or a couple of years, ever since a trip to Peru in 1997, I've dreamt of climbing in South America. In June/July of 2000 that dream became a reality.

At 11AM on June 19 five pals from Seattle; Seth Polock, Sandy Weil, Kevin Hines, Doxey Kemp and team leader Doug Hagen, boarded a plane. 15 hours later we heard the captain announce "We will now start depressurizing the cabin." and watched with some concern as our altimeters flew from 6000 to 13,300 ft. Just before sunrise we landed in La Paz, Bolivia and, after a short customs check, found a gentleman with a hand scrawled sign with "Hagen" written on it. Apparently calling ahead had paid off. (Special thanks to Dina Moreno and her Spanish skills.) We loaded our ridiculously large bags onto the top of a van and headed for town. As the sun began to rise we got our first glimpse of La Paz, an enormous city that sits at 12,000 ft. at the bottom of a huge bowl with the 21,200 ft. monster mountain they call "Illimani" towering in the seemingly near distance. What a sight. The hotel, "Hotel Alem", had our two rooms ready and after a mostly useless breakfast of white toast we headed out to see what the heck we were in for. Well, as luck would have it there were three climbing services right on our block. (It was logistically difficult to set up these services from the states and I had to convince the others that we could find them once we got down there.)

We settled on a company called "Andino". The owner Aldopho proved to be not only friendly but also very flexible. Plus he spoke good English which was very helpful in a number of situations. Our arrangements were that he would provide transportation to and from the climbs as well as arrange burros to carry our gear to camp. We didn't hire guides. Our original plan, from reading a book written by Yossi Brain on climbing in Bolivia, was to do three climbs: first a two day trip to Hati Khollu at 17,885 ft., then a four day trip to 19,974 ft. Huayna Potosi and, finally, a six day trip to the monster, 21,200 ft. Illimani. We would have one rest day with two nights in town between each outing.

We spent five days acclimatizing to the altitude. During this time we took a trip to the ancient Aymaran ruins of "Tiawanaka" as well as the city of Copocabana and an island called "Isla del Sol", the island of the sun, on Lake Titicaca. We also got a ride in a reed boat and ate lots of trout. Our guide, Carlos.........well, let's just say he was quite a character and we still quote him. "Please, I will verify!" "Stand right HERE!", etc.

So on day six, June 25, we headed out for climb #1: Hati Khollu. Adolpho and three of his guides picked us up at the hotel and drove us to the town of Palcoma. They had never been to this climb and wanted to figure it out for future clients. Once in Palcoma hiring the burros proved to be a fairly big deal and we were very happy that Aldopho was there to handle it. We eventually got going and the nine of us hiked about five miles together. Aldopho and the guides turned around there leaving us with the burros & driver to get to camp which was another four miles up the valley. After the driver hit us up for more money to continue to camp (what are you gonna do?) we got to a spot about nine miles up the valley where the burros could go no further. So we made arrangements to meet the burro driver the following day at 3PM, donned our packs and started climbing towards the lake and our camp.

Well, there we were at 15,000 ft. with way too heavy of packs and not very acclimatized. After maybe 20 minutes one team member started having terrible difficulty getting a breath. Panic set in and after a lot of running around and yelling we decided to camp there. We knew that it could mean not summiting but that just had to be. We set up our camp, got the stoves going and the sick climber starting feeling much better. However, due to the stress of the previous situation, and maybe the fact that he blew up three air mattresses, another member crashed hard. He couldn't eat and was barely talking. So after dinner we all got into our tents for some rest but everyone found it hard to sleep. We would wake up gasping for breath over and over all night long. Add that to diarrhea, nausea, headaches, lack of appetite and the cold and you have a pretty miserable night.

In the morning we slept in knowing that we were giving up the summit but after some breakfast everyone was feeling much better and we hiked up to see the lake and the beautiful mountain itself. Some members even got onto the glacier. We all agreed that if we had given it one more day or we had been better acclimatized it would have been a great climb. But we had to meet the burros at 3PM so down we went.

