[001] The Mountain’s Choice: Death on Huascarán
Transcript
Mt. Everest (also known as Sagarmatha in Nepal and Qomolangma in Tibet) is well known around the world for its extreme height, standing today at 29,031.69 ft (or 8,848.86 m). But Earth is not a perfect sphere. There are 29 peaks across the world that stretch further from the center of the Earth than Everest. One of these mountains lies on the other side of the planet, deep within the western Andes of Peru. Despite being located in the tropic region inside of the Amazon Basin, this peak, which rises to 22,205 ft (or 6,768 metres) within the Cordillera Blanca (the White Mountain Range), is covered in ice year-round. This is Huascaran (also called Mataraju, meaning snow peak), the tallest mountain in Peru. Sitting directly beside it is another mountain, its twin Huandoy. Incan oral histories of these two peaks tell of a vengeful Sun god, Inti, who, upon learning of his daughter (Huandoy’s) mortal lover (Huascaran), turns them both into mountains separated by a cold blue lake of their tears. This legend, a story of love and loss, is not the only tragedy to strike Huascaran. It takes 7 days to climb to its peak and has claimed the lives of many people who’ve dared to make the trek, but it’s most well known for the most catastrophic avalanche to ever occur on Earth in human history, destroying several villages in 1970, leaving 30,000 dead in its wake. And on June 26th 2025 Huascaran would claim another life, that of an experienced climber, doctor, and mother who came all the way from Japan to summit its peak.
Welcome to Stick & Stone.
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I’m Sydney and this is my first episode and as you can tell, this is mainly a podcast about climbing but I love to knit. So I thought this would be something fun to make because I love to listen to audiobooks and podcasts while I knit, so this is for knitters out there who love to be outside and can’t sit still for very long.
Before we get into it, I HAVE to talk about the alpacas in Peru. I’ve always been in love with the culture and history of Peru. They’ve got mummies preserved in all kinds of ways with drying, salting, freezing, and beer!, burnished pottery vases shaped like birds that whistle when water is poured out of them, and obviously alpacas. Alpaca fleeces are mainly used for weaving over there. I’m sure there’s a lot of knitters now, but historically they’re known for weaving and they’ve got these incredible super colorful handwoven clothes. Their Chullo hats and ponchos are probably the most well known and recognizable because they’ve been picked up and worn in high fashion, but they’ve got probably the prettiest cold weather, high altitude clothes you can find. I feel like so much of the outdoorsy mountain style here is really drab and there’s a lot of plastic, even though it’s lighter and has advantages. The traditional Andean wear reminds me more of stuff like fair isle sweaters from Scotland with all the colors and patterns. I especially love that they created Llicllas which are basically baby bjorns that fit with their wardrobe, so their whole outfit always goes together. And being made out of alpaca (and sometimes sheep wool too), the clothes are water-resistant, sweat-wicking, hard wearing, relatively light for their size, and most importantly they’re insulating. There’s a lot of cities and villages up in the mountains there, where the temperatures fall roughly between 34º to 58º F (or 1º to 14º C) most of the year, so it stays pretty cool. I’m a Texan, so those are winter temperatures for us during the two week window when I get to wear my wool sweaters. I honestly wear them year round but that’s only because there’s AC everywhere here and I get super cold especially when my body goes from feeling hot but normal and I feel fine in 90º heat to a suddenly 68º room with like the shades pulled down. It’s so cold!
And one of the fibers I like to use in my sweaters is baby alpaca. It’s really soft and fluffy and it’s usually spun on a strand of silk that’s really thin. I hold this strand of yarn with a thicker strand of wool yarn of the same color and together it makes a sweater that’s thick and warm but also has this halo of fluffy alpaca hairs. The silk is great too because it adds some structure and durability to the fabric. It’s basically like making your own blend of yarn. But the kind they use in Peru for clothing is usually the adult alpaca fleece which is more like wool from a sheep. And the traditional dyes are from natural plants, and sometimes bugs like the cochineal which we have in Texas too. They live on the prickly pears here in these little white nests and when these bugs or their eggs are crushed they have this bright red liquid that will absolutely stain anything it touches. This is where carmine dye comes from, it’s used in Red 4 food coloring (which is not gross but some people are allergic to it, like you can be allergic to anything), and it was even used to dye the original British red coats. The Zapotec people of Mesoamerica actually made these tiny basket tubes that they’d hang on the cacti so the cochineal would nest inside of them and be easier to harvest. So basically the Zapotec put out bug-sized bird houses, like bug condominiums. And that’s just one of the dyes they use in Peru. I’m sure people use a lot of manufactured dyes too now, but that’s the only method they had before factory dyes.
