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eCard #116 – Toodling Around Uganda
I had organized a car and driver/guide to take me around to some of the national parks in Uganda after hiking in the Rwenzori Mountains (eCard #115). I used local (Kampala) agent Churchill’s Tailored Safaris – great front-end experience via email and WhatsApp with Ether (EHT-air) putting together an itinerary.
Having bailed out of the mountains trip unexpectedly early, Ether was able to extend my itinerary at the front end very quickly. (It was the low season for tourists.) What was originally a look at the national parks in the southwest of the country became a grand tour. Brighton, picked me up the in the expedition Landcruiser the day after I returned to Kasese from the mountains, and off we went.
The pics on flickr are in two albums:
Queen Elizabeth National Park, Part I
I’ve never hired a guide just for me alone for any period of time, so I thought it was going to be a bit weird. The potential weirdness was compounded when checking into the Buffalo Safari Resort in Queen Elizabeth National Park it became apparent that I was the only guest there . It’s a really nice place, and was staffed for a full house. I had the impression that everyone were recent graduates of hospitality training and anxious to put their skills into practice. Four people checked me in, three showed me my room, etc.
This lodge (as for most places I stayed) was within the national park boundaries. There were mongoose and monkeys outside my room. Elephant poo on the walkway. I was instructed to call for an escort to/from my room between 7PM and 7AM. He carried a big flashlight, swinging it around checking the brush on either side of the walk, and he carried a big billy club. I’m not sure what use a billy club is against a charging elephant, but I felt safe. At least he didn’t carry an AK47.
After lunch we headed off for the first game drive of the trip. I told Brighton that I had been to Africa in 2000 for six months and saw many animals, but never saw a leopard (one of the BIG FIVE – lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and buffalo). As all guides do, he made no promises, but said we would have several chances to see them on our trip. We hit the road about 3:30PM. At 4:10 we saw the first lion of the trip relaxing from the heat in the branches of a tree. At 4:45 we saw a leopard in a candelabra tree. And at 4:50 saw a second leopard in another tree… Um. Wow! There were loads of elephants, a few hippos and countless antelope-like critters. Not a bad first afternoon.
The overly attentive service didn’t end with check-in. I was told that meals were a fixed menu since the kitchen would be cooking just for me. No problem, I’m easy. Then the waitress listed several choices of appetizer and five choices for the main course for dinner. The meals were superb.
Some of the best food I’ve ever had. Anywhere.
And it wasn’t just due the elephant poo ambience. We were only here for two nights, but I could have luxuriated between the dining room and the pool looking across the valley to the Rwenzori Mountains for quite some time.
Geologic Digression
The valley I looked across to the Rwenzoris is a rift valley. Normally we hear about tectonic plates crashing into each other, either pushing ground up to form mountains (like where the Indian plate crashes northward into the Eurasian plate forming the Himalayas), or where plates slide along or under one another – fault lines and subduction zones like the west coast of the Americas forming chains of uplifted mountains and volcanoes. And all this gnashing of plates generates earthquakes.
Rifts occur where the tectonic plates are pulling apart. As they pull apart they make the crust thinner leaving lowlands between them, and this also allows volcanoes to appear (Kilimanjaro and Mt. Kenya are on the Eastern African rift). Iceland is still forming this way – it’s at the northern end of Mid-Atlantic Ridge – the separation line of the continuing expansion between the North and South American plates as they pull apart from the Eurasian and African plates.
As a rift valley expands, water intrudes to form lakes and further expansion results in outlets to the sea, or a sea forms. The Atlantic Ocean is the end result of this process. In east Africa this process is in a younger phase (only 20 million years old). The East African Rift extends for almost 6000km and has formed a chain of lakes – The Great Lakes of Africa.
The other Great Lakes are in North America. There are interesting comparisons. The most striking for me is that the lakes in Africa contain 25% of the unfrozen fresh water in the world. The N. American lakes contain 21% (though I don’t think that number includes the Great Bear and Great Slave lakes in Canada).
- Homework: What are the biggest fresh water lakes in the world in terms of surface area? Volume? Depth?
- Hint 1: One lake holds all three records.
- Hint 2: It’s not in Africa.
- Hint 3: It’s not in New Hampshire.
- Hint 4: In area it’s about 50% larger than New Hampshire.
(Reader Jim L. told me I was a frustrated teacher. That may well be. But my only frustration is with the quality of my students 🙂 )
Queen Elizabeth National Park, Part II
QENP is on the floor of the western part of the East African Rift Valley – The Albertine Rift Valley (I guess named for it’s proximity to Lake Albert). It’s elevation is low, and it’s on the equator. It’s hot. If not for the vegetation beyond the poolside umbrellas, you could see the 20 mile long Kazinga Channel from the pool at the lodge. This is a natural waterway connecting Lake George and Lake Edward. (Lake Albert is farther north near Murchison Falls.)
The next morning we did a drive paralleling the channel that took us through an area of low volcanic craters. Some of them contain saline lakes, and there is a minor salt industry collecting it. We passed a large herd of elephant in the distance hanging around near the water. (Suggested collective nouns for elephants include herd, parade, memory, trunkful, tusker. For hippos you can use bloat, herd, pod or crash, though I prefer to use “crash” for rhinos. For Tibetan momos I suggest “belch”.)
We turned around in the small town of Katwe after watching a bloat of hippos in the water. One female hippo was floating in the water dead, and several young hippos kept approaching her body and nudging it.
That afternoon I took a boat trip up and down a small section of the channel and saw elephants, hippos, and buffalo from the water. An iguana was prowling the shore for crocodile eggs. We didn’t see any Nile crocs.
There were a few colorful birds. My dad was an avid birder, and I know my folks came to Africa at least once to extend his list, but they didn’t make it to Uganda. There are 1000 native species in the country, plus about 200 varieties that migrate here from the European winter.
Queen Elizabeth National Park, Part III
Moving south to the Ishasha section of the park we did afternoon and morning game drives. The park is noted for seeing lions lounging in branches of the big fig trees. We went to all the fig trees Brighton knew of and didn’t see any lions. Didn’t really matter. It’s a pretty place. We saw some topi and a distant view of the big volcano, Mt. Muhabura, on the Rwandan border.
From Ishasha we had a long drive south and a climb in altitude away from the floor of the rift valley to the cool environs of Lake Mulehe which would be the base for a mountain gorilla trek.
One of the striking things about Uganda is how green it is. It’s incredibly lush, though a bit drier on the floor of the rift valley. But in the hills we’re talking Garden of Eden lush. Brighton declared, “Uganda is a poor country, but no one starves because there’s food everywhere!” This was certainly true in the southwest (definitely not true in the northeast…). Bananas are the staple food crop, and coffee and tea the major cash crops. You also see a lot of cassava/manioc growing.
Lake Mulehe Gorilla Lodge was perched on the south facing slopes above the lake with a great view of Mts. Muhabura and Mgahinga. This was the third lodge I stayed in, but the first place that had other guests.
Bwindi Impenetrable Forest
Returning to Uganda I absolutely had to see the mountain gorillas again. My previous visit in 2000 (eCard #9) ranked as the number one or two best hour-long experiences ever. It’s always a risk to go back to a place to try to re-live an experience. It’s usually different and not as great. And I suppose in the intervening 24 years I’ve become a bit jaded in my travels, and not apt to gush enthusiastic without good reason. But I do have to say being in the wild with large wild animals that can easily kill you is a thrill. Even if they are habituated to humans. So this trip, though different in details, was no different in the experience.
This year I saw the gorillas in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, and we saw a small family with one silver back, a couple of females and a few juveniles. In 2000 I saw them in Mgahinga Gorilla National Park just a bit farther south right on the border with Rwanda – a group comprised of two big silver backs, females, juveniles and a 3 month old baby. It’s difficult to see them in the dense foliage, but that makes it more fun.
The old eCard noted that we got to within about 15 feet of the animals. Although the sign at the briefing hut says you have to stay 10m away, this time we were within just a few feet of them. At one point the tracking guide had lost track of the big silver back in the dense foliage, and he came rushing past me just a few feet away. Wowzers!
I mentioned in eCard #9 that I shot “several” rolls of film in the hour we had with the gorillas. So that’d be 108 photos (actually a few less). In the hour with the gorillas this year, now armed with a digital camera, I took a hasty 700 pictures and a couple of videos. I took no selfies.
I’ve posted photos from both visits on flickr
On to Murchison Falls National Park
From Lake Mulehe we had a long drive to Murchison Falls which is north of the Rwenzoris. We drove up and down the hilly terrain of the region with one final look back to the volcanoes marching south. The drive was broken up over a couple of days with one night spent on Lake Bunyonyi.
The standout sight on the lake commemorates a milestone in the subjugation of women. Punishment Island is where unmarried girls who became pregnant were abandoned to starve or to drown trying to escape. Single men unable to afford the bride price for an “untainted” woman could rescue them.
