Climbing Sajama, Bolivia's highest peak

Nevado Sajama is Bolivia's highest mountain. The mightiest of a long list of huge mountains in a country defined by altitude. Towering over the deadly flat deserts of the altiplano and close to the Chilean border in Bolivia's south, Sajama is an extinct volcano that measures a whopping 6,542m.

‍

Although not highly technical, the height of this mountain means that any undertaking should be taken very seriously and with a considerable degree of preparation. I learned this the hard way, by making this volcano my "warm up" acclimatisation climb ahead of some more technical climbing in the Cordillera Real.

‍

Naturally ignoring the sort of sound advice I'd give others, I set off towards Sajama from the world's highest capital city, La Paz, after only half a night of sleep (having landed in the middle of the night). After rudely waking my friend and climbing partner at about 3 am, Mateo and I set off following breakfast for the midway town of Patacamaya.

‍

‍

Patacamaya is the sort of place that very few people will ever go, let alone stay. It is not a destination, as far as I'm aware, for anything, but instead it seems to be a stop off place for the truck drivers and tradespeople who plough through on the well paved, Chinese-built roads that barrel through the Altiplano's vast desert landscape.

Needless to say, one evening and a night at almost 3,789m - about a hundred metres above La Paz - is more than enough. However, doing this journey by public transport is not possible without changing rides here, and actually exploring the market was quite fun. Moreover, it allowed us to get some critical local supplies. An experience I always enjoy ahead of a big climb.

‍

Although my advice is definitely to stock up in La Paz before leaving, this is the last stop for anything more perishable, such as fruit and veg, bread, etc. More importantly, for me at least, a night here meant another 10 hours or so of vital acclimatisation before heading to Sajama itself.

‍

‍

From Patacamaya, the journey is dominated by the looming presence of the far away yet impending Nevado Sajama. As the hours go on, the mountain gets bigger and bigger. As the road swings round to the south of the mountain, before heading west towards the ancient town of of the same name, the mountain is, well, bloody massive.

‍

‍

The town of Sajama is a marvel, and well worth visiting even for those who aren't interested in climbing. There is unbelievable hiking and some beautiful hot springs. Don't, however, expect to bump into tons of people, or to find any fancy hotels. Far from it. Here, you really do feel like you're at the end of the Earth.

Within sight of the Chilean border, the ecosystem - known in ecological circles as the Central Andean dry puna ecoregion - is something like no other. The bitter cold of this area’s altitude is matched only by the brilliance of its sunshine and the colour drenched beauty of its landscapes. Also, if you’re into volcanoes, this is a great place to be.

‍

‍

As well as countless species unique to this ecosystem, the Sajama is also home to the ancient Aymara, an indigenous people who by some estimates have inhabited this area for 5,000 years. Their culture, and the connection they have to land in this place, is a marvel for any truly exploratory traveller to this part of the world.

‍

‍

Mountains the world over have huge spiritual and existential significance to the communities and cultures that inhabit them (or live downstream*). Mountains provide water and as such are seen by many cultures are life givers. In Sajama, as with anywhere else, travellers must respect this and move with grace and care through these revered environments.

‍

‍

Anyway, after an evening in Sajama the town, it was time to set off for Sajama the mountain. Mateo and I - him being an accomplished mountain guide, and me being an accomplished idiot - decided to skip base camp and hike on upwards to an advanced camp on a small ridge of rock above a west-facing lick of glacier.

‍

‍

This is one of those camping spots only mountain climbers ever experience, and after a long day we cooked ourselves some grub and slept like babies. The next morning, we set out early for some scrambling followed by three pitches of slightly technical (but basically easy) 45-60 degree climbing on nicely frozen snow and ice.

This led us to a crumbling rock and ice ridge, which was probably the most tricky part of the climb, but was in fact a traverse from the Northwest towards the summit, via a significant, low-angled field made up of thousands of frozen ice “pentitentes”. If you’ve never heard this word, I highly suggest looking it up. It is an incredible natural phenomena, first described in scientific terms by Charles Darwin following his visit to Chile in 1839. For me, on Sajama, they were a pain-in-the-arse!

‍

***Insert image***

‍

Next up was an easy but prolonged slog on what was by now an extremely high altitude day out. As the sun rose, we spent probably an hour and a half or two hours dragging ourselves over the cone of the volcano towards its collapsed crater and summit. After the obligatory hug, refuelling, photo and a moment of rest, we turned around and headed back down.

I love the feeling of summiting a mountain, but I must also have reached the age where I am well aware that the climb is far from over. The summit is very much only the midpoint, and in all honestly holds relatively little significance to the experience. It's clichéd but it really is the journey, not the destination!

‍

***Insert image***

‍

Also, on big snowy mountains, after the sun has been up for a few hours, things quickly get very mushy, and a mountain bathed in high altitude sun soon becomes a wet and rather dangerous place. From cravesses to falling rocks, and from exhaustion to momentary slips in concentration, it seems to me that objective risks only increase after reaching the top. Additionally, by its very nature, you’re still a long way from safety at this point. Only once back in civilization, with a big meal in the belly and with the opportunity for a hot shower and some serious sleep, do I consider a climb complete.

We did indeed make it back, after retreating the same route we took up. We spent a second night at our advanced base camp on the Northwest Ridge, making our way down to the huge bowl of grassland, boulders and mud (which is said in parts to include quicksand) beneath the huge West Face. We cooked up some lunch at the normal basecamp location, before continuing the long walk back to the road, and onward to town. We ate well that night, sleeping a nice long deep sleep.

‍

***Insert image***

‍

Next up was an easy but prolonged slog on what was by now an extremely high altitude day out. As the sun rose, we spent probably an hour and a half or two hours dragging ourselves over the cone of the volcano towards its collapsed crater and summit. After the obligatory hug, refuelling, photo and a moment of rest, we turned around and headed back down.

I love the feeling of summiting a mountain, but I must also have reached the age where I am well aware that the climb is far from over. The summit is very much only the midpoint, and in all honestly holds relatively little significance to the experience. It's clichéd but it really is the journey, not the destination!

‍

‍

‍