These alpacas are raised in the Peruvian highlands up in the Andes. They have a really large range they can live in but they’re well adapted to the mountain climate and lower oxygen, so my guess is that they moved around to get away from predators and adapted to living up higher, kind of like mountain goats. They’re related to camels and their wild cousins, the vicuña and guanaco, live in the same regions and have been interbred with some of the alpacas. And if you’re wondering what the wild ones look like, and you don’t know what alpacas look like, they’re pretty similar: imagine a deer crossed with a camel with a little more hair, that’s kind of what they look like. They’re related to llamas too but alpaca fleeces are way softer which is why they’re better known for their fiber in textiles. The vicuña species is as soft as cashmere (which comes from a goat originally found in the Himalayas) but they’re not as domesticated as the alpacas. They’re probably not as tame, but I don’t really know why vicuñas haven’t been bred more, but I would love to try knitting with a vicuña yarn someday. That would be really fun. I’d definitely make one of the Chullo hats out of it because, if you’ve ever made a scarf or hat out of a scratchy rustic wool or somebody’s gifted you a not very soft handmade knit you’ll know that it’s pretty awful when that fabric is rubbing against your face and neck.
Anyway, I digress. Alpacas are amazing but we’ve got a story to tell. Maybe you’re at home listening to this or maybe you’ve just gotten your camp set up and you’re snuggling into your cozy tent, and you’re plugging in your earbuds to keep out the sound of mosquitos buzzing in your ears. Wherever you are! Settle in, get out your sticks, and let’s turn over some stones.
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Born in Tokyo in 1984, Chiaki Inada was never afraid of adventure. Since college, she was drawn into mountaineering. A born climber, Chiaki felt the most alive when she was high up, hundreds of feet off the ground, on a cliff face, overlooking the beauty of a natural landscape far, far below. She spent all of her free time preparing for ascents: in the gym challenging herself on bouldering problems and outside on local boulders and walls. In 2003, she entered the National Defense Medical College in Tokorozawa, a city in a prefecture just northwest of Tokyo. In their rigourous six-year program, students are trained to become both medical doctors and military officers. Graduates are posted to an Officer Candidate Training School in one of the three forces (the Japan Ground, Maritime, or Air Self-Defense Force) before they can take the National Medical Examination. After passing, the new doctors are posted to a two-year internship in Self-Defense Force hospitals and battalions. During this time, Chiaki met Makoto (her future husband). They went on to become founding members of the local mountaineering club. Even after graduating to become a medical officer and plastic surgeon, she and Makoto continued to devote themselves to alpine climbing. In 2018, she retired from the Self-Defense Forces to pursue a new profession that would combine her passion with her schooling, becoming a mountain doctor. Makoto would continue to serve in the Japan Air Self-Defense Force, focusing on training and research related to low-pressure environments and the mechanisms of altitude sickness, and eventually begin mountain medical patrols. In 2022, he retired from the Forces as a Lieutenant Colonel. They would go on to found another organization together, this time a company called Mountain Medical Support.
This was Chiaki’s dream job. Not only were they medical doctors, helping and supporting people, they could do it in her favorite place in the world: on the highest peaks and most challenging mountains. They offered comprehensive medical services to support climbers’ dreams from the pre-climb training to the post-summit care. Partnering with their network of fellow mountain medical professionals, they collaborated with the doctors and hospitals responsible for caring for their climbers, all in effort to make other people’s dreams of high altitude climbing come true. With so much knowledge in this specialized field, Chiaki (sometimes known as Chippe) and Makoto (known as Pecoma) started a YouTube channel combining their nicknames (ChipPeco) to share important information on climbing medicine. But it grew to encompass their mountaineering vlogs, climbing videos, and everything in their lives that related to climbing, including taking their two year old son with them on challenging mountain treks.
