1,000 Meters and a Red Cross Rescue
What was supposed to be a single night camping between two volcanoes turned into three days stranded in a snowstorm, rationing our food, playing endless games of Rummy, and ending with an unexpected rescue by the Red Cross.
After spending a few wonderful days in San Gregorio Atlapulco exploring its famous chinampas, we set off toward Puebla. To get there, we had to cross between Iztaccíhuatl and Popocatépetl, two volcanoes that rise to nearly 6,000 meters above sea level.
We decided to dedicate an entire day to the climb. It was a 1,000-meter ascent packed into just 25 kilometers—a serious uphill ride.
The night before, we stayed at the fire station in Amecameca, right at the foot of the mountain. The firefighters couldn't have been kinder. They gave us a room to sleep in and even let us take a hot shower.
We hit the road early the next morning, and the climb began almost immediately. We stocked up on food and water before leaving, but not much. We planned to spend only a night or two at the top, and we'd heard there was a small restaurant at Paso de Cortés, so we didn't want to carry unnecessary weight. We would soon discover that food was one of the few things worth carrying extra of.
The climb seemed endless. Halfway up, we stopped for lunch, ate a couple of sandwiches, and continued, stopping every few minutes to catch our breath and drink some water. A little later, disaster struck: one of the spokes on my rear wheel snapped.
What a pain.
Fortunately, we had an emergency spoke that our friend Adam, from Austin, had given us before the trip. It was the first time we'd ever needed it—and it saved the day.
Just before reaching Paso de Cortés, we made one last stop at a tiny roadside stand selling squash blossom quesadillas and café de olla. I swear they were the best quesadillas I've ever eaten. No exaggeration.
Once we reached the pass, we headed to the park office. After a lengthy conversation with the ranger, who seemed determined to charge us for the tent, for the night, for the day, and almost for every breath we took, we paid our 32-peso entrance fee and started looking for a place to pitch the tent.
It was cold, but pleasantly so. Spending the night between those two snow-covered giants was something special.
The next morning greeted us with brilliant sunshine. After breakfast, we packed up and headed toward La Joya, a viewpoint on the Iztaccíhuatl side of the park. The road quickly turned into a rough mix of rocks and dirt, impossible to ride, so we spent the next six kilometers pushing our fully loaded bikes uphill.
Halfway there, a man stopped us to warn that a snowstorm was on the way. He suggested we spend the night at the Altzomoni Refuge, and we gladly accepted the advice.
The refuge was simple: four rooms, two bathrooms, and a covered hallway connecting them all. Two groups of mountaineers were staying there, waiting for a break in the weather to attempt the summit of Iztaccíhuatl.
Since the sun was still shining, we walked to the viewpoint and enjoyed the incredible scenery. On our way back, around seven in the evening, a light sleet began to fall.
"How nice," we thought.
Then it got heavier.
The wind picked up.
Then came the snow.
More snow.
A lot more snow.
And a wind that seemed determined never to stop.
We spent the first night chatting with some of the climbers. By the next morning, about half of them had already left after realizing the mountain wasn't going to open anytime soon. By that afternoon, we were completely alone.
Before everyone departed, we managed to ask for some extra food and water. There was no way we could leave in those conditions, and our own supplies were already running low.
We had no idea how long the storm would last. Ice kept thickening on the windows, and the wind showed no signs of easing. We decided to ration what little food we had left, hoping to stretch it over two full days.
Our second night at Altzomoni passed without electricity, so we built a fire to stay warm and give ourselves some light. We gathered every scrap of firewood we could find around the refuge and eventually got the stove going. At that altitude, even starting a fire becomes a challenge.
But we managed.
The fire kept us warm—and entertained. Time moves painfully slowly when all you can do is wait.
That night we slept half-dressed, hoping the weather would improve by morning.
It didn't.
Our food supply kept shrinking while the wind and snow never let up. By then, we had just enough left for one more day. The following morning, we'd have to leave no matter what.
Paso de Cortés was only six kilometers away, but those six kilometers were now buried under fresh snow. The road was rocky even in good weather. Taking the bikes out into the storm wasn't an option, and our clothing wasn't remotely designed for those conditions. Within minutes we'd be soaked and freezing.
So we spent the day improvising ways to protect our hands and feet. It's amazing what duct tape and a few plastic bottles can accomplish.
The next morning we'd leave—with or without the bikes.
Between our improvised survival projects and endless games of Rummy, the hours crawled by. Whenever hunger became unbearable, we'd make another cup of tea or coffee to fool our stomachs.
At least we had plenty of water.
The day felt endless.
Around seven that evening, just as we were getting ready for bed, a loud knock echoed through the refuge.
We jumped up. After pulling away the frozen towel we'd stuffed under the door to keep the wind out, Seba opened it.
Standing outside was a man completely covered in snow.
It was the Red Cross.
Yes.
They had come to rescue us.
It turned out that one of the climbing groups who had stayed with us had become stranded halfway down the mountain, prompting the Red Cross rescue team to head up. They were the ones who told them we were still at the refuge.
While the storm continued raging outside, we hurriedly packed our gear and loaded our bicycles into the rescue truck.
In all the rush, we accidentally left behind an iPod, a bottle of foot powder, and one of our bike lights.
Later, the park staff managed to recover two of them—the powder and the light.
The iPod, however...
Well, that one must have been claimed by the Abominable Snowman.
The Red Cross drove us safely back down to Amecameca, where we once again found ourselves at the fire station. Cold, exhausted, and absolutely starving, we devoured a mountain of sandwiches before collapsing into bed.
The next morning, the sun was shining.
The road through the mountains was still closed.
So we caught a bus to Puebla.
mauge@deaculla.es
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