‘There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.’ – Beverly Sills
Interested in hiking the Cotopaxi volcano in Ecuador? This post is all about my own unsuccessful attempt at reaching Cotopaxi’s summit. If you want more information on preparing for the Cotopaxi hike, stay tuned for an FAQ post or check out some of the other wonderful blogs sharing this information.
After spending a few weeks acclimatizing with various hikes around the region, it was time. I had spent weeks gazing at the Cotopaxi volcano from Ambato when it chose to peek out from the clouds, often shrouding its summit. Before this, during the lockdown in Ayampe, I had dreamt of the day I could go hiking again, feeling my breath bite, and the cold hit fresh, pushing my body and mind to reach my goal.
Plus Cotopaxi is accessible to most hikers, so it felt like a good birthday hike to complete. It could not be too bad, right? I had climbed Kilimanjaro, which was only a few meters smaller.
I was almost cocky, with a sheer belief it was possible. Willpower had certainly got me through before, and I assumed it could get me through again.
Turns out this would be a lesson in how the mountain is always in control.
Our first day started tranquil enough. After driving up to the car park at 4,600 m (15,100 ft) below the José F. Ribas Refugio, with our guide- we began. Things had improved since Quilotoa when I had to lie down every 5 minutes at 2500m. Now I was at 4600m and able to breathe- more or less.
Or maybe it was because the path headed straight in the direction of Cotopaxi’s summit. It appeared close, touchable- the hues of pink black burned sand met with the snow, which marked the start of what would be the most challenging part of the climb.
The air was still. Clouds seemed to part and burn away. Workers from the Refugio passed us and cheered. We were the only ones climbing Cotopaxi that night.
Lights flickered on at the Refugio, and we were greeted with an antibacterial spray. Ceilings are high in the Refugio and cold licked every corner. We put layers and more layers on as we packed small bags for the summit and discussed our hiking plan.
The conversation continued over warm soup and gallons of tea. I tried to follow the Spanish, but my mind wandered back over the past six months, what a bubble it had been. How had we had made it here?
I tried to prepare mentally, but my brain did not feel up to speed. Instead, I went through the physical notions to prevent altitude sickness– water, water, and more water? Check. Eat even when not hungry? Check. Wear everything, so I am warm? Check. Take a painkiller just in case? Check.
The list went on. As if going through my practical ritual notions would mean success.
We left at 12.30am, slightly late. No one mentioned the rattling windows, which was the soundtrack to our few hours of sleep. Too much wind, maybe? Our guide did not think so, so we got up as planned. I was the only one who hastily forced a bread roll down, slathered with a sickly sweet jam. Then we left.
The stillness of yesterday was replaced with the wind. It roared before it bit, to the point that I had to steady myself at times. I was not overly surprised by this after a similar experience on Kilimanjaro summit night. Still, my friends who had successfully reached the summit of Cotopaxi did not mention any wind.
I pushed this thought aside as we climbed higher, remembering their comments about starry skies and soft snow. We certainly had starry skies, with the twinkling lights of life below becoming ever dimmer, the stars and life above brighter. Shooting star flashes came and went, and I wished for a safe climb.
It began to snow. Despite the gallons of water I consumed before the hike, I was desperate to drink water but also too cold to stop. Eventually, I gave in. I was worried about slowing people down, so I hastily chugged the near-frozen water and continued on.
Snow beat into our eyes, freezing the little skin we had exposed and making us walk heads bent. When I needed reminding of why I was there, I would stop and look up at the stars above.
The snow was not soft. Our guide expressed some surprise at how the sand was frozen, peaking orange through the layer of ice, as his headlight danced the familiar route up the summit. Yet today, it was not to be seen.
Any footprints from nights previous were gone. We quickly ate protein bars and clipped our crampons on. He attached a rope and gave us ice axes. I quietly tried to remember how to use this.
The frozen sand was a challenge to walk on. Every step demanded our full attention, but often we would still hit rocks and slip regardless, along the narrow ridge we were walking. I tried to use one hiking pole in my other hand but soon scrapped that idea in fear of dropping it down the sheer slope alongside us.
My hand- pretty rigid thanks to the warm clothes our guide lent me, gripped uncertainly on the ice ax, switching it to be mountainside at every turn. It was tough. Minutes felt like hours as I tried to continue with my deep breathing and repeat my motivational mantra in my head.