Now, I don’t know Japanese and so I’m not sure what Chippe or Pecoma translate to, but I’m sure their nicknames mean something, or maybe those are shortened versions of the characters in their names. If you know, please tell me. I would really love to find out what they mean because I’m curious to know if those are just names or if they relate to climbing or medicine in some way. You tell me.
In June of 2025, Chiaki and her friend, Saki Terada, left Japan to begin their Peruvian Expedition. She documented their travels from the first day. On June 11, Chiaki posted an image of a tall glass of cold beer, giving cheers to friends, and marking day 0 of the trip. “The journey has finally begun,” she wrote:
For a week or two leading up to our departure, I was overwhelmed by a fierce wave of sadness at the thought of being separated from my son for four whole weeks. However, when we parted ways this morning—so casually and just like any other day—my mindset completely shifted.
Before leaving, I tried explaining to him a couple of times that I would be going to Peru for a long while—though I wasn't sure just how much he would actually grasp. His reactions ranged from "I can't stay home alone!" to "Mommy... Peru?" (even when I had merely stepped out into the garden for a moment—lol), so in the end, it was a bit touch-and-go whether he truly understood. Four weeks from now, my son will surely have grown and changed beyond recognition. Not to be outdone by him, I intend to make the most of these precious four weeks to grow and transform just as much myself! And so—off I go on my mountaineering adventure in the Peruvian Andes!
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The next day, Chiaki and Saki landed in Lima, the capital and largest city in Peru, lying midway down the coast and about an 8.5 hour bus ride from Huaraz, the second largest city in the Andes. Over drinks and excited to compare notes, they laid out their pre-climbing strategy and quickly realized that they were totally aligned on everything. After months of planning and years of experience in mountaineering, they were ready to check another summit off their lists. Their discussion turned to the weather and they noted that Huascaran was experiencing heavy snowfall that year leading to frequent and massive avalanches. They reassured one other that they would not take any unnecessary risks, knowing how dangerous and unpredictable mountain weather can be—changing in a few hours from sunshine and blue skies to grey clouds, high winds, and deadly snowfalls. Though the journey ahead was intense and full of dangers, the pair of friends relaxed, enjoying the evening, sipping on their Pisco Sours, and taking in the energy of the city.
June 13th. Day 2. Embarking on the long bus ride and bound for the mountains. Today, they would reach the outer edge of Parque Nacional Huascarán (the National Park that protects the central Andes and the surrounding valleys, glaciers, lakes, and wildlife around Peru’s tallest peaks). The park spans roughly 840,000 acres and is approximately 93 mi (or 150 kilometers) long from north to south and averages about 16 mi (or 25 kilometers) in width.
I think the best way for me to picture this (and also probably the most obnoxious way) is to tell you how many Texases big it is! Peru is basically twice the size of Texas and the national park is a bit smaller than Dallas-Fort Worth if you don’t include the suburban sprawl which is so massive I don’t even want to think about it. So that should help about .01% of people listening!
The park was established on July 1st of 1975, but the mountain it was named for had only been called Huascaran since about 1850, so less than a hundred years. It’s thought to be named after a nobleman or possibly after a village at its base called Huashco, which itself is a name from the Quechua word for rope. And I obviously thought that was pretty cool, so I had to mention it. And of course, there’s the Incan legend I mentioned in the intro, but I’m sure the names of the mountains have changed a lot over time. And speaking of the intro, I wanted to bring up Everest again. I’ve mentioned it a couple of times already and that’s because there are a lot of similarities between Huascaran and Everest. They’re very big mountains and they attract a lot of climbers from around the world, and being such large mountains they have a lot of things in common from the wildlife, to the way people live there, to the types of dangers they present to anyone trying to summit them. It’s coming up later, but I just wanted you to keep that in mind because it’s important to the story.
