Acabamos de subir Angochagua

This weekend I climbed Angochagua with one of my SRA colleagues.  Originally it was supposed to be a big group, and we were going to climb Imbabura, one of the volcanoes surrounding Ibarra.  Unfortunately, the animal scientist (David) had to take care of a batch of chickens that we received at the SRA office/house, the agronomist (Diego) couldn't go, and so it went from there until it was just me and our accountant Silvia.  The original plan also entailed an indigenous guide who knows the area well, but we weren't going to be able to contact him without the others (who knew where he lived), and so we decided that Imbabura would be too ambitious and decided to climb the less formidable mountain nearby.  Turns out that was a great decision, because Imbabura looked downright scary to climb.  Unfortunately I didn't get a picture of the peak, but it was craggy and not disposed to the first hike I've done since my surgeries.  Silvia told me that it is locally reputed to be a fickle mountain to climb; if one has respect for its danger and proceeds cautiously, you will be OK.  Try to climb it without the proper respect and you will be in trouble.  More of a general commentary about nature from the perspective of this Eagle Scout; I am always amazed by how overconfident one can be about going out into the wilderness.  For example, I vastly underestimated how much water, sunscreen, and food we would need, and by the end of the trek we were so thirsty that as soon as we returned we chugged water and gaseosas (sodas).

We began the journey early in the morning--6am so we could avoid the heavy sun, which I later learned is one of the principal dangers of climbing these mountains--and took a bus to La Esperanza, a small town about 30 minutes above Ibarra.  As you go farther away from the city center, you see more and more people in traditional dress (Ecuadorians call them los indígenas, or derogatorily los indios), which consists of usually a hat like a fedora (or sometimes with a bigger brim, circa American dust bowl times) and dresses that extend to the mid-calf.  The men dress in traditional whites that almost resemble what those participating in the running of the bulls in Spain wear.  I will try to take some pictures--and will definitely explore the role of the indígenas, mestizos, and criollos in detail because it is one of the most fascinating aspects of Ecuadorian culture, especially from the perspective of an American, where race is still a very divisive topic even in this post-racial Obama epoch--but for now a picture that I must credit to primerahora.com and Google Images search.

We arrived in La Esperanza, and hired a camioneta (truck) to ferry us to a higher point more suitable to begin our hike.  Thank goodness it wasn't raining, because it was fairly scary already careening around corners at high speeds on the edge of precipices that drop into rivers or terrace.  We began our hike in a place where I would have already been content to hike to see the view, and I knew that the view from the top would somehow top that already spectacular sight.  Along the way we passed terraced fields and grazing vacas (cows) and obejas (sheep).  We were able to stop and take a few pictures of a high-altitude pasture where two little kids had brought their sheep, whom we first encountered when they trotted past us on their horses while we were taking a water break.  The kids were very shy, but not too timidos to let us take some photos of them.

We continued on to the top but soon found how difficult it was to be.  The altitude is so thin (we were at about 8,000 to 10,000 feet) that just standing up makes you feel the same instinctive terror you have when you are held under water, and your brain automatically has you gasping for breath to satisfy your oxygen requirements.  The altitude also has an effect on your water and energy requirements, which vary proportionally to the altitude.  We had nearly finished our water by the time we were 2/3 of the way up, and had to take breaks every 5 minutes or so just to catch our breath.  You can never underestimate distances when you're trying to figure how long you have to go; what seemed like a stone's throw away up the mountain was in reality 3 or 4 times longer than the naked eye estimates.  We waded through what I can only describe as thick pampas, or grass thickets that slowed us down and sapped our energy.  Unbeknown to us there was a trail less than 30 yards away, but the grass was so thick that we had no idea of its existence.  This whole time, I was being slow roasted like a piece of jerky, even though I had doused myself in sunscreen that seemed at the time to be roughly commensurate with the level of sun, which seemed to be less than what my sunburn by the end of the day was to indicate.