Pressing on, we were back to the heat of the rift valley, and we didn’t leave the heat for the rest of the trip.
All the water in the Nile River as it flows north out of Lake Victoria squeezes through a 20 foot wide cleft in a rock escarpment as it drops 150 feet, creating Murchison Falls. I took a boat trip up the Nile to view the falls. Unfortunately, we didn’t get as close as I would have liked, but there was quite a bit of wildlife to see enroute. After the boat trip, Brighton drove us to the top of the falls for the view from above.
The national park is a huge place, and on the game drives we saw many giraffes, elephants, hartebeest, patas monkeys, and baboons. Off in the distance we saw three lions hanging around in the shade, but no leopards.
A Long Jaunt to Karamoja and the Kadepo Valley
Departing Murchison, it was a two day drive to the remote Kadepo Valley National Park in Karamoja – the far northeastern corner of Uganda near the borders of South Sudan and Kenya. This wasn’t on my original itinerary, and I wasn’t too sure what there was to see here.
Security
I have an annual subscription to Global Rescue who will pull you out of a bad situation. I have this for mountain rescue. It is possible to buy coverage from them for extraction for security reasons. I don’t have that coverage, though perhaps I should get it. I generally don’t pay too much attention to travel advisories. But for some reason I felt the need to look up the Uganda “Destination Report” on their app to find out about Uganda:
“Risk Overview. The risk rating for Uganda is High due to a Moderate security risk rating and an Extreme health risk rating.”
So far, so good.
“The northeastern region, especially Karamoja, should be avoided due to banditry and weak law enforcement. The western border with the DRC is unstable.”
Glad I didn’t read this before leaving home! Just for kicks I checked the US State Department Travel Advisory. Uganda is “Level 3 – Reconsider Travel.” Too late, now. It lists general threats due to terrorism and crime, “… especially in the Karamoja region, and along Uganda’s western and northern borders.” Um, that would be Congo and South Sudan – where I was and where I’m going.
The Foreign & Commonwealth Office is responsible for issuing travel advisories for the UK. They are typically less hysterical than the US State Department (Brits tend to think of insecure areas as discount travel opportunities), so I checked to see what they had to say.
“FCDO advises against all but essential travel to: (among other places) Queen Elizabeth National Park.” Ooopsie. “There is an increased security presence in north-east Uganda in the Karamoja sub-region due to cattle theft. Military and civilians have been killed during security operations.” Hmmm.
I raised my concern with Brighton. “No, it’s very safe.”
“Oh. OK, then. Let’s go.”
Kadepo Valley National Park
During the drive we passed many traditional homesteads. Typically there’s a large central circular building made of sticks and mud with a thatched roof. This would be the residence of the first wife. Subsequent wives have smaller versions built around the center home. The compound may be surrounded by a thicket fence so cattle can be kept securely. A man’s income is dependent on the wives, for you see, the men generally don’t work. Wives make you rich. Unless you make the mistake of taking a wife in the city where she’ll end up costing you money, I’m told. I was thinking these people may have hit on it, but then I realized the fatal flaw in the arrangement. Marriage.
We stayed in a tent lodge overlooking Kadepo Valley with hills forming the border with Kenya and South Sudan off in the distance. My tent had ensuite facilities, but no phone. On the night stand there was a whistle I could blow in case of emergency…
It was hot and dry here. We were at the tail end of the dry season in Karamoja. The animals were suffering from it as the water sources were drying up. We did see many elephants and a huge herd of buffalo, hippos, zebra, giraffe, a group of wombats (collective noun “mob”) with a predator hyena eyeing them, and we also stumbled on a group of eland – very skittish and hard to get close to. No lions. No leopards.
My camera shut down one afternoon. This happens occasionally for some unknown reason, but it usually comes back up with a reboot. But it was out for the count one afternoon. At about the same time Brighton’s phone stopped working. We were in the shade, but supposed that the heat was causing the electronics to shut down. I looked up the specs for my camera that evening, and Sony says the max operable temp range is 40C/104F. It was hot, but I would have thought the camera would have been designed to operate a bit warmer than that…
I thought back to other hot experiences. Traveling in Xinjiang province in western China, John and I were visiting the ruins of Gaochang in the Turfan depression – the low point of Asia. It was 50C/122F. I looked down to read a map, and the lenses to my glasses fell out – the metal rims had expanded in the heat. I think the hottest temp I’ve experienced was in Death Valley in California. The temp was reported as 130F/54C. I came back to the campground one evening after being out all day, and I remarked to the ranger that it had really cooled off. He said, “Yeah. It’s only 105 now.”
Moroto and the Karamaojong
We split the two day drive to Kampala/Entebbe by spending the night in Moroto and visited a traditional Karamojong village. The whole northeast was very dry. Farming and agriculture look pretty difficult. The region is very flat except for a few mountains and rocky outcroppings that appear. There were signs for every international aid agency you could think of announcing their projects and involvement in the area. So although it might be true that no one in the southwest of Uganda starves, it is not true in the northeast.
The Karamojong people are actually several different tribes and descendants of the same stock of people who left Ethiopia a long time ago and became known as the Masai in Tanzania. Like the Masai, the Karamojong are semi-nomadic cattle herders. Their other main economic activity is cattle rustling. Your wealth is measured directly in how many head of cattle you own (indirectly by how many wives you have), and you need cattle to pay a bride price – typically 100 cows. This activity often involves murder, so it gives people the opportunity to form tight family circles and feuds.
A flood of guns became available when Idi Amin’s army fell into disarray in the late 1970’s. This transformed the traditional form of rustling using spears into a much more deadly pastime. Starting in 2011 the Ugandan government began disarming the locals and crime and violence has declined. Unfortunately, Kenya is just a stone’s throw away and they have not disarmed their tribes, so there is some cross-border rustling and the associated violence that continues. But there is a fairly large Ugandan military presence trying to keep things under wraps.
Our local Karamojong guide told us that a couple of years ago one of the richest men in the area was killed. He had 36 wives and an equally impressive number of cattle. His herd had been the target of rustlers, so he and his son got some military personnel (he was rich, so had influence) to confront the thieves and was killed along with his son and their escort. Hence the recent travel warnings.
This is the process for getting a wife. After the girl gets pregnant (I think I missed a step), the boy in the company of his friends has to slaughter a sheep at the entrance to her family’s compound. The girl’s family somehow accept this as a down payment for their daughter. The girl then builds two separate houses within the family compound, but somewhat isolated from the rest of the household. One house is for her and the other one for the boy and his friends when they come to visit. When the baby arrives, he’s expected to give her parents a few cows and 40 goats. Finally, when he can come up with 100 cows he can claim her as his wife.
But there’s a potential snag. Anyone else who can come up with 100 cows can come and take her at any time, though he also has to take the child under his care. So there’s a bit of an incentive to steal those cows in order to move the process along. In many societies it is seen as advantageous to have sons. You can see that in this culture daughters are preferred so you can trade them for cows. So I guess if there’s an unmarried girl with a female baby, she’s likely to be snapped up.
Jinja and Entebbe
Continuing the drive to Jinja, the region became more and more green. I wondered why the nomadic Karamojong didn’t migrate just a few hours south so they didn’t have to depend on foreign aid to survive.
Jinja is where the Nile river starts, flowing out of Lake Victoria. There used to be rapids here, but a hydroelectric plant was built in the 1950’s which submerged them. The reliable electricity has made Jinja the industrial hub of Uganda.
So you come here to see the source of the Nile. It’s pretty underwhelming, actually. And Entebbe is the suburb of Kampala where the airport is. It was the scene of the Israeli raid to free some hostages hijacked in an Air France flight in the 1970’s. When I was here in 2000 there were plans to convert the remains of the plane into a cafe, but this never happened. It’s still sitting around, having been stripped of everything but it’s outer skin.
eCard #115 – The Mountains of the Moon
Hiking in the Rwenzoris
Back to Uganda after a 20 year absence. My goal this time was to nab Mts. Emin and Gessi – by my reckoning the 7th and 8th highest summits in Africa – for my “7 7ths by 70” quest. (Different altitude reports put one or the other at 7th…).
OK. I knew it was going to be muddy. There are two dry seasons in Uganda , though “dry” is a very elastic term. One dry spell runs from November-ish until the end of March-ish. The other is in June/July. I was late putting this trip together and couldn’t leave the states until the 2nd of March. I was hoping this would squeeze me in before the wet season began. That may or may not have been the case – all the locals I talked to said the rainy season hadn’t begun. But it was a wet dryness.
I’ve posted some pics here on flickr.
But I’m getting ahead of myself….