The park was also designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985. All of these protections were put in place to stop loggers and hunting in the area where animals such as spectacled bears, vicunas (yes! the softest alpacas), and condors live as well as being home to the queen-of-the-Andes. Now, if you don’t know what this plant is I HIGHLY recommend stopping to look this up when you can, but I’m going to describe it as best I can. If you know what a Yucca is, start by picturing that. If you don’t know what a Yucca looks like either, then try to picture something like a palm tree. And if you don’t know what a palm tree is, I am so sorry I cannot help you. Think about the top of the palm tree or the Yucca and imagine that sitting on the ground and above it is a really tall and thin tower that looks kind of like a pineapple if you stretched it—which is not coincidental, it’s actually related to pineapples. So now that you’re picturing this plant you’re probably thinking, ‘huh, that doesn’t seem worth protecting. it doesn’t sound very cool.’ you’d be wrong, everything alive is worth protecting, but also, this plant is over 50ft (or 15 m) tall. And the best part, is if you look this up on Wikipedia, the picture they feature to represent this beautiful work of nature is of a man standing with his legs kind of far apart in front of two queen-of-the-Andes but only one has a tower on it. So my 14 year old mind is only seeing dick and balls. But I mean, go look for the image yourself and tell me that’s not why Wikipedia decided to use that specific photo.
The park protects significant cultural areas too including pre-Incan civilizations. Archaeologicalists have found agricultural terraces, corrals, roads, dams, water canals, cave paintings, stone tombs, and other artifacts linking the area to ancient peoples.
For the geologists out there, which I hope a lot of climbers are—and I know we got a lot of STEM knitters out there too—the Andes were formed from a continental uplift which is still pushing them higher even today. Uplifts often cause a lot of volcanic activity, which there is a lot of in the area, but specifically around Huascaran there isn’t and that’s thought to be because it sits on a “flat slab” which is a region where the angle of subduction (that’s one tectonic plate slipping under another one) is too shallow to create an active earthquake zone, and yet, it’s also the site of the 1970 magnitude 7.8 quake I mentioned earlier. So, science is not perfect.
Last thing I wanted to mention about the area before we follow Chiaki back there, is the environmental threats to the park. As is the same for a lot of parks around the world, Huascaran suffers from a lack of funding. There is a small but growing number of residents inside the park because, even though the government tried to make sure the people who originally lived in the area maintained their ownership of land outside the park boundaries, some of them overlapped too much with areas in need of protection so there’s a lot of debates around the effects of infrastructure and tourism as well as mining inside the park. And because there are glaciers in these mountains, climate change is affecting them and causing changes to the landscape and wildlife. My take on this is that people draw rigid lines when they protect an area, but the Earth is always changing and so what we protect and how we protect it is not always going to be the same. Like, if I protect my potted plant, I mean, it’s not going to live forever no matter how green my thumb is or isn’t and so if I protect the pot it’s eventually just gonna be a pot full of old dirt. And hey, maybe something else cool can grow in there but it’s not gonna be the one I originally planted. So, all that to say, weather around mountains is always changing, but we’re living in a time when our models for predicting these things are not keeping up with how the world is changing.
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June 14th. Day 3. Chiaki and Saki arrived in Huaraz and spent the day stocking up on supplies. They toured around the city, sightseeing, taking a walk through the Mercado, and enjoying one of Chiaki’s other interests, the incredible food. That night, after they’d finished packing up all the gear, they met up with another friend from Japan (originally from the U.S.), Akira, a trekker and mountaineer who’d actually moved to Huaraz to become a guide and who’d married a Peruvian woman with Japanese parents. And I thought that was so cute, that he was able to find someone with so much in common. In the morning, they said their goodbyes to Akira, and made their way out to to begin the acclimatization trek up to Laguna Churup, which is a lake about a day’s walk outside the city, and lies at an elevation of 14,600 ft (or 4,450 m). So, I know you’re probably wondering how high up Huaraz is and it’s 10,013 ft (or 3,052 m) which means they had a pretty big hike ahead of them. And since we’re in Peru, that’s about the height of Cataratas las Tres Hermanas (or The Three Sisters waterfall) in southern Peru which is the third largest waterfall in the world. And even though that’s a big elevation gain, it can take as little as an hour to hike up to it, but that’s only if you’re well acclimated. Chiaki and her friend were obviously aware of this, which is partly why they planned to spend the previous day in Huaraz to get used to the altitude. At the end of this trek, there’s a granite wall which they scaled. It had some exposed sections with fixed chains and it’s often slippery because the area receives a lot of rain, but they’d come well prepared and enjoyed the climb up.
