Kicking crampons into steep ice at 21,000 ft, you have about the brain capacity of a six year old. Even the things that mattered most to you earlier that morning don't seem to concern you. You don't mind that its 40 degrees below zero. You don't even seem to care about the 50 mph gusts of wind trying to blow you off the ridge. You are in a state of numbness, and all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. Your heart pounds rapidly, frantically trying to pump oxygen deprived blood to your muscles. You are not having fun. You don't want to be there. You want to be at Base Camp in your sleeping bag. You want to be in Mendoza eating steak, talking to girls. But all of these things are irrelevant. All that matters now is the summit, and you`re almost there. "Keep going" you tell yourself, "don`t stop now, just keep fuckin going...."

Aconcagua truly is, the whole empanada. At almost 7000 meters, it is the tallest mountain in the world, outside the Himalaya mountain range of Asia. It towers a full 1000 meters over any other peaks in the Argentine Andes. It houses dozens of glaciers, and it`s massive, over 140 km around.

We arrived in Penitentes with freshly shaven mohawks, hopping out of the van like a German punk band on tour. This was especially true because the only other guy on our trip was a German named John. John runs his own cow farm in a rural area near Berlin. At first this 40 year old father of three seemed harmless and predictable. But as the trip unfolded, shocking details about the underworld of German cow farming began to emerge. Once a month, John throws a techno rave in his discotec on the farm that draws upwards of 400 people. It turns out that he makes more money on the monthly rave than he does on farming cows the rest of the month. And folks, I bet that`s the best damn engineered cow-farm-discotec in the world. Those Germans...what`ll they think of next!!

Anyway, after one last night in a hotel in Penitentes, I hit the trail with Matt, Ben, Cody, German John, and our faithful guides, Tom and Gordo. Tom left Minnesota when he was 17. He moved to Colorado and fell in love with mountains. He climbs mountains all over the world. After leaving us, he has four days off, then back-to-back guided trips starting in Wyoming, then to Alaska, and then a couple months in the Himalaya, including an ascent of Everest. He`s the real deal and has some crazy stories. Gordo is a short little spunky Argentine. He`s the type of person who is hilarious without meaning to be. He assumed the role of assistant to Tom, and provided general entertainment for the rest of us.

There are a few different ways to approach Aconcagua. The shortest is known as "the normal route." We took a different one--the Guanacos Route, which is considerably further from the mountian's base. Because of the length of this route, it is seldom used: while there are hundreds of expeditions on the normal route every year, there are only 10-12 on the Guanacos. We would see almost no one. For the first three days we were trekking through the Valle de Guanocos on our approach to base camp. For this time, we had mules carrying most of the gear. Gracias, mulas. The mule drivers are called Arrieros. Their names were Guellermo and son, Julio. Guellermo only has two teeth, but a movie star smile and charisma. He`s completely def and so if you want him to understand, you have to sort of act everything out. His son Julio has the highest voice of any man I`ve ever met and I would have to fight off hysterically laughing every time he said something--but he`s the man and I was glad they were with us for the approach to base camp.

During those three days, we followed the river up and enormous valley and saw Guanacos (wild llamas), huge colored lizards, eagles and condors. We ate like kings, including a night of grilling ribs with Julio and Guellermo. The third afternoon we arrived at Base Camp and set up all of our tents. We stayed there for three nights and two days to begin acclimatization. Then we did the first carry to Camp 1. Tom showed us the Hyperbaric chamber which is like a gortex/plastic body bag where you can pump enough oxygen to simulate sea level in the event that someone gets life threatening pulmonary edema (acute altitude sickness). It looked like it would be terrifying to get in there, but it was nice to know we had one at base camp. We would take it nice and slow. With major expeditions at high altitude, you carry half the gear to the higher camp, then come back to the previous camp to sleep at a lower altitude. The system takes a lot of patience.

Camp 1 lies in the saddle of a ridge and overlooks two huge glaciers. Looking across at the enormous glaciers you start feeling tiny. They both stack up at the bottom, forming "ice fall" where blocks of ice the size of skyscrapers lie in a twisted pile, and the crevasses between them drop hundreds of feet into the darkness. When Tom was working in Antarctica, a young girl there as a tourist was cross country skiing and as she put on her skis, one slid out of the marked safety area. She chased it and stepped right into a crevasse that had been covered with a foot of snow. Tom was lowered 160 ft down to retrieve her body. That`s no fun.

