A mule & a mountain. — How To Catch A Whale

To celebrate the learnings from those failed attempts as much as those from a success

The view of Aconcagua from Plaza Argentina base camp

I set out to attempt the 22,873ft Aconcagua over the Christmas of 2018 for a second time. Six years ago, my first attempt to climb the highest peak across the Americas stopped just a few hundred feet shy from the summit: the altitude hit me, and the extreme low temperature gifted me a numbing toe.

People say you always want what you don’t have, and that is absolutely true. After training intensively over the years and investing on better gear this time, I set out for this expedition on the same route I was on six years ago with my newly wed mountaineer husband Galen and a determination to prevail.

Trekking Aconcagua would take three weeks, and it would start with three days of hiking just to arrive at the base camp. On our third day, climbers were to cross a river by mules and hike up ~3,000ft to reach the 14,000ft base camp (same height as Mt. Rainier).

I took this photo of the ascending valley before hopping on the mule to cross the river

At the crack of dawn, we packed up our tents, and our guide whistled over three mules on a chain. He gestured me to hop on, and he and the gaucho (cowboy) rode the other two. The pack swiftly crossed the river and came to a stop to let us off. “That was easy”, I thought.

Still wearing a smile of victory on my face, I all of a sudden jolted up and down as if I was inside of a human-sized cocktail shaker. My body responded to the crisis before my brain did and I reached out to grab the saddle. My finger tips and the metal bar greeted each other like two disagreeing samba dancers: they established some contact but quickly decided to part ways.

“An earthquake?” My brain reported, my hands pedaling in the air searching for a source of stability. Nope.

The shake continued more violently. The next thought printed in my brain: “I AM FLYING!” I might have even felt a sense of joy you’d get riding a roller coaster. But that joy was short-lived when reality caught up. It turned out that the mule in front had kicked mine, startling my ride to shake me off to the ground.

THUMP! I landed solid on the river bed filled with hard rocks and pebbles. Shooting pain scoring 15 out of 10 choked my voice and my limbs convulsed like crazy.

The guide jumped off his mule and came to rescue. Galen who was still at the other bank of the river waded through the icy water barefooted to hold my head in his laps.

It was the longest half an hour in my life: the pain from the fall, the terrifying thoughts on whether I could ever walk again, the frailty of life, and how much I loved to live. Luckily, after all that aerobatics I could still walk (with a lot of pain). Now, I needed to get out of the mountains.

Five hours and many ibuprofen pills later, I dragged my feet up 3,000ft to the base camp. The mountain park doctors reported that I probably had fractured my tailbone. The next day, I was air-lifted in a helicopter to seek proper medical attention back in Mendoza.

The hike up to Plaza Argentina base camp

After surviving the Argentinian ER (wine and steak had helped a lot in this regard), a sense of frustration quickly took over in the first few weeks. That my mountaineering expedition adjourned even before I set foot on the high mountain, especially with the effort and hope I put into this trip. That I have failed. That the mountain has pulled a prank on me and I didn’t even know who there was to blame.

But where did that frustration and shame come from? What made me so sure in the first place that an success summit was the only possible outcome this time? What is important in life anyways?

Months of sitting on a donut pillow and going through physical therapy allowed my condition to recover to normal (phew!) and gave me a sense of deep gratitude for being active again. While my prior “successful” summits helped me get more “likes” on social media, this unsuccessful journey pushed me to reflect deeper.

That the second time we do something doesn’t make it any easier – we have to stay humble and open-minded. That however well we prepare, unexpected things WILL happen, often out of our control. That even though we can’t control the unexpected, we can prepare for how we show up for them: we can choose to fill ourselves with anger, grief, shame, disappointment, or we can feel grateful for the growth opportunity it offers and be self-compassionate. That failing is learning, and learning is success. It’s about the journey. That I am grateful to live, to recover, and to be able to go on future adventures with my loved ones.

Looking back, the unexpected mule encounter taught me a lesson that is truly beyond mountaineering. It’s a reminder to celebrate those failed attempts as much as those from a success.