Cerro Torre evil spirits   Four weeks of climbing up and down the glacier of the Torre under rain, snow and wind. Ten more days and we'll be back in Italy...   The weather had cleared and we were ready to try climbing that wonderful mixed climbing route.   Last week, at around sunset, I had managed to open a 30-metre length. It looked like the weather would clear up, but the following morning we woke up to the usual bad weather: strong winds, light snow and showers of dust and pebbles. I returned to the belay to continue my climb but the sound of pebbles hitting my helmet was beginning to worry me as they were getting bigger and bigger all the time. I decided I would climb back down, which turned out to be a smart decision given that the weather was by now much worse. I left a fixed rope at the pitch and two bags of gear tied to the belay at the bottom. We then returned to base camp.   I started off with Ricky knowing that this would be my last attempt and that we would have to take all our gear with us on our way back, including the portaledge set up at the bottom of the wall. Halfway up, under Cerro Adela, the not-so-bad weather turned into a snowstorm. In the late afternoon we got to the wall where our flying apartment - two cubic metres - was waiting for us.   I realized how much snow had actually fallen when I saw that the six metres of rock between the glacier and the portladege had all but disappeared. During the night it continued to snow and strong winds blew - every now and then we had to hit the roof of the portaledge from the inside in order to get rid of the snowdrifts that had accumulated and that were weighing down on the structure. With all that shaking and stirring it felt like we were fighting against an evil spirit that haunted the Torre...and that's how our short adventure began...only a few hours, but it felt like a lifetime.   The following day the weather gave us some respite and as we climbed we realized just how much snow had fallen. I caught sight of a length of rope that, after a few metres, simply disappeared in the snow. I couldn't believe my eyes! I had arrived at the belay...but the high one at the first pitch! Unbelievable! A first in twenty years of mountaineering!   However, all our gear was down below, at the other belay, goodness knows how many metres down.   I have no idea how many cubic metres of snow we shovelled. The most frustrating thing was that slabs of snow would continue to fall right where I was digging. The next morning we returned to where we had dug a hole, and guess what? The hole was full up with snow! How depressing! The climb was impossible to do!   At great speed and with bigger and bigger slabs of snow now falling down on us, we returned to our little home. With our morale at its lowest, sitting there drinking instant coffee, I noticed that the inside straps were taught as violin strings and the whole structure was making the strangest noises. Evil spirits... no... it was the ice that, moving half a metre a day, had settled around the lower straps of the portaledge, dragging the whole structure downwards. I decided there and then to cut the lower straps before the whole thing collapsed!   We had already decided to bail and get some distance between the wall and ourselves as soon as possible before all hell broke loose.   What worried us the most was the long crossing below the Cerro Adela under the inevitable bombardment of collapsing seracs from above that were all the more unstable because of the amount of snow that had fallen in the past days. From where we were, we couldn't see the slope but we could sure hear the sound of the slabs of snow hitting the deck. Boy, were we in trouble. There was no way out of this one...we had to get out of there before it was too late, even if visibility was poor.   Time passed and the snowdrift below us was getting higher and higher by the minute because of the continuous fall of the snow slabs. While we ate, silently out of worry, we heard a deafening noise and had the feeling of being swept away.   Holy sh?*! An avalanche had hit our side of the mountain, sweeping away all the anchors. We exchanged looks and got the hell out of there...   The situation was critical so we decided to drag the portaledge to under the snowdrift in a flat area that was a little safer. But as we were climbing down a snowslide hit us and swept us to the foot of the snowdrift...fortunately without any consequences. We then prepared our gear and decided, with a great deal of bitterness, to abandon the haul bag with the portaledge hanging from the wall. It was way too heavy to carry in those extreme conditions.   We come first, then our gear.   A last goodbye to the portaledge that cost me so much time and energy to create: it was an achievement I'm proud of. Adios amigo ...till we meet again!   