Encounters with Power: Adventures and Misadventures on the Shamanic Path of Healing - José Luis Stevens 2017

Nevado Aconcagua: Pilgrimage to a Sacred Mountain for Power
Action—Chief-Warrior

Like a faintly remembered dream, the first urgings to climb the highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere kept creeping into the corners of my awareness. Insanity, I told myself. Why would a fifty-five-year-old man with a loving family and an interesting profession subject himself to the rigors of climbing a twenty-two-thousand-foot mountain in South America? Why would I double the risk by going with my wife to a mountain known to harbor the littered corpses of international climbers? All of our friends shook their heads and issued dire warnings about such a trip. They gravely issued comments like “I’ll be praying for you” and “I just hope you make it back alive.” Their concern was authentic but the message was disconcerting. Yet as I discovered, the truth be told, I simply could not not go.

It all started in 1989, in Alberta, Canada, when I had the good fortune to meet Laurie Skreslet, a powerhouse of a man with Norwegian ancestry whose grip about broke my hand when he greeted me for the first time. Like chiseled rock, his face meant serious outdoor business, but his smile was warm and genuine, his eyes curious and investigative. I had traveled north to Edmonton to give a lecture and slide show on an ancient system of personality analysis. Laurie had made the long trip from Calgary out of genuine interest.

Laurie knew something about personalities too, but from a totally different context. He was the first Canadian to summit Mount Everest in 1982 and subsequently assisted Sharon Wood in 1986 in becoming the first woman from the Western Hemisphere to summit. He knew about personalities under pressure and character under extreme stress — as well as the lack of maturity and experience as a soul, or essence. As a mountain guide, he wanted to know more about what makes people behave the way they do, especially under extreme conditions.

As we conversed, I soon learned that we also shared a deep interest in shamanism, the ancient nature-based spirituality encountered all over the world and practiced by indigenous peoples on all continents. This common interest forged a long-term relationship that would culminate in the Aconcagua climb.

Laurie was very interested in the fact that Lena and I were offering courses in shamanic studies, and he lost no time in signing up for a seventeen-day course and then a two-year study program. Laurie had done high-altitude climbing in Peru and wanted to understand the mountains he climbed in a deeper way, one that provided self-empowerment and increased self-awareness that he could also impart to his climbing clients and the corporate audiences he spoke to on a regular basis. We found that as we told Laurie about our experiences with shamans and their practices, he inspired us with his knowledge of high-altitude climbing and its similarities to the shamanic approach to life.

He shared with us a striking event that preceded his first successful Everest bid. In Nepal just before the climb, he befriended a Nepalese family who eventually introduced him to a powerful lama of the Tibetan Bonpo tradition, an ancient approach based on shamanic practice that appeared before the introduction of Buddhism in Tibet. The lama looked at him and then divined that the venture to climb Everest would be extremely difficult, fraught with dangers and tragedies, but that Laurie would meet with ultimate success if he made the proper offerings to the mountain, a process the lama outlined carefully. Laurie followed this advice to the letter even though he did not understand any of it at the time. Although there were five deaths in the team’s campaign for the summit and Laurie suffered broken ribs trying to retrieve the body of the team photographer from a crevasse, he was the first to make it to the summit. Only one other Canadian climber achieved the summit right after him and he was sensitive to Laurie’s offerings. Other members of the team failed to summit and of course they did not follow the same practices he did.

Since the 1980s, Laurie has been leading trips to Mount Aconcagua on the Argentina-Chile border because it offers a number of advantages. The summit can be reached without oxygen, the mountain is relatively easy and inexpensive to access, and there is little jet lag in the travel from North America. Eventually he convinced us that we could make the climb despite our ages and lack of technical prowess. However, we had several false starts. The first year we planned to go, I tore my meniscus and had surgery instead of climbing the mountain. The next year I had a bad feeling about the timing and decided not to go; as it turned out, there were some big problems on that trip and the summit bid had to be aborted. Mount Aconcagua must be climbed during a fairly short window during the summer in the Southern Hemisphere; the time frame is from mid-November through February. Finally, in the early winter of 2003 the time was right.