The burro driver was right on time and we had a nice hike back to Palcoma. That is except for two team member who were starting to not feel so good. We got back to Palcoma at dusk and between the burros wanting to go home, the team being split into two groups and not having an exact meeting spot for our van it became an exercise in frustration and a lesson in how important it is to speak Spanish there. Somehow, in the dark and yelling each others names, the group met near the river. Miraculously, our van appeared right then flashing his lights. From utter chaos it all came together and suddenly we found ourselves bumping along the dirt road heading towards town and staring into the darkness. Each one of us contemplating our defeat, our illnesses and what this all meant for the next two weeks. It was a somber ride back.

Once we were at the hotel we ate the largest pizza any of us had ever seen and spirits improved, although our one climber had decided that he had bronchitis. So we talked about what our strategy would be from there, but for the time being showers and sleep were in order. After all, we were basking in the wonderfully thick air of 12,000 ft.!

My, how things can change. The next day, June 27th, one of the members who wasn't feeling well on the hike out from Hati Khollu, ended up spending the next 32 hours in bed. We weren't sure what he had but it seemed to be a combination of many things that we had all been suffering from including the exhaust from thousands of vehicles. It just all ganged up on him at once. Plus our pal with bronchitis could use another day to get better too. So we filed into Aldopho's office to discuss our options. He had been talking about an area called "Condoriri" since we first met him. Apparently it had a nice base camp near a lake from where you could do about a million climbs. Actually, this area had been an option we looked at back in Seattle but decided against, mostly just because of time constraints. So after a team meeting we made a decision: We would wait another day in town to see if our sick friends got better and then take a five day trip to Condoriri where, if anyone wasn't feeling good, they could rest at camp while the others climbed. Then we would have our rest day in town after which we would go for a four day climb of Huayna Potosi. Good plan, but the tough decision was to not attempt to climb Illimani. But given the altitude problems we were encountering we felt that it was our best option. Plus we needed to use every advantage we could to stack things in our favor... like using burros.

So, on the morning of June 29th, day 11, the five of us set out in an overcrowded Land Cruiser for the town of Tuni. Our sick friend was feeling much better but Aldopho still sent him off with a thermos full of "triple infusion". This was a hot drink provided by our self-appointed 'Yo la Mama', who served us many breakfasts in her restaurant "La Montana, consisting of coca leaves and who knows what else. It got drunk and did seem to help. Anyway, once in Tuni I think we met the entire town. We put our packs onto five burros, agreed to have a trout meal upon our return and headed off for Condoriri.

The centerpiece of the area is a mountain, three mountains really, that, when viewed from the right perspective, actually resembles a condor about to take flight. "Cabeza de Condoriri", which means 'Head of the Condor', stands in the middle, a beautiful and frightening peak of 18,530 ft.. On either side are the wings, "Ala Izquierda" and "Ala Derecha". The views just continued to get better as we approached our camp. After about a five mile hike we said bye to our very friendly burro driver and made camp near the lake, Laguna Chiar Khota, and just inside a series of rock walls built to block the wind that comes up the valley and across the lake. We even had a kitchen area right there and latrines about 50 yards away. Sitting there at 15,000 ft. we had arrived in paradise. The sicknesses had pretty much gone away, we were all feeling fairly good and were definitely excited to be back out in the mountains away from the city ills.

On Friday, June 30th, we got up around 7AM, had some breakfast and headed out for a trial climb. Our goal was "Pico Austria". A non-technical walk-up it is a pile of loose rock that reaches 17,200 ft. We made our way up through the llama and sheep dung filled hillsides to a pass that yielded incredible views of Condoriri. After a short break we pushed up to the top where we had incredible views of the area and neighboring peaks. This was an elevation record for all of us, although it was a tie for two members who had gotten to 17,200 on Denali. We basked in the sunlight enjoying the views but more than that our little summit represented a turn in our luck and the trip as a whole. The following day, we decided, we would attempt to climb a 17,618 ft. glaciated peak called Pequeno Alpamayo on which the summit ridge is 800 ft. of 45 to 55 degree snow and ice. So down we went, past the dung fields back into camp for dinner and a good nights sleep in the 20 degree night.

