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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Topic Author's Original Post - Dec 7, 2014 - 12:59am PT
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It’s December 22 and I and Lawrence are negotiating with the waitress the purchase of 2 bottles of beer, which he has designs on enjoying back at home. It’s been an interesting night, as we arrived at the Airport Holiday Inn in the morning after a couple of weeks, first of the meeting of our physics experiment’s collaboration in Guanjuato, and then for a climb up Popocatépetal (5426m). It’s 1988 and the volcano has been dormant for decades.
Mexico City is a wonderful place and the chaos of the Zócalo a fitting end to a frenetic visit. While I was ready to sit in the hotel room and order room service, Lawrence insisted that we should go out and explore the city, and rightfully so. Of course, neither of us spoke enough Spanish, and Lawrence looked like a gringo, no doubt about it.
The main hangup with the beer eventually is interpreted by me as the deposit on the bottle, we’re free to buy and drink it, but the bottle is worth something and not to be taken off the premises. Somehow we pay for the bottles too, and off we go into the night.
It was my second trip to Mexico, the first was in August 1982 at the second meeting of the collaboration, as our research was just then getting underway. It was at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México and our host was Clicereo Alviez, trained as a theorist, but deciding in 1981 to become an experimentalist. Clicereo went to school in W. Germany and came back to be on the UNAM physics faculty. The way he got into experimental physics was by visiting Nevis Labs run by Columbia University in Irvington, about 30 miles north of New York City.
Clicereo was quite an interesting character, I remember him asking one of the post-docs before a meeting if he had any children. Steve answered “I’m not married!” to which Clicereo replied, “I didn’t ask you if you were married, I asked you if you had any children.” Steve's New England sensibilities were rattled. Clicereo had a complicated personal life, but not an unpleasant one.
Being in Mexico City in 1982 we were treated very well by our hosts, who were extremely proud of their country. We had time for cultural activities. Among the most impressive was a visit to Teotihuacan. There we walked the Avenue of the Dead and climbed the Pyramid of the Moon. Fellow graduate student, Ben, was terrified of heights, and the predictable happened with him making the ascent and having to be talked down, step by step, with pauses to dispel anxiety attacks.
Among the cultural events were wonderful parties at night. The vivid life was a long ago memory that were evoked just tonight watching the movie Frida, which captured the spirit of the people and the place so well, the memories came pouring back.
Clicereo had written in a letter to me once: “today I saw Popocatépetal and thought I’d like to climb it someday with you.” He was not athletic by any means, but he did know of my climbing exploits and thought maybe with some help he might get to the top of the peak.
By 1988 Clicereo had moved his operations to the Universidad de Guanajuato. And we once again travelled down to visit and discuss the second experiment we were just starting at Fermilab. Another wonderful visit, now with a group of young physicists and students, and many days of meetings, and nights of parties. A grand time in a beautiful place. It was not “resort like” beauty, but the beauty of living in a place with real people far different than where I had grown up.
I had ventured out to get some kerosene one afternoon, alone, a needed item for preparing food using my Whisper Lite International. I had managed to find the “hardware store” I had been directed to, and waited in line while a group of little boys bartered with the proprietor over the cost of batteries. As I was waiting I could smell the kerosine, but I didn’t quite see where it was. When my time came I asked in well practiced phrases, not immediately recognizable to a native speaker. But eventual we figured it out… and the kerosine was ladled out of a 50 gallon drum that was stuffed in the corner right beside me, it’s top spanned by 2x4s used as shelves with just enough room to get at the contents.
That day we also rented a car and after the meeting ended we departed for the Vincente Guerrero Lodge, which was to be our basecamp. We hit Mexico City in rush hour, and Lawrence being skeptical of my navigational nonchalance wondered repeatedly if I actually knew the way.
me: “Roll down your window”
Lawrence: “what?”
“roll down your window, I’ll ask the guy next to us for directions.”
Lawrence rolled his eyes and rolled down the window. A true veteran of the traffic jams, our neighbor was reading the newspaper and not paying any attention to the car in front of him, which hadn’t moved for tens of minutes. I start asking in what I thought was Spanish. Eventually the driver put his paper down and asked “what are you trying to say?” In English the discussion was much more productive, and to my delight he confirmed we were headed in the right direction.
We got that relatively late, but secured a couple of bunks and stowed our gear in lockers. I’m sure we had gotten dinner someplace along the way, or before we left. We had decided the first day would be an acclimatization day.
That day we started late and dressed for the climb. Of course we wore the latest climbing clothing, bright nylon stuff, had our ice axes and crampons and plastic boots. Our hiking companions wore their native clothing. I noticed that the Empleado was also renting out crampons and ice axes, the former fitted to tennis shoes and the later looking something out of the previous century.
Off we went, starting at 3950m, in the crowds heading up the mountain. We felt rather foolish anticipating being able to buy food and trinkets all the way to the top. Maybe we got 500m up that day, it was hot, the volcanic soil was loose, and Lawrence wasn’t acclimatizing well. We headed back down and hung around the hut talking to the other Europeans who were there.
