Finding East Tennessee’s place on the edge of a South American volcano
Wind sandpapered snow across our faces as we experienced yet another false summit. I quit peering skyward since every prominence seemed to just birth another. Stars so brilliant five hours ago were supplanted by abject whiteness. Icicle caverns brushed the shoulder of Karlyn Zandstra, a nurse practitioner from Norris who is the middle person on our rope. What a strange place to find herself in such horrible conditions 19,000 feet high on the side of an active volcano. Karlyn signed on this expedition to find out what if felt like to experience this altitude. She was getting a full measure.
Crevasses lurked just below the surface of this brittle snow. Our feet were invisible and so were any potential slits in the glacier. For that reason, we divided into three-person rope units. Greenback native Steve McQueen was trailing us under the supervision of a local guide. He finally decided that this man, now entrusted with his life, was a liar. Every time he was told one more hour to the top, “…I swear to God it was two. They don’t let us take long enough breaks,” he lamented while shouting across the deafening gale. I gently reminded my friend that this climb was partly his idea. This kind of climbing is a world away from a hike up Mt. LeConte.
It started innocently enough at the Crag last fall. Steve and several others peppered me with questions about mountaineering while scaling the quarried limestone at a whopping altitude of 850 feet. “It can’t be that bad if you did it,” one told me. I vowed to teach them a lesson.
My proposal, modest seeming at the time, was to take this show on the road: “Let’s go climb volcanoes in Ecuador.” Sara Whitt, a Grainger County native and Knoxville resident, perked up. Her belayer, John Creasy, a Texas boy transplanted to Knoxville, was keen to hear more. Having climbed these peaks 17 years ago seemed all the reassurance my stalwart friends required. Like a low-angle avalanche, this expedition began to snowball. Before long, tickets were booked, and nine of us headed south toward the Ecuadorian volcanoes with our eye on Cotopaxi, an active volcano at 19,347 feet. We touched down in the city of Quito at an elevation of 9,200 feet, only 10,000 shy of our goal. Their punishment had just begun.
None of the charm of this capital city was lost on our group, now dubbed “Team Climb Ax.” From the roof of an open-air bus, we motored through this rainy metropolis and soaked in the visual feast laid before us in the “Valley of the Volcans.” My brother, Todd Quillen, and friend, Greg Moore, from Morristown, tagged along with alternate sightseeing goals.
Headaches abounded in thinner air as we climbed steps around the old town square. Carnival—the celebration leading up to Lent—was in full swing, and here in Ecuador there are government holidays allowing locals to fully participate. Naturally, pranks were focused on the obvious group of gringos. Caleb Kyser, a native Knoxvillian, was greeted with black ash thrown at his face, as I was welcomed with shaving cream to mine, compliments of local school children. This was our relaxation day. True suffering wasn’t supposed to commence until we set foot on our first volcano the following day.
One of our local guides, Pedro, from the hill region outside of Quito, wasn’t faring too well on the approach to our first volcano. He made an earnest run up a slick hillside an hour outside of town, but his minivan was having none of it. We reversed for almost a quarter of a mile and made a second stab. Offloading weight—me—he was finally able to crest the berm and park as we began our first hike a mile earlier than expected. Chickens pecked at our feet as we forked over dollars to someone in a hut with a bathroom that required filling a bucket to flush.
Rain chased us on this first hike as we gained 2,598 feet to the fore-summit of Pasochoa, an extinct volcano. The sweeping views I touted from my last trip down here seemed like a lie. “It was 17 years ago, and in the summer,” I demurred. Nothing seemed familiar, but the pain of agonizing ascent. Our group photographer, Kevin Flint, wasn’t getting those much-anticipated cover shots. A native to Kentucky, Kevin eventually settled into the hills of Tennessee, but his photography has taken him around the world to exotic climbing locations. However, like most of our group, this was his first time in South America.
We made our first summit in the clouds after 4.6 miles. Acclimating to these heights requires climbing a few thousand feet and returning to a lower altitude to help the body adjust to thinning air. Our plan to first scale two smaller volcanoes was time tested. Without doing so, we would never have attempted almost 20,000 feet within a week. Team Climb Ax committed to celebrate upon descent in traditional Ecuadorian fashion: we were off to eat some guinea pig.
