Runners up on El Piramide

After gallantly retreating from the Avellano Valley, it was time for Will and John to head for home. Dave and I had another week left in Patagonia and Dave had a suggestion. I was starting to feel pretty burnt out with adventure, having been away from home for 5 months at this point, and so I was looking forward to some nights sleeping that were not in a tent, eating lots of steak, and whacking the thermostat up so that I no longer had to wear multiple layers of coats every evening. Conflicting with this, I also desperately wanted to do some climbing, as the nearest I had come to doing any proper climbing was a bit of ledge shuffling at the bottom of the Avellano Tower. Dave craftily exploited this thread of motivation and suggested that we go for a four day visit to what is colloquially known as The Pyramid (I say colloquially, but what I really mean is that is what Dave John and Jim Donini call it, as they are the only climbers who know about it. The locals undoubtedly call it something else). I was promised good quality rock, splitter cracks, lots of new route potential, and guanacos set in the "semi-desert" to the west. "Semi-desert?" I enquired. Dave assured me that there are "only three days of precipitation per month", and when he was there before it was always sunny and warm. I tested this guarantee by asking him what clothes he would pack, he replied "definitely my light gear, I'd bring some light-weight trousers but I only have these thick ones with me". If you have been following, you will already know my answer by now. I said yes and packed my light-weight trousers.

We did a brief tour of the mini-market in town, although I had to make all the boring decisions (such as those relating to how much food to take) because Dave was in a grump as he needed a poo. In all fairness though he did busy himself though by picking up some rum and a bottle of cheap tequila (the reason for which will become apparent shortly). We arranged for an adventure company to taxi us by 4x4 to a specific although seemingly arbitrary point along a minor road heading into nowhere. Our driver did seem a little concerned at this, but Dave managed to persuade her that we were indeed "experts" and we definitely "knew what we were doing".

Dave walking in to the Pyramid

The walk along the track was uneventful for the first couple of miles until we made it to a gate. As I have found to be par for the course when climbing with Dave, there is a clandestine element. Dave had already briefed me that the landowner had previously appeared a little displeased at the presence of Dave John and Jim when they had set out to climb here the previous year. Well, displeased or confused, Dave was not quite sure. Either way, the farmer had been successfully won over by John's enthusiastic explanation of what on Earth they were up to (in miming format, of course), and a bottle of tequila. In lieu of John's charm, we just had a bottle of tequila as a bargaining lever. Fortunately it seemed that no one was home as we passed. We walked a further two hours to just below the cliff, which indeed did look stunning. We settled down to bivvy on a nice flat spot next to a spring and after a quick dinner went to sleep.

It rained overnight. This seemed a little bit at odds with Dave's cast-iron guarantee of good weather, but as the morning brightened I decided to let it go. My legs ached from yesterday's hurried approach and a general weariness from too much walking with heavy bags in the past month. But today, for the first time in ages, I would get to do some proper climbing. We hiked up the final slope to the cliff. Given the fact that we couldn't really remember how to do rock climbing, we decided to warm up on a couple of single pitch routes that end on a large ledge with a lower-off. Dave had already explained to me the precedent of bolted-belays at this otherwise trad-protected venue: It is intended to make sure that any sport-climbers who might find it realise that its been climbed by some proper-climbers already so that they don't go and bolt it. Of course it feels great to be climbing again, although the wind is taken out of my sails slightly when I remove a brick-sized lump from a crack. I keep my calm and casually tell Dave that I'll just throw it out of harms way. Fortunately Dave has little faith in my throwing ability and moves well to the side. This is just as well as it lands just where he was stood and chops through the neatly stacked rope. I boldly claim that climbing on a 40m rope is way better than a 60 anyway as there's way less rope to pull through. We're both feeling the cumulative effects of the past few weeks so after a couple of routes we decide to play the tactical game. We're both experienced trad-men, we know how to make the best of the time available to us, we'll play it savvy... we'll scope some potential new routes then get a good rest for the remainder of the day - no more climbing - so that we'll be fresh to cruise our new route tomorrow. We find what looks like the best unclimbed line here (Dave has climbed all the existing lines already, usually on the first ascent), up the front of a leaning prow part of the face. Excited for tomorrow, we head back down for an early dinner. As a remote precaution, we relocate the bivvy to a steep sided boulder.

The view from the bivvy on evening

It rains overnight, again. By the morning it has turned to snow. I curse Dave and his warm trousers from the discomfort of my light-weight ones. The wind whistles through my insubstantial rocky wind-break. Dave keeps warm and jolly by moving loads of rocks to build up his bivvy site followed mine. I just sit in the cold, wearing every item of clothing I have with me, feeling ill-tempered. Dave jovially advises that "you should move some rocks around, it'll warm you up." He might be right, but I'm too cold and grumpy to acknowledge that he's right so I sit still and glower at the snow and at Dave's feigned high spirits. Dave eventually finishes our new deluxe bivvy site and I get into my sleeping bag and bivvy bag, still wearing everything I have. Dave goes round the other side of the boulder to read in his warm trousers. Eventually the skies brighten although it remains cold. It's new years eve so I feel compelled to drink lots of rum and stay up until midnight, but in a flash of genius Dave realises that it is the turn of the new year in the UK at 9pm local time, so we tunelessly sing Auld Lang Syne three hours before midnight then go to sleep.

Bivvy bags in the snow

The next day dawns much brighter and warmer, so we stick with the plan and hike up to our new route-to-be. It's our last day before having to walk back down and make our way back homewards, so the pressure is on! Dave leads first, initially up easy ground, and then he finds a bolt. Which came as quite a surprise to us both. He thinks the next bit looks hard so takes a belay on the bolt and a wire and I come up to join him. We discuss our situation. Given our failure to climb anything in the past month and our imminent departure we decide to push on with this route rather than waste time changing objective, accepting that we will have to abandon our first ascent hopes. It seems that Jim has probably told one of his friends who were here last week about the place so we have been beaten to it.

I find some holds to climb the tricky section and after just a few meters arrive at a bolted belay on a ledge. The next pitch looks quite intimidating, so I tell Dave that I'll just belay here. We have only got 40 meters of rope after all. The next pitch did indeed have Dave's name all over it, being on crusty rock and requiring a bit of a maverick attitude. I got the pitch after that, which was a 40m stunner (although I was glad it wasn't much longer) of cruxy moves between good footledges, alternating between a left arete and the groove on the right.

Dave on the third pitch

Again Dave on the third pitch

Dave lead a good steep jamming pitch, and then for reasons which can only be described as 'mischievous' (actually, then can be described in far stronger language than that although I'll leave those words to your imagination) he opted to belay beneath a nasty offwidth. The alternative belay was beneath climbing which looked much nicer and much easier and would require no deviation in line. You know the game he's playing. I grumble and grunt my way up the offwidth, which at least justified us having carried our friends 5 and 6 all this way. We tag the summit and surf the scree back round to the bottom. It was great to do some climbing, which given the dearth of information (or even knowing if it was possible) felt akin to the excitement of doing a first ascent but with the convenience of bolted belays. Pretty ideal really.

The Pyramid on our last night: In a valiant attempt to finish the rum I was pretty pissed, so fortuitously I woke up in the middle of the night to see the sky like this