The Most Gorgeous Defeat Ever

by Danijel Mihajlović (Spain)

I didn't expect to find Spain

…The first step carried me into the relative warmth of Shipton’s Camp, our refuge for the night. With the second step, I stumbled and fainted. If it wasn’t for Chris, our guide and a pillar to lean on for the best part of this gruelling trek, I would have probably landed hard on the packed dirt floor… - It was several hours earlier, during the second day of our hopeful ascent to Point Lenana, the third highest peak of Mount Kenya and the piéce de résistance of our entire Kenyan trip, when things started getting out of control. The weather, so pleasant and enjoyable until that moment, finally unleashed its infamous high-altitude temperament. In minutes, an impenetrable wall of greyness descended over the bright blue skies like a giant curtain in a macabre theatre. The rain started, but it was not your everyday variety. Biblical downpours turned the mountain slopes into giant mudslides, only to make space for heavy winds that drove water droplets into our hands and faces like tiny shards of glass. Our group, so compact, chatty and brash until then, turned into a stretched line of isolated individuals, each person obsessed with their own immediate well-being and safety. Adding insult to injury, I started feeling short of breath. For the first hour or so, I ascribed the discomfort to the onslaught of elements we were experiencing. However, as my vision became increasingly tunnel-like, I guessed that I had fallen victim to altitude sickness, that most fearsome foe of would-be mountain climbers. It strikes seemingly at random and there is not much you can do once it starts, short of turning back. After a quick chat with Chris, my fears were confirmed. He offered to send me back with one of the guides. However, I decided to rough it out, and from that moment onwards, my trek became an exercise in single-minded focus. The only things that mattered were the next step and the stretch of two metres of path ahead. Seconds became minutes, minutes turned into hours, until the only thing that was left was hope that the next step may bring me to the door of the elusive mountain lodge. Finally, after another arduous climb, we reached a dilapidated shack… - …The night was a sleepless one, the morning spent trying to untangle the mess in my head, for the hallucinations melted together with the real events - the others getting ready for the final ascent in the wee hours of the night, the pre-dawn clutter of pots from the nearby makeshift kitchen, the weird noises of critters living in and around the lodge. Once I finally got up, my head thankfully cleared and the altitude sickness apparently kept at bay, I was in for a shock, albeit a very enjoyable one. Reversing the final few actions of my yesterday’s ordeal, a few steady steps took me across the main hall, and out into the courtyard. My jaw literally dropped in awe. Not in my wildest dreams could I have expected to see snow covered vistas, dwarfed by the peaks of Mount Kenya, magnificently lit by the golden rays of the rising sun. The entire top of the mountain seemed to have caught on fire. I was not the sole awestruck person out there. Groups of guides and porters were gathering around as well. Although they have done this trek countless times before, this was apparently one of the most beautiful moments ever, even for them. Gone were the gloomy layers of clouds, instead the blues of the sky were beautifully contrasted against the golden hues of the rugged snow covered peaks. We were all positively enthralled by the scene unfolded before our eyes. Around the same time, the rest of our group returned from their climb, preceded by shouts of joy and triumph. Their stories of the early start, frozen steep slopes, and the magnificent sunrise, made up somewhat for the disappointment of my own failure to do the ascent. The incredible sunlit panorama helped me forget the rest, and think of this odyssey as the most gorgeous defeat I have ever suffered.