Alpamayo, 5947m & Quitaraju, 6036m
Peru, July-August 2025
The weather forecast for the coming days in the Cordillera Blanca made us think a lot about what we could do next. For several days in a row, bad weather had been predicted for the entire following week. One evening, Luca and I were sitting in front of the reception at the Big Mountain Hostel in Huaraz when Ben (a German we had met there) came up the stairs and said: “There’s supposed to be a good weather window on Alpamayo on Sunday.” We checked the forecast again, and indeed, it had improved. However, since the weather in the Cordillera Blanca at that time was extremely unstable and the forecast could only be trusted in general terms, we decided to plan the next day as a preparation and organization day, and if the forecast still looked good the following evening, we would set off early the day after. Ben, who was traveling alone, wanted to join us, and just as we were talking about it, Joost, a Dutch climber also traveling alone, came up the stairs and said he would also like to join. Perfect. That made four of us, so we could form two rope teams of two, which is much more pleasant than climbing as a team of three.
The next day, the forecast looked even better (one clear day followed by a mix of sun and clouds—the trend was promising), so we went into full preparation mode. From Cirilo, our arriero from the Ishinca Valley, I got the contact of a friend of his who was also an arriero and lived in Cashapampa, the village from which we wanted to start our tour. He was available to accompany us with his donkeys up to Alpamayo Base Camp.
The following day, we took a collectivo from Huaraz to Caraz, and then another from Caraz to Cashapampa. In this small village at about 2,900m, we met Arnuljo, the arriero. We had lunch with him and his wife before loading our gear onto the donkeys and finally setting off into the Santa Cruz Valley. It felt incredible to be hiking the same trails again after four years, only this time with more people and with the goal of climbing Alpamayo.
We wanted to take it easy on the approach to base camp—to save energy and to avoid arriving unnecessarily early before our weather window. So on the first day, we hiked 10km with about 900m of elevation gain—roughly halfway to base camp. As we set up our tents and began cooking, it actually started to rain a little—the first rain I had seen so far on this expedition. Toward Alpamayo, the weather looked much worse: black clouds, rain, and lightning.
Luckily, the next morning was much better. After a relaxed breakfast, we set out for Alpamayo Base Camp. It was still 14km with about 600m of elevation gain, but like the day before, the trail through the Santa Cruz Valley was beautiful and pleasant to walk, so we made quick progress. At base camp at 4,300m, several other tents were already set up, so we knew we wouldn’t be alone on the mountain.
Day 3 began before sunrise. The goal was to climb straight up to High Camp at around 5,450m, which would prove to be very strenuous. Shortly after leaving base camp, we got our first highlight: the sunrise lit up the Artensonraju (the mountain featured in the Paramount Pictures logo) on the opposite side of the Santa Cruz Valley in a deep orange glow. A stunning sight. We were lucky to climb the first few hundred meters in shade, but once the sun hit, it immediately got very warm. The heavy packs and the rocky, slabby approach to the glacier felt endless. But the views kept getting better. Below us lay the deep blue Laguna Arhuaycocha, fed by the massive glaciers of Pucahirca Sur and Rinrihirca.
At the start of the glacier, we took a short break. We had already gained about 700m, but the following climb over the glacier was still tough. The heat and heavy packs exhausted us. The glacier itself, however, was enjoyable—never too steep and full of crevasses and ice formations, making it very scenic. About 1,000m above base camp, we reached the crux of the approach: an ice fall with steep ice walls towering in front of us. The first ice walls we could still bypass in steep snow, but just before reaching High Camp, we had to take out the second ice tool to climb.
The route continued in a steep ice gully in the glacier wall. I had never climbed such steep ice with such a heavy backpack before. Fortunately, it wasn’t too technically difficult, and it turned out to be an impressive pitch. Directly above my head loomed a massive overhanging ice wall with icicles dangling down. At the top, I built an anchor with snow pickets, belayed Luca up, and then we were only 20m away from High Camp. From there, we could also see the entire South-West Face of Alpamayo for the first time—a very special moment for me. I had seen countless photos of this view from High Camp, and now I was finally there myself. I could hardly believe it. Then came the usual camp routine: setting up the tent (which was fairly quick, as we could use an existing platform in the glacier and only had to level it slightly), collecting snow, melting water, and so on. It snowed lightly, and clouds passed by, but by late afternoon the weather cleared beautifully. The sunset was spectacular. The entire face of Alpamayo lit up in orange. An indescribable sight.