I remember cooking up something for dinner with the Europeans eating from the cafeteria. Lawrence turned green thinking about eating even the bland spaghetti I’d prepared. But we got up early the next morning at 2am, the 20th, and headed up for a more serious attempt. This time we got a good ways to up towards the site of the former Las Cruces hut at 4480m. On this attempt we got to see the lights of Mexico City just below the smog layer. But once again Lawrence decided he wasn’t fit and we went back down.
Running out of time, we had the 21st left for an attempt. Actually we could have used the 22nd too, but the thought of retracing all those sandy steps wasn’t very appealing. More talking at the hut, early to bed to get up early the next morning.
We learned that there were the foreign mountaineers up to acclimatize for bigger projects in the Andes, and the Mexican locals who were here because of the romance of the story of Ixty and Popo, and the relatively unrestricted sleeping arrangements.
The next morning we headed up, another 2am start, but we kept on going. I remember there being a few other parties. One was a husband and wife from the US, they seemed fit, but not particularly experienced climbing. The route wasn’t that technical, a bit of ice in one stretch, but the route actually changed each year to minimize the technical difficulties. At some point on the ice I heard the wife screaming “I’m going to die!” She had lost it high up on the mountain, probably more to do with the altitude than anything else.
Eventually we found that we were the only ones engaged in the trudgery
High up and approaching the summit I was walking behind Lawrence. We had put our crampons on at some point, we weren’t moving fast enough to stay warm, and Lawrence would pause periodically and sort of lean into the slope. At some point this alarmed me, and I asked Lawrence what was up. Apparently he was fainting. Didn’t sound so good… so I counted the number of steps to fainting, one, two, … eleven, twelve, faint. I suggested, “OK, let’s do this, take 10 steps and rest.” That worked to the top.
I have memories that are experiences, but not fully formed intellectual constructions. The sky and the clouds and the snow. The cone of the volcano, steaming, smell of sulphur. Sitting at the summit, looking around at the horizon, eating something. The feeling that it was time to go down. It took us 9.5 hours to make the ascent.
The trip back was fraught. We headed a bit steeper down the ice field figuring that it wouldn’t be technical. We miscalculated how long it was, and how tired you get on your crampons going down hill. Angling down to the right, then to the left, then straight down, making sure of one thing, that you had planted your crampons firmly in the ice, a 30º cone with no way of stopping a fall until the rubbly runout below.
And we were beat, and suffering from the altitude. But we made it off the ice, put our stuff into our pack and started to wander down the trail, relieved of the sense of peril. As we were walking along something caught my eye, something coming down the ice. It seemed to be a person cart-wheeling out of control, hands and legs splayed out in a rotating X. I attributed that vision as an hypoxic hallucination. A few more steps I asked “did you see that?” and Lawrence replied, “ah, I think so.”
We stopped, Lawrence said “I can’t go back up there.” So I told him to go down to find someone and I’d go up to see what was up. Laboring mightily uphill I eventually saw the victim of the fall at a distance, he was waving to me, which I interpreted as an “all ok” wave. I turned around and caught up with Lawrence, happy to have been “waved off” as it were. Actually I had no idea what that wave meant when I think back, and can only guess that my brain wasn’t functioning at all.
Our descent took 2.5 hours, amazing, and we were back in the early afternoon. We packed our kit and went down to spend the night in Amecameca, an old Aztec county seat and now a colonial era styled town. We checked into the hotel, a lovely if ancient structure. Before dinner I actually managed to contribute the kerosene to the Señora at the front desk who spoke no English and had never seen a modern stove.
The hotel had a delightful climbing museum with the same stuff that had been rented out up at the hut to summit aspirants, the liability issues now resolved in my mind, the gear never got high enough to be used.
At dinner we met with a group of English climbers, part of the group was doing First Responder training, and the other part were English military officers-in-training, apparently this was a program that taught them character. Not at all clear why the Alps wouldn’t do. I recall those young men mostly concerned with the possibility of seeing service in Ireland fighting the IRA.
The First Responders had actually stumbled across the guy we left… stitched up his hand. He was a Texan, and was in Mexico City and on a lark decided to climb the mountain. He had rented the ancient gear, and got high enough that it’s deficiency became apparent to him. We spent time drinking beer and taking with the crowd.
I remember lying in bed writing a post card to Debbie and Stephanie when the lights went very dim, along with all the city lights, some interruption from the local power station, or perhaps the time they turned it off.
The next day had us in Mexico City ready to fly home.
I’ve been to Mexico since then, I’ve always enjoyed my time there. I’ve lost contact with a lot of my physics colleagues, we’ve all gone our separate ways in life, it’s been 27 years.
In 1991 we were at Fermilab getting ready to take data on the experiment we had been planning on that 1988 trip. Word reached us that Clicereo had collapsed and died of a heart attack. I think he was in his 40s. It hit us all pretty hard at the time. We managed to finish up the experiment, his students received degrees for the research they did with the data, and his institute of high energy physics was completed.
