Patagonia, Part 9: Mojón Rojo

Photos

Strava

Saturday:

Two days after climbing the Guillaumet, I met Franz (Rolo’s name for Francesco, the Italian guide we met) in the supermercado. We talked about our future plans and his idea was the same as Rolo’s: to climb Cerro Solo on the coming Sunday. His plan was to hike to a bivy past the Tyrolean above Campamento Agostini on Saturday night and leave there at 2 a.m. I mentioned that we were thinking of doing it as a day climb from town and he said that is fine but that we should leave at 11 p.m. Ouch! That had us searching for other options. I pinged Dylan and he suggested Mojón Rojo. I conferred with Rolo too. He liked that peak and said it has great views. When I asked what the weather was like on Saturday — not Sunday —, Rolo knew what I was thinking: of doing Mojón Rojo on Saturday and Cerro Solo on Sunday. He advised against it, thinking that the winds would beat us up too much on Saturday.

Our route is the one marked "1".

 We packed the night before, ignoring the advice of our two experts. Rolo, who said not to try to do Rojo because of the forecasted wind, and Dylan, who said to bring boots and ’pons just in case. We were ambitious, yes, but also lazy and the thought of carrying the boots that far was too much. We’d go for it in our trail runners with Microspikes and use a single pole with an ice axe as a backup. I was starting to throw gear into my alpine pack when Derek said, “I think we can go in just our small white pack and the UD vest.” Nice. Derek, a packing savant, then went to work on the white pack. When he was done, in just a flash, he had a tight package with both Nomics strapped on the back, handles sticking out on either side, making for easy pick-up and hand-off to another person. He demonstrated this utility to his partner and his mother ad nauseam. Impressive stuff. With this pack on his back, his ice tools were “at the ready.” He could whip them out a moment’s notice to fend off a charging Argentinian yeti (the most ferocious sub-species) or scale a frozen waterfall. His BUFF headband completed the ensemble: he was an alpine samurai.

The next morning the Samurai and I got a later start than planned. Samurais are not ninjas, they can’t see in the dark, and taking a headlamp violated the noble tenet of laziness, which is part of the alpine samurai way (“light and fast” as they call it - but I know better). So, at 5:20, we left the apartment and headed north. It was so windy, that I had to put on my shell to get the trailhead. Once there, the ascent had me generating enough heat to shed it. We hiked the Fitz Roy trail to Campamento Poincenot, which was a regular tent city! I was shocked how many tents and people were there. It makes sense, though, as it is an ideal staging ground for a number of great hikes. It was here that we made our first route finding mistake. We headed up the south side of the Rio Blanco…

We followed a great trail until it ended at a peninsula. Fast, deep water cut progress on three sides. We searched in vain for a crossing and then wrestled with the decision to wade the river, but that looked cold and dangerous, as it was a bit deep. It might have approached waist deep and we weren’t sure we’d be able to hold our position. Still, we were about to try it until I realized, duh, we could just hike back to the regular trail, cross the river at the bridge and then head up the correct side.

On our way down to do just this, Derek found a possible route across the river. It involved a leap so far and so daring that I obviously went first, based on my characteristic leaping ability. On the Guillaumet my leaping had landed me in the menacing maw of the bergschrund. Now it put me in the raging rapids of the Rio Blanco… For my leaping characteristic is not one of prowess, but of failure. There was no point in Derek leaping first only for me to be swept downstream. I readied myself and didn’t deliberate, for thinking too much about such a leap would just convince me I couldn’t make it. I launched across the gap, confident I’d live, feeling assured I’d grasp the edge of the smooth white boulder. Indeed I did, but my feet, clad in the friction-free soles of my Neutron G’s, slipped off and I dangled in the torrent. I held fast, though, and pulled myself out. Crisis averted. Even Derek’s foot slipped off a little on his leap, but it lacked my drama.

Pure leaping talent...

The going went smoothly for a ways, once having to climb up to skirt around a tight rocky passage of the river. On the other side of this, we had to cross the river to get onto the correct side of the lake, which we could tell was getting close because the slope all of a sudden stopped. We couldn’t see the lake yet, but knew it was going to be awesome. I found a complicated series of boulders where I could step from one to the other and we were across.

Worth just to get to here. Amazing stuff. The spires we can see, starting with the little on on the left is De l'S, St Exupery, Rafael, and Poincenot. Fitz Roy remains obscured here,

Laguna Sucia has got to be one of the coolest lakes in the world. Viewing it, we knew the day was a success, regardless of what else we got done. The lake has immense, steep rock walls surrounding it on two sides, originating from the huge ice falls, which hang above the walls. Above the ice fall is the towering Poincenot. Poincenot is the Middle Cathedral Rock of the massif. MCR is a huge, 2000-foot cliff in Yosemite. A wall so big and so impressive that it would dominate the scene if it wasn’t for the fact that it lies opposite El Capitan. Poincenot sits directly next to Fitz Roy. Poincenot’s advantage, though, is that Fitz Roy is frequently completely hidden by swirling clouds and hence Poincenot can mostly be held in appropriate awe.

We traversed around the lake, mostly staying right next to the shore. This was a bit tedious, as the going was upon boulders, large and small, and a long ways. Near a prominent stream emptying into the lake, Derek found the first cairn, indicating it was time to head upwards. I led the way, following the cairns until I lost the track and any sight of another cairn. I led us upwards, off route, for 500 more feet before we realized my error. Derek took over the lead and led us back down. This was smart. I might have been inclined to try and cross the stream higher up, but there was verglas everywhere and this would have been exceedingly dangerous.

