In the perfect silence of the equatorial night, the snow crunching under our crampons was the only sound to be heard. Suddenly, a much louder, discharge-like sound sent shivers down my spine. A split second later, the snow under my feet gave in. I fell a few centimeters, and then stopped. I the strong moonlight I could see that the area around me has caved in. Still, the snow bridge supported my weight, and I could continue the relentless ascent, panting for breath in the dry, oxygen poor environment of Ecuadorian Avenue of the Volcanoes.

…

Ecuador is a small country dominated by the Andes. Its most striking natural feature is its volcanic backbone, the 325 km long Avenue of the Volcanoes, with snow-clad, free standing volcanoes strung like beads on a string. Nine of Ecuador’s highest peaks, all of them over 5000m, dominate the lush valleys of the Avenue. The highest one, Chimborazo (6310m), was long believed to be the highest mountain in the world. Most of the volcanoes does not pose serious technical difficulties, and can be climbed in one day, provided one is well acclimatized and accompanied by an experienced mountaineering guide.

Lured by the call of the mountains, we arrived in Ecuador’s capital Quito in June 2006. The World Cup was under way, and the city, as well as the whole country, was gripped by football fever. National colors were displayed everywhere, and people walked the streets dressed in supporter t-shirts. The atmosphere was charged with expectations for a big fiesta, and everybody was talking about football. The city itself was huge, but we felt safe and welcomed there. Since the city is situated at 3000m of altitude, sightseeing in the beautiful historical center was the first step in our acclimatization process. During the next two days, we acclimatized by hiking the highlands around the indigenous marked town of Otavalo, and by scaling Guagua Pichincha, the 4794m tall active volcano dominating the city. On the fourth day, we were ready for the adventure – climbing three of the Avenue’s volcanoes: the dangerously crevassed Cayambe (5790m), the popular Cotopaxi (5897m) and the biggest of them all – Chimborazo.

The bead string of the volcanoes stretches alongside the Pan-American Highway. The traffic on the narrow line of asphalt was noisy and chaotic, dominated by overloaded, old trucks with bald tires. I felt relieved when we left the highway behind and begun the long, bumpy drive up the Andes. Soon, we left the tropical vegetation behind and entered the high altitude páramo ecosystem. We drove by a few dilapidated farm houses, small flocks of lamas grazing the yellow, dry grass, and solitary figures well wrapped up against the cold in layers of colorful lama-wool textiles; for most of the drive though we did not see a living soul. After a couple more hours’ drive, we reached our first destination, the Cayambe hut (4650m). The beautiful and modern refuge was nicely furnished and spacious, but bitterly cold. After a freezing night and a day spent drilling glacier techniques, we ate a high-carb, high-calorie dinner and went to bed early, only to be woken up at midnight. We set out one hour later, under starlit sky. The climb was tough in this altitude; focused on feeling for the crevasses in the dark, I kept on forgetting to breath, not a good thing at this oxygen-poor environment. I had to repeat over and over in my head the breathing routine imposed by Jacobo, our guide: one step-one breath, one step-one breath, one step-one breath, one step…. Seven grueling hours, and one collapsed snow bridge later, we reached the summit. Here, I could easily smell sulphur, even though the crater itself was hidden under the glacier. The view from the top was obscured by a sea of clouds, punctuated by a few neighboring volcanic cones. Soon, cold wind and altitude forced us off the peak. The descent took just three and a half hours; in the light of the morning sun I could fully appreciate just how crevassed the glacier was.

Two days later, after a rest day spent bathing in natural warm springs and relaxing at the beautiful Hacienda La Cienaga, we drove to the heart of the Cotopaxi National Park. The Cotopaxi Jose F. Rivas Refuge (4800m), one of the most frequented refuges in Ecuador, was brimming with school children, who, used to the altitude and unaffected by it, kept on screaming, laughing and running around the place. The refuge emptied late in the afternoon, allowing us to take just a short nap before once again being woken up at midnight. This night, we were far from the only climbers on the route. Two other parties set out from the refuge shortly before us, and on turning around, we could see a long line of torches coming from the nearby camping grounds. As time went by, and the steepness of the slope did not abate, more and more of the torches disappeared down the slope, soon leaving only the toughest few to finish the climb along a well-trodden path in the snow. The last part of the climb was even steeper, with lots of loose snow accumulated after the recent snowfalls. For every two steps forward I slid one step back. Halfway up the steep slope, the person I was roped to slid and fell. Sliding helplessly down the slope, he threatened to pull me behind. Luckily, the fatigue and the altitude did not dull my reflexes – just before I felt the pull, I cast myself on my ice axe, thus stopping the slide. Soon, we resumed the climb and a short time afterwards we reached the summit. Here, I could gaze into the crater, desperately ignoring the fact that we were standing on one of Ecuador’s most active, and potentially most dangerous, volcanoes. A few other climbers from the refuge joined us on the top; hardly any of the camping grounds climbers did the same. After taking in the view of Ilinizas, a huge twin-peaks volcano close by, we turned around and started the ascent.

This night, we drove back to the Hacienda La Cienaga to prepare mentally for the biggest challenge yet – Chimborazo. The next morning, we set out for the long drive that took us past towns, villages and vicuña herds to Whymper refuge (5000m) at the foot of the volcano. The mountain was looming just over it, its huge bulk covered by snow and broken ice, its peak shrouded in clouds. In front of the refuge, vicuñas were grazing between symbolical tombstones placed there by the families of the climbers who had perished on the mountain. Inside the refuge, a poster on a wall showed the smiling faces of a German couple gone missing on Chimborazo a year before. The atmosphere was tense. The tiny refuge was cold and uninviting; the loft we spent the night at was drafty due to holes in the walls and warped windows. The cold, wind and altitude kept the sleep at bay for long, agonizing hours. By the time the climb was to begin, my husband got ill, complaining about chest pains. Climbing the mountain was out of the question now; the first priority became to get him to lower altitudes. At brake of dawn, we ate our breakfast, and drove off the mountain, headed for a hot spring town of Banos. I was disappointed by not being able to scale Chimborazo, but the mountains will always be there, waiting for me to try again. (Unless of course, this being a volcano, it blows its top off…)