We distanced ourselves from the wall, each with a haul bag and Ricky also carrying another bag of gear. We crossed a heavily crevassed but relatively safe area: an enormous expanse that was a sinkhole for avalanches. Rather than walking, it was more like crawling on all fours to get through the sea of heavy snow that was up to my armpits.   We tried to keep as high up as possible so that we could traverse in descent to make us faster. As we approached, we could hear the snow breaking off the walls, but couldn't see anything because the snowstorm was so thick. We got to the "red zone" and made a stupid, even if wise, decision. We decided to untie ourselves so that if an avalanche would hit one of us, it wouldn't drag both of us away.   It's difficult to describe what we went through. You had to be there. We are lucky to be here and tell our story. It's moments like these where time seems to stop and you're filled with doubts. Fortunately it also stops enough for you to think about what you're about to do, be it right or wrong. In retrospect, I can say that we definitely made the right decision.   We shook hands and hoped that we would meet again afterwards...my blood froze and my heart started to race. I started off and practically swam through the snow that was constellated by blocks of ice that had fallen who knows when...maybe a day, an hour or even only five minutes earlier! Every now and then I would hit an air pocket and immediately think that it could be a crevasse but fortunately it didn't come to that. Those seven-eight hundred metres seemed never-ending. It was a race against time and all I could think was that I wanted to go home. When I was just a dot in the distance, Ricky took off after me. We reunited in a "safe" area where we tied up again ready to cross the last crevassed area. At this point it was almost dark and we were all out of words...   At last, when we were lower down, it had stopped snowing and started raining instead but at least we could walk on the ice. I had just jumped across the last crevasse that arrives at the canyon, which descends to the moraine when Ricky lost his balance - already compromised by the extra load he was carrying - due to a strong gust of wind and fell in the icy canyon, quickly gaining speed. We were still tied and the moment the rope tightened, I followed him down until he stopped, landing up against a snowdrift; I, however, slid right by him and dragged him along with me. Luckily we managed to stop when we reached a semi-flat area.   We lay still for a moment in silence for fear of having broken something...but we both got through it without a scratch...maybe a bruise here or there.   We got to the moraine battling strong winds; so strong that at times we were forced to lie down so that it wouldn't carry us away. We then decided we needed to change the torch battery...so we knelt down and a violent gust threw us both into a hole where we got stuck. Somehow we got out, exhausted and bruised, and made our way to the tent we had set up on the moraine. What a relief...what a day! My days of living hand in hand with death are long gone.   It wasn't over though. It had begun to rain so hard that mud and pebbles were raining down on us from the walls above. Our tent was sheltered from the hail of pebbles but still too close for my liking. By this stage we were soaked to the bone and were trying to warm up using the small portable stove when we heard the loud rumble of a volley of stones. Instinctively we fell out of the tent, still in our sleeping bags, scared that we might be buried under the rubble.   The sparks of the stones hitting the wall made them look like twinkle lights on a Christmas tree!   There was nothing we could do...we couldn't stay there any longer or we would risk being hit by a large rock...and they were getting closer all the time. We got back in the tent, drenched more than before, and waited to see what would happen. Slowly the rain seemed to lighten. I took some sleeping pills so that I could get some much-needed rest...the adrenaline was pumping and I needed something to calm down.   That morning we returned to base camp where a very worried Paolo was waiting for us. He breathed a big sigh of relief the moment he saw us.   Maybe there is an evil spirit haunting the Torre. Or maybe it was just our overactive imaginations. But something didn't want us there and whatever it was, it made sure we didn't stay. Luckily for us though, it let us come home. There is a doubt in my mind though ....did it let us go so that we could try again? Or should we just let things be and leave it behind us like we left our gear behind us at the base of the south wall?   Bubu               The portaledge...				CERRO TORRE 3128 metres (Patagonia) The report written during the expedition Photo gallery 01   Photo gallery 02   Photo gallery 03   Photo gallery 04 Movie (2,96 Mb)