While planning my trip to Ecuador, I took into account the essentials, including a book called ¨Climbing and Hiking in Ecuador,¨ written by Mark Thurber. Now of course I intended to bury into research and academia during my stay, but I also intended to explore the wealth of mountains Ecuador has to offer. So it was this past Saturday morning that I found myself arriving at the house of the aforementioned author. Mark is conveniently friends with Steve Sherwood, my primary contact at World Neighbors, the organization that will be guiding my research activities. Even more conveniently, Mark and his British girlfriend, Michelle, were joining Steve, Antonio and Vicente (students working with WN), Mayra (a friend of the group), and me on an excursion up the 5,000m Carihuayrazo. So off went, the ¨unfit mountaineers¨ as Steve affectionately called us.
For four hours we drove down the Pan-American Highway, passing colorful villages and cultivated hillsides. Eventually we turned towards Mt. Chimborazo, Carihuayrazo´s looming neighbor (6000m). According to Vicente, a family from Riobamba has dedicated generations of men to retrieving ice cubes from the mountain's glacier for its bustling trade of jugo con hielo de Chimborazo. Well, no wonder the glaciers are disappearing!
As we neared the mountains, the terrain subtly changed into the sweeping paramo, a damp, cold, and dusty expanse of shrubs, mossy stumps, abundant clumps of hay-like grass, and fascinating flowers that prefer to hide than to color the landscape. In a truck and a Land Cruiser, we sailed over the deteriorated road leading to Carihuayrazo´s entry point, and finally settled on a flat platform to set up camp for the evening. This was followed by a bottomless feast of granola, fig and cheese sandwiches, tropical fruit, and roasted lima beans. Lunch was promptly ended by the decision to go for a hike before we finished the weekend's food supplies. The afternoon fared well with a mix of clouds and sun. We hiked to a beautiful laguna, which we circled before heading up a ridge where we were met with a stunning view of Chimborazo, its glacial peak exposed and resplendent in the sunshine. To the east lay Carihuayrazo, its snowy slopes welcoming tomorrow's visit.
After a mediocre dinner of pasta with ketchup-like sauce (which translates to gourmet in the field), we huddled into our sleeping bags to rest for the early morning ascent. Well really, we lay shivering and distressed at our inability to sleep at such high altitude and low temperature, except for a snoring Mark. (There is always that one person, isn't there?)
We rose and packed accordingly for the day's hike. Only half of the group would be attempting the summit, as the other half lacked technical equipment or acclimatization, or both (yours truly). Unnecessary equipment was piled into Steve's car and his keys were neatly tucked above the wheel for those who descended first.
Up, up, up we went. Though the hike was a splendid display of scenery and weather variations, I will not pretend it was a breeze. In fact, I was seriously panting, or rather, practicing my high altitude breathing skills while balling at the remarkable ability of Steve and Mark to chat about US politics and biodiesel fuel the entire way up the mountain.
At last we reached the beginning of the glacier, which is not unlike the bunny slope at Butternut Ski Mountain. We were in the midst of thick clouds at an altitude of 4,300m. Antonio, Vicente, and I brooded as the others put on their crampons and harnesses, and adjusted their ice picks and rope for easy access. With all aspects of ¨cool¨ and ¨expertise¨ the group set off, leaving behind an emergency number in the event that we would need to organize a rescue party.
Vicente, who had lugged his crampon boots up the mountain to no avail without a harness, wished to try out the boots on the baby slope before descending. Meanwhile, Antonio, who had been complaining of the cold and expressing the urgency to smoke a cigarette, set off by himself into the clouds. Quite frigid myself, I decided to follow Antonio and assured Vicente we would meet him below the cloud line. I had made a considerable distance of about ten meters before realizing that I had absolutely no idea where to go. I beckoned into the blinding fog for Antonio, but the howling wind drowned out my cries. Unwilling to lose myself in the mountains, I returned to Vicente and we descended together.
Vicente and I were quickly relieved about Antonio´s safety when we found his footprints descending the same pathway. At a more leisurely pace, we enjoyed the stroll downhill. For lunch we climbed up to a cave tucked neatly into a rock face, and gaped at the view below. Our guest of honor was a handsome hummingbird, a superbly acclimatized and apparently fearless creature.
