseo and Pedro, and our thoughts and desires now turned seriously toward "the incredible Chacraraju.”

H. L. A.

CHACRARAJU

. . . the incredible Chacraraju . . . will apparently require siege or suicide, or perhaps both, if its summit is ever to be reached, (p. 73 The Alpine Journal, London, vol. 60 (1955) "Invitation to the Andes" by John C. Oberlin).

It is hard to think of a better choice of words to state a challenge for the adventurous mountaineer, and Chacraraju was climbed the following year by a team which included Terray. Their achievement was accomplished smoothly, with all the polish of the master — yet, there was a flaw. The route taken had not been a classical line. Thus the challenge remained.

Studying a photo to pick an aesthetic route, we found two promising lines. One would follow the largest ice flute to the rock wall at the top of the north ridge. The second would follow the north ridge for a half mile converging with the first at the base of the rock. Either way meant six to eight hundred feet of technical rock climbing over 19,000 feet. Was this humanly possible at this altitude? In his excellent article in the 1963 Journal, Chouinard expressed the belief that the future of mountaineering lies in climbs of this type and we felt there could be no better opportunity to prove (or disprove) this theory.

Our team had dwindled to Hank Abrons, Tom Frost, Leigh Ortenburger and me. We had planned on a larger group, for it was our intention to make a professional quality motion picture of the climb. Yet the small team appealed to three of us who had been on large Himalayan expeditions and remembered the indomitable Sherpas upon whom we relied so heavily. Here was a chance for us to prove what a competent four-man team can accomplish.

After several infinitely long days waiting for burros, Pedro returned with good news. He had located burros. The asking price for them had been three times what we should have paid, but thanks to his great bargaining skill it would be less than twice the fair price. (There seemed to be some fallacy here but cabin fever prevented our being overly analytical.) At last we were on our way.

Leaving the Quebrada Llanganuco we crossed the 15,600-foot portachuelo (pass) and dropped down on the eastern side of the Andes into the upper reaches of the Montaña, the tropical rain forests which stretch eastward to join the vast Amazon jungle. At the village of Colcabamba we turned north and followed a steadily worsening trail for another day and a half to the site of Base Camp.

Towering above us, more than a mile higher, was the majestic Chacraraju, its ice and snow glistening in the tropical sun. No longer was Chacraraju a series of lines on a map with the height marked "c.6000m."; no longer was it merely a photograph, or a name hard to pronounce. Now it stood before us "the wildest peak of the whole range.” We swallowed hard at the thought of pitting our puny bodies against this formidable massif. And the flute we had hoped to climb . . . what had happened to it? It looked as if a giant had been hacking on it with his hunting knife. Its magnificent sweep of 2000 feet from glacier to the base of the summit rock wall was now a spasmodic arrangement of séracs, rock and fluting — hardly inviting, yet clearly the most direct line.

We were forced to unload the burros at the base of the terminal moraine, more than a thousand feet below the lower reaches of the main portion of the glacier. The next two days were spent relaying loads up to the site chosen for Advanced Base, while we simultaneously pushed a route up the glacier toward our proposed Camp I. On the first day Hank and Leigh went on reconnaissance while Tom and I carried loads and supervised the porters. After considerable discussion concerning the porters, we had decided their help was not a necessity, but it might save us a week’s time. On the next day Tom and I continued to push the route toward Camp I. Encountering no major problems, we were proceeding nonchalantly when Tom, straight from the airy, but safe "acrobatics of rock climbing on the big sun-drenched walls of Yosemite,” suddenly disappeared and the sixty feet of rope we had been dragging whipped out after him. From the bottom of the crevasse, he shouted that he was O.K. It had been a fine display of Tom’s snowbridge-riding ability, but none the less we did proceed somewhat cautiously and Tom allowed me the "privilege” of leading.

During the next two days we moved up to Camp I (17,100 feet) and began a reconnaissance of the upper portion of the mountain, while the porters carried up loads from Advanced Base. Tom and I still had our hearts set on the direct route, while Hank and Leigh favored the "little glacier” and the north ridge. We split into two teams to probe both routes.

Getting from Camp I to the base of the giant flute meant passing beneath a hanging glacier and crossing two rock-and-avalanche chutes and a series of yawning crevasses before being confronted with the final bulwark of the mountain — an immense bergschrund. Looking up, we surveyed the problems ahead. The rock was sheer, the snow and ice amazingly steep, and campsites few and small. But even more discouraging was the portion of the route we had just climbed, for we would have to traverse it many times with loads. As we sat discussing our dilemma, we watched several tons of rock and ice obliterate footprints made just hours before. Our decision was made, if we could return safely to Camp I.

