Most Popular Entries

“The wind you really got to dread is the one that howls inside your head…” -Muni, but perhaps adapted from somewhere else.

Hello hi there,

Today we climbed again to Camp 3 — Colera — at 19,600 feet.

Another windy, cold day. At this point it almost feels… expected. Normal, even. We wake up, we zip the tents carefully so they don’t become kites, we layer up, we check each other’s hoods and buckles, and we move.

We are dialed now. Dialed with our breaks. Dialed with our systems. Dialed with how to open a snack without sending it to Chile. We don’t rush. We don’t waste energy. We just keep taking the next step.

The stretch from Camp 2 to Camp 3 is one of my favorites on this mountain. Aconcagua reigning to our left — massive and unmoved. The Andes rolling out to our right in layers of red, gold, and shadow. Brutal and beautiful, side by side, as they so often are up here.

Colera is a stark place. The wind doesn’t whisper here — it announces itself. This is where the normal route meets the false Polish Traverse (the route we took up), the lines of climbers converging under the same summit skyline. The camp is tucked into large white rocks that jut upward like a jagged crown. We nestle ourselves into their protection as best we can.

Life at nearly 20,000 feet is not casual. Every movement costs something. Simple tasks feel consequential. But the team is steady. Eating. Drinking. Checking in. Doing the small things well.

Tonight we crawled into our tents early to let our bodies rest. Tomorrow is a big question mark. We’ve done everything we can to put ourselves in position.

Now we wait to see what the mountain says.

RMI Guide Jess Wedel and the Aconcagua team

5/17 - On any proper adventure, there comes a time—long after the bags are packed and the body has proven it can endure—when forward progress is no longer the prevailing goal. Instead, adapting to a new environment becomes the focus.

In those early stretches, adaptation is far from obvious. From mummifying one’s feet in athletic tape to hoisting an overstuffed pack onto weary shoulders, every action feels foreign. Eventually, though, progress seems less like a fight and more like the key to a secret world: frozen, strange, and infinitely explorable.

But this new world unfurls in unpredictable ways. Last night, I nodded off to the rustle of tent nylon in the breeze. An hour later, I was yanked from sleep by an intense blast of frigid wind. The gale persisted, an unyielding rhythm that drummed through the night. Snow puddled around us, transforming our cozy cocoons into claustrophobic reminders of who really makes the rules up here.

Today, we found ourselves stuck yet again at 11,000 feet—far from idyllic, but the best option given our forecast and supplies. We squelched back and forth between our group and personal tents, packs and sleds buried beneath reams of spindrift. Some of us read books, some took naps. Some typed long missives to the outside world on our phones.

The upside is that we are not yet working ourselves into paste hauling food and gear further up the hill. Instead, the tasks have been a light blend of the practical and absurd: digging, and then re-digging, our communal toilet out of the snow; downing carb-laden meals with competitive zeal until we are both proud of and embarrassed by our gluttony; shuffling our creaky bodies across a slick, uneven camp with all the grace of baby deer on ice; and generally extricating ourselves from our self-imposed predicament with routine bouts of only somewhat effective shoveling.

Days like today—and, indeed, trips like this—can easily be dismissed as pointless, or even wasteful: so much time and energy spent in pursuit of an ultimately frivolous goal. But in a world increasingly designed to be safe, comfortable, and instantly gratifying, there is something to be said for leaning hard in the opposite direction. What rare thing will we find up there? Or right here?

Getting to the summit is the goal, though today—our sixth on the illustrious flanks of Denali, our second battered by snow and wind—adaptation feels sufficiently ambitious.

—RMI Climber Tina Currin

P.S. Hi to Grayson and Rollie, Mom and Charlie, JK and the Little Gang. I love you all more than than you know.

We woke up this morning fully intending to move. Bags were packed, boots were on, breakfast was happening. And then we looked at the sky, looked at each other, and made the call: one more day in Namche.

The morning had given us just enough to keep us guessing — clouds rolling in and out, the peaks beyond Namche appearing and disappearing like they couldn’t quite commit. By afternoon, the snow settled in for real, steady and cold, and it became clear the weather had already made this decision for us.

Here’s the thing about an extra acclimatization day that’s easy to forget in the moment: it’s not a setback. It’s one of the best things that could have happened to us. At altitude, your body is doing serious background work — building red blood cells, adjusting to thinner air, recalibrating systems that have worked perfectly at sea level your whole life. That process doesn’t care about your itinerary. It runs on its own clock, and what it needs most is time.

So today we gave it time. Some of us explored a Sherpa museum, some walked to a monastery at the top of town, we ate a lot, drank more tea than any of us thought possible, and checked out all the bakeries in town.

Tonight we’re making it a proper snow day game night — salad bowl, cards, and Farkle around the table. Somewhere out there the route to Tengboche is getting a fresh coat of white. We’ll be ready for it tomorrow.