She checked on her SpO2 (or blood-oxygen levels) after the climb and the reading was 92%. Normal is between 95 and 100%, and hypoxia (which is when your cells aren’t getting enough oxygen and if it’s severe enough you start turning blue) happens at about an SpO2 of 90%. So she’s definitely not at normal but when you’re at a higher altitude people say the air is thinner which means there’s less oxygen and so it’s considered ok to be around 90 to 95% at the altitude she’s at. And obviously, they’re very aware of this and checking their levels, so they know what to look out for as far as altitude sickness and hypoxia. If you haven’t experienced altitude sickness before, it’s hard to explain but you just know what it is. For me, I’ve felt a bad headache, like a pressure in my head, and this kind of itchiness that made it really really hard to sleep. That was when I was a teenager and we visited Silverton, Colorado which is at 3,278 ft (or 1000 m) and my sister actually threw up in the middle of the night. I don’t live very far from sea level, at least not compared to the mountains, so I can imagine it would take me much much longer to acclimatize and I’m guessing they prepared in the months prior with some other high elevation treks because that’s just really really up there.
That night, they took another look at the weather reports and reports about their route, and while the forecast for snow was still uncertain, their route appeared to be clear. After scarfing down some well-earned pizza on the street in a sudden downpour, Chiaki and Saki turned in early and prepared for the long trek ahead. As she looked back through the photos of her day, Chiaki composed what would be her last post. Under pictures of the beautiful landscape, a photo of her National Park pass, and snaps of her and Saki at Laguna Churup, the caption read:
This expedition is expected to last up to 10 days. I plan to enjoy every moment to the fullest!
And there are so many times reading these captions that felt like so much foreshadowing of what was to come. And I think about it, and I think how I would feel in her place at that time, and there is this little voice for the what-ifs. ‘What if it becomes treacherous? What if I don’t come back?’ And I think I would also want to write positive notes to send out into the universe so that the people reading it know that I’m thinking what they’re thinking. And my “last” post or the last thing they’ll read at least until, or if, I can post again is how much I love life and how much I’m living it right now. A lot of people call social media aspirational, but I think it can be really hopeful. It’s not always that people are boasting, that’s really more of a perspective and it’s something I know I feel when I’m feeling low and jealous, but they’re (most of the time) normal people sharing the most meaningful and beautiful parts of their lives. And I really love that that’s something Chiaki has left for the world. All of her climbing photos and videos, and lots of pictures of food, and photos of her family. That’s what I love being able to take away from this. Because I didn’t know her, I’m not even from the same country, the same part of the world, but I found her and I feel really connected to so much of her story because I know what it feels like and want to be outside all the time. So, as sad as that is, I think her posts are something beautiful to look at and something I’m sure her son will grow up enjoying because it’s such a big window into who she was.
Chiaki and Saki would make their way up to the summit of Huascaran over the next ten days. On their trek, they encountered short steep slopes up to an angle of about 60º, glaciers that hid deep crevasses, seracs (or tall columns of ice), avalanche debris, and of course technical climbing over the ice and snow. With their ice axes and crampons attached to their boots, the pair of friends scaled the mountain. And on June 23rd, they reached the summit at 22,205 ft (or 6,768 metres). I don’t know if they were able to check the weather or if they could see how it was changing, but mountains are notorious for making their own weather. And sometime on that day, just as they were descending, the weather began to take a turn. The two got down off the peak and entered an area known as La Garganta, a highly technical part of the mountain between 21,000 and 22,000 ft (or 6,400 and 6,700 m), that would take a lot of effort to get down even in good conditions. As they climbed down, the fog rolled in and a blizzard suddenly covered them in snow. Temperature dropped rapidly to -22ºF (or -30º C). Due to the poor visibility and the heavy snowfall, the pair became trapped on the mountain. Thinking on their feet, and knowing how dire their situation was, the women pulled out their satellite phone and sent out a distress signal that was quickly picked up by the Peruvian Mountain Guides Association who quickly put together a rescue team. But the location they were trapped in was rocky and extremely difficult to access, made only harder given the deep snow. With no clear evacuation routes, their only chance of rescue was to move further down the mountain. The only problem was that Chiaki was experiencing hypothermia and couldn’t move. The cold was depleting her energy and causing her confusion and difficulty standing. There was no way Chiaki could make the difficult descent.
