Onward we marched. I sensed a questioning of our purpose on one level, yet at the same time, we had become fully consumed with the simplicity of our task. A sort of quiet contentment seemed to derive from the monotony of our footsteps.
The trail returned to zigzagging as we came to another steep patch of terrain. After four more switchbacks, we could see in the distance a rocky pinnacle that comprised Plaza Canadá. It looked to be little more than a ledge, jutting from the side of the mountain.
Jake, Gil, Stefan and Andreas were busily erecting our tents. We hurried our pace up the slope. When we finally arrived, they invited us to sit down on boulders arranged in a circle. An assortment of nibbles were laid out for Anja and Gunnar.
“That was much harder than I expected,” said Anja. “I’m exhausted.”
“It’s the elevation,” explained Jake.
“Give yourself time to adjust,” said Andreas.
“And drink lots of water,” said Gil. “We just melted a bunch of glacier snow for you.” He pointed to several bottles of water.
“Thanks, guys,” said Gunnar. “You’re saving our asses.”
“Of course,” replied Jake. “We haven’t completely forgotten what it was like, right?”
“Hell, no,” said Stefan. “I climbed this sucker eight times as a bio. Every time was a total bear.”
“Just keep your head screwed on straight, that’s the trick,” said Gil. “Your mind can go to some strange places when it gets deprived of oxygen.”
“So far, so good,” said Anja, “although I am noticing a change in my appetite. I only seem to be drawn to very bland food now.”
Jake laughed. “Oh, yeah,” he said, “I can relate to that. One time up here I ate nothing but oatmeal for three solid days.”
“Try the potatoes,” offered Stefan. “They were a lifesaver for me.”
Anja had a spoonful of mashed potatoes and was pleased to find it went down without resistance. She ate several more spoonfuls, capped with some cashews, and finished off her bottle of water. Meanwhile, we all enjoyed the vista from our ledge. Far below, we could see Plaza de Mulas. We had climbed 2,320 feet above the base camp.
“Okay,” said Gunnar, “I don’t mean to be a slave driver, but we’d better take our last bites. We need to keep on moving if we’re going hit our target for the day and get back here before dark.”
“I’m ready,” said Anja.
“Me too,” I added.
We said our farewells, hoisted ourselves to our feet, and set out on the trail again. Plaza Canadá was at an elevation of 16,570 feet. Our goal for the day was to climb another 1,700 feet to get to Camp 2, known as Nido de Cóndores, before returning to Canadá.
The trail followed another long diagonal across the scree. We passed a lone rock of substantial size, which Gunnar referred to as the “5000 meter” stone. After another hundred steps or so, the path reverted to frequent switchbacks and the ground became covered in snow. To our relief, the snow was a bit easier to navigate than the scree.
When we reached 17,388 feet, Gunnar asked if we noticed a discernible difference in the slope. Anja and I both wondered if he was losing his marbles because there was obviously a huge difference—the slope went from being very steep to almost a flat terrace.
“That’s why this spot is called Cambio de Pendiente,” he chuckled.
“Good to know,” said Anja blandly, too tired to find his humor funny.
We continued our zigzagging, but our pace got even slower. Gunnar explained that we were now at an elevation where altitude sickness most commonly occurred. To guard against it, he suggested we take short rests every few steps.
Even with the rests, I could tell Anja was getting depleted. From one of my shell pockets, I pulled out an energy gel packet and handed it to her. She sucked it down, followed by a swig of water, and we resumed our slow ascent.
As we climbed higher, the views kept getting more impressive. To the north, we could see Mount Mercedario rising from the Cordillera de la Ramada mountain range. At 22,047 feet, it was almost as tall as Aconcagua. To the west was the smaller but still dramatic Mount Catedral. To the south, we could now discern two distinct peaks that formed the summit of Aconcagua.
After one last zigzag, we rounded a bend and saw in the distance an area made up of windswept rocks of various sizes strewn across a large plateau that cradled a small frozen lake. This was Nido de Cóndores, nest of the condors. At last, we had achieved our target for the day.
Gunnar led us to a clearing with nice views and we each took a seat in the snow. The great western wall seemed especially daunting now that we were so close. Numerous peaks in excess of sixteen thousand feet dotted the horizon, but they looked small in comparison.
As we enjoyed the scenery, we noticed five Andean condors soaring in the western sky. We watched them for quite some time, awed by the coincidence of spotting condors at Nido de Cóndores. Then we realized what was happening.
“Those are our friends again,” I said excitedly, “except one of them is biological.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Gunnar, after studying them intently. “I didn’t think they could pull off something like that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Anja.
“Those condors out there are Jake, Gil, Stefan and Andreas,” he explained. “But the fifth one is a real condor. It doesn’t seem to know the difference.”
“Or doesn’t care,” I added.
“You see how it is flying a bit differently than the other four?” said Gunnar.
“Yeah, now that you mention it,” said Anja. “But I’m not sure I’m thinking too clearly right now. I’m feeling a bit strange.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you have a headache?”
“I don’t think so,” said Anja. “I just feel out of sorts.”
