Build My Own FeedBD employee Chris Thomas summits Aguja Guillaumet in Argentine Patagonia
Black Diamond’s Warranty Service Development Manager Chris Thomas spent three and a half weeks earlier this year down in Argentine Patagonia, waiting and hoping for a shot at one of the region’s stunning summits. Below is his trip report with all the details, along with some great photos and video by his partner for the trip, climber/photographer Ben Ditto.
I never thought I would go to Patagonia. Yes, the peaks and towers are as pointy as they come, the cracks are stunning and beauty is unsurpassed. But all too common are stories of climbers spending months at a time in the range and, because of the heinous weather, never getting the chance to place even a single piece of gear. I didn’t think I could handle that. I get antsy if I sleep in past 7 a.m.—what in the world would I do if I had to wait around in a tent for a few weeks? I occasionally countered to myself that if I waited long enough I would certainly get the chance to climb something, but images of people’s faces covered in rime ice and tales of literally being blown over by the incessant western wind stood too prominently in the front of my mind.
Everything changed this summer. After finally finishing the Harvard Route on Mt. Huntington in Alaska, it felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted. I didn’t have to go back to the Tokositna Glacier anymore. It was easy, at first, to be OK with not going back to the mountains, to be satisfied. But just as quickly as the memories of cold toes, extreme dehydration and hallucinogenic exhaustion faded, so too did drug-like high that comes after a great adventure. I needed more. Cragging wasn’t going to be enough. But now, the next question: Where?
Ben Ditto walked into the warranty office here in SLC and half-jokingly asked if I wanted to go to Patagonia this winter. Without a moment’s hesitation, I surprised myself by saying yes. A couple of quick tune-up trips to Bozeman and Ouray for some alpine training, and before long we found ourselves in El Chalten, staring up at the massive granite towers of Patagonia.
I was amazed to arrive to picture-perfect weather. Three days of traveling had taken its toll, and although travel weary, we packed up our bags and planned for an immediate departure, not wanting to waste the precious high pressure. With our sights set on Poincenot, we fueled up with steak and mate, shouldered our bags, and zipped up our tents.
Ten steps into our journey, Ben and I looked at each other and knew we were blowing it—we needed some sleep before setting off on a 30-ish hour non-stop push. It just wasn’t happening, we were exhausted before even getting out of the campground. We settled for a 6 a.m. departure the next morning, and instead of going for the cumbre, we’d just cache our gear at Paso Superior in a snow cave, come back to town, and wait for the next weather window when we’d be rested up and ready for action. Poincenot would be sweet, but we had bigger goals for the trip, and didn’t want to risk ruling out a shot at the Cassarotto Pillar on Fitz Roy because we got smoked on a marginal weather window on our first day in the range.
Several weeks later: not a single period of good weather had lasted for more than 12 hours. We were glued to our computer screens, checking the latest meteograms and constantly scheming about the weather. We’d been keeping ourselves busy with cragging, bouldering, and consuming mucho litros of beer with our friends in town, but everyone was getting antsy. We came here to climb in the mountains, and like drunks peering in through the window of a closed bar, we needed some action.
An 18-ish hour weather window was expected to materialize in a day or two, and though we were skeptical, we didn’t have anything better to do, and hiked up to Paso Superior in a raging blizzard, planning to be poised for a shot as soon as the weather cleared. Day hikers looked at us like we were crazy when we told them of our plans, but that just spurred us on further.
After a frigid night in the snow cave we awoke to a truly surreal sight—an up-close and personal view of the Fitz Roy group plastered in rime ice and snow. It was going to take some time for all the new snow and ice to bake off, and the Cassarotto Pillar was out of the question. We planned on an evening departure for a shot at Whillans Route on Poincenot, the only route we figured we’d have a shot at considering the conditions. Lounging in the sun and eating as much food as possible in such an inspiring alpine arena was a great way to spend an afternoon!
Although spirits were high and we were having a blast, we got turned around at the bergshrund in chest deep snow—the avalanche risk was just too high, and the multi-thousand foot cliffs just below us commanded our attention. Back to camp, and back to Chalten, once again. I was supposed to be on a bus to El Calafate in just three days, the weather was looking to be marginal, and any chance of climbing something big had faded. Although it was a bummer, I was also relieved—not having to be so stressed out about the weather and what we were going to climb was a nice change of pace. I was content to go on some hikes over the next few days, go bouldering, and maybe even get some work done before getting back to SLC. I stopped looking at the meteograms.
Two days before my departure, Ben hatched a plan with the intention of pulling me out of my comfortable slum of mediocrity. We’d leave that night, at midnight, and go for a balls-to-the-wall assault-style mission on Guillaumet, via the classic Gullot Route. There was about 8-12 hours of decent weather expected for the next day—just enough to get up and back down. It wasn’t the Ferrari Route or the Cassarotto Pillar, but damn, it sure would be better than going home empty handed.
We left a house party in Chalten at midnight on the dot and took a taxi to the trailhead in a light rain. 5000 feet above us stood the summit of Aguja Guillaumet. As we hiked along the river bed and snuck past the fee station at Piedra Fraile, the light rain turned to a heavy downpour, and as we grinded up the infamous Polish Hill, the heavy downpour turned to a brutal blizzard. Gusts of wind knocked us over every few steps, and we were both soaked to the bone. Still in my running shoes, I desperately needed to find a place to change into my boots, but with nowhere to hide from the weather I couldn’t risk getting my bare feet and only spare pair of socks wet. In our stumbling in the early morning darkness we had missed a critical turn off to Piedra Negro, and found ourselves peering 1000 feet downhill at a headlamp illuminating a tent—we were screwed. Pissed at ourselves for the mistake, we descended quickly down the rocky elevation that we had worked so hard for, and snooped around for a cave, overhanging rock, or an unoccupied tent to wait out the storm in. Fortunately a team of three Argentine climbers were generous enough to let us share their tent, so we piled inside the cramped quarters and told jokes, stories and lies for a couple of hours while waiting for the weather to be a little less hostile.
Just like clockwork, about an hour before sunrise, the winds dissipated, the snow stopped falling, and it was time to get moving. It took us about another hour to get to the base of the route, not including the 20-minute nap we took lounging in the sun at Paso Guillaumet. We agreed to simul-solo the initial couloir, which made for ultra speedy travel. Perfect ice and nevé led all the way to the ridge. The climbing was always interesting but never desperate, and all of the waiting around and hiking in the rain instantly became worthwhile. We followed the knife-edge ridge for a couple of pitches with short boulder problems up to about 5.9 on perfect granite, hooting and hollering the whole way. The views of the ice cap, Piergiogio, the Torres, and of course the Cassarotto Pillar of Fitz Roy had us frothing at the mouth!
Obligatory summit pics preceded a seamless descent down the route, followed by 5000 feet of knee-jarring hiking back down to the river. A couple of unsuccessful hitchhiking attempts later, we gave up and just got a taxi back to town, where possibly the most profound one beer buzz I’ve ever had wrapped things up before crashing, hard!
In the end, and I mean this in a way that makes me smile, going to Patagonia and getting mostly bouted by the weather was both much different and much worse than my initial fears. It’s not so bad waiting around for high pressure—the hang is topnotch. Copious amounts of rare steak, red wine, and good friends make it pretty easy to wait out even the worst of storms. It was great to climb Guillaumet, but getting thrown into yet another tailspin like obsession did some real damage. I have a feeling this one is going to be a harder than the last. Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy! As the vicious cycle continues, the picture-perfect Patagonian skyline is a heavy albatross to carry on my back and in my brain. I’ll be back!
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