Leigh and Hank, in contrast, made excellent progress without incident and gained the crest of the ridge. On the following day the four of us headed toward the ridge, carrying loads to the site of Camp II, at about 18,400 feet and 200 feet below the ridge crest. During our carry, several ropes were fixed, and the scab was once again torn from the sore which festered on the bond of unity. There was a basic dissension concerning the use of fixed ropes fostered by two opposing ideologies. On one hand was the philosophy that mountaineering is an adventure in which man pits himself against nature with the summit as a reward. It must be earned, and the means by which it is attained are more important than the achievement. "With enough fixed ropes and porters anybody can reach any summit!" The competent climber in contrast, can reach the same summit with neither fixed ropes nor porters. Opposed to this was the belief that extensive fixed rope is justifiable to insure a safe return. With the varying backgrounds of each member of our team the conflict was one to be expected. Yet only with agreement among the entire group could the objective be attained. The problem could only be solved by compromise — a solution satisfying no one, but acceptable to all. An agreement was forged — we would use the porters and ample fixed rope for their safety to Camp II; above that, we would be on our own and fixed rope would be used sparingly. The porters made one final carry from Camp I to II. They wished us luck with visible apprehension, and descended to Base to await our success or failure.

Gaining the ridge crest we were astounded by the Gargantuan proportions of the cornices which capped the knife-edged ridge. Many overhung the west side by eight or ten feet. Making matters worse, they were overlaid with six inches of powder snow. The logical alternative to walking on the unsupported snow of the cornices was to pick a line parallel to the crest but somewhat down on the east side of the ridge. Unfortunately, to be clear of the probable fracture line of the cornices, one had to move onto the east face. This face is composed of nearly vertical rock, and/or ice and snow set at an angle approaching the maximum at which it will adhere. Cautiously and deftly, Hank led off along the crest, kicking a row of steps along a line which marked the transition from face to cornice. Assiduously he proceeded, calculating his movement with the help of Tom who had chosen a belay stance which allowed scrutiny of Hank’s position relative to the cornices. Knowing Hank’s good judgment would preclude my obtaining any spectacular footage of him plunging through a cornice, Leigh and I descended to Camp II and began melting snow for supper. Progress for the day was but 400 feet along the ridge crest. Obviously we must advance more rapidly if we were to succeed. As weight was a major impediment, we finally agreed to bivouac throughout the remainder of the climb, still expecting to reach the summit in two days of climbing and return to our fixed camp on the third day.

To facilitate speed, it was decided that we should split into two teams and alternate our daily work between carrying loads and establishing the route.

On August 16, Leigh and I set out early to carry light loads to the established highpoint, and then push the route higher. Tom and Hank spent the day relaying loads and carving out a bivouac ledge at 18,800 feet. During the night the weather deteriorated and by morning it was snowing. Our progress had been unbelievably slow and with but two day’s food supply remaining we decided to go down to Camp I. We would sit out the weather and then come back up with more food. The bad weather and thought of retreat numbed our reactions. A pack was accidently knocked over, and its contents spilled down the east face. Hank’s Leica camera — all $400 worth of it — disappeared. Hank tied all our ropes together and rappelled down more than 400 feet, then Jümared back up with only a fragment of the broken filter to show for his efforts.

After a day at Camp I the weather gave the false impression of clearing. We returned to the site of our first bivouac with four days’ food. Fresh powder snow slowed our progress and we climbed but two new pitches. The higher we went, the harder it got.

On the following day it again snowed, and hours of daylight passed before we finally extricated ourselves from our bivouac sacks. It was Hank and Tom who made perhaps the most important decision of the whole climb. They decided to push on regardless of the weather. Our lethargy was broken. Further progress was now assured, for as Hank paraphrased Mallory, we wanted to reach the summit "because we are mad!” Tom and Hank set out while Leigh and I rationalized that we should return to our bivouac sack for rest. In the falling snow and howling wind only two additional pitches were made, both of them quite difficult. Hank’s lead had necessitated his burrowing through a fairly large cornice — a nasty job — and he returned damp and understandably cold.

On the third day, it was again our turn to lead while Hank and Tom relocated the bivouac. Again the mountain was lashed intermittently by snowstorms, but we forged onward in spite of it. At first we had naïvely thought the ridge would provide no problems and we would surely reach the base of the rock in one day. Actual confrontation with the problem caused us to modify our thinking, but we were still sure we could attain our goal easily once past the "big cornice”. So anxious to believe in the foreshortened view they saw, our eyes falsely told us the angle lessened beyond. Thanks to Hank’s tunneling efforts we were now above the big cornice and the view, instead of being encouraging, was hideous. We were now into that portion of the east face which is scored by huge flutes. These continue up to the very crest, often forming alternate spots of knife-edged ridge and caps of snow, corniced on one side and nearly vertical on at least two others. The steepness of this section, much of it rotten snow, frequently dictated starting a step at nearly shoulder height in order to have something wide enough to stand on four feet lower.