We’re going to the Rwenzori mountains in Uganda. In the 4th C. BC Greek philosopher Diogenes wrote of the mythical Mountains of the Moon which were said to be the source of the Nile in East Africa. They remained unknown to Europeans until 1889 when Henry Morton Stanley (of “Dr. Livingston I presume” fame) is credited as being the first to see them. They do indeed provide some waters to the Nile, though it is a trickle compared to the water flowing out of Lake Victoria. Still, they are the highest source of water in the Nile.
The Rwenzoris straddle the border of Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo (the former Zaire). In Uganda the mountains form the core of Rwenzori Mountains National Park which is fairly accessible. In the DRC the area is part of Virunga National Park and is mostly not accessible. As you can see, Mt. Emin’s summit is actually over the border in the DRC.
In researching the area I found quite a bit of information about the highest point, Margherita Peak on Mt. Stanley (at 5109m it’s #4 in Africa – it still retains some glaciers). There is much less information on Mts. Speke (#5 at 4890m) and Baker (#6 at 4843m) and essentially no information about Emin and Gessi.
The only photos I could find that I had any confidence were of the two peaks were some fuzzy copies of photos taken by Vittorio Selle during the 1906 expedition led by Luigi de Savoia, the Duke of Abruzzi (of Abruzzi Ridge fame on K2. He was quite an explorer, and was usually accompanied by the renowned photographer Selle who took some exquisite photos around the world using glass plate negatives – an inspiration for Ansel Adams.)
I contacted the Selle Foundation in Turin for some better copies or other views, but they didn’t admit to having anything in their archive – maybe if I had gone there I could have dug something up. The best copies of the 1906 photos I could find showed the two peaks still having glaciers, but were otherwise too fuzzy to be useful for planning a climb. Notes from the 1906 expedition were cursory, “We climbed Emin today.” (They climbed it from a different side, too.) The only other information available indicated that Gessi was non-technical, but wet and slippery. Emin was more technical with some rock pitches requiring being roped, and wet and slippery.
I found reference to a Brit named Henry Osmaston who spent many years in this part of Uganda and was recognized as an expert in many facets of the region. His 1972 guide to the mountains was last updated in 2006 (the year he died), and was out of print. It took a bit of research, but I finally located a used copy in a shop in England and had it shipped to me. He had a sketch of Emin derived from one of Selle’s photos. He also had a photo of Gessi taken in 1963 and included a sketch showing the climbing routes base on that photo.
Then there was the issue of organizing an outfitter.
There’s a good series of guidebooks regions of the world for the more adventurous traveler published as The Bradt Guides. Their Uganda guide summarizes the choice of trekking routes and outfitters:
“Two main hiking circuits traverse Rwenzori Mountains National Park. The longer and newer Southern Circuit is operated exclusively by Rwenzori Trekking Services, an offshoot of Australian-managed Kampala Backpackers. The more established option is the Central Circuit, and is in theory operated exclusively by Rwenzori Mountaineering Services, a community tourism group established in the 1990’s to provide local Bakonjo people with the opportunity to benefit from tourism. Recently, hikes on the Central Circuit, and minor variations, have also been offered by Rwenzori Ranges Hikers Association, a breakaway outfit with reputable backers that aims to offer better-quality services than RMS, and might well do as and when it obtains a UWA (Uganda Wildlife Authority) mandate to operate on the mountain, but has to be considered a bit dodgy until that happens.
Comparing the two routes, the main advantages of the Central Circuit are that it is shorter and slightly cheaper. The ascendant Southern Circuit is gaining popularity, however, for the simple reason that RMS, for all its ostensible worthiness, has a dismal record by comparison with RTS when it comes to quality of guides, safety and rescue procedures, transparency with clients, environmental practices, and pretty much every other organizational facet of a successful trek.”
Armed with recommendations like that, I pressed on.
The reputable outfitter, RTS, only operates in the southern region and could not take me to Emin or Gessi.
My front-end experience with RMS aligns with the Bradt review evaluation. Prices seemed to be pulled from thin air with minimal thought about how the program was evolving. Since I wasn’t able to find any good photos of either peak, I requested some from them. They sent me pictures of smiling people standing on top of a mountain, somewhere, nothing useful. I was never able to determine if their guides had actually ever been up either Emin or Gessi. Their first proposed itinerary said we would spend the night at John Matte hut and then summit Emin the next day, returning to the hut. Then bag Gessi the next day. Either peak is actually a two day trip from John Matte hut. (see detail map above)
The third outfit “to be considered a bit dodgy”, Rwenzori Ranges Hikers Association, accesses the park from a recently opened northern approach. Exchanging emails with them I at least had the feeling they knew what they were talking about, so I booked a rather ambitious 13 day trip to hit Emin, Gessi, Speke (reported in Osmaston’s book to provide the best views of the region and would certainly be in the best position for views of Emin and Gessi, should the clouds ever clear) and Mt. Stanley which is the peak everyone heads for. I figured the ambitious schedule would allow me to sacrifice the secondary goals if more time was needed for my primary goals, though I really had little interest in Stanley or Speke (though I schlepped my big mountain boots, crampons and ice axe to Uganda for them).
Getting to Uganda wasn’t very difficult, but flying anywhere continues to be tarnished with improving efforts by the airlines to maximize inconvenience. Turkish Airlines flies from Boston to Uganda via Istanbul and Kigali, Rwanda – a good connection, arriving in Entebbe at 4AM – just 18 hours after boarding the plane in Boston. I organized transport from Entebbe to Kasese ahead of time, so my driver was waiting for me for the eight hour drive, during most of which I slept.
I met my mountain guide, Jethro (pronounced YEH-ther-oh) and cook (Semei) at the RRHA office in Kasese, and we reviewed my kit requirements (I had everything needed, having acquired a new pair of high rubber boots before leaving home!) and discussed the logistics. In addition to Jethro and Semei I would have another guide, Alfred, along with seven porters to do the heavy lifting. Jethro’s English, and perhaps organizational skills were better, while Alfred has climbed everything in the area.
We would be hiking in on the northern route, but my climbing gear and a food re-supply would come in on the central route four days later … should have been a red flag about our route. Three additional porters would do the re-supply run. And we would also have an armed guard accompanying us as we would be trekking very close to the border with Congo. If you’re not aware, Congo was, is and will be a real disaster with ongoing armed conflict. The border with Uganda is “porous”.
I did sense from Israel, RRHA’s manager, a bit of concern about taking care of me in the manner I would be expecting. They were very accommodating.
Off We Go!
The start of the hike was about an hour and a half drive from Kasese up some dirt roads and through some settlements until the road ended. The first day was a nice hike continually gaining altitude to an open camp on a ridge where lunch was waiting. Jethro suggested we alter the itinerary a bit and continue for another hour and a half to a higher camp which would make day 2 a bit shorter. Fine. This camp was under a tree canopy in “huts” – really tent platforms with roofs which are very nice in a wet climate. When it’s raining you don’t have to flee to your tent – you can relax under cover. We walked for just under four hours on this day, gaining about 900m, setting up camp at about 2430m.
There was a young German couple hiking the same route – their only goal was Mt. Stanley. We shared one of the platforms for dinner, though they had a completely different staff accompanying them. He was an engineer for Airbus in Hamburg (where they build the main structures) – I never got around to asking him what he thought about Boeing’s spate of recent problems. She was an architectural engineer.
They were vegans.
The woman asked me if I had seen the goat running up the trail beside some porters, and she noted with bemused surprise that one porter was carrying a live chicken. “Did you see that?”
“Oh, the chicken is for dinner tomorrow. Wait, the goat was running? That means my stew tonight will be tough.”
In addition to goat stew, I was presented with a plate of “Irish” at dinner. These were boiled white potatoes. I found out later that potatoes were introduced to Uganda by the Irish (French fries/chips or mashed potatoes are called fried Irish or mashed Irish). It’s interesting how these things happen since, of course, potatoes were not native to Europe and were unknown until the conquest of the Americas. Did they originally call them “Incas” when they first arrived in Spain?
Day 2 – Mud 101
I knew it would be muddy. The Rwenzoris are notorious for it. But I thought the mud-fest hiking in El Altar in Ecuador earlier in the year would prepare me for it. It did not.
Day 2 was advertised as a six to eight hour hike to cover just under 10km to Kambeho camp at 3288m. I started out in my light hiking boots, but after a few hours it was time to don the rubber boots. The trail had many ups and downs, particularly after we got up onto a higher ridge. You’d think being up high on a ridge would mean less mud, but you’d be wrong. It was pretty strenuous going up and down on a muddy trail, but I managed to arrive in camp at the max end of the estimated time range. As I trudged into camp the German woman proudly stated that they made the hike in seven hours and three minutes! Camp was set up in “huts” again.
Another good dinner. Chicken tonight.
It rained from late that afternoon until the next morning.
