The North Face of Aguja Poincenot

The Torres at sunrise

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Three weeks earlier, I looked out the bus window as I bumped towards Chalten, the village at the end of the road. Clouds blanketed the Andes to the west. These massive alpine peaks changed my life the minute I glimpsed them in January 1994. Since then I have been a comet, drawn back to the range—two trips repeating classic routes and learning the range. This time I want to blaze my own trail. Jim Donini and I came to Patagonia this year intent on bagging a first ascent.

For 17 days after I arrived the storms raged. Torrents of rain fell on base camp and nobody went climbing. Standard operating procedure in Patagonia. Finally, there was a half-day lull. Jim and I established a camp high in the cirque across from Cerro Torre. We moved up with two weeks of food, determined to get some good weather.

That afternoon, renewed wind, rain and snow lashed our tent. Jim and I read, ate, slept and told stories for the next four days. The view of towering granite spires through the tent flap ought to have been one of the best in the world, but through driving sheets of rain and snow I only saw 50 meters.

Gut Quivering Winds
The dull, base roar of wind ground through the cols a thousand meters above us and filled me with dread. My guts quivered when I thought of being high on a peak with the wind tossing ropes around and rime ice growing inside my clothes. That wind could tear out your soul.

Doug Byerly and Rolando Garibotti appeared at our tent flap. They hiked up to position themselves for an alpine binge on the Fitzroy massif. Usually Jim and I roll our eyes at over ambitious Patagonian aspirants, but Rolo's a Patagonia veteran, and Byerly tells us he once waited an entire month in the Kichatna Spires without a single climbing day. We know this first-timer will do well.

However, these veterans do not. Over the next two days, Inominata, one of the smallest peaks in the range, kicks our butts.

Jim and I are awake and brewing coffee the morning after Inominata crushed us. Doug and Rolo stumble back into camp. We had seen them down at the base of St. Exupery from Inominata the day before—I figured Doug and Rolo were either fixing the first few hard mixed pitches on Clara di Luna or planning spend the night. A "crack of noon" start is not exactly standard alpine practice.