Cuy was a delicacy wasted on our group. Once gathered back at his van, Pedro navigated our victorious team to his favorite eatery along the road back toward town. While we gnawed our way through this shoe leather, we tried to ignore the nose and teeth eyeballing us from our plates. Having tagged some altitude, a rest day was earned. That night, Todd and Greg greeted our muddy assemblage to share tales from their Uber-assisted equatorial foray, known locally as Mitad del Mundo. Apparently, toilet water really doesn’t swirl on the line down there.
Rucu Pichincha was next in our sights, topping out at 15,300 feet. We once again bravely handed our destiny to the care of Pedro and his minivan. Weaving the upper flank of the capital city the bus rounded hairpin after hairpin, dodging livestock and llamas. Black clouds and rain followed us up another peak as we started at the terminus of a gondola now depositing tourists at a mountaintop café. More than one comment was made about why we didn’t choose this method of ascent as we disappeared into the sky and began hiking above this ancient city.
Clouds broke on occasion revealing layers of the valley’s elusive magnificence. Sara and John relished the rock scrambling sections, reminiscent of our time harnessed up in Knoxville. John is a triathlete, so I wasn’t concerned about his level of fitness or any of the group for that matter. An engineer by trade, he travels the world inspecting nuclear power plants. John tried to blame this expedition on Sara, our resident artist and team name progenitor. However, he obviously enjoys overseas adventures, having climbed volcanoes in Bolivia. Scree slopes made for dicey footing but in the sleet we topped out smiling on Rucu Pichincha as a team. This would be the elevation from which we would launch our Cotopaxi ascent in just a couple of days. We still had a long way to go.
One of the best things about a summit is dropping back into thicker air. Karlyn and Steve were ticking off volcanoes as if they were strolling up Knoxville’s House Mountain. Steve is a physician’s assistant and shared Karlyn’s curiosity about the physiological impact of altitude. Having been to Ecuador once and seeing Cotopaxi, his desire to return was the impetus for our journey. He’s also a smart-aleck. Perhaps it had something to do with making him sign a waiver for me prior to our journey. With each unexpected occurrence, I would hear, “I’m going to sue John Quillen Adventures for,” weather, guinea pig teeth, open air bus, rain, sleet. You name it; it made the list.
A fresh group of local guides collected us from our comfortable hotel in the capital. In two four-wheel drive trucks we smashed gear and bodies for a ride to TamboPaxi lodge the following morning. Perched at 12,500 feet, it serves as an intermediate acclimatization point. Nested in the shadow of our pyramidal spire, (which translated means “neck of the moon”), Cotopaxi can be seen holding the planet in its perfectly shaped cone under perfect conditions.
The idea here was to rest before our ultimate ascent. Some interpreted that to mean horseback riding in our now trademark rainstorm. Team Climb Ax saddled up and set off undeterred. But a momentary glimpse of our objective flashed for a few seconds between clouds as they disappeared in chaps across the paramo. Cotopaxi was luring us skyward.
Following lunch the next day, we drove to the base of the massif, donned full packs and sweated for an hour. Kevin shuddered under the weight of two backpacks, one full of photography gear. A new local guide was quick to assist him to the Jose Rivas Refugio. This hut was our last stop before suiting up for the glacier at midnight. It’s fairly typical for alpine ascents to begin at night; the glacier is more frozen and stable. All we had time to do was eat a quick dinner prepared for us and bed down in a bunk reminiscent of a Smokies shelter. We had no more fallen asleep at 6 p.m. before the dreaded 11 p.m. wake up occurred. My team laid out their climbing kit, sorted and resorted gear and tried not to look nervous. “This will be the toughest night of your life,” I warned.
Nine hours into the ascent an unmistakable sulfur smell emanated from the volcano caldera. To Caleb it signified the trapdoor into hell. His face, unrecognizable save for a set of swollen eyes barely visible between a helmet and balaclava, was wind-chapped. This home builder by trade was questioning his sanity. One of our group had already abandoned their discomfort and stopped their ascent at 17,000 feet. That was four hours ago. Visibility was near zero at this point, and the summit must have seemed to my dwindling team another fabrication.