Day 3 – Graduate School of Mud
On the third day the mud began in earnest. After breakfast we waited for the rain to stop before heading off at about 8:30. On this day it took nine and a half hours to complete only 6km. More ups and downs with a big climb crossing a pass. And more mud.
Much of the walk was through forest, so the mud pools concealed slippery submerged roots. I’d look where Jethro or Alfred had stepped and tried to step in the same place. More often than not, I’d land my toe on a submerged root, and when I put my weight on my foot it would slip off the root and plunge my foot into a mud hole of, until then, unplumbed depth. This simultaneously threw me off balance, so my trekking pole would be jabbed two feet deep in the mud to prevent a mud face plant while I tried to quickly survey a “dry” place for my other, now uncontrolled, foot to land. Regain some balance. Pull the trekking pole out of the mud. Repeat. Nine and a half hours.
We had a big climb today, crossing a 3800m pass at the northern end of the Portal Peaks Range. I looked at this as a model for the climb up the peaks, and if you look at the lines on the topo maps it had similar steepness to the approaches of Emin and Gessi. It made the mountains a decreasingly appealing prospect. Going up (and then down) the steep sections of mud was quite a challenge. In the worst places there were rusty ladders to assist. I made a mental note that the ascents of Gessi or Emin would be an additional 1000m vertically in mud (just about 2/3 of a mile), and there would be no rusty ladders….
At some point Jethro asked, “Are you enjoying this?”
“Oh, yes,” I lied.
For tonight’s camp my tent which was pitched under a tarp for added security since huts haven’t yet been constructed here. It rained.
Having crossed the pass, we were now in the valley of the Lamya River. This is the traditional border between Uganda and the DRC and, in spite of the straight line of the officially recognized political border shown on maps, it remains the border in the minds of the locals. Hence my armed guard. Lamya Camp was about 300m from the river at an altitude of 3580m. (see map above)
Day 4 – A Mud Post-Doc
In terms of mud, day 4 was worse. We covered about 9km in eight hours crossing several bogs. Well, I think it was actually just one big bog with occasional “dry” spots.
I haven’t mentioned the scenery much, and that’s because I didn’t look at it much. I was mostly looking where to put my feet. There were a couple of nice views on day 3, particularly at the pass. But on day 4 there were also some nice views around, though no mountain tops were visible through the clouds. I never saw the top of any mountain taller than 4000m. Some of the plants look like they’re out of Dr. Seuss – giant lobelia and giant groundsel.
In the afternoon we descended down to Bigo Bog where the park service had built a boardwalk to save hikers from slogging across the bog. It was nice to not be in the mud, but the spacing of the planks on the boardwalk was such that you had to look carefully at every step. The metal Bigo Hut was taken over by the kitchen staff while I had my tent with a tarp pitched over it, and the porters set up camp in a big rock shelter. We were at 3460m here. An Austrian couple who had come up via the Central Circuit joined me in camp that night – he looked as unhappy as I felt.
Day 5 – A Rest Day at Bigo Bog
I had warned Jethro on the previous day that I didn’t think the climbs were going to happen. I was not having fun. So I decided to take an unscheduled rest day here at Bigo Hut both for rest and to decide if I wanted to continue. OK. I had already decided to not continue. This day would give me the opportunity to change my mind. Or not.
It rained the night we arrived and the next morning. There were some sun breaks during the day, and you could see some lower slopes of the nearby mountains. No summits in sight, though. In the mid-morning Jethro and a couple of porters headed out of camp toward the valley between Emin and Gessi. When they returned he told me they were looking for the trail to Skull Cave (the high camp). I don’t think they found it. No one goes there. We would be slogging on an overgrown trail, if that.
That evening I confirmed I wanted to bail out. So we would head down the next day. I knew this decision would probably mean the end of the “7 7ths by 70” challenge – I would be unlikely to return here. But I didn’t care.
Days 6 and 7 – The Walk Out
When we started walking out the sky cleared a bit so the sun could come out and blue skies appeared, briefly. You could see some of the higher slopes of Mt. Speke – the rain we experienced had produced fresh snow up there. There was little chance to get a sunburn – the sun didn’t last long. It rained about half the day walking out. That’s not quite true. I exaggerate. During some of that time it hailed.
Day 6 covered the same ground that would have been the second day coming into the park on the Central Circuit. It was similar in nature to the second day for our route – mud in the higher reaches, but drier at lower altitudes. As we got lower the Mubuku river became a large gushing torrent as it contained the water draining from all the bogs. We crossed the river and climbed up the opposite ridge to Nyabitaba Hut to a new-ish cabin/lodge that hadn’t opened, yet, so my tent was pitched on the balcony. (There were other cabin-ish structures a bit lower down – I think we were saving money.)
On day 7 I was back in my light hiking boots – no more mud! Leaving Nyabitaba we walked past some groups of trekkers going up. I greeted one European family of four with a jaunty “Good morning!” since I was in a good mood – it was dry, I wasn’t wearing rubber boots, and it was downhill. The father looked at me rather gravely, and his jaw slackened a bit. He didn’t say anything to me, and looked a bit aghast. Then I realized that my armed guard was just two steps behind me. The guy must have figured I was a VIP walking with my body guard, or, more likely, a criminal who had just been rounded up. Coming in on the Central Circuit you don’t get near the border so groups coming that way don’t have guards.
This day was very similar to day 1 for my route, though probably not as steep. It was a pleasant walk through forest with occasional river views. Wildlife was spotted – chameleons of several varieties. If I had come in this way, I would have arrived at Bigo Hut after just two days with much less mud to eat at my resolve…
All in all it was a pretty miserable experience. But the organization was good and the food really excellent. Semei is a great cook and prepared some of the best trail food I’ve ever had … though there was a memorable pizza prepared on the Upper Dolpo trek in Nepal… Oh, and a layer cake at basecamp on Kang Yatze in India…
Jethro suggested I return in November or December when it isn’t as wet. “Sometimes, in some places, the mud is almost dry.”
To Sum Up
So I’ve come to liken this experience as the international version of leaving the house at 4AM to drive three hours to the White Mountains for a winter day hike and, once arriving at the trailhead parking lot in the cold and dark, thinking of the warmth and palmier at the Met Cafe in Conway and going there instead.
I think it’s fair to say that my enjoyment of a place is reflected in the number of pictures I take. In four days, I took 66 pictures. (And for many of those I didn’t bother taking out my camera, I just used my phone.) In contrast, during the first four days of the trek to Kang Yatse last year I took over 500 photos.
eCard #114 – Unfinished Business, Old and New
Events of December 2023 and January 2024.
Recalling the saga from eCard #103 Fiasco in South America, I decided to return right after Christmas 2023 to take care of that old business – climbing Llullaillaco (reputedly the 7th highest summit in S. America (see below)) and Ojos del Salado (one of the seven volcanic summits) in Chile, and a return to Ecuador to climb Chimborazo.
Not abnormally, things didn’t go as planned.
Ecuador
Ecuador was really wet. It was supposed to be the dry season after the wet season in Sept/Oct/Nov. But that didn’t happen. The wet season waited until I arrived.
I used Julio-Verne Travel based in Riobamba to organize this part of the trip. They are highly recommended for various programs – climbing, trekking, nature walks, etc. all over Ecuador.
El Altar
I started the program with a 3-day acclimatization trek to El Altar – an extinct volcano with one side blown out of it that is known to be a muddy trip.
It was, and how.
The seven hour slog to camp was at times through knee deep mud. It was only interrupted, hourly, by rain so that the mud would never have a chance to thicken. I never thought I’d be happy to be wearing knee-high rubber boots for a 12km hike.
The campsite was in a pretty spectacular location, surrounded on three sides by the steep-walled remnants of the volcanic crater with a zillion waterfalls pouring down the walls, topped by hanging glaciers nearing the 5000m summits. If only the sun had been out. The ground was like walking on a wet sponge.
It absolutely poured down rain on the first night, but abated during the morning so we could hike a bit higher to a large mountain lake, Laguna Amarilla. The rain started again for the rest of the day just as we returned to camp in the late morning. We did have a leaky dining tent, so we could play “Hearts” all afternoon and drink tea. The second night was dry, and the trail was actually quite a bit more firm on the hike out. Beautiful place. Bring a poncho and plastic playing cards.
Chimborazo
All that rain was snow higher up, and not limited to El Altar. Chimborazo received it’s share of snow, and the word was out that no one was getting to the summit – 5900m was the max anyone had been to in the past 10 days due to deep snow and avalanche hazard. Tthe summit is 6264m/20,454ft.