RMI Guide Jess Wedel

We have made our way north, through a variety of detours that have served to continue or process of acclimatization, keep us well fed and give us the opportunity to learn about the culture. Yesterday, we went for a loop hike around the beautiful Laguna Cuicocha. Over just a short distance, the fauna changes drastically as one side of the lake is far more arid than the side that sits right up against Volcan Cotacachi. It was a thoroughly enjoyable hike as we rambled through a variety of microclimates and had the chance to see condors in flight. But you know, there is always something new or interesting to see along the way. Sometimes at the end of the day it's something small, like a cheese ice cream, that stands out.

After a relaxing night at the Intiyaya residences, which in Kichwa (the native language in parts of Ecuador and slightly different than Quechua) may roughly translate to "Father Sun", we departed for the busy streets of the Otavalo market. It was a drizzly day, but Saturday is always bustling in the market. The usual bartering took place, copious espressos were consumed and then we made our way to the Yanacocha Hut, on the lower slopes of Cayambe. Everyone is tucked into bed here in the comfort of a hut we have all to ourselves. On deck for tomorrow is one last leg of travel that will take us to the main Cayambe hut (15,400') and the base of the climb.

If the weather cooperates tomorrow, then right about the time they are awarding the Super Bowl MVP we will be waking up for our alpine start on Cayambe. The climbing takes place at night here for a variety of factors, which can all be summed up by saying that the weather at night tends to be the most stable when the air is coolest. In addition to that, it is very difficult to trudge uphill during the daylight in this region as the sun's radiation is so intense, so we hope to be headed downhill by just after sunrise.

Check back on Monday afternoon to find out if the mountain allowed us passage this time around!

RMI Guide Dustin Wittmier

The four-day climb led by RMI Guide Joe Hoch turned around at Ingraham Flats this morning due to unfit route conditions. They have returned to Camp Muir and will descend to Paradise later this morning. While they didn't make it to the summit, they enjoyed a classic Little Tahoma sunrise!

Great work up there team! 

6/7 - Given a questionable forecast, the team met at 5:30am this morning for a quick coffee and early launch for Rucu. It turned out to be a great decision as we were rewarded with spectacular views of the other Ecuadorian volcanoes and dry conditions for our climb. After traversing the grassy plains below the peak, we linked together sections of easy trail with some short rock scrambles until we arrived at the top in only 3 hours. 

Everyone performed well and felt strong despite the fact that we are only on our second day in country. After returning from the climb we gorged on pizza and look forward to an afternoon of relaxing before we pack up to head to our next peak - Illiniza Norte. 

- RMI Guide Eric Frank & Team

Another day high in the Andes! We were able to carry and cache loads at 19,600 feet at Camp 3 - Colera.

We bundled up, did a little dance to our favorite hype song and took off into the wind.

Mostly clear skies and beautiful views greeted us as we slowly ascended to Camp 3. We cached our gear and stayed at that altitude for more than an hour before we began the quick descent back to Camp 2.

We’re now in the best possible position we can be for our summit attempt and are monitoring all the forecasts to find a window.

We’ve spent the afternoon resting, recovering and greeting more teams as they arrive at Camp 2.

On the menu for tonight’s dinner is steak, mashed potatoes and of course, soup! Soup is the king of expeditions. Warm and hydrating — what more could you want.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Jess and the Aconcagua team

We weren't able to summit this morning after multiple days and multiple feet of new snow. But we took advantage of the perfect weather for a classic stunning sunrise at Ingraham Flats!

- RMI Guide Joe Hoch

Saturday, May 30th 10PM PST

Today was our final decision day, the final day of no dehydrated meals, the final look at weather before making a decision to head up to 17 camp, or make our way back to the airstrip. The morning started off calm and beautiful, and after a breakfast of eggs and hashbrowns the whole team walked out the edge of the world where we got expansive views of everything below and out for miles. Throughout the afternoon we got more weather information, and the clouds began to build in camp. 

The window we were looking for was moving up Sunday, trying to summit Monday, and heading back downhill Tuesday. The more we checked the weather, and the more we heard it appeared as the low pressure pushed out, and the high pressure moved in, high winds were moving in with it. Both the winds and the temperatures (still in the -30 range…brrr) sadly took the Monday summit window off the table. 

After much consideration, we are going to have to start making our way back down the mountain and towards the airstrip. 

We will check in tomorrow as we begin our descent. These decisions are never easy, and the team put so much effort in. We are proud of everything done up until this point.

The Four Day Climb May 13  - 17 reached Camp Muir yesterday afternoon weathering the difficult conditions with smiles on their faces dispite the snow flakes whipping through the air.

Once the team reached Camp Muir, they were treated to clear skies above and a cloud deck below 9,900'.  The team was unable to make a summit attempt due to the weather including several feet of new snow causing unsafe conditions. They are descending from Camp Muir and will return to Rainier BaseCamp in the early afternoon.