John and Kevin lumbered past the rope Karlyn and I shared. Their local guide was keen to drag them to the crater before anyone else surrendered. It was now 6:25 a.m. in this hazy, apocalyptic snowscape. The putridity from Cotopaxi’s summit reminded me this thing could blow at any time. In fact, following my first 2005 ascent, Cotopaxi erupted in 2016 scouring this route into something entirely unrecognizable, were I actually able to see it.
Little fanfare heralded our final steps to the caldera at 19,347 feet. Scant evidence indicated the summit of my memory from 2005, conditions were that abysmal. Team Climb Ax had the mountain to ourselves. Our strongest guys laid down over their packs, panting. Icicles hung from Karlyn’s helmet in the form of frozen hair. The guys panted through fleece-covered mouths. I lost some feeling in my hands and dug out the mittens. No more layers were forthcoming from my pack; I was wearing everything. Beneath the pain and suffering of our team were eyes conveying collective disbelief.
“Congratulations,” I fist-bumped them, inadvertently calling this mountain by another name. Hypoxia knows no bounds. Celebrating was traded for escape.
If you’ve never descended a glacier in 12-point crampons, the learning curve is both immediate and unforgiving. A competition ensued for style points as to who could trip most creatively without jerking the rest of their rope team face first. And all three groups took our turn. “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Steve confessed as we zig-zagged the lower snowfields prior to the Refugio. By the look on everyone’s faces, he spoke for the team. “I’m glad I never have to do this again,” added Karlyn.
Over a celebratory dinner back in Quito, we were reunited with Todd and Greg fresh off a Galapagos excursion. Their tan contrasted our peeling faces from the wind. Sitting around the table were two remarkably distinct experiences, together building a picture of all that this part of Ecuador has to offer.
Once showered and back in the thick air, I was already being asked about “that other volcano in Mexico.” Amnesia is an important skill set in the mountaineering game.
A satisfied soaking in thermal hot springs our final day had this Knoxville group already planning the next ascent. They took all the volcano could throw at them and definitely earned the right to suffer some more.
Lynn Camp
It was a busy weekend and a lot of things happened prior to it. As expected, the backcountry fee has now doubled from $4 to $8 in addition to a parking fee which is $5 per night in the Smokies.
Please make your comments known. we will foia them and prove that this is an unpopular proposal.
And prove The NPS to be fast and loose with their visitation numbers.
Myers was with us.
Yes that’s Carver and he’s not at Mount Collins!
The trillium are out.
The dwarf crested Iris are at lower elevations, this is from the River bluff in Knoxville that morning. Knoxville climbers took over 800 lb of trash out of that area. We had 15 people there working to clean up that area. And none of it was climber trash.
Yes it’s that time of year.
This is going to be a short post because I’m getting ready to bite off a big chunk of the Appalachian Trail with Frank.
We will be heading north from Atkins Virginia in a day or two. Check out my Instagram feed for updates.
Peace.
A Backcountry Week
This was the final night of my three days in the back country. We ended up at campsite 30.
But it begins the weekend before with Steve McQueen, which is actually his real name. (Frank asked me what his real name was.)
And a ridiculously cold crossing of Abrams Creek. I counted 35 steps from shore to shore. My toes were frozen by number 20. We had one more to do outside of campsite 15.
You may recall the heavy winds that precipitated the Wears Valley fires. That’s why we had rabbit Creek to ourselves. That and the two cold crossings.
Now fast forward to the following Friday. Frank Whitehead was itching to get out. I hadn’t seen him in almost 2 years. We decided to take off Friday and first go up campsite 20.
