July 1987, Cordillera Blanca, Peru:
I clip into the rope and before
I begin my descent from off the top of the mountain I notice Roger huddled
anxiously beneath his helmet, standing on top of the buried snow stake
- to weight it. I also notice the line of rope I'm clipped onto disappear
into the snow between us. I reassure myself the stake is solid enough.
My boots sink into the side of the huge overhanging summit block, the
soft snow flaking off as I abseil though the cloud into a brilliant
full-moon night. Fifty metres below the summit, a kilometre and a half
above the valley floor, I join Kevin and Sarah, clipping myself to the
ice screws then disconnecting myself from the rope. With my ice axe
I chip out a small step to stand on.
As Roger joins us Kevin and I
heave on one end of the rope trying to pull it through the snow stake
on the summit. It doesn't move. It has frozen into the snow. Kevin volunteers
to climb back up and free the rope.
I have no idea how much time
passes as we wait for Kevin's return. Several hours maybe of standing
still, freezing beneath the cold night sky. I turn around to face the
world beyond the mountain. Not a noise is heard except the hum of the
earth. Nothing rises, nothing falls, nothing moves with the order in
which it had done before. My body, my mind, and my soul are ordered
to something far greater than anything that I had ever felt before.
Who would I be if I never touched such greatness?
