Conquest of a Mountain

Mountaineering veterans of some of the toughest climbs of the Alps, the Rockies and the Himalayas are currently flocking to Peru, drawn by the country's cluster of virgin (i.e., unclimbed) peaks ranging up to 20,000 ft. or more. In recent months, two major expeditions have been preparing assaults on the spectacular snowcrest of Salcantay, 20,551 ft. above sea level. One, an American-French group, has been reconnoitering the peak in an airplane; the other, a Swedish-Italian group, has been warming up by scaling other Peruvian slopes.

Last week, while the big parties were still flexing their muscles, Lima learned that two Swiss mountaineers, traveling light, had grabbed off the honors for the first ascent of Salcantay.

A Dash Up. Getting ready for Salcantay, blond Marcus Broennimann, 28, a mining engineer, and leathery Felix Marx, 48, a foundry technician, bought 1,600 ft. of rope, feather-lined suits, three tents, sleeping bags, canned milk, chocolate, dried fruit and special concentrated food. At the mountain city of Huancayo, they loaded the gear and Broennimann's plump bride Susan into a pickup truck, and drove 530 miles to ancient Cusco.

It took two days of climbing to reach the 15,000-ft. level on Salcantay's eastern face--and they were immediately snowed in for three days. Six days later, they built a base camp of snowblocks at 17,220 ft. Susan stayed there; the bearded Swiss slogged on for three days to 18,500 ft. and pitched a tent for their high camp. At that rarefied height, the temperature, in the bright sunlight, 122DEG F.; twelve hours later it fell to --15DEG. Nevertheless, the climbers toiled on next day, up another 1,300 ft. to a cave. The following morning, as the sun rose out of the steaming Amazonian jungles far to the east, they moved on to the top.

It was an exhausting scramble. Dry snow, fine as sand, and rock, crumbled by the unending freeze-and-thaw, gave no firm foothold. But at 11:55 a.m., sucking at the thin, cold air, they were at the center of the long, narrow summit, where they planted a Peruvian flag.

A Tumble Down. Ninety minutes later, in high elation, they started down. Nightfall pinned them on an icy hogback. Broennimann slipped, the rope which tied him to Marx spun out and then broke, and he tumbled 100 ft. to fetch up in soft snow with a broken rib. In darkness, his feet beginning to freeze, he got back to high camp, where Marx rejoined him.

They dropped cautiously downward next day, picking up Susan at base camp, and continuing until Broennimann's pain-racked feet would take him no farther. Marx rushed on for help; the Broennimanns huddled together four days and nights through a raging blizzard. Marcus feared that his feet might have to be cut off. But last week, carried to a hacienda at the foot of Salcantay, Broennimann was resting with the comforting assurance from a local doctor that amputation would not be necessary.

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