Hace dieciséis meses, that is, sixteen months ago, Alli, Mike, Andy and I climbed Corazón, one of the closer mountains to Quito, whose summit rises to 15, 718 feet. More than anything, I remember the hike being soggy. Specifically I remember putting my hand in a can of nuts on the descent and finding them soaked. Soggy nuts are not appetizing. What I do not remember from this particular subida was the amount of rock climbing involved to arrive at the cumbre. I cursed myself for this as we spent an hour and a half scaling the spine of the mountain in the face of 30 mph winds (and not gusts, mind you, just constant blowing), part of which was spent maneuvering up up up all that roca. I know it wasn't like this before I insisted to Alli. These words were uttered a mere 60 minutes after I had thought to myself How fitting this mountain is named Corazón. I believe I love it more than most any other climb. These words were voiced at a time my insides were quibbling. A sensation I remember not from Corazón, Take One. I cursed myself again for not looking back at the photos. Except, even if I had, this is the image I would have marched to that mountain with...
I'm a sucker for the patchwork landscape. It gets me every time.
And the rock climbing that was documented...
well, that face makes it look fun. This is the stuff that hey, Mom and Dad, look what I can do now is made of.
It seems none of us took out our phones during those treacherous moments when we were scaling the rock face. Ultimately, this was wise as a leading cause of death on such ventures is that by selfie. I write not with an air of levity here. But the lack of rock-climbing documentation allowed me to conveniently forget the anxiety-inducing, gut-quivering ascent to the summit. I suppose it made possible my skip, skip, skip-to-my-lou attitude for the first hours of the climb, where my mantra climbcorazon to climbcayambe, climbcorazon to climbcayambe was in rhythm with my marching. That mantra did then take the form of fml...fml...fml. This was not in good time with my marching, nor my breathe. It simply began to spin around in my unhappy brain with Why am I so willful about pushing my limits, damnit? Why did I choose this climb when I could be eating chocolate in Mindo? Doing yoga on my terraza? Shit, why am I even here when I could be in Minnesota biting into an Honeycrisp apple at an orchard on a beautiful autumnal day?? You see how I digress. Moments of this second ascent, I was rather certain that I'd wrap my arms around a rock and wait for a helicopter to come pick me up. Quite rational I am in times of such unease.
Somehow, through the patient coaching of the Paypahuasi guías, I made it to the pinnacle, which is at such an elevation that we were now above the wind. How quickly does one's heart flutter with joy at reaching flattish ground? How readily do the endorphins start to pulse through one's veins at such a feat? So quickly, and so readily, that we could turn our attention to the prize within minutes of wanting to wave the white flag and surrender to the mountain. As if the endorphins needed a boost...
After snacking on our favorite Ecua-chocolate, and having a bit of lunch, the matter of the descent was at hand. With such summit-inspired elation coursing through me, I figured backwards rock-climbing, or rock-unclimbing, err...?...would be a simpler endeavor. Gustavo, admittedly my favorite Paypahuasi guide, thought we should take precaution, just in case the nerves returned, and put me in a harness, so that I might call on Ivan to rope up with me should I once again feel quivery-wivery. And so the descent began.
Now as I sit here thinking back on the decline, I am blushing a bit. You see, at one point I was aware that there were three out of three guides to one Jamie. Usually I would say three-for-one is a mighty fine happy hour, but in this case, I find myself a bit bashful. One of the guides was helping me with my hands, the other with my feet, and Gustavo was standing back verbally coaching and offering encouragement once again. It seems I'm a high maintenance climber at times. I guess it's just that I'm a little special, with that blue helmet and all, right, Uncle Joe Joe? Sigh.
So, we did make it back down to my favorite part of this mountain, where the ground is plush and each step feels springy again. And this time I had a can of dry nuts to dip my hand into. Even as I recount the story, remembering the angst, I have no real sense of those sentiments. Because endorphins create elation...and #blissfulamnesia. A mere 24 hours after returning from our climb, this is what I remember most...
Yes, the majesty of the mountains keeps calling...
Until next episode, my love and good energy to you.
Jame