I had a couple of days before my attempt on the mountain and based myself at the Chakana Lodge at 3800m. I stayed here in 2022 – no frills but very decent, friendly and good food. Upon arrival I took a walk along the road for a couple of hours in the rain to about 4000m, and the next day I walked up on the slopes of Chimbo to 4300m toward a cave called Templo Machay which is an active local religious site. I didn’t get quite up to the cave – I turned around when the hail began…
The next day I was joined by another climber, Steve, and our guide for the day, Leo, and we climbed up on a day hike to the base of the Hans-Meier Glacier at 5000m returning to 3800m for the night.
The next day we drove up to the Carrel refuge at 4850m and carried half of our gear up to the Stubel high camp at 5300m, returning to the refuge for the night. The Stubel camp did not exist when I was first here with Keith back in 1989/90, but now there is a seasonal camp here with dome tents to crash in and a staffed dining tent for meals. Pretty luxe.
Next morning we carried the rest of our stuff and moved up to the high camp anticipating the summit push for late that night (1AM the next morning). The hike moving up hurt much more for me than the carry the day before, though it turned out I completed it a half-hour faster.
The midnight call came, and after sloshing down a hot beverage and some snacks, I started up roped to my climbing guide, Paul. I turned around at 5600m feeling not so strong, looking at the steepest bit, and resigned to having to turn around before the summit, anyway. No one (there were probably 10 others going up that morning) exceeded 5900m …
Back in Riobamba there was a multi-day festival. A parade wandered around town for two days. There were also pastries to be eaten.
Ecuador was also about to plunge into crisis. The day before my departure, the prison populations all around the country in a coordinated uprising driven by drug cartels, rose up and overpowered their captors with a few gang leaders escaping. A TV station was occupied, etc. Curfews ensued and the military was called out. The country is back to being a mess fueled by drug money. That is, fueled by the drug market in the US.
Chile – Big Mountains of the Andes
Back to Chile – the scene of the inspiration for the “Seven 7ths by 70”. Some superlatives for the subjects of today:
- Aconcagua 6961m/22,837ft – Highest summit in Argentina, highest in S. America, highest outside of Asia, highest in southern hemisphere, highest in western hemisphere. It’s big. At one time it boastfully appeared on Argentine maps at 7005m.
- Ojos del Salado 6893m/22,615ft – Highest summit in Chile, 2nd highest summit in S. America, highest volcano in the world.
- Llullaillaco 6739m/22,110ft – Seventh (? see below) highest summit in S. America, highest archeological site in the world.
When Covid interrupted my plan in 2022, I hadn’t even seen the mountains. So in January of 2024 I returned hoping, this time, to not only see them, but to climb them. My plan to summit Chimborazo to assist with acclimatization for Llullaillaco and Ojos del Salado didn’t quite work out, but at least I had spent some time above 5300m.
Back in early 1989 I had attempted Aconcagua with Bob & Bob and ended up with a sprained/broken ankle at 5500m (Nido de Condores camp). I’d thought about going back a few years ago, but Aconcagua has become a bucket-list destination. In ’89 it was busy enough – there were maybe 25 tents in base camp (Plaza de Mulas) with no permanent structures. Now, in addition to the hotel and art gallery, you can expect tents in the hundreds – not exactly the mountain experience I’m after. I didn’t want to spoil the romantic memories I have of just a few tents and baggage mules wandering around, toilet paper sticking out from every rock of a certain size within 100m of camp, and airborne toilet paper swirling around in the gusting winds.
But this year after dilly-dallying for over a month, I decided to make another attempt on it since I’d be in the neighborhood and should be well-acclimatized by the time I got there after Chimbo, Llullaillaco and Ojos. And most importantly, I would be going via the “Vacas Route” (a.k.a. the “360 Route”, or the “Polish Traverse”). This route is much less traveled than the normal route, albeit a bit longer, and it is supposed to be a much more scenic route. The base camp, Plaza Argentina, is still a fixed, seasonal camp, but much smaller than Plaza de Mulas.
So this was the plan – arrive in Chile acclimatized from Chimborazo (meh, sorta), climb Llullaillaco, Ojos and then Aconcagua.
Flying from Quito to Bogota to Santiago to Calama and a van ride to San Pedro (24000m) in the Atacama Desert, I was a zombie. Fortunately, I have a favorite pastry shop in San Pedro and headed there directly upon arrival…
Llullaillaco
I met up with the three other clients and our two guides from High Mountain Experience. We loaded into two 4×4’s and left the oasis of San Pedro behind to head into the desert. After the first few hours of the drive (after passing a huge solar panel array with a capacity of 489MW), we didn’t see a single person for the next ten days.
The first night we camped in the deserted ruin of an old mining town railway station at Monturaqui, tucked behind it’s walls for some protection from the unending wind.
The next day we drove higher to a refuge at 4200m in Llullaillaco National Park. It was a very nice place to stay with a fresh water stream surfacing nearby. We could see the summit of Llullaillaco from the refuge.
As nice as it was, though, our acclimatization program was so-so. The first day at the refuge we drove up to 4800m and did a carry of our mountain gear to the high camp at 5600m. We hung around for less than an hour before descending. Then we sat for two days doing nothing at 4200m.
We did eventually move up to camp at 4800m, but why we didn’t do that immediately after carrying gear to 5600m is beyond my understanding (although staying at the refuge was easier than camping). As the others were organizing to drive and move camp to 4800m, I decided to walk up the road, figuring the trucks would catch up to me in an hour, or so. For awhile I considered cutting the corner on the road to shorten the walk – there was a heard of guanacos running around. But I decided to stick to the road figuring the trucks would come by. Good thing I did since I found out later that the area was a minefield laid back in the ’80’s when there was tension between Chile and Argentina during the Falklands war…. The trucks finally caught up to me after 2.5 hours when I was just 100m below camp.
The plan after spending a night at 4800m was to do the summit push by carrying the remaining gear to 5600m and continuing to the summit that night – 2000m of ascent and return to camp. In 24-30 hours.
I was skeptical.
I arrived at high camp suffering from the altitude and talked to our guides Mario and Álvaro. Since we had an extra day, I begged off the summit attempt this night and would spend the next day in camp acclimatizing to do the summit the next night. The other three clients were going tonight. Two of them made it – Cody who was in his 20’s and my tent mate, Richard, who was 55-ish and incredibly fit. They left at about 1AM with Mario leading and returned to camp at 7PM – 18 hours in all. Steve looked beat. He had climbed Ojos del Salado the year before and said he’d figured Llullaillaco would be 20% harder. He concluded it was 80% harder. This didn’t bode well for me.
My rest day was decent enough, but I wasn’t eating. The significance of this was apparent as soon as I started up with Álvaro at 1AM the next morning. With little energy, it took me an hour to ascend the first 100m and another hour to gain the next 80m. (Only 960m more to go!) I was stumbling through the rocks. I gave up pretty quickly, getting back to the tent about 4AM. As I was getting out of my gear, Richard woke up to wish me luck on the climb – he was so deeply asleep from his 18 hour round trip that he hadn’t heard me prepping to leave earlier….
Moving camp back down the next day I was filled with thoughts that this would be a tough mountain to come back to for another attempt. That was before the 7 hour drive back through the desert to San Pedro when I concluded the worst part of the climb was the mind-numbing drive through the desert.
I found a good pizza in San Pedro. Napoletana the way I like it.
Ojos del Salado
The next day I drove south to Copiapó with Álvaro. We were delayed until 3PM for the 10 hour drive as he and Mario had to deal with issues with one of the trucks. Along the way on the Pan American Highway we proved, once again, that the most dangerous part of mountaineering is getting there – a truck we had just started passing pulled abruptly into our lane forcing us toward the median barrier. Álvaro has quick reflexes and we narrowly missed both the guard rail on the left and the truck on the right…. He was a bit shaken and couldn’t believe we didn’t hit anything. He pulled over to assess the non-existent damage. Whew!
I had a day off in Copiapó which I used to find a new pair of light boots – mine were starting to come apart. I wandered around a bit to see what had changed since last year – only a new McD. The next day I got a ride up to base camp for Ojos del Salado. The drive took about 5 hours and we saw some vicuña and guanacos among the very dry Atacama landscape.
Base camp was set up in a beautiful setting on the shore of Laguna Verde at about 4300m. We were right on the edge of the lake with thermal springs feeding into it and 6000m peaks all around. It was a bit windy as the Atacama Desert seems to be in most places, and it never stops.
I parachuted into a group of four climbers that had been slowly working up in acclimatization – the assumption being that I would arrive fully acclimatized after Llullaillaco. But we didn’t do anything for the two days after I arrived but sit around at 4300m. There were two higher camps in use – one at 5300m and the other at 5900m – Tejos refuge (an old shipping container). But we didn’t camp there… On my third day we drove to Tejos and did an acclimatization hike up to 6300m on Ojos, but only hung around for about a half hour. Two days later we would go for the summit.
