I have climbed 10 hours already today : then a short and fitful sleep, before waking up again at 2am to continue the race up the mountain.
This final stretch is not easy : climbing this high, my alveolar oxygen intake drops to roughly 50% of what I get at sea level. This is a fair bit above the limit of where humans should operate without supplemental oxygen. For an idea what it's like, try halving your breaths per minute. What about climbing 50 flights of stairs?. First to go is your night vision : then your mental acuity and judgement : then your hand eye coordination.
My mind plays tricks on me : haven't I passed this rock formation before? Once? Twice? The rope I cling on to for dear life feels unreal and intangible to my numbed fingers, the obsidian rocks instantly sucking the heat from my hands should I be so foolish to touch them. Above all, being afraid to look down, into the inky blackness below.
The icy air is crystal clear. This high above the earth there are no clouds, nothing between me and the black velvet sky filled with pinprick stars and hazy galaxies. And absolute desolation as far as I can see, just miles of tortured rock, all lit in the ghostly monochrome of a fading moon. Waves of lava frozen in time millions of years ago, insane rock formations bursting from the ground. The trail seems to go on forever, I lose track of time, the only thing that matters is putting one foot ahead of me at a time, inhaling one breath at a time, because I am drowning with no way to catch my breath.
PS : Picture taken by my friend. A roughly 1 hour exposure shot of the peak : what you are seeing is the stars appearing to move due to the earth's rotation. What you are reading is a diary entry from several years ago.
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