Coto Summit Night

Chilcebamba to Coto Hut

Ossy says he’s running two schedules today: one for the Americans and one for the Mexican pair. Ours is a noon departure; theirs, 11:30. We’re a little troubled by sketchy weather forecasts. After lunch we’ll drive to the parking lot and hike an hour to the Coto hut. If the weather is dry, no problem. If it’s raining or muddy, it’s going to suck. Getting all our gear slimed before we even reach the hut would be a gut punch. Imagine twenty, thirty, forty climbers shaking off mud and desperately hunting for places to hang-dry anything.

We’ll also be putting on our summit gear twelve hours before we start, which raises the risk of sweat, dampness, and general discomfort. Still, I can hear Ossy’s voice in my head: Relaaax. Not a hippie safe word — actual good advice. Failing that, I can at least deploy one of my two superpowers: Shield of Apathy! (The other superpower of selective and reparative memory may be required tomorrow.).

The hut is nice in some ways and decrepit in others. The bunk room and beds are less mangy than upper Cayambe, but the bathrooms and kitchen are worse. During the day, you have to go outside to a separate bathroom hut, which at this altitude means ass-cold and no running water. The faucets are decorative. If you take a crap, you must fill a bucket from the giant blue drum of Clorox-infused water outside and dump it into the bowl. I shit you not. (At night they open an indoor bathroom, which mitigates the cold but still requires the same bucket ritual.)

Dinner is familiar—chicken, potatoes, rice. Afterward, Ossy holds a pre-climb meeting. Jeff and I learn that Ivan will be our guide, and I’m happy with that draw. Ivan is fantastic: friendly, speaks English well, radiates positivity, and hands out high-fives and occasional bro hugs like they’re part of the safety protocol.

At 6:30pm, it is off to bed to pretend to sleep. The place was full of climbers, many from the US, and a team of scientists who were collecting high-altitude bacteria. They came to the right place. They had hauled in over 200 kilos of dry ice to preserve specimens — which translates into many trips up and down that steep scree trail.