The climb

1am... My body clock buzzes. It's time to head towards the acme of my trip... Iztachuatl ("Sleeping Woman" in Nuatl - The language of the Aztecs). The imagery had me fascinated! The climb would begin at her feet, up her knees, down her stomach (a glacier of modest proportions), up her breasts (the highest point on this particular woman).

Before the climb begun, I still looked at Popo with a strong element of yearning. We were right there... in its lap and chose to climb the safer volcano. That was simply not my way of doing things.

Hilarion and I quietly ready ourself in the pitch dark... our hands steady... our faces taut. 12 hours to the summit(s) didn't require much... Crampons, Hiking Poles, a headlamp, 2 liters of water, a banana, a couple of chocolate bars and a fair amount of determination.

"Como Estas?", Hilarion asks, breaking the silence...

"Perfecto!"

We sit for a couple of minutes slightly hunched looking into the topography of the route we were about to take. Hilarion did not know my proclivity for high altitudes and nor did I. He was to make the decisions after 5,000 meters (assuming that I'll be too tired to think straight).

The first step I took upward... the mild disappointment of not being able to climb Popo was washed away by the vision of the starry skies above and the small patch of the path illuminated before us by our headlamps while our boots crunched the ice and rock strewn across the jagged slopes.

My head swarmed with a myriad thoughts that seemed to complement the sky bursting forth with little dots of light.

"Why do you like the mountains?" I directed one such thought at Hilarion.

"Well Miguel"... he answers, "because the mountains are honest and the true nature of people is exposed here."

I smiled.

At 4,800 meters, I could not feel my hands any more and the pressure on my lungs had become apparent because i was actually panting! I kept monitoring my bodily dynamics at these altitudes with great fascination. I knew about the lactic acid deposits that agonize the muscles at such low levels of oxygen but didn't feel it at all throughout my experience. I have my passion for running to thank for that.

I drift back into my world of thoughts... thoughts about what mattered most in my life. Thoughts about the moments I was creating and the moments that had gone by. The world around seemed to highlight my life and stress my existence more than any other place I have ever been. I knew, that very moment, the future I was heading towards. The only question was "when" and not "whether or not".

The wind beats against us with a vengeance as we climb incessantly towards the black sky as though punishing us for the impudence of our actions and dreams. The mountain path quickly disappearsleaving us with rocks shaped like broken glass protruding from the snow (ubiquitous at this altitude).

All I could hear then was the protesting gasps of my lungs, the threatening wind and the songs of my soul.

Time passed quickly as we climbed up the knees and soon the sky began turning reddish orange towards the east and as we reach the first summit (5000 meters) the sun begins its majestic ascent. Its rays cut through the freezing winds smothering our skin with a pleasant warmth. The fatigue creeping into my body was quickly forgotten with the vision that unfolded as the sun threw its light over the spectacular vision of snow clad mountains that seemed to rise from a thick blanket of clouds. Hilarion and I embrace each other on the first summit partly in celebration of our first victory and partly because we happy and understood each others happiness. It is one of those moments when one can share completely an emotion as intimate as bliss with a stranger simply because of a complete mutual understanding of that bliss.

As we bask for a while in the warmth of the sun, I look at the final summit which seemed a world away...

"Feeling alright?"

"I can still fight a bull.." I said to myself with a faint dizziness and an undaunted smile.

Hilarion seemed to understand. He smiled back and we climb onward.

My crampons lied unused in my backpack. The glaciers were not as deep as they used to be... thanks to global warming. Nevertheless, the glistening white ice spotted with volcanic rock jutting out like shark fins.

Hilarion had been here plenty of times and yet i sensed a subtle pleasure in him as he did it yet again.

I'm often asked why mountaineers do what they do. Doesn't it cause pain? Isn't it closer to self-afflicted torture? Why should a human put oneself through all that as a choice?

I ask myself these questions sometimes... I get the answer every step of my journey upwards. It isn't the summit that drives me. My destination is my journey. It feels like my whole life condensed into every single moment. A moment brimming with a melange of pain and pleasure... a moment where I stand naked and proud in the face of everything life throws at me.

Am I glorifying my existence? Definitely not! I'm simply making a statement of fact. I am the center of my universe. That makes me an egotist not an egoist. But, even that doesn't matter. Labels are like a haystack in a blizzard... ephemeral.

Surrounded by the stupendous power and sheer magnificence of nature, some feel humbled, others intimidated, others afraid and some completely placid. I feel me. The implication of that sensation is of an equal and innate power complementing the power surrounding me.

Purity, truth, strength, pride... this is what the mountains evoke in me. The pain is only a small fragment of this journey.

This is as simple an answer as I can give.