Mr Yo-Yo has turned into Santa Claus. This was the last adventure Frank and I shared. Hard to believe it has been that long. http://southernhighlanders.com/new/2020/10/13/a-t-time-damascus-to-atkins/
Despite showing full in the reservation system we had the place to ourselves. this is a familiar tactic with the national Park service as you will recall we proved in this article. https://smokymountainnews.com/archives/item/17708-a-strained-relationship-suspicion-of-nps-lingers-among-some-backcountry-users-parkside-communities
Queen joined us that first night and soon we were regaled by stories from his time working at the blue oyster bar.
Something bluish caught my eyes we hiked out Saturday morning. It was the remnants of this old mason jar with the ancient cap and the colored glass.
We came by the car to replenish supplies and I ran into my old friend Carl Monin. He just returned from our destination, campsite 30. It was great to see this guy with whom I have shared a trail and campsite. He has been a supporter of SFW and we appreciate his efforts.
It was a perfect April weekend. Crisp days and l cool nights. A carpet of wildflowers accompanied us up the Little River Trail. We had a few crossings to make.
At campsite 30, we were joined by Kurt, who slayed fish up and down the trail. He caught 15 that first day. Then in rolled Richard who forgot his tent poles. I’ve done this before and had to rig it just like he did. Hiking poles are quite versatile.
Another delightful evening was enjoyed around the campfire with intermittent stars. I heard little noises outside my tent and wasn’t able to sleep very well. Next morning I woke and noticed that some animal had chewed holes all through my shirt. I’m thinking it was a mouse going for the salt.
Either way our plan for the day was to say goodbye to Frank as we departed on a bushwack up towards the dome. I’d always wanted to explore that area and see how far we could get up through the rhodo. 
It was a glorious spring day. Fields of phlox and wildflowers abounded.
We crawled at times on our hands and knees through dog hobble and rhodo. Then we find these open areas that look like they were associated with the rail lines.
You run across strange things off trail in the Smokies. Something had been nesting under this little cave and apparently had a fire.
We were cris- crossing the stream hopping over logs and rocks. I was reveling in the majesty of this beautiful April Sunday morning. I was thinking about how blessed I am to be able to do these things. We joked about all the off trail adventures I’ve had and how it’s a wonder I haven’t gotten seriously injured. We worked our way back towards camp on the opposite side of the creek. Kurt now took the lead as we hopped Little River for probably the 20th time. I’ve been making these epic jumps and nailing every landing. I was walking across logs 10 ft off the ground.
Kurt had just jumped across a little bit of berth. I followed him. My foot slipped and I did not nail this landing. My right foot sailed off the greased rock with the eloquence of fat albert in ballerina tights. I was now airborne and heading for the creek arm first. I remember the landing quite distinctly. It was my right arm that broke the fall mostly. That along with my hip. Soon I was laying sideways in the roiling water. Kurt turned around to try to move me, but my body was having none of it. I had to lay in that water for at least 15 seconds. Despite the fact it was ice cold, I wasn’t feeling that. It was the pain to my hand and legs. Eventually I mustered the adrenaline strength to roll over onto a little bit of a rocky bank and laid face first there for about 5 minutes. I wondered what was broken. This scenario of hiking out 7 mi back to the car came to mind. I was able to get righted with Kurt’s assistance. I didn’t think that I had broken anything in my leg system. But my hand was another matter. Either way I knew I was good to get back into camp.
I felt like that I probably did damage my hand in some way. I was able to hobble back into camp and relax for a little bit before breaking camp. Richard and Kurt were kind enough to follow me back down the trail to the car. A couple of ibuprofen were a lifesaver. A trip to the X-ray machine the following day confirmed that I had fractured the bone in my metatarsal. Not bad considering the fall that I took.
Aside from that little incident it was a glorious weekend and week. Great to see Frank again and spend time with Curt, Richard, and McQueen. There will be no rock climbing content in this space for a little while.
Hidden valley
Nestled amongst the Virginia hills at 3500 ft this hidden gem is truly a delight.
just 30 minutes outside of Abington hides a place that holds some of the most incredible rock climbing and camping I’ve seen.
I was the guest of Jordan and Erin. Always enjoy hanging out with them. They’ve gotten to be such proficient rock climbers.
I thought this place was super soft graded. But then again I’m way out of practice.
It has slab, crack, roof, you name it. I was obviously way behind these kids.
