Below is a smorgasbord of photos from my first big mountain summit, Cayambe, which is around 5790 meters (I'll do the multiplication for you, that's 17,370 feet). For sure this was one of the hardest "things" I have ever done, and more words on this will erupt (no pun intended, being that Cayambe is one of Ecuador's many volcanoes) in the future, but for now just enjoy the eye candy.
Anisa and me, after much time in the back of a pickup en route to Cayambe, enjoying some locally produced ice cream known throughout Ecuador for its one-of-a-kind flavor.
The first night at Felipe's farmhouse we dined over a pot of melted chocolate, dipping into its rich mess with grapes, apples, bananas, and whatever else we could find. Anisa and Marga gave the meal a huge thumbs up.
The shutters in my room rocked.
A film would perhaps do this drive better justice in terms of accurately exlpaining just how insane it was. On one side was a sheer drop, on the other was the view of treacherous switchbacks we were to ascend, and in the middle--a "road" littered with massive boulders, holes, flowing waterfalls, and parked cars that could move forward no further. It was a war zone, beautifully exhausted and yet vibrating with energy at the same moment. Our old white Isuzu Panzer made it to the top, at which point it shook its fists in victory at either side of its triumphant head and came to rest aside the first refuge of Cayambe.
Jumar, el oso.
Galo in the gap.
I tried to maintain a very slow pace, along with conscious breathing, hoping that it would curb any grips of altitude sickness that might be lurking just over the top of the next climb.
The first day's short hike to where we would set up camp for the night.
The ice formations are unbelievable, in color and size, in the depth of the fissures they create. And the feeling they emit is that of old wisdom and informidable strength, perhaps because they have been there for thousands of years, steady, confident, and all-knowing. Sadly, though, each year the ice retreats a little more due to the warming of our globe, which supposedly is an occurrence that either a. does not exist, or b. we should not be concerned about.
Karl brought his apron in order to be able to cook us a proper meal of pasta and chili with a side of soup.
The crew, or at least most of us.
Karl and Galo discussing pre-summit route tactics.
Chicititas!
Needless to say, we have a good time when we get together: Marga, me, and Anisa.
Anisa, yo, and the the ice of Cayambe.
This is what I am talking about... the energy of this ancient ice is a steady stream of confidence and unwavering strength.
Karlcito.
Marga's pants, with Galo wearing them.
Night slowly but surely laying its hand over the body of Cayambe.
It was emotional, it was peace, it was like nothing else and so many things at once: The Summit.
From the inside looking out: Felipe's farmhouse.
Cayambe in the distance, from the backyard of the farmhouse.
Anisa and me, after much time in the back of a pickup en route to Cayambe, enjoying some locally produced ice cream known throughout Ecuador for its one-of-a-kind flavor.
The first night at Felipe's farmhouse we dined over a pot of melted chocolate, dipping into its rich mess with grapes, apples, bananas, and whatever else we could find. Anisa and Marga gave the meal a huge thumbs up.
The shutters in my room rocked.
A film would perhaps do this drive better justice in terms of accurately exlpaining just how insane it was. On one side was a sheer drop, on the other was the view of treacherous switchbacks we were to ascend, and in the middle--a "road" littered with massive boulders, holes, flowing waterfalls, and parked cars that could move forward no further. It was a war zone, beautifully exhausted and yet vibrating with energy at the same moment. Our old white Isuzu Panzer made it to the top, at which point it shook its fists in victory at either side of its triumphant head and came to rest aside the first refuge of Cayambe.
Jumar, el oso.
Galo in the gap.
I tried to maintain a very slow pace, along with conscious breathing, hoping that it would curb any grips of altitude sickness that might be lurking just over the top of the next climb.
The first day's short hike to where we would set up camp for the night.
The ice formations are unbelievable, in color and size, in the depth of the fissures they create. And the feeling they emit is that of old wisdom and informidable strength, perhaps because they have been there for thousands of years, steady, confident, and all-knowing. Sadly, though, each year the ice retreats a little more due to the warming of our globe, which supposedly is an occurrence that either a. does not exist, or b. we should not be concerned about.
Karl brought his apron in order to be able to cook us a proper meal of pasta and chili with a side of soup.
The crew, or at least most of us.
Karl and Galo discussing pre-summit route tactics.
Chicititas!
Needless to say, we have a good time when we get together: Marga, me, and Anisa.
Anisa, yo, and the the ice of Cayambe.
This is what I am talking about... the energy of this ancient ice is a steady stream of confidence and unwavering strength.
Karlcito.
Marga's pants, with Galo wearing them.
Night slowly but surely laying its hand over the body of Cayambe.
It was emotional, it was peace, it was like nothing else and so many things at once: The Summit.
From the inside looking out: Felipe's farmhouse.
Cayambe in the distance, from the backyard of the farmhouse.
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