“It could be the first signs of AMS. We’re at over eighteen thousand feet now. Let’s take some slow, deep breaths together. Try this: breathe in for four seconds, pause, then breathe out for two seconds. As you breathe in, visualize a lotus flower opening, and as you breathe out, visualize it closing.”
We all followed Gunnar’s instructions. Of course, I used a breathing simulator. Although I didn’t know why, I found the exercise helpful in reconciling our seemingly irrational objective of reaching the summit.
Since we’d left Plaza de Mulas, I had been struggling to resist calling off our climb. I kept detecting that it contained a self-destructive element for both Anja and Gunnar. Why did they want to scale Aconcagua as biological humans when it would be so much easier as zero percenters?
Gradually, the deep breathing washed away my internal questioning. I saw that my paradigm of efficiency was not the relevant measure. If anything, it was quite the reverse. Climbing Aconcagua held little significance for zero percenters because it involved no sacrifice or hardship. Gunnar and Anja were the last two humans who could absorb the nectar of the experience, and that was why they had to do it.
“Now how do you feel?” asked Gunnar.
“Much better,” replied Anja.
“It helped me too,” I said.
“Glad to hear it.”
“And you said you were skeptical of gurus,” said Anja teasingly. “You are a guru.”
He smiled sheepishly. “It was just a breathing exercise.”
“If you say so,” she replied. “All I know is that I’m not just feeling better. I’m seeing things differently too.”
“Oh?”
“My whole life,” Anja continued, “I’ve been busily drawing boundaries. If something was on one side, then I was sure it couldn’t be on the other. But I realize now it’s not so simple. That fifth condor just showed us that.”
“Showed us what exactly?” he asked.
“That reality isn’t rigid.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Before I would have said that the fifth condor was real and the other four weren’t. But that’s way too simplistic, way too black and white, and it mi
sses so much. Obviously, that’s not how the condor saw it. And it’s not how Jake and the guys saw it either. They were all willing to learn from each other.”
“Yeah, I think I see what you mean there,” said Gunnar.
“Existence is so much broader, so much more flexible, than I’ve been making it out to be. Whatever we are, we’re far, far more than our outward representation.”
“Hmm,” he said, “I’m going to have to give that some serious thought.”
“And now who’s the guru around here?” I joked.
We all laughed. A lightness of being seemed to fill the air space between us. We couldn’t define it or understand it, but the sensation made the descent back to Plaza Canadá almost effortless.
By the time we reached the camp, it was already dusk. To our surprise, Jake, Gil, Stefan and Andreas had gathered firewood from their flying expedition and lit a small campfire for us to enjoy.
“Sweet!” said Gunnar. “This is probably the first campfire up here in many a year.”
“For sure,” said Jake. “Who would carry firewood all this way?”
“And we saw you made a friend today,” said Anja. “Was that a first too?”
“You caught that?” said Andreas.
“Actually, Vicia was the one who noticed the fifth condor.”
“It was very exciting to watch,” I said. “Have you done that before?”
“Sure,” said Andreas. “We’ve joined up with all kinds of birds.”
“We flew with albatrosses for three straight days all the way to Hawaii,” said Gil.
“They taught us tons about flying,” said Jake. “No better way to learn.”
“I can imagine,” said Anja. “Quite the life you guys lead.”
“May the birds show us the way!” I proclaimed.
Everyone smiled, reveling in the beauty of the moment, the miracle of existence, and the grandeur of the possibilities that awaited.
Twenty-Two
October 28, 2024
Nido de Cóndores, Aconcagua, Argentina
After dinner, Anja and Gunnar fell asleep promptly again—in spite of the fact that they were in a flimsy tent, perched on a ledge at Plaza Canadá with the wind howling. The skies remained clear and the waning crescent moon emitted scant light. Even though it wasn’t a full moon, I could have sworn I heard the occasional cries of Kora-Illé.
Midway through the night, I checked the weather report and I was dismayed to learn that the forecast had worsened considerably. The arrival of viento blanco had been pushed forward. Instead of having four more days of relative safety on the mountain, it now looked like we only had two.
I debated within my system how best to advise Anja and Gunnar. I knew they wanted a successful summit—so did I, more than ever—but we had to remain rational and be prepared to give up the goal, if prudence so dictated. The best approach seemed to be to report the options straightforwardly.
With the first sign of dawn, I began preparing a breakfast of potato pancakes, dried mango slices, and chai tea. As I did, I could hear Anja and Gunnar stirring in their tent. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was only a few feet away and all that separated us was a thin layer of nylon.
“I feel like a completely new person,” said Anja with a giggle. “Maybe we should stay in here a bit longer.”
“Oh?” said Gunnar. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“How about something along these lines?” she replied coyly.
The ensuing sounds of gentle kissing and sighing left little to my imagination. I had every intention of getting up and walking away, as I understood they required privacy. At that very moment, however, a dreadful howl reverberated through the camp.
Suddenly, an Argentine cougar—Puma concolor cabrerae—leapt through the air just inches in front of my face and slashed its way into the tent, using its razor-sharp claws. The puma batted Gunnar like a mouse, ejecting him onto the rocky ledge. Then it pounced on top of him and prepared to crush his throat with its enormous jaws.