The following night was not so good for me. I didn’t sleep a single minute, so I was very tired when the alarm went off at midnight. But the excitement of finally climbing Alpamayo was strong enough to carry me quickly and smoothly through the morning routine. Then we set off. From camp, we first had to descend a little bit, navigate around some crevasses, and then climb up on the other side toward the bergschrund at the base of Alpamayo. A few rope teams were ahead of us, and at the bergschrund there was a bottleneck. Only a small platform allowed access across, and immediately after crossing we had to climb several meters of vertical glacier ice to overcome the bergschrund. At this narrow spot, we had to wait for more than one hour, which was a bit frustrating (and very cold). But then it was finally our turn, and as soon as we were past the bergschrund and into the French Direct route, there was more space, and we didn’t have to wait again. In fact, we were able to overtake a few teams.
The conditions on the route were ideal. We climbed in pitches with belays. In some spots, bare ice allowed us to place solid ice screws, but most of the time we climbed in very hard, stable snow. The lower part of the route was practically “comfort terrain,” and sometimes on a 60m pitch I placed only a single snow picket. And the day just kept getting better. About halfway up the face, in the first daylight, we had our first views of the surrounding mountains. It was a moment I’ll never forget: standing in a steep ice wall, glancing over my shoulder to see Quitaraju and Nevado Santa Cruz glowing in the first sunlight. Higher up, the couloir narrowed again and steepened to about 70°. From the top of the couloir, we had to traverse a short exposed section of softer snow to reach the ridge above the face. As I reached the ridge, the sun hit my face for the first time that day, and the view down the other steep side was spectacular. From the exit of the South-West Face, it was only a few more meters to the summit, and just minutes later, under a deep blue sky, I stood on top of Alpamayo at 5,946m. Since my last trip here four years ago, this had been a dream of mine, and now it had come true. A very emotional moment for me.
I belayed Luca to the summit, and then a strong wind started blowing, wrapping the summit in clouds again and again. Despite the cold, we stayed for about 20 minutes before decending along the ridge and starting the rappel down the same route we had climbed. Thanks to Alpamayo’s popularity, rappel anchors were already in place, which made things quick. Lower down, large spindrifts cascaded down the face—an impressive sight. The return to camp was short and, apart from the final uphill section, quite relaxed.
That afternoon, we finally had our first (and only) proper meal of the day, and I realized how exhausted I was from two hard days and no sleep. We had planned to attempt Quitaraju the next day, but at that point, it was unclear whether we’d actually do it. Joost had already decided he wouldn’t join, feeling that Alpamayo was enough for this trip—which was completely fair. The other three of us agreed to set an alarm at midnight and decide based on how we felt and on the weather. So we went to bed before sunset. But again, I struggled to sleep. After lying awake for what felt like forever, I checked the time—it was 10pm, and I still hadn’t slept. Two hours later, when the alarm rang, I remembered having had a dream. So I must have slept a little, even if it didn’t feel like it.
In the tent, the mood was tired and undecided. I tried to eat some peanuts, but it went very slowly. Then, after a long silence, we agreed: we’d give it a try. So came the familiar high-camp routine: put on (lots of) warm layers, crawl out of the sleeping bag, put on boots, leave the tent, melt snow, put on harness and gear, helmet, crampons. But in the end, only two of us geared up in front of the tent. Luca was still in his sleeping bag and said he wouldn’t come. So when Ben and I had our bottles filled, we roped up and left camp at about 1:45am. First, we followed the same route as the previous night toward Alpamayo. But at the point of the route toward Alpamayo, where the ascent began, we left this route and continued across a large glacier plateau that we had to cross to reach Quitaraju. The weather was still a bit rough. While visibility on the glacier was decent, the peaks above us were still covered by clouds. As we progressed across the glacier, the slope steepened until we reached the bergschrund. By then, I was feeling much better and no longer tired.
At the bergschrund, I took the lead and quickly found a snow bridge to cross into the north face of Quitaraju. This time, we decided to climb simultaneously. That meant I didn’t build an anchor after 60m, but kept climbing, while Ben also climbed from the other end of the rope at the same time. We hoped this would save a lot of time since we wouldn’t have to wait for each other to finish pitches.