Saturday, July 1. Rent is due but no one is thinking about that. We got up at 3:30 AM and left camp at 4:30. Too bad we didn't scout out the trail that leads to the toe of the glacier. We stumbled around on a moraine for a long time until we saw four headlamps moving at a good clip on the valley floor below us. We finally got to the glacier, put on our harnesses and crampons and I steped out onto the ice. "Here it is," I thought, "I'm finally climbing on a Bolivian glacier." As we climbed up the ice we could hear it cracking under our weight just as the sun started to rise over a distant and hidden horizon. Off came the puffy jackets as we climbed higher until we reached a saddle where we stopped for a real breakfast and got to enjoy the views and nearby ice sculptures.

From there we climbed a 30 degree slope to get on top of a peak called Diente (although one map calls it Tierja). Once on top the decision was made that the climber with bronchitis would stay there while the other four attempt P.A. So we rearranged the ropes, cached some gear, grabed all of the protection and headed out. The first thing we encountered was a narrow walkway that fell away on both sides for at least 1000 ft. Unfortunately, while belaying another climber across this one of our team went to remove his ice tool from its place in the ice and watched helplessly as it sprung from his hands and tumbled over the top and down to oblivion. Bummer. Then we had to down-climb what our guide book said was 165 ft. of 5.3 class rock. (We did this without ropes which made us realize that Yossi couldn't be related to Fred Becky who would have barely mentioned this section.) Then we wound our way around a buttress which also slid down into obvious nothingness.

We finally found ourselves at the base of the ridge that led to the summit of Pequeno Alpamayo. We put the two climbers more experienced in ice climbing on rope #1 to lead and they put in pro along the way. It took us quite a long time to get up and we probably put in a lot more pro than was actually necessary but it made us all feel more comfortable so it was worth it. We were climbing about 2 ft. from the face of the mountain that dropped away at about an 80 degree slope. On our left it was merely a 35 degree slope. I just kept thinking one thing: "Don't fall." At places like this it simply is not an option. We finally got to the top and celebrated with Rolos and photos. Our friend on Diente was watching the entire thing cheering us on and taking photos. (Which is a very cool thing as most climbing photos are taken on the climb itself. Not from a neighboring peak.) We had also just hit another altitude record of 17,618 ft. But we still had to get down! Actually this was much less difficult than I thought it would be. One step at a time. Soon we were back on Diente. It took us less than an hour to get down the glacier from there and drag our sorry butts along the trail (yes, there IS a trail!) the couple of miles back to camp. All told we were out there for 14 hours! Slow, yes, but we had just climbed a mountain that, while thumbing through the guide book on a rainy winter night in Seattle, I had shown a photo of to a fellow climber and said "One thing's for sure, we won't be climbing anything THIS insane!" I gladly ate my words.

The next day we slept in and spent the day playing cards, eating Pringles, humus and assorted candy and just plain relaxing in this beautiful and "truly fairylike" place. Some of us took a short hike up to the top of a ridge that overlooked the entire area and were awestruck by the incredible beauty. On the way down we were actually running... at 15,000 ft. we were running! Our acclimatization was starting to feel real.

On Monday, June 3, day 15, we met our burro driver and enjoyed our walk back to Tuni. When we got to the town, as promised, our trout dinner was waiting. The family had caught the fish that morning and now we were eating in a large yard with chickens running around and the entire East face of Huayna Potosi towering over us. As we ate possibly the best meal we had had so far during our entire stay in Bolivia a great feeling of accomplishment of what we had done so far and excitement about what was coming next was infectious and we all had contentment in our hearts. As we were about to leave the people of Tuni came out to see us off, have their pictures taken with us and exchange addresses. I've never seen a more hospitable and happy group of people anywhere and they made us feel sorry that we had to leave. Then, just as we were about to drive away, our driver asked if we'd mind taking a young mother and her 18 month old baby to a nearby town so they could see a doctor as the baby had been quite ill. Of course we were happy to help and we ended up having a very nice talk with this woman in the little bit of Spanish that we knew.

