There is a reason none of us live on top of the mountain.
On the second day of 2019 I got up at 3:00 AM and, shivering with cold, boarded a van to take me the three hours out of Cusco to Rainbow Mountain. I do not normally get up at 3:00 AM but I am not interested in cheating myself out of experiences and I knew that was probably the only opportunity I would have in my life to see Rainbow Mountain, Vinicunca or de Montana de Siete Colores. My companions and I arrived at the trailhead around 7:00 AM and were given hiking poles, a team name, and a stern lecture on what not to do on our hike up including sitting down to rest. We were already at 4000 meters and would ascend to 5200 meters over the next 2.5 miles (by the way, that is starting at 13,123 feet and ending at 17,060 feet).
“I come to Rainbow Mountain every day,” the guide told us, “I am used to it, but you are not from here and are not used to it. You must follow my instructions.” He then guided our group over to a corral of horses and explained that we could ride a horse up the mountain if we wanted. I crossed my arms and immediately said no. I did not need a horse to take me up the mountain. I could do it on my own. I could.
For a little bit of context here, over the course of 2018 I was diagnosed with a chronic pain condition and went to the doctor a total of 11 times before scheduling pelvic surgery, in the hopes that it would help, for the end of October knowing full well that I would be taking a physically difficult trip at the end of December. The day I stood at the trailhead of Rainbow Mountain I was barely two months out of surgery and still, occasionally, feeling the tenderness that comes from your muscles knitting back together, I had already had altitude sickness, and I had spent every day of the six days I had been in Peru in extreme pain, but I was stubborn and used to hiking at altitude and if I was going to see Rainbow Mountain then I was going to get there myself. Like I said, I am not interested in cheating myself out of experiences, so if I am going to be in pain every day for the rest of my life then I am going to get used to doing what I want to do while in pain. I started up the hill.
As the other members of my group passed me and became tiny figures in the distance, I reminded myself that two months earlier I had surgery and couldn’t even stand up and now I was hiking. It was okay to go slow. It was okay to get there at my own pace.
I reached the top of the mountain to some of my faster companions just leaving the summit, each smiling and offering encouragement. “You’re almost there.” “You made it.” “Just a little farther.” “17,000 feet!” And I got to the top and felt myself start to cry. Not because it was stunning, which it was, I don’t know what Rainbow Mountain looks like every other day of the year but the day I went it was absolutely everything that Instagram and Pinterest promised, but because I made it. Every difficult step of a very difficult hike had been worth it, I had made it to where I wanted to be and it was beautiful and oh god, everything hurt!
Being at the top of Rainbow Mountain, for me, was the definition of a mountain top experience. This elated moment that you cannot put into words or be marred by the difficulties before and after it. I stood at the top of the mountain, posing for a few photos, and taking in this incredible sight and the fact that I had made it… and then the guide came hurrying up to the top.
“You must go down now. No more than twenty minutes at the top.”
I picked up my hiking stick and stowed my camera, realizing my fingers were turning purple, not one of my favorite colors. I started down the hill.
In the church, Christians talk a lot about “mountain top experiences.” Those same elated moments when we really feel our faith and the reason we muddle through church every week even though we would much rather just sleep in. We always lament that we cannot feel that way all of the time. Why can’t we stay on the mountain?
A little more than an hour later my group crowded back into the van, all chattering about how beautiful the mountain was and how much our heads hurt. Our guide climbed into the van with us. He stood at the door and thanked us for coming to Rainbow Mountain, telling us that five years ago no one really knew about this place but someone like us had hiked it and taken pictures, just like we had, and shared them on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest, and now, because of that, his family owned this business and everyone in his family had a job. He told us that because people came to the mountain every day his village, one we had driven through less than an hour earlier, had anew life that it had not had five years earlier. He thanked us for the fact that we were going to go home and share our pictures on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest, and some other social medias that I'm not cool enough to know about, because our friends and family would see it and maybe some day they would come here too. Then he climbed into the front seat and I laid down at the very back of the van and went to sleep.
Why can’t we stay on the mountain?
I hiked up to 17,000 feet. That is 600 feet below base camp at Mount Everest. I will probably never reach that elevation again. Most people never stand at that elevation in their lives. While I was up there my body started to die; I took deep, gasping breaths, just to fill my lungs with air, my hands turned purple, my heart hammered at my chest. Our guide had told us not to sit at the top of the mountain but to keep walking around and not rest until we were back at the van. We weren’t even supposed to drink water while we were up there because it would make us sick. Death, is a very good reason not to stay on the mountain top, not to live up there, immersed in the beauty and awe of what you have accomplished and what God has created. More important, we cannot share that experience and bring others to the mountain from the top of the mountain.
I think a lot about my guide thanking us for the fact that we would share our pictures of Rainbow Mountain with all of our friends because it meant others would come to the mountain. Even for him, he did not stay on top of the mountain, he had to go three hours out to Cusco to get us so he could share that beautiful place with us. We cannot share our experience from the top of the mountain except with those who are there with us. Isn’t it the same with our faith experiences? Yes, I want to stay there, where I know God is and I understand the reason but there is nothing I can do from there.
Comments