Patagonia 1998
Before starting work my job at Arthur Andersen, I headed off to the Andes for a bit of volcano bagging and to try and climb the 6962-metre Aconcagua, South America’s highest mountain and one of the magical “Seven Summits”.
Even though it was well before the start of the climbing season when the temperatures are far lower, youthful exuberance got the better of me and I thought that I could reach the top on my own. I gave myself just ten days to climb the mountain, allowing very little time to acclimatise to the altitude.
Things were going well until I realised that my toes had gone completely numb, the altitude was affecting my vision to the point that I could barely see, my head felt as if it was about to explode and the only other person on the mountain was about 2,000 vertical metres below me. I was forced to admit defeat just two hours from the top, but not before I had scared myself silly.