La di da, we finally made it back to the car and ever so quietly tip-toed up to each tent, flinging back the door to scare Antonio, and...! No Antonio. Ok. So he hadn´t arrived yet. Or was he lost? Who else could those footprints belong to? Our first course of action was to open the car and leave behind our belongings while we attempted a brief search for Antonio. I reached under the hood into Steve´s hiding place, but unable to reach the keys from this angle, flopped onto my back for a better view. I pried further into the machinery, searching every empty space accessible to human being. Front and back, back and front. No keys. A bit worried that the group would return and find the keys immediately, rendering us useless and spacey (who me, spacey?), we searched again. No keys. No Antonio, no keys.
This presented a serious problem in the event that the group above didn't return and we needed to drive an hour to town to make a call with our cell phones (which where, of course, locked in the car). Well, ok, we could walk and use a pay phone. The case of the missing Antonio, however, also presented a serious problem. With no alternatives, we hiked about the area, vainly attempting to yell over the wind. Still no Antonio, and still, no keys.
The group finally returned, excited and exhausted by their summit. ¨Yes it was splendid, and we had to climb a vertical ice shaft of about five meters...we had lunch on top...and yes, the hike down was lovely and sunny, though quite cloudy at the top...where is Antonio?¨ Resounding silence.
¨We don't know. Um, also. The keys are missing.¨
This ominous declaration was followed by the confirmation that there were indeed no keys under the car, which was then followed by a colorful array of theories as to what might have happened. Antonio was so desperate to smoke a cigarette that he came back, opened the car, found a lighter and took off for a hike with the keys in his pocket, or, rode off on a horse with a local farmer and is currently getting drunk in town and pursuing his research investigations on the history of Andean crops, or, he is lost in the mountains, but that wouldn't explain the case of the missing keys, though if the latter, why didn't he leave a note or for god sake, a sign of life! Speculations continued for a few hours and included a hike to the ridge we visited the previous day in case he had fallen asleep up top in near zero temperatures and lost track of time. We arrived at a crossroads: he was either lost and we would need to organize a search party, or we would find him in town. Mark and Michelle decided to investigate the first option while the rest of us remained by the Land Cruiser battling with dusk's infringing cold.
As the truck came into view, meandering the hairpin bends, we waiting eagerly for good news. Mark's expression sent a curious message of humor and success. "He's fine. Really, you're not going to believe this." By chance, Mark encountered two men in a nearby village who had seen a young man by Antonio's description running down the ten-kilometer entry road. Antonio had mentioned something about breaking a key and going to Ambato (over an hour from our campsite by bus to make a copy and return with it. Lo and behold, the back door lock contained the sorry remains of a key. Unfortunately, Antonio had taken the entire key chain, which also had the ignition key. With this key, a broken window would have been the least of our problems and we would be well on our way back to Quito.
At this point we began a conversation of "Antonio's Poor Decisions" which lasted for several hours with ample revisions.
1) Do not hike alone.
2) Leave a note, rock pile, or symbol of life.
3) Do not run ten kilometers down a mountain road to catch a bus for a town one hour away to find a locksmith on a Sunday in Ecuador, and expect to return by nightfall.
4) Do not make rash decisions without the consideration of your group.
5) Contact mutual friends or family.
6) Etc.
At a loss of his whereabouts and anxious to arrange an alterior method of opening Steve's car while finding a place to sleep for the evening (the paramo NOT being an option), we made a last attempt to find him. Vicente, Mayra, and I sat vigil in an empty schoolhouse opposite the entry road in the event that Antonio would arrive by bus or car. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew drove towards cell phone service to see if Antonio had made contact with mutual friends and family. Both attempts were fruitless. At last, we made an executive decision to leave without Antonio, the keys, or the car.
Mark and Michelle went back to Quito, dropping the rest of us at a bus stop for Riobamba since going to Quito would make little sense without our belongings, house keys, and other valuables. Mayra and Vicente stayed with their families, and I had the privilage of staying at the warm and hospitable home of Steve's mother-in-law. In the morning, I set off for Quito with Julio, a Peruvian who has been working with World Neighbors for the past 18 years.
And so the story goes. This weekend was a fantastic melting pot of supreme beauty, laughter, concern, chaos, incomprehension, cultural insights, new friends, new places, new sensastions, and above all, the reconfirmation that when life hands you obstacles, try your best to hurdle them with optimisim and sensibility. The best stories in life often come from positive outcomes in the worst circumstances. Point in case: Antonio is not in the mountains. We found him in Quito...with the keys.
Please contact Antonio for "his" story: antonio.chamorro@wur.nl