It’s only two and a half hours from Knoxville. I will definitely be back.
Ecuadorean Volcano Success
You may have heard that our team experienced incredible success in Ecuador last week, topping out on Pasochoa, then Ruccu Pichincha and finally the big one, Cotopaxi at 19,347 feet. I am so proud of our group and look forward to sharing details with you via a piece in CityView’s next edition. For now enjoy these few photos in the link below.
our first summit, Pasochoa was in the clouds. It was remote and our approach was longer than expected.
The next one, Ruccu Pichincha was similarly cloudy. It was 6.63 miles and 2460 feet of elevation to the summit at 15,358.
Here is the money shot. Cotopaxi summit. It was a horrid day weather wise. No views, cold, windy and all you know to expect on high mountain summits. We battled up and topped out in 6.5 hours and 3.5 down. Stay tuned for details next month. So proud of my team. It was one of the best trips I can remember. My brother Todd and our friend Greg joined the merry band to sight see in Ecuador and soak in the Galapagos.
“the Mayor, Todd Quillen in our “estate” in downtown Quito. All he lost was his cellphone due to a pickpocket. You will occasionally have that. It was the only real negative experience. Below are many more photos, please enjoy. Contact me if you want to have your own custom outdoor experience!
Anthony Creek
Immediately upon embarking on this late afternoon back country hit, I run into Bill Ramsey whom I haven’t seen in months. He was completing a loop and we were heading up for the night.
The stars were amazing and we had a brilliant fire.
Steve McQueen was on the scene.
he and I were getting a little shakedown run before we head to Ecuador on Friday.
So I’m trying to get things done before then. I’ll share another photo or two and then the next time you hear from me will be north of the equator.
The eagle has landed.
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Hoar on the Bob
In the old days we called this a Team Extreme event. AJ and John Dempsey had originally planned to go up there. So I invited Richard and Wildcat. Then Brian came along.
it rained about 2 inches on Thursday. Friday morning promised to cool off and we ascended in the sleet.
Didn’t take long to reach the snow line right before the bald.
And soon we found AJ and Jon shivering in the high winds.
Richard and Bert were wise enough to drop off the other side of the hill to get out of the egregious wind. I’m thinking the wind chill made it down around zero given the fact that the ambient air temperature was probably 19 or 20.
Fires are important in this kind of weather and we did not have great ones. Not that we didn’t have a champion crew of fireman up there. It’s just that the wood was absolutely saturated.
This was my tent the following morning after a night of shivering for some. I was in my minus 40 so things were okay with me. However my toe monitor told me that it was well into the low digits. Hoar frost moved in and coated the trees so beautifully.
I had an unusual animal sighting. A black skunk creature walked below me on the freezing ground. It looked like a skunk but with a bushy and shorter tail. Then I noticed it has spots instead of stripes. Bert and I figured it to be a spotted skunk, which appears quite different from a usual skunk. It walked right by Bert’s tent.
Bob Stratton was killed by raiders during the civil war when he left the Bob and headed down towards Coker Creek. There’s a lot of good history for this area. You just have to look around to find it.
with all this snow and icy weather, you might enjoy my recent contribution for City View magazine.
Cold backcountry night
The flying sausage and I flew into the backcountry for an overnight quick hit.
The winter starscape was amazing
Which made a warming fire not only nice but necessary.
this was an off-trail route which is why I’m not going to publicize the location.
Me and the old Jimmy Dean had a fantastic outing. It was about 15° I reckon. I can tell by my toe thermometer.
Soon we busted back out and got to enjoy a lunch on the road.
It’s definitely falls into the category of quick hit Backcountry trips.
Pisgah Ice-NC
I never thought this would be possible, especially on the heels of my Ouray experience. But Charlie Avery hooked us up. He had paid a guide from Fox Mountain to take him up for an ice clinic. And Charlie took us here. It is right off the Blue Ridge Parkway near Shining Rock. A place I have spent a great deal of time. We had a blast. Thanks to Kat, Micah and Charlie for making this a memorable experience.
At about min 2, my crampon comes completely off.