With the carry to camp two, we were getting amped as the altitude got higher. The mohawks had worked their magic for over a week now. We hadn't seen a single cloud. Then we had a day of wispy clouds. Tom looked worried and said it was an indication of bad weather on the way. There was no way we were going to get perfect weather, but I had no idea what the mountain was capable of.

As we carried to camp three, it began to snow. The camp was beautiful and high on the mountain. It was littered with helicopter parts from a crash on a botched evacuation attempt. Thats no fun either. As we moved to camp three the storm that had been dumping on us finally cleared at sunset, and we got some amazing photos. The views at neighboring mountains, and up to the Polish glacier were unbelievable.

The next day we carried to camp four (high camp) at 19,440 ft. We descended for a rest day at camp three, and it snowed, then it snowed and then...it snowed some more. And it was damn cold. You have to drink tons of water when climbing this high, and so you get up to pee about three times during the night. The down booties were saving my life. I had had a soar throat for a couple days and by the end of the rest day, I was hurting and had a cough. After a tough day of trudging up through deep snow fields with super heavy packs, we arrived at high camp with the tents and the rest of the gear. I had been lagging on the trail, and Tom was worried about my condition. Summit day was tomorrow--the timing couldn't have been worse. Almost no one sleeps at 19000 ft and Tom was afraid I would get worse, and not be able to make the nine hour climb to the summit the next morning. He said it would be best if I descended to Base Camp on the normal route (other side of the mountain), and slept at 4000 meters for two nights, then came back up to try for the summit after the boys.

This was horrible. I had spent the last 35 days with these guys, trekking, climbing and camping all over Peru, Chile and Argentina, and the thought of us parting for the summit was unbearable. I was convinced that I had the drive to make it no matter what, but Tom was concerned for my health and safety, and urged me to go down. It was a shitty situation, but he was the mountain guide, so I listened. After wishing the boys luck on their summit day, Gordo and I began the long descent to Plaza de Mulas, base camp. As we passed camp two, and got a look down at base camp 7000 ft below, I had a horrible feeling about my decision to go down. Three long hours later, we arrived at base camp.

The next morning, Gordo and I patiently awaited the 12 o`clock radio call from the boys. They called right on time and Tom told us that they were at the bottom of the Canaleta (the most dangerous part of the climb), and that Cody had turned back because he was hurting and couldn't make it. Ben, Matt and German John pushed on, and three hours later, they called again. They were on the summit, and I was ecstatic to hear them celebrating from the top. I told them that I`d see them the next day and to get back to high camp safely. Tom had to give Ben some drugs because he was getting drunk and silly and stumbling from the lack of oxygen, in the Canaleta. That night, there was one more radio call and Gordo and and I were glad to hear everyone was back to camp safely. German John had gotten first degree frostbite on his cheek, but they had treated it and he was thawing out in his sleeping bag. I still had the soar throat and cough, so I went to bed early. I would have a long, hard day ahead of me tomorrow.

I rose early, ate some breakfast, and was off up the mountain. Gordo had tried to talk me out of it because he didn't want to go back up to high camp and I told hi I wouldn't mind climbing alone. I felt strong but the cold had persisted and now I would have to climb the entire mountain in two days with the same symptoms. The day was windy and the sky was full of wispy clouds. No good. I climbed past camp one, and kept going. I saw the boys on their way down, slapped fives and kept charging. I kept climbing, past camp two, past camp three. People were looking at me like I was crazy. Finally, just before sunset, I carefully climbed up the last cliffs that led to high camp. I had been climbing for 10 hours, up more than 10,000 vertical feet in a single day. I collapsed in the tent next to Tom and asked him to explain how this process was conducive to me resting. We had some laughs, cooked some freeze-dried pasta, boiled some snow for drinking water, and went outside to watch one of the most amazing sunsets I've ever seen. It was perfectly calm and the huge sun sank slowly behind seemingly endless mountains. The sky was bright pink, we were alone in the camp. This is what climbing mountains is all about.

We went over the game plan, and went to sleep (or tried to sleep) early. We would rise at 4:30 am. I got up for my nightly pee at 3:00 am and it was still calm, the sky full of stars. If we had good conditions, nothing would stop me from reaching the summit. A perfect birthday present--it was coincidentally my 23rd. I dozed off, and awoke an hour later to violent gusts of wind hitting the tent. "It`s wild out there." Tom said. He looked worried. He was already lighting the stoves for breakfast. I began stuffing my sleeping bag with the clothes I would wear on the climb. Three pairs of heavy long underwear, a fleece with matching pants, down jacket, gortex jacket and pants, three pairs of socks, two beenies, a balaclava (fleece terrorist mask), goggles and a head lamp. I felt like the Michelin Man, but I would need it, Tom`s watch read -40 degrees. We forced down some breakfast, boiled a couple frozen power bars, filled the water bottles, and with a pound of the fists, we zipped open the door of the tent and went outside.