At one of our rest stops on the acclimatization hike I had gotten really cold and was sneezing all the way back to camp. I developed a head cold and was feeling pretty crappy the next day. So I just bailed out on the adventure and got a ride back into town figuring I’d sleep and recover better at lower altitude – I still had Aconcagua coming up in a few days… or so I thought.
Argentina and Aconcongua, Not.
Once back in Copiapó a quick check of my email told me of trouble brewing in Argentina. They’d had a lot of rain and the Relinchos river had swelled to the point that the government felt compelled to close the Vacas route on Aconcagua due to potential mud slides. They had heli-evacuated a group of climbers out from the Plaza Argentina (the base camp on the east side of the mountain that’s three days hiking to get into). The final decision that our route would be cancelled hadn’t been made, but we were just a couple of days away from the start date.
The alternate was to go to the other side of the mountain and climb the normal route…. I was adamantly opposed to that for reasons outlined earlier, and immediately wrote to the outfitter that I wanted a refund. I was prepping myself for having this denied, but with some further negotiation over the next couple of days I was able to get all of my money back (all up, roughly $8000 which I can now use for something I’d really like to do)…. amazing. But in the process I had to go to Argentina to join the group just in case the original itinerary wasn’t cancelled. On day 2 of the itinerary (we were still in town in Mendoza) we got word that we would indeed be shunted to the normal route. That same day the outfitter agreed to the refund and I left town for the New Hampshire winter that night (it was 97F in Mendoza).
In Summary
A disappointing trip. I was not fit enough – I’ll need to work harder next time. The max altitude I attained was during the acclimatization hike on Ojos to 6300m. Although this isn’t the highest I’ve ever been, it’s the highest I’ve been since 1996. I did set a personal altitude record in a car since we drove to just above the highest camp on Ojos at 5900m/19,350ft. I did manage to have a few good pastries and an awesome pizza in San Pedro.
Update on the Seven 7ths at/by/near 70 Project
In researching the mountains for the following discussion, it turns out that Llullaillaco is no longer being counted as the seventh highest peak in South America (see below). Huascarán Sur in Peru has been pushed down to the number seven spot and Llullaillaco has been moved up to number five in the rankings… so I don’t have to go back. But Huascarán is no picnic….
So nothing more has been accomplished, but I will be going to Uganda in March to seek the seventh highest peak in Africa. Stay tuned.
I’m thinking about revising the project to focus on the 77th highest peak on each continent (I’ve bagged the 77th highest summit of New England!) But then I figure the 77th highest in Asia will be an un-named, un-climbed, 7000m peak in a contested border region where India, China and Nepal come together. There will probably be mine fields. And no pastries.
Lists
Here’s a challenging list for you list challengers. There are 100 peaks in the Andes over 6000m with a prominence of 400m (another 13 go on the list if you use 300m for prominence). No one has climbed them all. An Argentine/Brazilian guy named Maximo Kausch has probably climbed 85, or so. He has YouTube videos. Scottsman John Biggar, who wrote the definitive climbing guide to the Andes, is in second place and has probably nabbed 65+ by now. Yerupajá in Peru at 6617m is probably the hardest climb and has only been summited a few times. Go for it!
Flying Close to the Sun and Another List
There are a couple of interesting geographical tidbits about Chimborazo. At one time it was thought (by European settlers, anyway) that it was the highest mountain in the world. This is before Asia was explored by them and they “discovered” the Himalaya and Karakoram mountains.
The more interesting tidbit is that Chimbo’s summit is the farthest point from the center of the earth. Relative to mean sea level, it is 2110m shorter than Mt. Everest. But the earth is not a true sphere. A perfect sphere, spinning as Earth does, takes on an equatorial bulge making it an ellipsoid. The surface is further made lumpy due to gravitational and dimensional effects of land forms (mountains and valleys). This lumpy ellipsoid is called a geoid, and the distance from the center of the earth is based on the geoid.
As you move from the poles toward the equator, the bulge gets greater. Everest lies about 28° north of the equator and Chimbo is just 1.5° south. So this midriff bulge pushes Chimborazo farther from Earth’s center, and it seems Chimbo is 2168m farther from Earth’s center than Everest.
A guy named Mark Biegert did a nice job with the heavy lifting to describe and account for the elevation correction based on the geoid. Have a look at his write-up. (The altitudes he used for many mountains may or may not agree with other lists…..)
But if you look at his data spreadsheet you’ll see that his list of mountains is far from complete. For instance, he only lists 71 peaks between 6000 and 7000m while there are over 100 peaks just in the Andes that fit in this range. Perfectionists can pursue this, but for my purposes it doesn’t matter.
I’ve pulled out some interesting peaks from his spreadsheet, starting with the top 10 farthest from the center of the earth. The highest 14 peaks on Earth are greater than 8000m above sea level – all located in Asia. I’ve included them in the list below to show how much that equatorial bulge effects their ranking – none of them make the top 10 relative to their distance from the center of the Earth. The top ten list is dominated by peaks near the equator, and all but Kilimanjaro are in the Andes. The Himalayan peaks are clustered at least 25° of latitude north of the equator, and the Karakoram peaks are even farther north, at around 35°N, and not benefiting from that equatorial bulge. Aconcagua, though the biggest of the Andean peaks, is 32° south of the equator, so not a contender among the top ten by a long shot.
Since my plan was to summit Chimbo on or about the 5th of January, and the perihelion having taken place on the 2nd, I figured I’d be pretty darned close to the closest you could ever get to the Sun while standing on the surface of the Earth. Very Cool.
Oops.
Hang on. (I’ve been doing a lot of hiking, so I’ve had time to think – a dangerous thing, sometimes.) Here we go….
I remembered that the December solstice occurred just 13 days prior to the perihelion, and this was going to complicate the issue. Unless you think the earth is flat (in which case you can go back to sleep – it’s really best for all of us), you might know that Earth’s axis of rotation is tilted 23.4° from the plane of it’s orbit around Mr. Sun. There’s a theory that our home planet was smacked into by another celestial body early in it’s life which both tipped her off-axis and knocked a chunk off that became the moon. (Are planets female, male, or gender neutral? For Venus and Mars it’s readily apparent… but the others?)
At the December solstice, the northern hemisphere leans back away from the sun (making winter) and the southern hemisphere is tipped toward the sun (making summer). This is also where those tropic lines – Capricorn and Cancer – come into play. They are the extreme northern and southern latitudes where the sun appears directly overhead at noon on the solstices. And the circles around the poles are the extremes where it’s either always dark or always light at the solstice.
So at the perihelion Chimborazo is no longer so close to Earth’s orbital plane, but tipped up about 22° as viewed from the sun, and certainly not closest to the sun.
All the peaks in the northern hemisphere will be tipping farther away from the sun, and those that lie south of the equator will tip closer to it. Any big mountains to the south of Chimbo are now candidates for having their summits closest to the sun. More specifically, any peaks near the Tropic of Capricorn at the perihelion are candidates for having their summits closest to the sun.
I’ve made a few GoogleEarth snapshots to illustrate this.
Which mountains are closest to the Tropic of Capricorn? I was separately curious about the distribution of the highest Andean peaks, so I marked them on GoogleEarth.
It’s very interesting (and oddly coincidental), that Llullaillaco is the only big peak near the Tropic of Capricorn. So it must be the point on Earth that is closest to the sun! (I’m already tired of typing Llullaillaco, and you’re probably tired of trying to pronounce the name, so from here on out I’ll call her Lulu.)
But wait. Doesn’t the time of day matter?
Hmmm. Yes. It does. The 2024 perihelion occurred at 7:38PM EDT (New York time). The longitude of New York is at about 75°W. So we have to rotate the earth around 7 hours and 38 minutes after NY was facing the sun to find the point on the surface of the earth that is directly facing the sun at the exact moment of the perihelion.
This is pretty easy to do. The earth rotates 15° per hour, so the longitude 7.63 hours from NY is 7.63×15°=114.45° away …. we’ll say 115°. If we rotate the earth around in GoogleEarth so that longitude 190°W/170°E (115+75) is facing us (like we’re the sun) we will see that a point in the Pacific Ocean near New Caledonia would be facing the sun at the perihelion. (It’s important to note for the discussion later, that NY passed this point 7:38 before the perihelion.)
Lulu is pretty tall, so even though she passed the point facing the sun 7.63 hours before the perihelion couldn’t she still have been closer to the sun than the ocean surface 7.63 hours later?
Well, the earth is a moving target and while it is rotating, it is also moving through space, and will be moving closer to the sun immediately before the perihelion, and away from the sun immediately afterwards. To find the exact distance to the sun at any time relative to the perihelion, we have to correct for where the earth is at that time. Lulu is at about 68°W which is a bit east of NY. For simplicity, we’ll just say it has the same longitude and local time as NY – we can go back and make this more precise, should the need arise. So when Lulu was facing the sun, it was 7.63 hours before the perihelion.