On June 25th, a team of 10 mountain guides made their way up, searching the mountain, braving sub-zero temperatures and high winds, to find the women. The operation was made up of High Mountain Rescue Unit officers, Huascaran National Park personnel, Peruvian Mountain Guides Association (AGMP) members, and volunteer team members. Upon locating the lost climbers, they discovered one was alive and the other dead. Chiaki lay on the ground on her back with her jacket zipped up over her face and not moving as Saki sat beside her. The rescuers urged Saki to move further down the mountain so that they could evacuate her via helicopter, but she refused. She would not leave Chiaki’s side. Over the course of the previous day, Chiaki’s condition had gone from bad to worse. She began to suffer from the lack of oxygen which caused a cerebral edema, and she slipped further and further towards unconsciousness until, sometime in the night, at the age of 40, leaving behind a husband and toddler, Chiaki slipped away completely. Saki could only look on as her friend deteriorated, and now in shock, although she was also still in danger, she refused to leave without Chiaki’s body.
On the 26th, around 4 am, another rescue team set off from base camp. They reached the two by 3pm and were able to get Saki down the mountain. She was transported to Huaraz then transferred to the Huaraz Hospital where she was admitted to the Trauma Shock Unit. She had suffered from severe dehydration and frostbite on both hands and feet. When later asked how she’d managed to survive, Saki said she had worn Chiaki’s jacket after she’d passed away and that was probably the only reason she was still alive. On June 28th, rescuers were finally able to recover Chiaki’s body.
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Chiaki’s story holds a strong resemblance to another incident that had happened 28 years earlier to another Japanese climber on Mt. Everest. 47 year old Yasuko Namba was the second Japanese woman to ever climb the Seven Summits. On May 10th, 1996, she reached the summit of Everest, becoming (at the time) the oldest woman to ever do so. But that day, the climbers had caught summit fever and pushed for the peak in spite of the weather warnings from base camp. The guides attempted to aid their team of climbers down the mountain but on their descent they were caught in a terrible blizzard. It’s said that the trek up Everest is difficult but the descent is even harder. After days of low oxygen, cold, and extreme exertion, it’s tempting to push for the summit. But ascents late in the day combined with exhaustion lead to catastrophic results. On May 11th, Yasuko succumbed to the lack of oxygen and hypothermia on the South Col of Everest at 25,938 ft (or 7,906 m). At somewhere between 90 and 100 pounds, she degraded more rapidly than her fellow climber, Beck Weathers, who also lay trapped on the mountain. While Beck was later able to regain consciousness and managed to walk back to camp, he suffered from severe hypothermia and frostbite, to which he lost his nose, right hand and some of his forearm, and the fingers on his left hand.
Both Chiaki and Yasuko made it to the peaks they dreamed of but in the end, the mountain decided not to let them go. At the age 40 and 47, respectively, Chiaki, as a doctor of mountain medicine and Yasuko, as a member of the Seven Summits Club, had years of experience under their belts, and expertise in mountaineering, but none of that made the difference the day they summited. Though a world away, the two mountains have a similar message for climbers: At your own risk, prevail to the summit, but remember that the mountain has no friends, no enemies, no room for error.
And that’s the story of Chiaki’s last ascent and the dangers of mountains like Huascaran. I know it’s a really sad story but I hope this doesn’t deter anyone from alpine climbing. It’s definitely something I could see myself doing in the future and I really feel like this story and others like Yasuko’s actually give me a lot of hope and confidence. It’s important to really trust the weather reports when they say the conditions aren’t good. In Yasuko’s case that was somewhat avoidable. They likely still would’ve been trapped far above base camp on the mountain but the expedition she was in could probably have survived if they’d stayed at one of the lower camps or turned back instead of summiting. It’s so alluring to just keep going when you’re already so close, and it costs so so much time, money, effort to make it out to Everest so I can only imagine how defeating it must feel to turn back. But if it’s turn back or die on a mountain, I just don’t think I love climbing enough to risk that. Honestly, I’m still working on actually taking a lead fall and I haven’t even been able to get there yet.
