There is nothing more menacing, more intimidating, more alluring than the prospect of conquering a mountain. At 1:15 a. m. I emerged from my tent with my boots laced, my ice-axe stowed, and my headlamp glowing. I was ready for this mountain, rearing to begin the ascent up its face. Before leaving base camp, my guide had a few words to share with the team. We gathered around him, and he began. “This will not be an easy climb,” he warned, “And not all of you will reach the summit. If you feel disoriented, I will send you down. If you are slowing, I will send you down.
If you present a danger to yourself or to the team, I will send you down. If I tell you it is time, you will not object to my command. You will go down. Do you understand? ” None of us had any intention of stopping. We spent weeks training for this climb and were certain that by midday we would all be atop the summit. Danger or not, we would keep on chugging. But our guide demanded an answer, and so we nodded in agreement. The hike’s first hour zipped by, and we maintained a steady pace. Though scree, crags and switchbacks riddled the trail, they were no match for our strength and determination.
We were born to tackle this peak, we were ready to make it to the top. Group morale had never been higher. Suddenly a shriek from the rear sliced through the calm. The girl behind me was on her knees, shivering exhausted and with no will to go on. As our procession shuddered to a halt, the guide sprung into action. With the swiftness of a screeching peregrine, he descended on her limp form. A moment later, he made good on his word. She was to return to base camp at once, and we were to continue upward. Though we felt sad for the girl, her failure did not shake us.
She lived — after all — in a small island nation, and had never ventured above a few hundred feet. The altitude had gotten her, not the mountain. We were used to this height, and safe from her downfall. Three hours passed, and we climbed higher up through the dark, Pacific sky. With the sun nestled deep below the horizon, and the stars hidden well beyond the clouds, my headlamp’s shine lit the way. As we shuffled ever higher, I focused in on the boot treads before me. Studying their intricate, rugged design was all that kept my mind off the throbbing pain building through every muscle.
I was in a trance, enchanted by the smack of rubber on rock. Their movement was rhythmic and purposeful, and they kept me going through the monotony of the ascent. The eastern peaks were glowing pink by the time we reached the ice fields. As we bent down to strap on our crampons, our long-silent guide spoke. “When that sun crests, its going to heat up. Take off your jackets now. ” Everyone shed their outer shells. exposing their limbs to the still bitter cold. But I refused. I was frigid and aching, and the last thing I would ever do was leave the warmth and comfort of my puffy.
The sun had not yet risen, and until it had I was determined to stay in my cocoon. Smug with my decision to outwit Mother Nature, I took pity on the shivering, suffering fools standing around me. A mere twenty minutes later, I was exhausted. The sun had burst through the clouds and was basking the mountainside in violent light. I was roasting in the safety of my outer shell. As my once confident steps became desperate shuffles, I began to understand that my end was near. But I had a goal to achieve, and so I fought to deny what I knew to be true.
Soon, I fell back and separated from the group. It was then that the guide made his move. He swooped down on me, looked me in the eye, and told me it was time. It is easy to forget how unforgiving nature can be. In a world teeming with the quick fixes and comforts of modernity, Mother Nature stands as our final, unconquerable challenge. To find success in the natural world — to reach the mountaintop I could not — one must remember: in the wild, the game is different. Once we step off the path, we play by Her rules.