Crunching our way through the glacier, we finally approach the final climb... These are the moments when I put to test everything I believe in. I fervently claim the power of mind over body. I felt gushes inside that said "Stop!" My brain analyzed and presented me with all the possible consequences of moving on and none were very pleasant. Yet, somewhere inside, a faint whisper simply said "not yet." Why I listened to the whisper, i do not know... But, that whisper felt more intimate to me than everything else.

"I can still reach that summit and beyond." I said this to myself as a statement of fact not for motivation or inspiration but simply as the only possible truth.

The feeling is beautifully strange... Every step at that altitude sapped every ounce of energy from every part of my body unleashing more energy from unknown reservoirs.

We reached the summit... 5250 meters. A long embrace and a smile was all I offered and nothing else was necessary.

As usual, it was not a sense of achievement that I felt. Every summit that I have climbed simply feels like stepping into a space that I can call home. I was home every step of the way and the summit was like the manifestation of that spirit. It was simply like stopping and saying it out loud... "I'm home."

Around me was infinity with only one invitation in the midst of the endless horizons... Popocatepetl. It stood there level with the summit that I stood upon, smoking away, and beckoning me to make another journey.

After a while I hear Hilarion... "The weather is going to close in".

I wasn't bothered until he said... "We should start moving down"

It never strikes me that moving downward is part of the journey... It's the most painful part of the climb.

Though most climber consider this the more pleasant bit of climbing, I feel it can be much harder than the climb itself especially with a pair of hard (slightly smaller than required) CAT working books on. Ouch! The weight shifted from the heel to the toes and the resultant blisters were enough to make every downward step feel like a shard of coarse metal grinding excruciatingly against my bruised skin... and the trip down had only just begun.

However, the descent had it's ecstatic parts (I won't say moments since climbing down seemed to take forever). The most fun (and incidentally, the most painful part) was this stretch of steep, muddy surface where we had to step, slip and ski all at the same time while (skillfully!) avoiding the numerous rocks sticking out from the soft red mud as though mocking our impudence with their own. After making a glorious mess of things initially... stumbling, tumbling, making every mistake possible, i finally mastered the art of mud skiing (for that is what I will call it henceforth).

After what seemed like ages, we reached base camp and as is my nature, I turn back to see the summit and smile thinking of the journey and amazed at myself (yet again).

On our way back, Popo looms on the horizon one last time and I look at it knowing fully well that I will face it again. So, I didn't say goodbye.

Towards the skies

So, here I am... in the lap of the Popo-Iztac Volcanoes. I am jubilant and excited about the prospect of reaching the summit at 5,250 meters in the morning tomorrow.

Reaching here was a fascinating journey. In Cholula, I went around asking the locals how to get to Popo. Nobody had a clue. Just as I was checking out of my hotel determined to walk the 40kms to base camp using only my compass not knowing if I would ever make it there, in a stroke of pure serendipity, my glance was riveted by the image of a man rappelling from the wall of a cave. It was a shabby pamphlet stuffed into a box on the reception of this cheap hostel. It was the brochure of some high altitude mountain guides. A call to these guys changed the course of my travel completely. For a paltry sum of money, they agreed to help me get to base camp and lead the trail to the summit. Delightful!

This way I actually had a chance of getting to the summit which considering my constantly protesting body seemed a distant dream (nevertheless, a dream that I was determined to pursue) especially if I spent most of my energy walking to base camp.

The next 2 days have been filled with some wonderful moments characterized by my rendezvous with people and nature. It was the first time since a long time since I actually got along with people with such ease and I the mountains provided me with the answer. One of the thoughts that struck me on my way up here which I shared with my mountain guide was that it takes a great amount of honesty of spirit to have a love for being in the mountains. This honesty or purity of spirit stems from the fact that in the wilderness you are confronted with an innate magnified reflection of nothing but yourself.

Popo is on a “Level II” alert as I write this. This is the second highest level of volcanic activity. Level III meant evacuation of all neighboring towns, I was told. Climbing was suspended and despite my attempts at convincing my guide, he politely refused to take me up there telling me the story of a man who almost died trying to get up there only a month ago. What he did not realize was that that did not work as a deterrent in my case. Nevertheless, Popo flanks another volcano called Iztachuatl which is 50 meters lower in altitude.

Naked, dangerous, virgin beauty awaits me and I will respond to its call. I feel like the space around me is sculpted with me being the center of this universe. I feel like it is mine… The snow, the rock, the ash, the wisps of grass, the flowers, the scuttling mice and geckos, the rolling slopes, the jagged cliffs, the hanging clouds, the chilled and fragrant air that fills my lungs, the music of the birds punctuated by a blissful silence...

Only one phrase rings within me at this moment, like the notes of a symphony of the song of my life… La pura vida… La dolce vida…