Back in La Paz we had to say good-bye to Doxey who had prior commitments in Seattle. We went out for a final dinner as "Cinco Amigos" and, as he rode away in the taxi towards familiar food, hot showers, drinkable water and loved ones we became "Quatro Amigos" and turned our attention toward Huayna Potosi.

By now it really did feel like "the thick air at 12,000 ft." that we had joked about just a week ago. But we were getting tired of the city with the thousands of trucks, cars and vans spewing out nasty exhaust and honking their horns what seemed like every ten seconds. We even figured out things like how it's better to walk on the one-way streets where the cars go downhill so we don't have to breath as much exhaust. But as exciting as a town like La Paz is, we longed to be in the mountains.

So on Wednesday, June 5, 2000 the four of us met Aldopho once again in front of our hotel where he had three groups of climbers leaving all at the same time. As hectic as it was he still found time to make sure we were ok and to assure us that we could, and would, summit Huayna. We didn't know it but this would be the last time we saw him. Too bad. We climbed into a van with much more room than the Land Cruiser and headed off towards more dirt roads and Zongo Pass where the climb up Huayna Potosi begins. It only took two hours to get there and the views were stunning. For this trip we had hired four porters to carry our packs up to camp so at the pass we attached all the pickets and tools to the packs and the eight of us headed out. It was pretty easy going at first and we soon got onto a lateral moraine at the end of which we took a nice, long break. Pretty soon a group caught up to us. The guide was a gentleman by the name of Mesili who just may be the Fred Becky of the Bolivian Andes. In our climbing guide book his name shows up in the "first accent" list more than any other. Unfortunately he doesn't speak English and we don't speak French and not much Spanish.

Soon we started going up a ridge of loose rock. One of the porters was lagging way behind and while the other men seemed unconcerned I stayed back with him and eventually took a number of heavy items from his pack. He kept saying "Mi Corazon!" "Great," I thought, "this guy's gonna have a heart attack right here!" Luckily he made it but, like the burros on Hati Khollu, they only would go so far and we had to carry our packs the rest of the way to camp. Some people make camp right where the porters stopped, as Mesili's group did, and others go about a mile and a half further to "Campemento Argentino" but we wanted to camp between those spots at the top of the rock ridge. The rock became steep at this point so we put on our harnesses and roped up to climb on glacier from there. We did find a nice camp sight but it took us an hour and a half to chop tent platforms out of the hard ice. And all this at 17,000 ft.! But we ended up with a nice camp and settled in. The sun set was around 6:30 PM but we lost direct sunlight at 4:15. The temperature dropped markedly so we quickly made a hot dinner and crawled into our tents for a long night.

Thursday, June 6, 2000. This day was all about resting, eating and acclimatizing. We sang songs, packed gear and generally had a nice day. Unfortunately a large rock was disturbed and it rolled down onto one of our ropes that was lying out to dry. We lost about 25 ft. of it due to the rope being pinched and a number of wands were broken. A group discussion ensued about the summit climb and we ended up deciding to travel as two rope teams of two. With our summit packs ready, water bottles filled and our bellies full of food we crawled into our tents for some sleep. With 12 hours of darkness every night and the cold which came at sunset (the temperature at night was averaging in the mid teens) we were getting pretty tired of being holed up in the tents but at least we got lots of sleep. Especially the night before heading to the summit.

Friday, June 7, 4AM. We pulled out of camp in the black, cold night. It was hard to climb fast in the thin air but we needed to get moving enough to keep our bodies warm. About an hour into the climb we started to lose feeling in our toes. We climbed faster but it was hard to breath and the coldness just wouldn't leave us. We considered going back to camp. We had met some climbers on their way out who had failed to summit as a few of them got frost-bite on their toes and fingers. I couldn't get the image out of my mind. Was a summit worth that? Probably not, but we weren't ready to give in yet. Besides, we had planned it so that we would reach the base of the ridge at sunrise. To get up onto the top of the ridge required climbing a 45 degree slope for 400 ft. and we wanted to do that in daylight. But we got there too early and we were then faced with either climbing it in the dark, where we might have to do stationary belays making us even colder, or turning around.

