The ‘easiest’ 6000m peak - Huayna Potosí

If there was ever a time when the saying ‘slow and steady wins the race’ rang undeniably true, it was on the trail to Huayna Potosí. Each step was a quiet battle against gravity and breathlessness. Every movement deliberate. Measured. Small. The kind of small that feels monumental at nearly 6,000 meters above sea level.

Huayna Potosí 101

Towering at 6,088m, Huayna Potosí is often dubbed one of the most accessible +6,000m peaks in the world. Just 25km from La Paz, Bolivia, it lures aspiring mountaineers with the promise of high-altitude glory. Albeit “accessible” —it’s still a serious climb, demanding grit, acclimatisation, and a crash course in mountaineering basics.

Day 0: Acclimatising in La Paz

At 3,650m, La Paz served as our first test. Just walking the steep city streets left Max & I short of breath, a taste of what was to come. We spent a couple of days here letting our bodies adjust, soaking in the altitude—and the nerves.

Day 1: Base Camp & Ice Climbing

Morning brought gear checks, duffel bags, and first introductions to our team who we would be climbing with: Tim, Sophie, Jo, Maxim, myself and Max. We used South Treks as the tour agency as we’d heard excellent reviews. From La Paz, a short drive took us to the base camp trailhead at 4,700m.

That was when we first saw our mountain.

I’ll be honest—I looked up and thought, ‘There’s no f***ing way.’ It was colossal, glinting with ice, and impossibly steep.

That afternoon, we met our guides: Javier and Ramiro who greeted us with quiet confidence. From there we took a 45 minute walk up to the glacier and strapped on our crampons for technical training; learning the basics of using an ice axe and crampons.

As a bonus we got to try our hand at some vertical ice climbing! Our guides made everything look infuriatingly easy!

That evening, Jo led a calming yoga session in our dorm. We stretched, breathed, and tried to derail the nervous chatter— which mostly veered into ACOTAR and Fourth Wing theories. A wholesome distraction from the enormity of what lay ahead.

After some cocoa tea, and a classic Bolivian feed of chicken and rice we managed to get some sleep. 

Day 2: Hike to High Camp (5,130m)

We started slow, the way you’re supposed to at altitude. The hike to high camp was short in distance but punishing in effort. What would’ve taken 30 minutes at sea level took two and a half hours!! Each breath was shallow, and each step a very conscious act.

It was also snowing heavily. This was a bit worrying for our summit day. Fresh snow to trek through, combined with the risk we may not see anything at the top didn’t make for great motivation. But alas, we persisted onwards.

By now, the altitude was beginning to show its teeth & I was getting pretty nervous for the summit the following day.

At dinner (5pm), Ramiro gathered us for a briefing. We’d wake at midnight and begin the summit hike at 1am…. I’m usually a night owl so this kind of worked in my schedule (lol).

We went to bed that night at 7pm. 

I kept waking with bouts of breathlessness. My mind spiralled a wee bit after the third time, thinking that if I was breathless just lying down at 5,130m, how could I possibly climb another thousand meters?

I wanted to maximise my chances of reaching the summit & while breathlessness had a high chance of overcoming me, I  popped a Panadol and a loperamide and went back to sleep after a few more chapters of Iron Flame…I wasn’t going to let a  headache or diarrhoea get in my way (which are typical altitude sickness symptoms).

Day 3: Summit Day - The Cold, Thin Push to 6,088m

Max’s alarm rang out at midnight. Before any of us could move, the sound of vomit hurtling to the floor from echoed from Maxim’s top bunk…Our sixth team member wouldn’t be joining the summit attempt. The climb suddenly felt real.

Only 60% of people make it to the top, they say. So our odds had just gone up. 

Max and I got kitted up, had a quick breakfast of cocoa tea, jam and cake, another loperamide and then roped ourselves to Javier. The snow had ceased and I could see the sky was clear up ahead. We were going to have an epic sunrise.... If we made it to the top!

Just before we took our first steps into the darkness we scrunched a handful of cocoa leaves into our mouth, and settled them in a ball against our cheek. These are the equivalent to 10 cups of coffee / NZT-48 / Compound V. As soon as those leaves hit my cheek membrane I realised why half the population of Bolivia was chewing them.

The climb was agonisingly slow and brutally cold. Breath. Step. Breath. Step. We reached the half way point, which was the steepest section around 3am. At this juncture every move felt like one step forward and two steps backward. I was exhausted going up this section and considered that if it continued this way I would have to quit—but I didn’t. Something kept me going. Maybe pride, stubbornness, determination… or Maybe Javier’s firm tug on the rope. We made it to the top of this midway peak and collapsed on the ground ….. this part was really hard! 

We continued on after a short break, and then at 5,700m, it hit me hard—nausea, anxiety, the sudden and desperate need to take a sh*t. I called for a break. Ten minutes. No more. Beyond that, the cold becomes too dangerous. I forced down a frozen snickers bar at Max’s insistence, and stuffed in some more cocoa leaves against my cheek like they were a lifeline. They worked! And thank goodness for the loperamide. 

The summit still loomed. 5,800m. 5,900m. My world narrowed to the crunch of ice beneath my boots and the white beam of my headlamp. We were doing this, we were going to make it! Max was battling with nausea too but continued trudging on with words of encouragement.

Then I made the mistake of looking up…

A 75-degree slope stared back. The final 200m. My heart sank. I nearly collapsed, it felt like there was no air left to breath. But Javier wasn’t having it—he gave the rope a fierce tug and shouted, “¡Vamos, vamos!” (Let’s go, let’s go!)

One last breath. One more step.

Then another.

And another.

With 30 metres left, we were crawling along a knife-edge ridge. My body screamed. My lungs were working overtime. But there it was—the summit. We reached it just as the first blush of dawn spilled across the Andes.

I let out a small whimper, only small because tears would have taken the energy I didn’t have. Max and I embraced Javier in a frosty hug. We’d done it!!!

At 6,088 meters. Max & I stood on top of Huayna Potosí.

After we took a couple of pictures we began on the decent. 

The descent was surreal. Frozen fingers, dazed euphoria. We passed deep crevasses and towering ice formations we hadn’t seen in the dark. Maybe it was better that way…. Haha. 

Back at high camp, our team reunited—everyone had summited, apart from Maxim who was sitting there happily with his cocoa tea. Our team was exhausted but elated, we packed up, hiked down to base camp, and sealed the experience with a warm empanada.

Climbing Huayna Potosí wasn’t just about reaching the summit—it was about inching forward when everything inside begged me to stop. It was about discovering the strange beauty of suffering, the strength of slow progress, and the deep, quiet joy of standing on the roof of the Andes with the rising sun on our face. Absolutely stoked!