As mentioned in the previous post, my 5 summits, 3 on glaciated volcanos, have left me exhausted. After 48 hours back in DC, a ton of sleep, and a return to work, my eyes continue to feel sort of heavy today!
Chimborazo proved to be the most challenging summit we faced – it certainly wasn’t a highly technical climb, but we were going on only 1 day of rest instead of 2, my body was fatigued overall, I felt sleep deprived despite hours of napping, and I was a touch under-the-weather. Needless to say, I was turning into an Advil-addict.
Approaching the glacier, we passed through a corridor filled with the possibility of rock falls ahead. In the dark early on, we heard rocks crashing above and later encountered a series of much smaller rock falls. The terrain was uneven and difficult to walk on – Alex asked what this type of terrain would be called, Bill from Earth Treks responded, “Sucky.” I had my own personal list of adjectives…four letter words abound in my head in association with this portion of the ascent and descent alike.
We finally reached the glacier and while we weren’t the only group on the mountain that night, we found ourselves in greater isolation than we had encountered on Cotopaxi. Multiple groups turned back around 19,000 feet, and I’ll admit, the last 1,000-plus feet seemed to last forever. They were incredibly steep and without switchbacks or opportunities to rest. The snow was punch-through – it held the weight of a person for just a second before giving way, allowing my feet slide lower than where they had stepped from to begin with. As I read this, it sounds miserable – I think it was incredibly frustrating, if nothing else. For the first time on the trip, I had instances of doubt and uncertaintity. I allowed the desire to stop to creep into my mind – mentally and physically, moving forward was daunting, fighting myself and that little voice in the back of my mind magnified the challenge. I thought often of crossfit – take 3 deep breaths and keep going, embrace the suck, shut your brain off, leave everything out there, and on and on. I thought of yoga and aimed to find a rhythm in my breath and my steps, but with uneven terrain and punch-through snow below, I struggled.
Wilson, our Ecuadorian guide, had previously dubbed me a “hardcore woman” after Cayambe. Ha! I’m not sure I would have gone to that extreme, but I’ll take the flattery any day! Coming off of Chimborazo, my only comment was, “I don’t think I was very hardcore on that one…” to which he responded, “Well, Sarita…you definitely slowed down.” And Lord knows I did! I slowed down considerably and at one point during the descent, I took a substantial fall forward, in addition to so many more small slips and stumbles.
We reached the “sub-summit” of roughly 20,400-plus feet around 8:00 in the morning – it was windy and cold. Quickly, the team discussed continuing to the summit – less than a 100 foot gain in elevation, it would take nearly an hour to walk the long and relatively flat traverse. It would be 2 hours round trip before we could stand back where we already were and begin our final descent. The cost-benefit analysis began – I’ll admit, my inclination was to continue. We had come so far already, it seemed a shame to stop on a summit so close to the highest apex. But the team leaned decidedly against continuing and opted to instead enjoy our victory where we stood. I could have made an argument to continue, I could have suggested that it would be worth it – but I didn’t. Success and failure happen as a team, mountaineering behavior depends on the actions of each person – I trusted this team inherently. If the decision and consensus, if the best thing for the team, was to stop where we were, there was nothing in me that would question that decision. We enjoyed our success with pictures and hugs and returned to Quito around 5:30 pm with a night full of packing ahead before early morning flights. The idea of returning 2 hours later, for only a 100 foot gain in elevation, if we had continued was overwhelming to even consider.
I left the remainder of Justin’s ashes at the summit of Chimborazo – without him for the first time on the trip, I began the descent. The entire concept and this situation overall continues to feel surreal somedays.
Early in my blogging, I wrote that this trip was not for Justin…but it was because of him. It was because he shared his sense of adventure with everyone he knew and because he encouraged me and everyone he encountered unconditionally, it was because he taught me so much about filling life with living, and it was because he taught me so much about climbing (and let’s be real – he teased me an awful lot too), it was because without him, so many of us felt ourselves facing incredible grief and a choice to sit down and give-up or to fight like hell to move forward. This trip was a way, one of many ways, I decided to fight like hell. And it seemed fitting – it was harder than I had imagined it might have been and the moments of challenge and frustration can’t be captured in words on paper. It’s a sentiment that has to be experienced, not explained. In some ways, these adventures are like a physical replication of the emotional challenges life holds.
At our summit on Chimborazo, I stood higher than Denali – admittedly, the overall elevation change on Chimborazo is much less than that of Denali, but regardless, a year ago, I would have never imagined I would have done any this. It was a challenge that I didn’t see belonging within my life; it was the type of adventure that others took, the kind of thing that left me jealous, but with no real sense of how to integrate any of it into my life. Somehow, I not only jumped into this adventure, but experienced no real fear or anxiety while on it, not in crossing crevasses or moments of significant exposure next to drop-offs and ledges – for those who know me (and my tendency to worry), this is a shocking revelation, but this adventure was exactly where I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to be doing – there was nothing to fear.
And of course, I noticed that somehow we faced each summit attempt with clear skies and good weather – how many times have we noted that Justin seems to clear the weather just when we need it. So many sunny skies – so fitting.
I would give anything in the world to change how the last year has unfolded in many different ways – but I can’t. And so instead, I took every “because” Justin ever gave me – so many more than I could ever list above – and broke into an entirely new part of my life. To him, I am forever grateful for this opportunity. I hope somewhere he knows what it meant to me, what he meant to me, and how much we all miss him. I am grateful to the friends and family that held my hand and gave shoulders to cry on in the midst of tremendous grief, opened up their homes and their hearts, opened up their arms when I needed to be held, and who have pushed and encouraged me as I embarked on this adventure. I learned so much about myself in the process of preparing and throughout this adventure, I have learned an awful lot about life - some lessons I'd rather not know, I met incredible people along the way, and was reminded of the incredible strength and love and support in my life from the people I already know.
I have already been asked – would I do this again, would I repeat the entire trip? Absolutely. It was a life experience I would never miss. Will I attempt more summits in the future? Probably – I need a few days of mountaineer’s memory and selective amnesia first, then a chance to look back at the pictures and appreciate the view before I commit to another mountain. And between now and then, I think I need a vacation where I can find sand between my toes and a daiquiri in my hand.
Onto my next adventures…
No comments:
Post a Comment