The climber with the coldest toes chose to lead the climb up the ridge. Maybe that would help warm him up. He got up half way and lost the trail. What he actually came upon was a fairly good sized burgshrund. He finally found the crossing and continued up into the dark while the rest of us danced in circles with hope of avoiding frost-bite. Soon we were all standing up on the top of the ridge running around but not yet warm. It was with great relief that we saw some light in the Eastern sky and as we began to warm the sun sprang up and soon bathed us in its relative warmness. A pink hue covered everything as the route appeared in front of us. Beauty and warmth coupled with our excitement. After a few minutes of photo taking we started up the ridge path.

Excitement slowly gave way to the drudgery of climbing a glacier at almost 19,000 ft. but spirits remained high and soon we found ourselves at the base of the summit pyramid. We now had a choice to make: Either take the standard route up a thin ridge to the right or go straight up the 600 ft. face of 50 degree ice. We started toward the ridge but a fairly slow team of Germans got in front of us. Not wanted to be stuck behind them for the rest of the climb smiles shot from climber to climber and we started up the face. The lead climber put in a number of running belays using the six pickets we had and we climbed and we climbed for what seemed an eternity. The climber at the rear had to clean all of the pro which got in his way causing some problems and much cussing. Just as we were certain that we had made a terrible mistake I looked up and saw our first rope team standing next to each other smiling down on me and offering encouragement. The were on top! And I wasn't far away. Those last few feet seemed like hundreds but once we topped out the cussing turned to smiles, hugs and Rolos.

The summit itself was rather small and there were at least 15 other climbers up there so we piled up as best we could and took photos. The views were amazingly beautiful as we looked back to Condoriri and the peaks we had been on just days before. Hey, this trip was starting to be a pretty good one. But for now we needed to think about getting down. The standard ridge path fell away at a steep angle and as we started down it we realized that maybe the face climb was actually safer. We put some pro in at some sketchy spots and got off that thing as quickly as possible and still climb safely. The climb down from there was leisurely and we took many photos and breaks.

Once back in camp we looked at the numbers: we got from camp to the summit in six and a half hours and we got back to camp in three. Not bad for a bunch of lowlanders.

So on Saturday, June 8, 2000 we broke camp for the last time, hoisted our packs onto our backs, roped up one more time and made our way down the glacier, past the first camp, down the rock pile, along the moraine, past the toe of the glacier and out to Zongo Pass where our van was waiting for us. Painless. We had just climbed to almost 20,000 ft. and no one got sick or hurt. A feeling of great accomplishment surged through the entire group and the ride back to town was full of happy banter.

Back in La Paz we ate a nice dinner, drank beer and retold the stories to each other. The next day, Sunday, June 9, day 21, we bought the last of the gifts for friends and family back home and shot those last photos of the strange and interesting culture that had surrounded us for three weeks now. Taxi cabs met us at 6:30 PM and after thanks and tips for our now friends at the hotel we were whisked away to the airport. One thing that had surprised all of us was how punctual everyone was in Bolivia. From my previous experience in Peru and from what everyone had told us we expected to spend untold hours waiting for rides, burros, food... everything. But not one thing was late in three weeks. That is until we get to the airport to fly on American Airlines. Ironic, eh? The flight was two hours late and we had a less than two hour layover in Miami the next morning to catch a connecting flight. In short, we missed the plane, got transferred to Northwest Airlines, went through Detroit and showed up in Seattle seven hours late. It meant that every one of us couldn't count on our original rides home. But in the end it all worked out and by 8PM I found myself in my favorite Mexican restaurant with four of my best friends telling stories, stuffing my belly and thinking about familiar food, hot showers, drinkable water and loved ones.......