Hiking Aconcagua

Ascending and descending the changing landscapes of the Principal Cordillera, along the Chilean–Argentine border.

Climbing through the Andes to Argentina’s highest peak. Article by Nathan Merlano.

It’s 3.30 am on 20 January 2020 and temperatures have dropped to 25 degrees below zero. Here, at Camp Colera, the last of four camps along the ascent to Argentina’s highest peak, the wind howls and thrashes against our tents. The chill permeates our every bone. Reaching some 6,962 metres into the atmosphere, Mount Aconcagua is the tallest mountain in the western hemisphere, with a name whose origins are many and contested. Some say the name derives from the Quechuan people’s words for “stone sentinel,” while others believe it comes from the Aymara people’s phrase for “white ravine.”

Two years prior, my brother Matt and I had set our sights on pushing for the summit of Aconcagua. Over the past few years, trail running, climbing and mountaineering have been the means by which I have managed my physical and mental wellbeing – and what started for us, many years ago, as a longing for adventure and the environment, evolved naturally into a desire to expand our physical and mental limits.

This monumental endeavour also became an opportunity to open conversations around men’s mental health in our local Brisbane community. In joining Team Beyond Blue and by climbing Aconcagua’s peak, we wanted to raise awareness of and help battle the stigma surrounding mental illness – to overcome our fears of vulnerability and to move beyond our comfort zones.

Marching through the barren lower valleys of the Aconcagua Provincial Park on the first four days to base camp, we notice that life seems to barely squeeze through the landscape – only small arid pastures of huecú and coirones grasses congregate around the dampest parts of the valley.

From Plaza Argentina Base Camp to Aconcagua’s peak, the trail traverses deep glacial ravines and fractured rock formations. These have been caused by millennia of icy conditions and low temperatures carving into the mountain. The environment here is diverse, presenting myriad landscape typologies as we ascend the slopes. In places such as this, nature both humbles and intimidates, the mountains seeming to claim sovereignty over those who would dare to climb them.

The higher the trail ascends, the sharper the transition between night and day. One moment you’re basking in the warm sunlight that radiates across volcanic andesite, the next you’re swallowed in darkness and the temperature has plunged to minus 20 and below. And with less oxygen at higher altitudes, the frost that accompanies nightfall often brings with it frequent breathing disturbances and disrupted sleep.

Even with international headlines constantly reporting on climate change, the melting of our ice caps and the shrinking of our glaciers, its often difficult, while at home, to accurately envisage the current state of our climate. The effects of climate change, however, are made crystal clear in the upper camps of Aconcagua. Here, geological formations – where bedrock is held together by ice – are becoming further prone to rock and icefall, as temperatures rise and melting increases.

The once ice-and-snow-covered portion of the climb known as La Canaleta was previously traversed using crampons and ice axes. The reduction of snow, ice and scree on the mountain in recent years has now left this section bare, with the gravel, loose stones and large boulders making the push for the summit more labour-intensive than ever.

What’s more, harvesting enough ice and snow for drinking water has become an issue. With limited resources at Camp Colera, there became a need to carry extra water from lower camps. Day after day of this, while “climbing high and sleeping low,” meant we effectively traversed the mountain twice – porting half our gear up to a camp one day, then descending and moving the rest of our equipment up to make camp the following afternoon.

The halfway point of the trek – and the summit of Aconcagua – ends on a barren plateau, where hikers are flanked by some of the most breathtaking views. Nevado del Plomo (at 6,070 metres) and Cerro Ameghino (at 5,935 metres), both poke their heads up in the distance, and gazing out over the expanse, we can observe the literal curvature of the earth. Greeted with blue skies and brief gusts of wind, our arrival is in stark juxtaposition to the previous few days, where blizzards had rolled through Camp Colera, prompting several expedition teams to turn back on their final ascent.

In a time where we are so often isolated from the natural world and divorced from nature, the experiences in the mountains are indispensable – putting into perspective the fragility of our world and the places that are so often out of sight and out of mind. Of the 18 days we spent on Aconcagua, I spent 14 of those thinking I would find happiness at the top. Yet, most of the fulfillment and growth occurred while we were climbing it.