Mt. Chimborazo, 6310 meters (20,561 feet)

Before Sir Andrew Waugh and the British Survey triangulated the proper height of the Himalayan peaks, including Chomolungma (Mt. Everest) in Nepal, there was a good deal of confusion amongst explorers, geographers, and scientists as to what the highest mountain in the world was.

Prior to the 19th century, Chimborazo was, for a long time, considered to be the highest mountain on earth. Staring at the the sheer mass of this giant volcano in Ecuador, which commands a striking presence over the entire Ecuadorian Andes, it is not difficult to see why they thought this one, of all mountains, was the highest.

Now dethroned by the higher Himalayan and Peruvian summits, Chimborazo still has the title of being the farthest point away from the Earth's center - farther than that of Mt. Everest - considering its proximity to the equator and the oblate spheroid shape of the Earth (i.e, the earth bulges out at the equatorial line).

On Saturday, September 6, I received an email while cycling a few days past Chimborazo from a good friend, Julián Lara, a local mountain guide I had met while climbing Cotopaxi a few weeks prior. He excitedly reported that the weather had finally settled after weeks of heavy storms, fresh snow, and violent winds. He also had a client to guide to the top and generously offered to lend me gear and free transportation to base camp.

Without wasting a breath, I landed at the next nearest village on my route, Cañar. In record time, I made friends with the local bomberos (firemen), stashed my bike in their storehouse, strapped my backpack on and walked to the edge of town to stick out my thumb.

A few hours later, I reunited with Julián in Riobamba and was speeding off in a vehicle towards the hulking mass of the mountain.

The weather was perfect and the volcano shone forth in all its glory as we drove to base camp at 4800 meters.

The summit mass of Chimborazo, from just below the "Castillo."

We made the short trek to the mountain hut at 5000 meters and after preparing a hearty dinner, made our preparations for the next day's climb.

Julián presented me with the gear - a pair of heavy plastic boots, crampons, and an ice-ax that were all older than I was and had previously seen many high ascents. In terms of clothing, I opted to use my tried and true method from previous high summits of piling on every piece of clothing I had, and moving fast and light enough to stay warm.

Several cups of warm coca-tea helped me clear the million anxieties in my head about such a big climb and I shortly found my way to my cozy sleeping bag.

Precisely at midnight, I forced myself awake, strapped on my boots and made preparations to leave for the climb.

Julián and his client, Alex, a young and adventurous German biologist left first. There was another group of 4 guided clients as well heading out of the hut as I was still preparing breakfast. All of these groups were roped together in teams of 2 or 3 to protect themselves from the crevasses lurking ominously along the route and in case of a fall by either member.

I opted to climb solo, and unroped, because of several reasons: 1) I was confident of my abilities on steep snow and ice to perform the necessary self-arrest and rescue procedures; 2) following shortly behind the guided parties, the route would be well marked and relatively easy to recognize.

Julián and Alex fiddling around with gear in the darkness.

I headed off at 12:30 am under the cover of a clear, cloudless sky. A million stars above sang symphonies that rang beautifully with the rhythm of my boots crunching the perfect snow underfoot. Following the faint headlamps of the guided parties ahead, I negotiated a tricky section called El Castillo ('The Castle') with no trouble. Beyond that were the massive glaciers that composed the upper mountain.

Breathe, breathe, kick, plant ice ax, kick. Breathe. Breathe. This was the routine throughout the climb. The thin air forced a steady rhythm and the dark of night focused my senses on just what lay ahead.

Just above the Castillo, I felt my toes turn frighteningly cold. Upon closer inspection, I found that the thick plastic in the toebox had cracked beneath the insulating overboots, letting in snow and ice come into dangerous proximity to my toes. Uh-oh.... it was still over 2 hours until the sunrise came, so I decided to keep moving at a steady pace to avoid frostbite. A break of even just a few minutes froze them sufficiently enough to become alarmed.

The beautiful mass of rock and ice near the "Castillo."

Breathe, breathe, kick, breathe breathe. Repeat. This mantra took me all the way across the giant features of the upper glaciers and at 5:30 am I was atop the cumbre Veintimilla, a false summit just 100 meters below the true summit. By this time, I had caught up with Julián and Alex, and the three of us decided to navigate the penitentes of the final plateau to the high point.

Just before reaching the top, the sky turned purplish blue and began with its daily procession of bringing light and warmth to the world.

I reached the top, breathless and exhausted from four and a half hours of steady climbing.

Celebrating the summit with my friend Julián.

A carpet of clouds lay 1000 meters below, and the high summits of Cotopaxi, Tungurahua, and Sangay peeked out like islands in the unwordly horizon.

It was absolutely one of the best moments in my life. Reaching new heights, forging new dreams, and growing new wings. This is exactly what this journey is all about.

Julián and Alex along the summit plateau.

The three of us celebrated at the summit, and I let my beloved prayer flags flap in the light wind. I gave thanks to the world for its infinite beauty and turned to head down.

The sun warmed things a bit, but at this altitude, my toes were still cold, so I made my way down the giant volcano ahead of the roped parties to avoid a bottleneck at the key sections of the climb.

Descending the mountain, I finally got a glimpse of what I was climbing in the dark. The surreal beauty and the sheer size of all the features - the glaciers, crevasses, bergshrunds, and rock walls all had a menacing look. When I finally arrived at base camp, my toes were just fine and the summit was shrouded in mists, as if a jealous lover was guarding it from prying eyes.

Sometimes we climb mountains because we are drawn to their ethereal power. Other times it is a personal challenge - a test of internal strength, and of physical and mental preparedness. More often, to me, they are like teachers or elders who allow us to confront our fears and anxieties, and upon overcoming them, gift us with a taste of ecstasy and unrivalled joy. Distancing myself from the ego of reaching the top or of victory, I prefer looking at mountains like growth experiences that offer us poetic lessons of our own lives.

Reflections across the Andes with Bucephalus.