As the crew rested, I raced off to find the start of my and Katie’s objective: Nunca Mas Marisco, an 18-pitch 5.12d established by a capable crew of six Italians in 2005. “Seafood Never Again” referred to the team’s bout with food poisoning from local mussels. My audacious plan had been simply to climb this, the hardest route in the valley, and be done with it. (How could it be 5.12d? I’d asked myself. What do Italians know about crack climbing?) But I was starting to learn that Cochamó doesn’t give itself away very easily. In fact, much of Cerro Trinidad, the valley’s most dominating wall, is full of impossibly smooth slabs. In the middle of the wall, you’ll find El Pie, a distinct feature 1,500 feet high and so named because of its resemblance to an enormous footprint. Capping each toe are mammoth roofs and overhanging corners, some of which constitute the cruxes of several aid routes. Marisco splits a buttress right of El Pie.

Our revised plan was to recon the first few pitches; we wanted to figure out some of the mysteries scribbled on the community topo down in camp. For example, why did the free-ascent rack call for several knifeblades on one of the crux pitches? Did that mean the buggers had pulled out their protection? As I stood below El Pie, swatting at thumb-sized tábanos with my mouth agape, our modest plan began to unravel: I couldn’t, for the life of me, find the start of the route.

The first pitch had a bolt, or so the topo claimed, so I assumed I could orient off this. In the coming weeks, I would assume many things that would prove laughable. But at the base of Cerro Trinidad on that first mission, I still had an overflowing well of self-confidence, so I crashed through the dense jungle, spotting what looked like a bolt and then dismissing it, over and over. When I reached the base of a long, slightly wet, arching groove, I was about 30 percent sure that, despite not seeing a bolt, I had found Marisco. Katie and crew sat on a nearby ridge, waiting for me to come up for air.

“Chris, it’s getting a little late,” Katie yelled. “I think we should just do the route Dan and Matt are going to do, and come back for this later!” Dan and Matt had elected to try Bienvenidos a Mi Insomnio, an awe-inspiring 20-pitch 5.11a. They, too, wisely planned on getting only a taste, on the first few pitches.

It was already midmorning, and we had to descend the way we’d come. Since I’d forgotten the food bag, we’d had nothing to eat besides a couple bars Katie had magnanimously offered to share. I started to come around and give up my hopes of sending the hardest route in the valley in record time — of gloriously laughing my way up this testpiece, despite the fact that 5.12d was at my very limit. But I still wanted to find it ...