Had we not been carrying packs, the problem would have been greatly minimized, but it was necessary to make at least one more bivouac at the base of the rock. It rarely went below zero, but nearly thawing temperatures in the daytime gave three of us wet feet, which were slowly losing feeling. Therefore, it was imperative to carry down-parkas and elephant’s feet to prevent serious frostbite.

A full day’s work covered but four new pitches, one of them taking more than two hours to lead. Unbelievable as it seemed, each pitch was more difficult than the last. The following day was no better, and the entire day was consumed climbing the remaining three leads to the base of the rock. It had taken us more than five days to climb less than a half mile of ridge, gaining but 800 vertical feet.

Again it snowed! Nearly six inches fell during the night, and it was nine a.m. before it stopped. Our dwindling food supplies, after four straight bivouacs, gave us little choice. We had to continue. Although we were above 19,000 feet we discussed making yet another bivouac. But with a lack of food and waning reserves of strength we decided our only chance of success remained in traveling light and fast.

Tom had never been able to relax on snow and ice, but now on rock he was back in his element. He retained the lead for the entire six rock pitches. These ranged in difficulty from fourth class to 5.6 (F6) with several moderate artificial pitches (A3). This had been the big question mark in the entire route. Now, thanks to complete acclimatization, we were progressing well on technically difficult rock at nearly 20,000 feet and remarked that it was a shame the weather was so bad for it would be "fun" to move out left onto the face of the buttress where there would be sustained climbing of much greater difficulty. Prevailing conditions had complicated the climbing by filling the cracks with ice and covering the holds with verglas. Before we reached the top of the rock it had become a race with time, for darkness was approaching and we wanted desperately to obtain summit photos. But above the rock there remained another six pitches of snow. Fortunately the summit ridge was not corniced although we often found ourselves knee deep in powder snow. We had but two headlamps, one for the leader and one for the last man — the two in the middle, belayed from both sides, had to feel their way as best they could.

It was 9:30 when we reached the wind-lashed summit and huddled in the driving snow to congratulate each other and attempt to eat. We had been so busy climbing all day we had eaten virtually nothing. Still we had no appetite — only the desire to get down. Three of us had lost most of the feeling in our toes and we knew we must keep moving. Blindly retracing our steps we made our way down the summit ridge, and made five long rappels down the rock face. We returned to our bivouac site just in time to watch the sun rise — 5:30 a.m.

We slept for a few hours, did some filming and then began the descent. The accumulation of new snow had totally obliterated our route along the ridge crest. Retreat was slow, and we made our seventh bivouac. We staggered into Camp I after dark on the evening of the twenty-fifth. Our progress had been delayed somewhat when two steps broke out from under me, my ice axe broke, and I fell seventy feet. At last we could relax, and only then was the true joy of our climb appreciable. Our porters had come up to meet us and seven of us crowded into a four man tent where we relived our adventure.

We had proven alpine climbing at 20,000 feet is feasible. The future in the Andes is limitless. The "Golden Age” of high altitude technical climbing lies before us.

D. E. D.

Summary of Statistics Area: Cordillera Blanca, Peru.

Ascents:

Copa, 20,351 feet, June 28, 1964 (L. and I. Ortenburger, Del Fium, J. Kendall, Abrons); June 29, 1964 (Doody, Hultgren, H. Kendall, Matthews).

Copa Norte, 20,252 feet, June 30, 1964 (L. and I. Ortenburger, Abrons).

Palcaraju, 20,584 feet, July 10, 1964 (Doody, L. and I. Ortenburger, Matthews, Hultgren, Abrons, Frost, H. and J. Kendall) — second ascent.

Huandoy Sur, 20,210 feet, July 28, 1964 (L. and I. Ortenburger, Abrons, J. and H. Kendall, Frost) — second ascent, new route (west ridge).

Chacraraju, 20,056 feet, August 23, 1964 (Frost, Abrons, Doody, L. Ortenburger) — second ascent, new route (north ridge of the west peak).

Personnel: Leigh N. Ortenburger, Irene B. Ortenburger, Daniel E. Doody, Thomas M. Frost, Henry L. Abrons, Henry W. Kendall, John P. Kendall, Herbert H. Hultgren, M.D., W. V. Graham Matthews, Dorene Del Fium, Eliseo Vargas, Pedro Baltazar, Fortunato Rosales, Mauricio Camones.

*Killed in the Pinnacle Gulley, Huntington Ravine, Mount Washington, March 14, 1965.