Next, think about earth’s orbital distance from the sun. At the perihelion we are just 91,404,095 miles from the sun. At our farthest distance from the sun (at the aphelion in July) we’re 94,510,539 miles away. (Earth’s orbit is nearly circular, sometimes, as it is pulled by the sun and other planets. Right now it is slightly elliptical.) We can look at that difference of 3,106,444 miles as a sinusoidal change to a base orbit of 91,404,095.
It takes half the year to go from perihelion to aphelion, and so it will take half a cycle of the sine function (180 degrees, or π radians) to go from one extreme to the other. It takes 182.5 days to go from perihelion to aphelion (plus .125 days to account for leap years). In 182.625 days, there are 4383 hours. In the equation below, “∆” is the change of orbital distance from the perihelion in miles, and “t” is the time in hours since the perihelion occurred. (The –π/2 just makes the zero point of the sine function line up the way we want.)
If Lulu faces the sun 7.63 hours before the perihelion, then the earth would not be quite as close to the sun as at the perihelion. If we plug 7.63 in the above equation for t, then we find that ∆ is 23.2 miles. So the summit of Lulu would have been 22 miles further from the sun than the ocean near New Caledonia. No chance for Lulu to be a contender for the prize. Sorry, honey.
But could there have been any time when Lulu was closer? Suppose we just look at the situation one hour before (or after) the perihelion. Then the Earth-Sun distance would only have changed by 0.4 miles, or 642m. Well, Lulu is nearly 6800m tall… But one hour after the perihelion, Lulu has rotated away for 6.63 hours at 15° per hour, or almost 100°, so she’s well below the horizon from New Caledonia. Three hours after the perihelion, the earth has moved 3.59 miles (5777m) away. But Lulu has still rotated pretty far away – more than 45° – and not a contender.
The Pacific Ocean off New Caledonia wins.
But let’s not give up on Lulu. In 2026, the perihelion will occur on January 3rd at 12:15PM EDT – Lulu should be just about be directly facing the sun. Be there or be square!
eCard #111 – The Markha Valley and Kang Yatse Climb.
Checking out of my comfy digs in Vienna in July, I said farewell to the land of good coffee and pastries and schlepped my bag to the airport for the next phase of my summer adventure – off to India!
I hooked up with Rolfe from 360 Expeditions for a trek in the Markha Valley of Ladakh with the goal of summiting 6200m/20,300ft Kang Yatse II.
The last time I saw Rolfe, I was crawling out of the Khumbu Valley in Nepal sick with Covid and who-knows-what, while he was sliding helplessly down a steep hillside, certain death prevented only by stopping hard against a tree breaking a few things along the way. So it was good to see him on his feet. (Spoiler alert. Some egos may have been damaged, but on this trip no one was sick or injured.)
The pictures are here on flickr: India 2023 – Ladakh and Climbing Kang Yatse., You can scan through them and follow along with the daily blog. The scenery can be described as “immense”, so you might want to zoom in on some pics to get more of a sense of the scale.
Arrival
I’ve been to India a few times, and generally I don’t care for it. As much as the cleanliness of Kitzbuhel, Austria gives me the creeps (see eCard #109), India is pretty filthy. And the masses of people are just too massive for me. I suppose many people are enthralled with the mysticism, but I’m not really mystified by much, anymore. Previously I had been to the much warmer south, and the climate in the north is more to my liking, too.
My intro to India this time was jamming through crowds at the Delhi international arrivals hall with my 20kg duffel and 8kg backpack slung on to find a bus to get me to the (wrong, it turns out) domestic departure terminal for my flight to Leh in the north, near the borders with China, Tibet (that seems to be China these days, too) and Pakistan.
But this is where the surprise you often find in traveling popped up and the graciousness of people one-on-one appears. In need of speedy transport to the correct departure terminal (now precisely 1 hour before my flight departure), a guy gave up his taxi for me and translated my need and panic to the driver who agreed to take me for free (since I had no rupees)! It was, in fact, the slowest taxi ride I’ve ever had in my life – we never got out of second gear – even though traffic was light. But I did make it in time – stuffing a crisp 10 euro note in the driver’s hand as I got out; toe tapping as the armed guard at the entry door patiently checked ID’s; shoving my way to the front of the check-in line once I found it (the 28kg load helped propel me); paid my overweight fee; got my boarding pass (“You need to hurry.” Yeah, no shit.); and dashed through security (as quickly as one can dash through security) and to the far end of the terminal; the last gate; where I actually had to wait in line to board! Whew!
Leh is different from the India of prior visits. Here the Himalaya meet the Karakoram mountains, and Leh is at 3300m/11,000ft – high above the hot plains of southern India. The feel is more like Nepal or northern Pakistan than anywhere else I’d been in India. I suppose it’s much like Tibet, perhaps more so, since there are many Tibetan refugees who’ve come here and no presence of Han Chinese imported to dilute/erase their culture. Many Tibetans have been here for a generation or more. (Our lead guide, Karma, is the son of a woman who fled Tibet with the Dalai Lama in the 1950’s.)
This is also a region which might be classified “a mess”, politically, known affectionately as the “Kashmir conflict”. The roots of the current conflict go back to the partition of India in 1947 after Great Britain relinquished control. The border between Pakistan and India in the northern princely state of Jammu and Kashmir was never finalized to everyone’s satisfaction with both sides claiming the same territory. China invaded in the 1960’s to add fuel to the fire, and there is a Kashmiri movement for independence from everyone. There have been quite a few armed conflicts varying from soldiers fighting each other with sticks to hot wars. One of our porters fought Pakistan in one of the conflicts – the highest altitude war ever fought (6000m). Like all good religious, ethnic, nationalist conflicts fueled with foreign money, this one promises to go on for many years.
The Indus River passes by Leh on it’s course form the source near Mt. Kailash in western Tibet to the Arabian Sea. From Tibet it wiggles north/northwest through Kashmir then into Pakistan, hanging a left around Nanga Parbat, turning south to empty in the sea near Karachi.
HOMEWORK: One source I’ve found states that the Indus is the 19th longest river in the world @ 3180km. (The Brahmaputra is 20th; the Ganges 30th.) What are the top 10 longest rivers in the world?
On to the adventure….
Thirteen of us met at the Mahey Retreat in Leh. (I had a view of 6153m Stok Kangri from my room.) We spent a couple of days here since the town is at a high enough elevation that acclimatization is needed, and we used the time to visit a couple of monasteries in the Indus Valley. It’s a fairly welcoming place once the shops reopened at the conclusion of a protest for something. This area seems to be booming with the tourist trade – lots of new hotels, travel shops touting hiking/rafting/adventure, souvenir shops, and shops with foreign provisions (Snickers bars were less than a buck!), etc.
Oh. Yeah. There’s a HUGE military presence here. The airport is actually a military field that allows commercial flights. There are lots of barbed-wire encircled compounds all over the Indus valley with signs that seem to leave little room for negotiation – “No photography. Trespassers will be shot dead.” (Memories of walking around town carrying my SLR in my hand after arriving in Yangoon, Myannmar in 2010 the day after a Japanese reporter covering the government massacre of protesting Buddhist monks was shot dead on the street. A guy asked me if I felt a bit self-conscious. Um. Yes.)
The Trek
Some stats: We trekked for six days to the base camp for Kang Yatse, spent two nights there and trekked out the day after the climb. Not including the summit day, we walked a total of 86km, gained 3960m/13,000ft, and the total walking time was about 39 hours. The longest day covered 18km and took 7 hours to complete. For the climb, add 8km, 1080m/3500ft and 12 hours. (All altitudes, times and distances come from the Gaia GPS app on my phone.) There’s a map at the end showing our route.
Day 2: Distance 4.7km. Start 3800m. Climb 491m. Descent 0m. Camp 4332m. Max Elev 4332m. Time 3:05
Driving an hour or so west-ish from Leh we arrived at the settlement of Rombak (3800m) where all our gear was organized into loads for the horses. (I never got an accurate count, but we used about 20 horses.) We took off on the trail. We walked for just over 3 hours and arrived at camp with ample time to settle into camp and organize a routine. Three of the group were suffering from altitude and went back down to town. They would rejoin us in a couple of days for another attempt.
Day 3: Distance 11.5km. Start 4332m. Climb 700m. Descent 1016m. Camp 4007m. Max Elev 5071m. Time 6:37
The second day of walking was a little challenging since we climbed over the Gand La at 4950m. The group spread out along the trail as we each competed for air molecules. At the pass, a few of us followed Rolfe up to a small lump at 5050m for a view back down to the pass, and we were rewarded with a view of Kang Yatse 36km away.
We dropped 1000m after crossing the pass and basked in the thicker air. We had to keep a wary eye out for all the marmots around. And Lammergeiers were seen soaring above. It was a semi-tough but satisfying day, and our grassy camp at Shingo was much appreciated.
