Peñalara is the highest peak in the Guadarrama mountain range (Sierra de Guadarrama) within the Madrid region at about 7,965 feet (2,428 meters) high. It can be a quick climb depending on one’s fitness, as the most commonly used trails begin at Puerto de Cotos, which is already at about 6,000 feet (1,830 meters).
It’s a popular peak, especially on nice days, which makes it an excellent place to see what some here call “domingueros.” A fairly impolite term – these are people who come to climb a mountain with clothes more befitting a casual stroll in a well-manicured English Garden or an Instagram photoshoot, which they may very well be there to do. I don’t much care what people wear or how they choose to pass the time outdoors (if they don’t leave trash), usually the only ones who suffer any discomfort for their ill-prepared clothing choices are themselves, however, occasionally the alpine environment and subsequent unpredictability of the weather can get people into trouble. In general, I think we should all take a “plan for the worst” approach. It has usually steered me anxiously well in life (and is at its best with weather).
I first climbed Peñalara in January of 2020 by a variation on the normal route and a ridge you can use to make a long loop past some alpine lakes. On that trip, we saw people climbing the snow gullies that line the southeast portion of the summit and its shoulder. At the time, we only had one piolet each and took note of some of the lower angle slopes that we could try. Then, we never visited Peñalara again. Well, at least not that year.
This year we were ready to take on the snow gullies of Peñalara as we’ve been lucky with snow in the Sierra and we bought a set of ice tools back in the spring before heading to the Alps. Since mid-January, my partner has been climbing several gullies – one on Peñalara, another on a nearby mountain in the Sierra called La Maliciosa, and another one somewhat nearby that he pointed out to me and I have now forgotten. However, this was the first time for me.
The original plan was to climb another gully which has a steeper angle, but we changed plans for reasons entirely due to me. As we approached the area at the base of the southeastern gullies, my partner pointed out the first we saw, which is a lower angle slope topped with a fantastic cornice.
“What a giant cornice you have!” I exclaimed.
“All the better to bury you in dense immovable snow and suffocate you,” it replied back with its mere existence.
“No thanks.” I said to my partner. “Next!”
The next was the Classic Southeast Gully of Peñalara. I stared at it, my brain whispering “oh no, no, no” before I asked, “So…the other one is steeper?” He confirmed that and encouraged us to do this one instead since it was my first time out here. I found the suggestion tolerable, but, as my brain pointed out, not as nice as just turning around and going home. It always does this to me – poking me and prodding me to take the easier solution – “Why try hard,” it asks, “when you can be warm and comfortable?” Why indeed.
The gully starts out next to a rocky cliff at a pretty-tame-for-basic-mountaineering slope then flattens a bit before the serious part. Full of nervous energy, I churned up this first part, overtaking my partner who took a slightly more dramatic and steeper slope to the left. After a short mental break on the flat part, we took on the final push, which gradually gets steeper as it nears the summit.
To make a long story short (ha ha, never), I made it to the top without incident – I did not fall to my death or panic and freeze. There should be more drama, especially after all that lead up, right? Well, no. The last thing anyone wants in the mountains is drama.
On the summit, my hands shook softly as I ate my sandwich, not from the cold but most likely from the adrenaline. It made eating difficult. The mortadella (I bet you thought I was going to say jamón) kept slipping from between the bread and I kept having to poke it back in.
Then, we walked along the ridge away from the summit with the intention of seeing the much steeper gully my partner had planned for us that day. As we stood above that gully’s exit, I could see in the distance another pair on the gully we had just climbed. They were at the steepest part, almost near the end. I watched them briefly, trying to reconcile what felt like two completely different selves – the one who did that same thing, calm and controlled, with the one who was standing there watching, utterly unbelieving.
The story should end here, but since, much to my dismay, most mountains don’t have a zip line from the summit, we had to walk back down. And, here is where I lost it. After all, for me, it wouldn’t be a day in the mountains without crying uncontrollably, which I then did as we descended via the lower angle slope I had previously seen under the Big Bad Cornice, which, given the temperature and wind at the summit, was actually not very threatening. There was no real good reason for it, but I made up many – the snow conditions, the slope angle, my partner, mountains in general, my “stupid” lifestyle. Truthfully, it was probably just the release of stress or adrenaline from the summit. At the time, I felt like this “ruined” the day and the accomplishment, but now I know that is ridiculous – it doesn’t ruin anything if I don’t let it.
All in all, the day was a success, not just because we made it to the top (and of course back home again), but because I was able to stay mostly in a healthy headspace, which is how I measure success in the mountains. If I can accomplish (or not accomplish) something without telling myself “I can’t do it” or “I don’t belong here,” I consider that a major success. In fact, instead of those usual and, frankly, terrible mantras, at some point I said “I’m getting mentally fatigued,” which for me is revolutionary.