I can do this, I am capable- how long has it been? I can do this…
We began crossing small but seemingly bottomless ice crevasses. My heart dropped each time I jumped over one, and I humbly accepted I would not be attempting Everest or any other technical climb anytime soon. Yet Cotopaxi summit seemed closer than ever, and I was hoping we would make it.
Initially, I did not notice that our guide was stopping and using his ice ax to hit the snow. I figured it was routine and was just relieved to have a moment to catch my ever-elusive breath.
Silence reigned as we left the wind behind. We began to get a better grip on the snow. Our guide told us this section was steeper, along with another section higher up but easier.
I began to question this as we climbed higher and higher. My mantra was lost to exhaustion and wandering thoughts coming, going.
Crack.
A sound broke the silence as I was brought back to the moment. The noise was loud and close. Our guide also spun around, asking which direction I thought it came from.
Avalanche? But it was only 4am.
I was too tired to follow the conversation, so my friend and guide translated to English as he began hammering in the snow again. Turns out there was a reason for that, and for why he was stopping a lot to dance his headlight up the invisible trail.
Rocks had frozen under a layer of rain, then the snow had fallen on top. This had created a dangerous mixture of trail, which our guide had not seen before. He also suspected this was why the snow was already shifting, as it was loosely sat on top of the other layers.
What did this mean, though?
‘It might be too dangerous.’
The realization of this dawned on the fear the mountain had already instilled in me. Our guide wanted us to make it, so suggested we try climbing slightly higher to see if it improved. Silence weighed heavy as we spun at any sound, breathing heavy.
Unfortunately, after ten minutes, nothing had changed. It was too dangerous because snow could shift and we could fall. Plus, there was an increased risk of avalanche.
It was a moment of mixed emotions- acceptance, exhaustion as the adrenaline waned, a steady determination to return, and a fear at having to descend Cotopaxi in the dark.
‘Emma, you lead, as I have to manage the rope at the back.’
I gulped. My weak headlight hesitantly attempted to find our path as I slowly began to descend. At times it completely disappeared. The silence was almost deafening. I had to call back each time to confirm I was on trial, but it was sometimes impossible to tell.
Soon the lights of the Refugio could be seen below. Relief quickly was replaced with fear as we reached the sand. It seemed even steeper than on ascent of Cotopaxi, and I could not see which way was best to go. Left, right, or straight?
Straight! Our guide called from behind.
Really? I pushed away any remaining hesitation and stepped onto the ice. One step, two steps…..on the third, my left foot slipped, and I began to plummet down the sheer drop. My ice ax had flown out of my hand before I even had time to register what was happening. My hiking pole joined it not long after.
I felt eerily calm as my gloves desperately tried to grab onto the earth to slow down. The rope holding me then pulled my friend, who came hurtling down behind me, unable to find grip with her ice ax.
Time slowed as rocks around us began to run. Two minutes felt like ten as finally our rope pulled and stopped us. Ahead were large rocks we thankfully avoided meeting. I led breathing heavily for a minute, as my friend told me to wait and breathe.
Are you hurt?
Unbelievably I was not, despite my knee contouring at a weird angle as I fell. I looked back up at the path, and we slowly made our way back up, our guide explaining how it had taken a minute to find a surface to be able to secure the ice ax. Again I was humbled by the task of hiking Cotopaxi.
Yes- our conditions were abnormal- but it reminded me to never underestimate the mountain.
Soon after, we made it to the sand and could detach the rope, with my role as leader thankfully ending. We continued down a steep alternative route to quickly reach the Refugio. After the hard ice, the soft sand welcomed us as we slid relatively gracefully down. With pure exhaustion now creeping in, I kept my eyes on the Refugio. All I wanted to do was curl up in my sleeping bag.
And eventually, we did. After 5 hours, we went back, our breakfast untouched, but we were different. Cotopaxi had made its mark- not just with frozen water bottles, frozen runny noses, and ice growing on our backpacks, but mentally too.
After several hours of sleep, I woke to the sun rising orange above the clouds. We ate pancakes and drank coffee as our guide could finally disclose his own fear about the situation. As a mountain rescuer, he has seen it all, and the stories affirmed what I already knew- always pick a qualified guide you can trust.
Obviously, we were both disappointed to not make it to the summit, but we respected and trusted his opinion, which made all the difference, unlike Tungurhgua.
Will I try hiking Cotopaxi again? Maybe one day. But it is a hike that requires preparation and money, of course (see my FAQ for more details). However, I have no regrets for trying and turning back. As always, the mountain is in control.