But watching Frida tonight brought back those grand times I had with Clicereo. It wasn’t all easy living, but there was something in it that felt special and genuine in that setting. And we had worked hard on a difficult goal, that experiment, and after work we enjoyed each other’s company, all of us comrades.
When I think of Popocatépetal Clicereo’s memory associates with those thoughts. I remember that lesson that you should not wait to do those things you desire to do. Our time ends eventually.
In 1994 there was a major eruption that closed the mountain for climbing. It seems so serendipitous that I got to climb it. But of course, it’s not the summit but the journey, and that journey taught me about the wonderful people of Mexico, and about Mexico itself.
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Mark Sensenbach
climber
CA
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Great story. What a contrast between mexico city and the background. I have never been but look forward to it some day. Seem like a lot to see for sure. Thanks-m
I guess I should make it more of a reality as in your story 'some day' may never come.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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That was a good, ambling tale. Thanks for taking the time to write it down and post.
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rick sumner
Trad climber
reno, nevada/ wasilla alaska
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Vaporous remainings of a past now ghostly. It was good of you to reanimate Cliciero in your thoughts. Time has a different meaning when we are past.
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Gilroy
Social climber
Bolderado
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The stuff of Mexica - La Fonda del Recuerdo. Reminds of taking Texans down to the volcanoes for a 'foreign expedition' back in the '80's. Thanks for taking the time to write this, Ed. Thoughtful as always.
Keith
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mikegrai
climber
ON
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Thanks for sharing. I just returned from a two week trip to Mexico, climbing Nevado de Toluca, Izta and Pico de Orizaba. Mexico City is still an amazing place.
Some photos you may enjoy:
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Manny
Social climber
tempe
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Sounds like a good time and brings back memories of my attempt on Popo in 1978. We made it to Las Cruces hut and spent the night; no acclimating.
My experience ended there due to altitude sickness I suppose. Your adventure sounds much better.
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
Santa Cruz, CA
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Thanks Ed. Wonderful read.
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bajaandy
climber
Escondido, CA
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Great read. We did Orizaba in '99, and one of my memories is of riding the bus from Puebla to Tlachichuca after spending the night sleeping with one eye open on the floor of the Puebla bus station. I remember buying these awesome little open face tortas from vendors who would walk up to the bus and you'd buy em right through the window. So good! Thanks for a few Sunday morning memories.
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MH2
Boulder climber
Andy Cairns
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Nice account. I had to look up Frida the movie. From Roger Ebert's review of it in 2002:
"Sometimes we feel as if the film careens from one colorful event to another without respite, but sometimes it must have seemed to Frida Kahlo as if her life did, too."
Nicely set against a plod up Popo. The trudging parts of our lives are largely forgotten but without them the remembered moments might not be as bright.
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Magic Ed
Trad climber
Nuevo Leon, Mexico
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Here's some photos of the glaciar on Popo which no longer exists:
All photos courtesy of Sergio Fernandez de la Tijera
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Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
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^^^^It's totally gone?
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Wayno
Big Wall climber
Seattle, WA
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Nice read, Ed.
Have you ever tried to pronounce Popocatepetl? The Mexicans that I have worked with over the years take a certain joy in teaching gringos how to say it. One guy, Salvador, would call me Popo when i was on a smoke break. I also like the legend about the Big Smoking One.
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bergbryce
climber
East Bay, CA
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Great story Ed.
Gives me some motivation to climb some of those storied Mexican volcanoes some day.
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Mungeclimber
Trad climber
Nothing creative to say
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thx for the story Ed
The altitude sickness reminded me of a Dana Col ascent Jake M. and I did. Late night arrival, early up, loaded for bear, ... a very mountaineering outing to be sure... anyways, got to camp below the col and really got sick. Poor Jake. He must have thought I was the worst for getting sick. His stoke was high that day though. And the next day, feeling better, we labored up over and around and summited.
Perhaps this is why I don't do much mountaineering. Never learned fast and light is right.
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Camster (Rhymes with Hamster)
Social climber
CO
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Dec 28, 2014 - 05:38pm PT
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Cam Burns, Paul Fehlau, Benny Bach. Popocatépetal in 1989. We were there in 1988, too, but the conditions were mush (at least when we were there). And there were bandits running around on the mountain with machine guns. Did you experience any of that, Ed?
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 28, 2014 - 05:46pm PT
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everybody warned us about bandits, on the mountain, driving into the mountains, etc...
but I don't particularly look like a bandit victim, I guess, and no one bothered us at all, not even the police...
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TYeary
Social climber
State of decay
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Dec 28, 2014 - 08:14pm PT
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Nice tr Ed. The glaciers there have suffered due to volcanic activity and climate change as well. Sad.
Cheers,
TY
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TWP
Trad climber
Mancos, CO
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Dec 29, 2014 - 09:58am PT
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Ed: It would be OT or OK if I posted on your thread about my 1971 climb of Popo & Orizaba?
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