My operating system instantly performed millions of calculations and settled on a course of action that puzzled me, but which I had no time to further assess. I raced over to the crepuscular cat and jammed an index finger into each of its eyes with all the might I could muster. It squealed in agony and released its stranglehold on Gunnar’s throat.
I had hoped my action would permanently disable the puma’s vision, but we were not so lucky. A few quick blinks restored its eyes sufficiently to locate my position and fling me twenty yards away with a backside swat of its paw. The sheer strength of this ambush predator—aptly nicknamed the “ghost of the Andes”—seemed to defy physics.
Every fiber of its two-hundred-pound frame bristled in anticipation as it readied for its next move. Fortunately, Gunnar was a step ahead of the puma. He took advantage of my distraction to grab ahold of its jaws, violently twisting its neck with all his might.
The puma squealed again. Still, it remained undeterred from its objective. With a mighty roar, it shook itself free and pinned down Gunnar’s arms and legs with the weight of its body.
Now Gunnar had no defense against a lethal neck bite. But just as the cat was preparing to make its trademark maneuver, Anja sprinted toward it like an Olympic runner and threw herself feetfirst into the puma’s rib cage. She let her knees fold up into its body, then she used both her legs to kick out against it as hard as she could.
The clever transfer of energy was enough to thrust the puma off of Gunnar and directly over the rocky ledge. It yelped and yowled as it descended ever downward, but there was nothing the beast could do. All of its rippling muscles were rendered useless as gravity sent it hurtling down the sheer mountainside.
“Gunnar!” screamed Anja, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”
He slowly got up and began inspecting himself. “I appear to be fine. Just some scratches and bruises, but no serious lacerations or broken bones.”
“That thing came out of nowhere!”
“Thankfully, I don’t think it will be bothering us again,” I said, peering over the ledge. “You knocked it almost all the way down to Plaza de Mulas.”
Anja and Gunnar stepped toward me to look where I was pointing. They studied the puma’s body for signs of movement, but there were none.
“And you’re okay too, Vicia?” asked Anja.
“Yes, these shells are quite robust.”
“That’s a relief. I can’t believe we survived that.”
We paused to catch our breath. “I’m so glad everyone is okay,” I said.
“You both were amazing,” said Anja.
“You were pretty freaking amazing yourself,” said Gunnar. “You saved my life. Both of you did. I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything,” she replied. “The first thing we have to do is get you cleaned up.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
I quickly fetched the first aid kit and handed Anja some antiseptic and bandages. She began scanning his body to look for cuts.
“It’s incredible how well you fared,” said Anja. “You must have steel-reinforced skin. That puma had claws as sharp as knives.”
“Yeah,” replied Gunnar. “I’ve always been pretty lucky in that department, I guess from all the years I’ve spent living outside.”
“Evidently.” She wiped his scratches with antiseptic and applied a few bandages where needed.
“Do you want me to send out a message for Jake and the guys to come pick us up?” I offered. “It seems they’re doing some early-morning exploring, as they’re not in their tents.”
“Nah,” said Gunnar, “I’m fine. I want to press on.”
“Are you nuts?” exclaimed Anja. “We need to get you to a doctor to make sure you don’t have any internal injuries.”
“Really, I’m fine… and I don’t do doctors.”
“Well, there’s no way we can just keep pressing on, as if nothing happened.”
“Agr
eed,” said Gunnar. “I want to press on, while still acknowledging that something definitely happened. That’s been my approach my whole life. I don’t let setbacks stop me from what I want to accomplish. But I don’t deny reality either.”
“You’re saying you still want to attempt this summit, even if it means we might get attacked by another puma?”
“Actually, yeah, I do—but only if both of you still want to. If either one of you wants to call it off, that’s a whole other matter. I’m just saying that I’m still one hundred percent in. No matter where you are on this earth, there’s always going to be something like a puma lurking around the next bend. So that’s why I prefer to move through life proactively, not defensively.”
“Sounds more like courting disaster than being proactive,” said Anja.
“Call it what you want. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here. You’ve saved my life twice now. So whatever time I have left, I’m going to follow my vision, not my fear.”
She stopped to consider his words. “Oh, Gunnar,” she sighed at last, “I can’t dispute you there. I definitely don’t want to follow my fear either. I’m tired of doing that and it certainly hasn’t served me very well.”
“At least, we can rest assured that one puma is off the table,” I reminded them. “But there’s something else you both should know.” I proceeded to impart the bad news about the weather forecast.
“Maybe the report will change again in our favor,” replied Anja after hearing me out. “Maybe it’s just a temporary blip.”
“Anything’s possible,” said Gunnar, “but we certainly can’t count on it.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “All we can do is make the best possible decision based on what we know.”
“And what is the best possible decision?” asked Anja.
“That’s what I was hoping we could work out together,” I replied.
“Are you saying you don’t think we necessarily have to abort?”
“Gunnar may be more qualified to answer that.”
“I’m not so sure,” he said.
“Well, first off,” I asked, “how are your headache symptoms this morning, Anja?”
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