In an hour, the camp had transformed from a quiet, beautiful night, to a scary, loud, chaotic environment. The wind was wild and strong, snow was blowing all over the place and the visibility was horrible. We strapped on crampons and grabbed our packs and ice axes. My adrenalin was pumping. Tom grabbed my arm and turned me to face him. "Turn off you head lamp for a second!" he screamed into my face. I did so, and he pointed up toward the summit. In the darkness, you could barley make out a huge cloud sitting on the peak. "Thats a viticulous cloud!" he yelled, "It could be a lot gnarlier as we get higher! If she wants to dance, then we`ll do some dancin`!"

We started up the dark slope, wind hitting me like a truck. I walked right in his steps, trying to anticipate bad gusts where I would freeze and hold in a strong position. There was so much snow blowing around that his tracks were half covered by the time I stepped into them. We stayed close. We climbed up the steep icy slope for hours. The wind only got stronger. As we approached the corridor leading to the Canaleta, the sun began to rise in front of us. It was a sight for cold eyes and I got a second wind. Tom said we were making really good time, and he led me over to a small rock alcove, hoping to get some shelter from the wind. There was no shelter. We took off the headlamps and tightened up the crampons. Other teams that had been behind us, came up to rest against the rock. We all looked up at the summit, staring at a wrath of mother nature that I have never witnessed in my entire life.

The cloud that hovered on the summit was a blackish purple color. It seemed to swirl like a slowly-rotating tornado. It made an ominous, deep, rumbling sound. In the foreground, the wind--still picking up with ferocity, blew by with force I had only seen on "scariest home videos" of hurricanes and tornadoes. It no longer was coming in gusts. Now it was just a steady jet stream of wind up to 85 mph. I was terrified. I felt like I could get blown right of the mountain. More teams came up and huddled against the rock wall. I have never felt so belittled by a a force of nature. Tom took a photo of me leaning 45 degrees into the wind, holding my weight with no problem, the sun rising in the background. "This is the real thing!" he said, "you didn't see this shit on Kilimanjaro!"

One guy from the Japanese team dropped his trekking pole and it went cartwheeling down the glacier--gone, out of sight in a matter of seconds. Tom explained that the summit was sitting directly in the jet stream of the cloud. The winds would be doubled on the top. I tried to imagine 160 mph wind.

I didn't want to turn back. Tom explained that we had reached the point of safe return. Going further with the given weather, we would be putting our lives in jeopardy. I wanted more than anything to summit on my birthday, but I wanted to live to see 24 even more. It goes to show you, no matter how tough you think you are and how well equipped you come, mother nature still reserves the right to kick the living shit out of you if she so choses. No teams went any further, the weather was getting worse. We descended to high camp, packed up and got the "f" out of dodge. By the time we left camp, i felt like I was getting frostbite on my hands. The storm was gaining even more momentum, we had to get down quickly. We escaped off the North face and descended to base camp. I was disappointed not to have hit the summit, but I feel like I definitely gave it everything I had. Weather is an uncontrollable variable in mountaineering--that I have an entirely new respect for. Being up on top for that storm was an experience I will never forget, and throughout the 18 days, I learned many things from Tommy boy about high altitude expeditions.

We are now back in Mendoza. We have been going out to dinner at amazing restaurants and eating my new favorite dish: they call it Baby Beef. It is basically a 20 oz. Filet. It is five inches thick, and the best quality steak you`ve ever tasted. The price one pays for this sexy piece of carne? 4 USD. Tonight I am planning to go out with this Mendocina who I met before we went up the mountain. Her name is Lorena, shes possibly the hottest girl I've ever talked to, and she needs English lessons. Ha! Sign me up! Yes my friends, Argentina is a young man`s paradise. Big adventure, beautiful women and red meat as far as the eye can see. I may have a hard time getting out of here.

If any of you are about to make reservations for some ghetto spring break trip to Mexico, COME TO SEE ME IN BUENOS ARIES INSTEAD. Matty and I are getting an apartment there in a couple days.

I love you all. Keep on rockin, and keep the mail coming.

Paz a fuerra,

R