Pico de Orizaba — Failure, Obsession, Redemption

Pico de Orizaba, at 18,491 ft, is the tallest volcano in North America. It also became my teacher — twice.

Attempt One — May 2023

In May, Rocco, Riley, and I left Vail and flew down to Mexico City. After a couple days, we drove through Puebla and Tlachichuca to the Piedra Grande Hut at 14,000 ft. We only stayed six hours before attempting the summit — a rookie mistake I didn’t yet understand.

The moment we arrived, I felt sick. By the time we started the summit push, my stomach flipped. My anxiety surged as I looked up the aqueduct — a line of headlamps stretching endlessly ahead. I had just bought La Sportiva Nepal Cubes, but in my sea-level shoe size. My swollen feet slammed into the front of the boots with every step.

At 15,000 ft, the vomiting began. Once. Then again. Then again. By the time I reached 17,000 ft at the base of the glacier, I had thrown up six times and couldn’t hold down water. My guide told me I was moving too slowly to continue. My determination screamed to keep going, but my lack of glacier training told me he was right. Riley continued on and summited. I cried the whole way down, convinced altitude was my body’s enemy. Maybe I would never be able to do this.

The Obsession

On the plane ride home, I started reading everything I could about altitude physiology. I wasn’t giving up. That summer and fall, I trained relentlessly in Colorado — climbing 2–6 fourteeners every weekend. In two months, I went from 6 summits to over 20.

But training wasn’t enough. I needed skills.

So that summer, Rocco and I took a 5-day mountaineering course on Mount Baker, learning glacier travel, crevasse rescue, rope systems, and self-arrest. We then immediately put those skills to the test by summiting Mount Rainier unguided — our first big independent expedition. For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged on a mountain.

Attempt Two — November 2023

Armed with new experience, we returned to Mexico. This time, we went unguided. I acclimated in Tlachichuca at 11,000 ft… and then caught COVID. I was devastated. I had trained so hard. I took Paxlovid, quarantined, and the second I tested negative, I set off for the summit.

This climb hurt — but it was different. My training and skills gave me confidence. I had Zofran in my pocket and a better pair of boots. There was no vomiting this time, just steady suffering. Step by step, I pushed higher until I finally stood at Pico’s summit.

My victory wasn’t without pain. My boots still weren’t right. At the top, my feet felt like a million fire ants biting at once. I collapsed, and a kind local ripped off my boots and smacked the bottoms of my feet until circulation returned. I descended completely exhausted. Back in Vail, bloodwork revealed I had likely developed a blood clot in my lungs, triggered by rebound COVID. Somehow, it dissolved on its own.

Lesson

Pico broke me down, then forced me to rebuild. I learned that failure at altitude isn’t the end — it’s the beginning of obsession, adaptation, and growth. Taking a mountaineering course, summiting Rainier unguided, and returning to climb Pico on my own terms taught me that the mountains don’t just demand strength. They demand respect, humility, and skill.

That November summit wasn’t just redemption. It was proof that I wasn’t only capable of enduring — I was capable of leading and thriving at altitude.