The higher we got above it, the cooler the color of the lake. Derek is requesting some "pre pee" (aka water).

We found the correct crossing and made our way safely to the other side, where Derek found more cairns and led upwards. He was climbing well and soon had a large and growing gap on me. We re-grouped at the bivy cave. Supposedly you can fit two small tents here. Very small and short tents. I’m not sure our First Light could fit. I think it would hit the roof of the cave. The shelter is so good, though, that you wouldn’t need a tent if you were going to bivy there. The problem, of course, would be if you didn’t bring a tent and this small bivy spot was occupied.

We continued above on the well-marked route. As we approached the glacier above, the angle eased and we started scrambling up smooth slabs, many of which were covered in verglas and gave us some pause, until we found we could wind our way past the icy sections. Once at the glacier, we donned our Microspikes and got out our poles and axes — one each.

Starting up the glacier, high above the lake

Moving up the glacier was easy and we mostly didn’t sink in much at all. Only a few steps did we plunge in to mid-calf depth. Derek led the way. We didn’t end up needing the ice axe at all, since the angle wasn’t very steep. Our pole was quite handy though. We got onto another rock section, just to avoid a bit of snow and keep our feet from getting too cold or wet. Above we got back on the snow and headed for the rocky ridge, marking the start of the final, rock ascent. This little (compared to everything) rock mountain was quite a bit bigger than it looked. We stashed Microspikes, poles, and axes once off the glacier. We had a bit to eat and then moved on.

Derek enjoying being in such an outrageous place.

We climbed up mostly talus to some steep scrambling with many loose rocks. It was not overly dangerous with care. The crux route finding was probably finding a solid traverse under the two big towers low on the ridge. Once around these we encountered some very exposed sections on the ridge, as the other side of Mojón Rojo plunges a couple thousand feet. The view of the Fitz Roy massif, especially Poincenot, were awe inspiring and intimidating. It was incredible to see such giants up close.

The crux climbing, besides the final block, was climbing the steep step that is prominent on the ridge. We got through it with a few 5th class moves.

De L'S, St Exupery, Rafael, and the immense Poincenot

Once we got above 2100 meters (the summit is 2210 meters), the wind raged, the clouds built, and some snow began to fly. We quickened our pace, as we’d come so far that we wanted to make sure we got the summit. I hoped visibility wouldn’t drop, as finding out way down in a white-out would have been challenging (note to self: learn how to use the navigation features of my Coros watch).

The final summit tower is rated (4+ or 5.7). It’s only 25 feet high, but in the cold and the full force of the wind, this had our full attention. Derek went up one way and I another. I spiraled around the pinnacle and part of my ascent was out of the wind. Derek then made a traverse of the summit pinnacle, descending my route. We made the top after 7h35m from our apartment and we immediately started down, as conditions were not enjoyable. Things went smoothly on the descent and we took a short lunch break back where we had stashed the Microspikes, poles, and axes.

Climbing the steep step below the summit, as the weather moves in.

The snow descent went easily and quickly. Derek tried to glissade at one point, but it wasn’t steep enough. Rolo told us that running shoes might be possible for this peak because the glacier travel was “flat.” I guess if you are one of the best Patagonian climbers of all time, “flat” is anything up to 30 degrees.

We reversed back to the cave and then down the trail to the stream crossing. Here we saw the first people since leaving the Fitz Roy Trail. Two climbers, a male and a female, with rather large packs had just crossing the stream and were heading upwards. We didn’t pass close enough to ask what their objective was. Back down at the lake, as we traversed back to the east, we first ran into another couple. They were planning to do our route the next day. Cool. A bit further on, a 3-person team was coming along the lake. Amazingly, it was Franz and his two clients — the three people with which we had shared the summit of the Guillaumet. It was such a nice coincidence. They are all so friendly. Franz asked for the beta on the route and I spewed all I could remember.

The summit tower. I started on the right skyline and crossed to this face, just blow the summit.

When we got to back to the east side of the lake we saw a team of four on the other side, the north side of the Rio Blanco. They looked perplexed with good reason. They needed to cross to our side and they couldn’t do it there. Derek and I waved and then headed east, along the edge of the river, looking for the crossing we used on the way up. We didn’t find the crossing we used, but I found another one. It was a bit advanced, as it required leaping onto a rock in the middle of the river that was right at the water level, meaning it was completely soaked and not much protruded above the water. Once across I hiked upstream to wave the other team down to our crossing. The first guy to join was also a guide. I showed him the way over. I even led the way out to the crux leap, but demurred from doing it again, as it would put me on the wrong side of the river and I’d have to do it a third time. He looked it over and said he’d be fine, but would have to take the packs of all his clients over himself. I hope everyone got across safely.

On the very summit. I'm lying on it and Derek is hanging from the top.

So, here I am in Patagonia teaching the guides where the routes go and how to get across the river. Some might say I’m a “guide’s guide”… Those “some” being my wife.

The rest of the way back was easy, but long. We hit the trailhead in Chaltén in just under 12 hours, but it was another 12 minutes back to the apartment. With our two route-finding errors, we’d managed to log over 22 miles and 8500 vertical feet. Sheri immediately fed us. It’s so nice having her here as our basecamp manager and meteorologist.

Derek descending from the summit