Colorado Ice
Twas a tradition of time’s past. Our Denali crew would gather in Colorado for good ice and fellowship. This year our numbers were diminished due to illness and work obligations but it was still Neil ,JDavis, Neils son, James and I.
Fortunately we didn’t require their services. But the ride from Boulder to Ouray was a little more than dicey. What should have taken 5 hours ended up taking us almost nine. Snow was blowing sideways and mountain passes were closed. I was driving a two wheel drive Mitsubishi. It was solid ice all the way up and down these mountain passes. I will not be driving across the state again in winter time. However I did come across one of the most elusive outdoor sightings of all time on this journey. I finally saw a bobcat in the wild. It crossed in front of the car as we drove through the hills. All my years traipsing through the Appalachians hearing them and seeing their signs. Only to see one run across the road and almost get nailed by my car. Truly a blessing.
Once finally in snowy Ouray, it was time to get at the task at hand. We follow our fearless later John Davis down into the canyon.
We established anchors and rappel down into our first ice climb. Since we were last there they developed a nice new anchor system. Very well marked with the snow. We don’t know what the routes are rated though because this was a new area that just opened up.
We were mostly climbing water ice 3 with the occasional four. It’s not been a great year for Colorado in general. You may have heard about the wildfires that went through Boulder right before I got there. Only about a third of the ice park was open. And all this was top rope. Very little lead climbing sections were even open. It’s been very warm until we got there.
After exhausting ourselves we would have a nice meal somewhere in town and retire early. Having only had a few days on the ice, we needed to maximize them. Neil was down from Alaska and his son James drove up from Durango. It was great to have James join us on the ice. He’s a natural, just like his father.
Good old JD, Dean Davis. Always so much fun to hang out with him and Neil. We missed Lee who was unable to come due to work and Dan who is suffering from chemotherapy complications. Dan’s had a rough time with a lung melanoma.
This is Neil socially distancing his son James who was exposed to a covid positive person prior to the trip. This meant that poor James had to stay in a separate hotel eat by himself and generally distance himself from us except when outside and he always wore a mask. Very thoughtful young man.
it was sometimes five and six degrees in the morning so when we headed back after a couple of days the roads were still solid ice coming out of Ouray. Fortunately the weather was good and allowed us but 4 to 5 hours over into Frisco/ Dillon.
I said goodbye to Neil and James whom I presumed departed for their hut to hut ski trip. And I said hello to Keystone. The first day of skiing was pretty good. The second not so much. And I will add that lift tickets are now about $150 a day.
One thing Colorado does right is they address this virus appropriately. Proof of vaccination is required before entering lodges and certain accommodations. I stayed at a hostel called the Pad my second night. It was a delightful experience, very clean with hot tub. For $50 a night I stayed in the heart of ski country. Compare that to your average $200 night prices elsewhere.
As a matter of fact the skiing was so icy my second day I quit about 1:30. I proceeded back to Boulder and spent the night with John and his wife Zara. She is a gourmet cook and sommelier. She prepared two wonderful meals for us at the beginning and end of our excursion. They are such gracious hosts. I didn’t find out till I returned home that James was unable to join his father on the hut trip due to coming down with the actual covid.
I’ve always valued the time that I spend with my Denali buddies. We all met on that great mountain in 2007. I’m prepared to go to another Mountain that I visited prior to that. in February I will be leading a group downto Cotopaxi in Ecuador. We still have a few spots available if you are interested contact me I will leave our itinerary and details at this link.
https://johnquille0.wixsite.com/mountaineering/about-1
We have a very nice crew making the trip down to Ecuador. I’m looking forward to showing them some high altitude beginner mountaineering. if you’re reading this blog and you’re interested in letting me help you develop an adventure give me a call. Would you like to go learn how to ice climb in you Ray with a one-on-one guide? I’m a dirtbag climber and work for cheap. could probably be talked into flying out there if you get hotels and and car.
All in all a fantastic experience in Colorado. Many thanks to the Davis family and Neil and James. Now for some music.
Let us not forget that he was one of the greatest musicians of all time and this guitar lick proves it.