HOMEWORK: Which bird has the longest wingspan? Which can soar the highest? Which yields the largest drumstick?
Day 4: Distance 17.7km. Start 4007m. Climb 293m. Descent 820m. Camp 3500m. Max Elev 4019m. Time 5:57
We continued down-valley, finally intersecting the Markha Valley at Skiu and wandered up the valley for a bit to a welcoming grassy campsite. It was hot today. The group stopped in a cute women’s eco-cafe, but both James and I felt the air a bit stifling inside so we relaxed in the shade under a bridge with a cold stream cooling the space. Arriving in camp we were treated to an icy cold rivulet running alongside – we had a group foot soak. Someone energized the group enough to get up and go for a swim in the Zanskar River – chilly, but not frigid. Great day. Camp was a little lower than the night before at 3500m, but from here on out we would only be going up.
Day 5: Distance 18.2km. Start 3500m. Climb 556m. Descent 199m. Camp 3850m. Max Elev 3905m. Time 7:13
It was a beautiful morning, so we dispensed with the dining tent and had breakfast al fresco. Today was the longest day of trekking and another hot day as we headed further up-valley camping at Umlung. The three who had gone down on day 1 rejoined us after breakfast (there was road access to this point), but unfortunately, they decided to abandon the trip for good after today’s walk.
This day was a visual treat. Stupas/chortens sporting strings of prayer flags appeared in several spots, we had a stop at a tea “house” (under a parachute tent), and rests in the shade. Climbing up a short hill we encountered a super-sized prayer wheel at the village of Markha.
A bit farther on was a huge pinnacle of rock jutting improbably from the valley floor. And just around the corner was a monastery perched on a steep hillside that we scrambled up to appreciate the views. Wow. We kept hoping to get a glimpse of our main goal, Kang Yatse, but not today…
Day 6: Distance 11.3km. Start 3850m. Climb 467m. Descent 122m. Camp 4190m. Max Elev 4201m. Time 4:47
We passed a couple of small settlements today as we inched further up the valley, but early in the morning we had our first peek of Kang Yatse, it’s summit about 2000m above us. Some animal tracks were spotted and an attempt to classify them as snow leopards ensued….
The ruins of a hilltop palace drew our attention and we scrambled up to see what it was about. It belonged to King Singay Namgyal, a 17th century king of Lakakh (his statue adorns a traffic circle in Leh). Passing through the “No Entry” sign we could clamber up toward the tower. Rolfe shooed us away saying it was too unstable (while he went ahead…). There were some nicely carved mani stones (om mani padme hum), some with images of Buddha. Pretty cool. Again, it was a hot day, but we were rewarded with a good swimming hole in the river and had a relaxed lunch break in the coolness of the gorge.
Day 7 and 8: Distance 6.4km. Start 4190m. Climb 863m. Descent 14m. Camp 5010m. Max Elev 5076m. Time 4:21
Today was a fairly short day as we began to climb out of the Markha Valley proper and head toward base camp in preparation for the climb. We got up on open sloping terrain with more views of the mountain and a large community of marmots. Rolfe pointed out the route on the mountain and we could see some climbers on their way to the top.
We camped about 800m above last night’s camp, and I could feel the altitude change. On many climbing trips, we would have arrived in base camp acclimatized midday-ish, spent the afternoon and evening resting and then taken off for the summit on an alpine start early the next morning. In this case we would spend a night here to acclimatize fully, rest the next day and do the summit attempt the next night.
For the rest day there was an optional short acclimatization hike, but I opted to, well, rest. In the afternoon we were issued any rental climbing gear and given some instruction on it’s use. Rest. Eat. Drink. Rest.
Day 9 – Summit Day! Distance 7.1km. Start 5020m. Climb 1081m. Descent 1059m. Camp 5010m. Max Elev 6135m. Time 12:26
Midnight wake up. Throw down some last minute hot beverages and eat a bit more. Make sure there are Snickers bars in the bag. Let’s go! On the trail just after 1AM.
Ten of us started out for the top. The first and longest part, distance-wise, was along rocky terrain, sometimes steep, to “Crampon Point” at the edge of the glacier (5630m) where, not surprisingly, we put on our crampons. Paul dropped out fairly early – he’d been complaining of altitude issues for a few days. The distance from base camp to Crampon Point is about 2.2km and it took us a bit over 3 hours to get there, arriving about 04:11. Since we gained 610m in this section, the average grade was about 28% – like a good trail in the White Mountains of New Hampshire!
From this point to the short rock scramble just below the summit, we were on snow/ice.
It took 2.5 hours to cover the next 0.7km as we traversed diagonally from Crampon Point to the top of the rock rib jutting through the glacier – The Balcony at 5920m. The sun came up along the way, and we got there about 06:48. Time for a short rest for water, food and to adjust our gear, refit the rental crampons, etc.
Loman had turned back about 100m short of this point, and Steve and Sally were done at The Balcony and turned back. Sally said she had nothing left in her legs, and Steve said he “hit the wall”. We were now down to six, and the rope teams were reorganized into two ropes of three clients each with Nema 1 and Nema 2 leading them. The average grade for this section was 41%.
Leaving The Balcony we headed up the steepest part of the climb which can best be described as “relentless”. I was last on my rope with Nema 2 Sherpa leading, Colin in the number 2 spot, and James just ahead of me.
As it got steeper the air also got thinner. Colin slowed down in this steepest section, and I tried to urge him on yelling at him to dig deep. We finally crested the steep part and the angle lessened as we got up on the summit ridge proper. Now Colin found his second wind, and the closer we got to the summit, the more frequently I had to yell at him to stop so I could catch my breath.
It was beautiful.
To our left we could see over the lip of the corniced ridge and catch glimpses of the air below with peeks at the steep face of Kang Yatse I. To the right we could look down the Markha Valley to see the way we had come.
Once we arrived at the rock scramble to the summit, we knew we had made it! It took two hours to get here from The Balcony (seven and a half hours from camp) just in time for second breakfast at 08:53. The average grade from The Balcony to the summit was 38%, but I estimate the steepest section was 50%. Exultation, exhaustion, water, Snickers bar, photos, smiling, laughing. I heard words I’ve heard many times before when getting to a mountain top, “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done!”
And then we needed to go down.
It’s easier. For the most part. There’s more oxygen for your legs, but your legs are tired. And going down, down, down, your thighs start to burn. It hurts. You’re tired. It’s getting warm. I couldn’t wait to get back to The Balcony so I could shed a few layers of clothes – I was sweating. (James had perhaps a more urgent physical need to hurry…) Our rope team was ahead of the other group, and we were ready to continue down just as they caught up to us.
It was not so much a relief as an acknowledgment of how far we’d come when we got back to Crampon Point. We kicked off our gear, packed things away and sat down. More celebration when the second rope team got there. Incredibly, as we made our way down the rocky trail, one of the kitchen lads appeared with a jug of cold juice and cookies!
We quickly stretched out along the trail as we stumbled down at our own pace, and I ended up alone trudging down. I stopped 20 minutes short of camp to sit for 10 minutes. Tired.
Although we had seen a couple of dozen people on the mountain the day we arrived in base camp, we had the mountain to ourselves. The Gaia app reported that our total elapsed time was 12 hours 26 minutes and that our moving time was just 5:46. I think we were traveling so slowly that it thought we weren’t moving most of the time….
Our Nepalese master chef, Topsing, made us pizza that night for dinner. He also made a celebration cake! I have some experience making cakes. I’ve never made one on a one burner gas stove, though.
And just when you thought it was all over …..
Day 9: Distance 16.1km. Start 5010m. Climb 593m. Descent 1781m. Max Elev 5252m. Time 7:10
More celebrating in the morning kicking around in the fresh snow. An end-of-the-trip group hug ensued as we passed out the tips to the staff. They really did an incredible job.
And after the summit, you’d think it was the end of the trip. But we still had to descend to the main valley and then cross a 5200m pass, the Konmaru La, to get down to the road.
I haven’t mentioned the weather up to this point, but it had been absolutely gorgeous the entire time. The night after we summited I awoke at some point hearing rain/sleet against my tent. We awoke in the morning to the mountain in cloud and snow on the ground, grateful it wasn’t warm enough to rain. It made the hike out that day a bit different as the normally arid, dry, treeless hills around now had a coating of snow.
Crossing the pass, we had our last looks back across the valley to Kang Yatse. And then we dropped down in the Shang Gorge where we were treated to some spectacular rock formations studded with green veins of copper ore.
Back in town we were reunited with clean clothes, and had much-deserved, much-needed, much-appreciated (by all) showers. A celebratory group dinner at a local restaurant topped off the trip before going our separate ways the next day.
Rolfe’s parting words to me: “See you in Nepal in October!”
becklectic Tales 