We reached the top and were surprised to find a lake which we set up nearby.  I contemplated drinking from there since it seemed to come directly from rainfall and not have any run-off from other streams that could be polluted with giardia.  However I spotted cow spore and signs of human activity, and we had to conclude that there was at least a respectable chance that the pastoralists nearby use the lake for animals grazing and water, which denied that as a water source unless we could make a fire.  We found an old pot that would have been suitable for boiling water, but I could not get a fire going with what little wet wood I encountered and my lack of energy.  We ate our sandwiches, and then rested while listening to some music on my iPhone.  After it became apparent that I was getting burnt, I further doused myself in sunscreen and realized that I couldn't stay all day so close to the sun.  We decided to explore a little bit before we went down, and discovered that the top of the mountain had about four lakes.  We tried to see the view from every angle off the mountain, and then packed up our stuff and began the trek down.

When we were hiking up, I commented "Es más facíl bajar que subir" (easier to come down than climb up), but within about ten minutes we had to laugh at the irony of my statement, because it was almost as difficult to climb down as up.  It wasn't as demanding on our lungs or energy, but did require all the balance I've built up by skateboarding, snowboarding, wakeboarding, etc.  We found it was easier to simply let ourselves do a controlled fall and slide down the mountain, because otherwise trying to go one step down, then recuperate, then go another step and so on, was too hard on our knees and legs because of the steep slope.  We started to master the proper technique but were still wishing we had a sled or cardboard box we could just slide down.  About 15 minutes down the mountain we started to hear music through the fog.  Ecuador is the perfect combination of moisture and temperature contrast between hot and cold that the fog can become very thick and race in quickly.  We started to lose our bearings and so we decided to follow the sound of the music because we could hear campesinos singing what sounded to me like drunk karaoke at full volume.  Turned out that the music, which sounded very close, was actually about 30-40 minutes away.  When we finally reached what appeared to be a trail along some farmed terraces, I yelled ¡exitoso! (success!) and two campesinas working in the fields turned around and laughed at me, joking in Quechua about the ringu (gringo).  We continued down towards the music, by this time completely lost but knowing that we were somewhere in the right vicinity.  We passed through clumps of evergreen trees that reminded me a lot of the pacific northwest, as a lot of the climate around here does.  Along the way we encountered many of the indígena farmers and could compare our technique to theirs--very unfavorably, if I might add, seeing as we were wearing hiking shoes and packs and still could not help but traipse down the pathway while the indígenas, wearing only sandals and often carrying several children in improvised shawls on their body, were able to gracefully descend much more quickly than us.  The music turned out to be a fiesta thrown every weekend in every aldea (small village) for the workers who live there.  We encountered two gentlemen dressed to impress (by their humble standards of course) the women at the party, and we chatted for a little bit and they asked me what country I was from (which I have been asked a lot: it seems that either I don't have a very distinctly American accent, only one that sounds vaguely foreign, or I do have an American accent but they don't think Americans are capable of speaking fluent Spanish.)

We arrived at the town of La Esperanza, immediately bought something to drink and quenched our thirst, and waived down a truck to take us to the bus stop.  This was perhaps the scariest part of the experience, as we had to hop in the bed of the truck and the driver proceeded to scream down the mountain roads at high velocity, slowing down only for cars coming the opposite way.  We arrived with all of our limbs intact and alive (thankfully), and I vowed not to repeat that experience, even though we did save another hour of walking down the road.  Arriving in Ibarra, Silvia and I both agreed that we were craving a hamburger, and so we went to a stand famous for Ecuadorian-style hamburgers.  They serve them with ham on top, but most of the other ingredients are the same in theory if not in taste (since you can't get the same materials).  I enjoyed it though it still hasn't satisfied my craving for a burger from In-n-Out or Dick's.  I escorted her back to her house, and quickly took a taxi back to the SRA house to drink a carton of milk (because by that point I was still hungry, too hungry to go out for more food) and pass out.  The next day I was absolutely smoldering with sunburns all over my body.