V.
“Someday this war’s gonna end.”

Waiting is not one of my strong suits. Matt’s wick is even shorter. And in the copious downtime, our mutual impatience rubbed each other’s nerves raw. Yet with Katie gone and Dan content to shoot pictures, Matt and I found common ground in the desire to get up at least one big route. As our remaining days dwindled, we focused on one thing: Bienvenidos a Mi Insomnio.

Put up by Seeliger and his two friends/employees, the Argentinean brothers Juan Pablo and Ezequiel Manoni, Bienvenidos is truly the area classic. Boasting 20 pitches, most of which are 5.10a or harder, the route is a magnificent journey up Cerro Trinidad. It is longer than Lotus Flower Tower, and bigger and more continuous than anything at the grade in Yosemite. For me, it had originally been on the back burner, but my crazed obsession with Nunca Mas Marisco had finally run headlong into reality. It was too hard; my will was too weak. Bienvenidos would be a fine alternative. But nearing the end of the trip, we started to lose sleep over the prospect of not even supping on this treat.

Just four days before departure, Matt and I headed up to bivy at the base of Cerro Trinidad in decent weather. The approach no longer daunted us, and we soon brewed up at the base as the sunset blazed the granite.

The next morning dawned brilliantly clear, and Matt and I set out just behind another team we’d befriended at the refugio: two Yanks and a Chilean. The first few pitches, which we’d reconned weeks before, slipped away in the dawn. Although the not-quite-crack groove climbing had originally sucker-punched us, on this final route, Matt and I made our peace with the flares and started to enjoy this uniquely Cochamó style. Matt, who has redpointed 5.13d in Rifle (not to mention his proj at Pared Seca), returned to climbing kindergarten as he made his way across smooth, exposed 5.10 slabs — a huge grin belying the trouble he was having. The exposure intoxicated him on his first really big climb. I just kept eyeballing the horizon for clouds and re-racking as quickly as possible.

On top, the sight of the surrounding Andes bathed in sunshine reminded us why we love to climb. The staggering potential also revealed itself. More enormous cliffs peeked from previously hidden valleys. We counted at least 10 separate walls that looked 1,600 feet or taller. My altimeter had recorded a 3,445-foot ascent, but just a few rappels off the north face put us on the hike back to our bivy. We arrived just after dark, punch-drunk with fatigue and satisfaction. Cochamó finally had smiled upon us, banishing the memories of boredom and discomfort of weeks past, if just for one day.

Dan, Matt, and I horse-packed out two days later. Although our suffering had been minimal compared to historic Patagonian epics, it had been a trying few weeks in Cochamó, and I finally admitted to the intimidation I’d felt. Yes, the climbing was difficult and heady. The weather was challenging. But more crucially, as Joseph Conrad put it in Heart of Darkness, we had been surrounded by “the heavy, mute spell of the wilderness.” Even so, like that spell that bound Kurtz to the jungle, the three of us decided that the walls we’d spied across the waves of forested hills from atop Bienvenidos deserved a closer look. Too many adventures lurked outside the boat for just one trip. And, as Cochamó taught us, if you get out of the boat, you’d better go all the way.

Despite all the Apocalypse Now quotes, Chris Kalous, these days living in Colorado, is more of a Ratatouille fan.