Conditions on the wall weren’t as good as on Alpamayo, but it was slightly less steep. In the lower part, I could still find decent ice for screws, but the higher we got, the less frequent those spots became. Since this was a north face exposed to the sun all day, the snow softened and got wet during the day, freezing again at night into very hard, icy snow. Too hard, often, for pickets. That meant sometimes I climbed 40m without the possibility to place a protection. It wasn’t too bad, though, because crampons and tools held very securely. After leading about 200m, I built the first belay anchor to meet up with Ben. He then led toward a small ridge left of our line, where he found good ice and a little ledge for both of us to stand. When I reached him, daylight had arrived, and we could finally enjoy the first views—in by now perfect weather.
What followed was even better than I could have imagined. From our tiny ledge, we had a perfect view of Alpamayo, Pucahirca Sur, and Taulliraju. Behind them, a sea of clouds stretched to the horizon, bathed in the orange glow of the rising sun. Looking to the other side, where Nevado Santa Cruz was lit by the sun, was spectacular as well. In that moment, I was just grateful I had motivated myself to leave the tent that night.
After enjoying it for a few minutes, we kept climbing. Now in the sun, we followed the ridge straight upward. The terrain and snow were easy, and we made good progress. We reached the summit ridge, which dropped steeply into the clouds on the other side—a breathtaking atmosphere. The ridge itself did not bring any real difficulties. In gentle ups and downs, we approached the summit, which consisted of a large serac that was easy to climb. And then we made it: the summit of Quitaraju at 6,036m. It was cold and windy. Clouds raced across the summit, sometimes blocking all views, then suddenly opening breathtaking panoramas.
For the descent, we retraced the ridge to our exit point from the north face and began rappelling. In the section where I had found no good protection on the way up, we also struggled to build a secure anchor. I tried to place a picket in the hard, icy snow. It went in only a third before a big chunk of frozen snow broke out, freeing the picket again. I tried again a bit more to the right. This time, with a lot of force, I managed to drive it fully in. It was solid and didn’t move at all. But since I had just seen how a big block had broken off nearby, I didn’t fully trust it. Luckily, I found a small patch of decent ice nearby and backed up the picket with a screw. Then I rappelled. Everything held, and to my relief, I soon reached good ice where I built a strong anchor with a v-thread and a screw. From there, I could also belay Ben as he rappelled, since he had removed the upper screw and was descending only on the picket. The rest of the wall we rappelled without further issues. Once we crossed the bergschrund and reached the glacier plateau, we sat down for a moment to enjoy the moment that we have just summited another 6,000m peak and everything went well again. Then we headed back to camp. Luca and Joost waved from above, but the final uphill in the midday sun back to camp was exhausting. Completely drained, we finally made it.
There wasn’t much time to rest, though. We still wanted to descend to base camp that same day. So we packed up, took down the tents, and started down with heavy packs. The descent began with more rappels through the icefall. Rappelling four people three times took a lot of time, so we were still on the glacier when the sun set. Headlamps out again, and we kept descending in the dark—first over slabby rocks, then along a sandy, scree-covered trail toward base camp. More than 19 hours after Ben and I had left the tent that morning, we finally reached base camp again. What a day, crowned by one last highlight: taking off the backpack and finally eat something.
The next morning was thankfully more relaxed, and we slept in. From outside, we suddenly heard familiar voices. Honzik, a Czech climber we knew from Huaraz, was heading up to high camp with a partner. We gave them quick updates on the conditions, then they left. Shortly after, we met the three Polish climbers we had first met in the Ishinca Valley, when we climbed Tocllaraju. They had arrived the day before and were resting before heading to high camp the next day. Then we finally had breakfast, before packing everything and offloading some of the weight back onto the donkeys, who, along with Arnuljo, were waiting for us at base camp. That day, we wanted to return to Cashapampa. That meant hiking 24km out of the Santa Cruz Valley. It turned into another long day. Even though it was downhill and we only carried light backpacks, the distance dragged—surely also because of the exhaustion from the previous days. But luckily, the weather was again perfect, and there are worse places to cover kilometers than in the beautiful Santa Cruz Valley.