In Chiaki’s case, some authorities speculated that they took a risk by not having a guide with them. I don’t think I fully agree with that. While I understand it’s useful to have a guide and certainly one who already knows the mountain and the area, these women were highly experienced and Chiaki had led people as a guide herself on other peaks. So it’s not a theory to toss out the window but it’s definitely not the only thing to consider. What I do think, however, that may be the most important, is that a team of two just isn’t enough for a high-altitude ascent on such a challenging mountain. Even backcountry backpacking or just hiking, doing that on a trail miles away from the next human with just two people is so risky because if one person gets hurt, the other has to decide if there’s a better chance for them to be rescued if they leave or if they stay. Because now you’re having to decide, based on your companion’s condition, will they die from their injuries or weather, or predators if I leave them? Or if we split up could I get more lost and then rescuers only find one of us or maybe neither? Like what if my companion is unconscious and the rescuers walk right by them, meanwhile I’m another 30 miles away looking for a road that’s not there. Obviously that’s going off on a wild tangent, but these things do happen, and I believe in safety in numbers. So, if you’re planning to summit, even if it’s a much shorter mountain you can hike up, definitely think about getting more friends to go with you (ideally at a skill level to match the ascent) and really really pay attention to the weather and your gut. If you’re on the mountain and your heart says yes but your gut says no, you’ve gotta listen to your gut. But it’s also a mountain. It doesn’t matter what plans we make, once you’re on the mountain, you’re on the mountain’s schedule, and if it decides to make a storm you didn’t plan for, it’s just nature and nature has no ethics, no good or bad, it’s not a terrible storm, it’s just a storm. And that’s where having a guide or someone who knows the area better can definitely benefit your team.
And I have one more update on Huascaran. There was a group of three friends climbing the mountain in 2002 when an avalanche buried them. At first, only one member, Steve Erskine’s body was found, and then 22 years later in 2024 Bill Stampfl was discovered by other climbers, mummified by the cold after some of the ice around him had melted. The third member of their team, Matthew Richardson, still remains missing. So, if you climb that mountain and see something that doesn’t look like it should be there, go investigate, if it’s safe of course, because you never know. And the guys who found Bill, Ryan Cooper and Wesley Waren, just thought to take a closer look at this unusual formation only to find it was a frozen body. And the thing is that they were descending the mountain at the time because of inclement weather. Obviously this story in itself kind of disproves what I just said about climbing only with one other person, and it’s not to say that’s entirely unsafe, it’s just adding a risk in a place where there are already a lot of risks. And clearly, Saki mitigated one of those risks by bringing her SAT phone which saved her life. So, maybe you’re the over-cautious friend with a backpack full of extra weight that day but it could make the difference between going home and staying on the mountain forever.
If you’re interested in seeing some of Chiaki’s boulder sends or learning more about mountain medicine, I highly recommend checking out her and her husband’s YouTube channel: @chippe0910 and watching some of their videos. They’re in Japanese but they have this auto-dub feature which seems to work pretty well. Although, in my research for this episode, not on their channel but on a Peruvian news channel, the auto-dub was relaying the news about the recovery of her body and this menacing cackle kept happening. It was super off-putting and really inappropriate and I had to turn off the video. I really did not like that. Anyway, Chiaki’s husband is still running the channel and he’s reposted some of her older videos as well. Her family actually posted the funeral ceremony and spreading of her ashes and it was so sad but really pretty. I teared up really hard watching, not her husband who was so impressively brave giving his speech, but this old school friend of hers from college just broke down and it was really hard to watch him feel that. But I liked seeing the end of her life being celebrated this way, especially after hours and hours getting to know her just knowing that eventually her story ends in the same way, the way that I found out about her, which was the news story about her death. Her husband spread the ashes over these two new trees overlooking a bright green field and mountains in the distance. And I don’t know about Japanese funerary practices, but they did something so cool. Inside the house, I think this was where she lived, was all of her climbing gear, all of it laid out around her climbing board. It was every shoe she wore, all of her clothes, the ropes, the quickdraws, harness, the everything that she’d worn and touched a thousand times. It was like an art piece memorializing her life. It’s like when people say a picture is worth a thousand words, I think object in her life was like that and it’s beautiful that her family shared that not only with everyone there but online to the climbing community, to people like me on the other side of the planet, inviting us in to see Chiaki in a way that an entire book couldn’t tell us.
I know that was a lot, but I hope you enjoyed listening. And to leave the knitters on a lighter note, please please tell me if you have used vicuna wool and where did you get it and was it as soft as cashmere? I’m not kidding, I want to make a Peruvian hat for myself at some point, and one day I’ll make a trip to Peru with my cute little Chullo, and I’m gonna go meet the alpacas in person. Thank you for listening. Bye!
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