The Weight of the Ascent

The mountain does not care if you are there. It has stood through winters that erased the memory of men, and it will stand long after the last boot print has been scoured away by the wind. We climb because we need to measure ourselves against something that cannot be moved. We look for a path where there is only rock and ice, believing that by reaching the summit, we might finally understand the silence. But the summit is not a destination. It is a mirror. You go up to see what you are made of, and you come down carrying the cold in your marrow, realizing that the mountain has taken more than it gave. The air grows thin, the breath hitches, and the world below shrinks until it is nothing more than a ghost of a memory. What remains when the climb is finished? Is it the view, or the way the silence settles into your bones?

Félix Sánchez-Tembleque has captured this descent in his image titled Descending the Espigüete Peak. It reminds me that we are only guests in these high, frozen places. Do you ever feel the mountain watching you back?