Andean vacation. Volcano San Jose. Base Camp
Andean vacation. Volcano San Jose. High camp
Andean vacation. Volcano San Jose. Summit
The snow fell for 36 hours. We lay in the tent and diligently tried to sleep. Simply to avoid going nuts. Visibility outside the tent was about five meters, and there was nothing to do out there. Well, we did crawl out periodically to shovel snow away from the sides of the tent so it wouldn’t collapse on us under its weight and arrange a “Dyatlov Pass” for us. By “we crawled out,” I mostly mean our companion — the least trained in prolonged tundra-style lying around. Every time we poked our noses out of the sleeping bags and wondered whether the snow needed clearing, it turned out the snow had already been cleared without us. Spitsbergen whiteout and Kotzebue blizzards trained my hibernation skills well.
When the snowfall ended, we had a meter and a half of wet snow. Wading waist-deep (well, okay, waist-deep for me) through wet, sticky snow with 25 kg on your back is a thoroughly unproductive activity. Avalanche danger rose to unacceptable levels. So we lay low for another day. The sun there is hot and should settle the snow to tolerable limits within a day.
On the morning of January 10 it was time to assess the situation.
It looked like this around us.
The snow had settled quite a bit, thanks to the local hot sun. On higher spots the rocks were exposed, but one step aside — and you’d sink from knee-deep to “up to your waist.” The snow wasn’t dense, and when you sank into it you reached the very uneven rocky surface beneath, whose behavior you couldn’t predict through the snow. All avalanche-prone areas (and especially the planned traverse to Marmolejo along the ridge) remained seriously dangerous for several more days. Waiting those few days for the snow to settle completely — we no longer had time. Descending and going to Marmolejo by the standard route, as we did last year, also wasn’t possible — no time left. Especially considering how high the rivers must have been with all that snow. We had enough trouble last time without any fresh snowfall, and now waiting for morning at every river crossing until the water dropped… you get the idea — no time. So Marmolejo once again refused to accept us, and we decided to go down.
We sighed, packed up, and headed off.
The descent was mediocre — slippery, and every time you had no idea which boulder would be under your foot in the next snowdrift.
Luckily, from 4800 downward we started meeting more and more people heading up after the snowfall, leaving behind an increasingly well-trodden trail.
The lake we walked to on January 1.
We descended to the lake at about 3900, where the German-Australians had camped when we were heading up to base camp. No one was there, so we stayed the night.
Sunset lighting all around.
In the morning I wandered around the lake looking for liquid water, and at the same time photographed the tent and the lake.
And we’re heading there.
Trudged down. Almost immediately ran into a huge group of Czechs (they stretched nearly from the refuge to the lake). And yesterday we met two smaller Czech groups. Feels like the whole Czech Republic went to the mountains.
Czech artwork. Show-offs.
A small avalanche came down. Not big, but we were already low enough.
Lower and lower, less and less snow. Here’s a flower already.
When a tourist has nothing to do, they build cairns taller than themselves.
Such nice boulders.
The refuge is visible. Very clearly you can see that all life here exists in narrow strips along the streams.
We had tea at the refuge, soaked our limbs in the pond, chatted with the folks hanging out there.
Then further down. Past flowers.
And plump little grasshoppers.
Descended into the valley.
I made one last pass among the flowers.
Goodbye, San José — thanks for the meeting. And we’ll have to come back for Marmolejo; it clearly doesn’t want to part with us.
That’s it for the San José ascent — but not yet for our wandering in the Andes.