In preparation for the climb, we needed to get into mountain condition by going for daily strenuous hikes in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains behind Santa Fe. Fortunately they rise to over twelve thousand feet, which allowed for some altitude acclimatization. We also traveled to the Canadian Rockies for a six-day winter trek with all the clients under Laurie’s supervision to see if we could cut the mustard on the big mountain to the south. We prepared ourselves mentally and spiritually with daily practices in meditation and chi gong. The way we were thinking of it, this was not going to be an ordinary climb for two middle-aged professionals; rather, it would be a climb utilizing all our abilities, inner and outer, a test of our shamanic training and discipline. This was to be a bid for power, a kind of self-imposed shamanic initiation, a pilgrimage to a sacred mountain. And we needed to be absolutely prepared in every way.

Prior to leaving the United States, we carefully packed and organized enough food for eighteen days on the mountain, with extra days included in case of foul weather. In addition, we needed light but extremely warm clothing, heavy-duty plastic mountain boots, crampons, trekking poles, light but high-volume backpacks, four-season tents, and high-altitude cooking stoves. Despite its great height, Aconcagua, the crown jewel of the Andes, has many routes that can be climbed without technical equipment. Alternatively, routes like the South Face, a massive wall, and the Polish Glacier pose world-class technical challenges complete with crevasses and shifting blocks of ice. We naturally chose a nontechnical route in recognition of our lack of professional expertise.

In Mendoza, an Argentinian city near the mountain, we met our small team. It consisted of Laurie, our principal guide, fifty-four; Bill Marler, forty-nine, an unassuming but exceptionally competent Canadian mountain guide; and three paying clients besides ourselves: Fred, fifty, owner of a U.S. paper company; and TJ, fifty-two, a Canadian entrepreneur who had attempted three times to climb Aconcagua without success. Kathy, twenty-nine, a physical therapist from the United States, was to meet us in the mountains after a delayed flight. Rounding out the trip were Lena, fifty-one, and me, fifty-five, the “old man” of the trip.

The trip to the starting point takes about three hours, and the ride was spectacular. We stayed at a ski resort near the Chilean border in the nine-thousand-foot range, a funky but passable climbers’ lodging. We spent the first day out training and acclimating, and we hiked with daypacks up a beautiful canyon, where we were met by hawks and condors that swooped over the cliffs. We counted six condors, one for each of our team members, and then finally a seventh one arrived to account for our seventh member, Kathy, who was delayed. We all laughed with great amusement and delight at this obvious synchronicity.

There are two main points of entry to Aconcagua and two base camps, one on either side of the mountain. The most popular route leads to the Plaza de Mulas at about thirteen thousand feet, a twenty-five-mile trek up a beautiful valley. This route offers the fastest entry to the mountain but little chance to acclimatize and almost no views of the mountain. Since time is of the essence for most climbers, they prefer this route. But Laurie had abandoned it long ago for two good reasons: he prefers to acclimatize his clients by taking more time to get to base camp, and the other route had become too crowded.

Professional and nonprofessional climbers from all over the world flock to Aconcagua because of its easy access and because it can be climbed nontechnically. As a qualified mountain guide, Laurie told us it was his obligation to help any climbers in trouble, and that doing so can be very distracting from leading his own groups. He took us on the longer and more difficult Polish Glacier traverse route, a four-day trek up the Quebrada de las Vacas (Valley of Cows) and then up the Quebrada de Rio Linchos. This route can be extraordinarily hot and windy, but we were fortunate to have cool weather despite the intense winds. We learned from early returnees that so far the season had been dangerously cold and windy on the mountain. The week before, a number of expedition tents in base camps were wrecked or flattened by hundred-mile-per-hour winds.

I felt sobered, but Laurie dismissed the reports, saying the weather on the mountain could change at any time and we would deal with the weather we encountered. Since he had gone to the summit more than twenty times and was the expert, I was inclined to take his word for it. Still, I felt intimidated. According to our shamanic training, this would be our first major challenge, facing our fears directly and moving through them without resistance. When you are doing something on the cutting edge of your abilities, making a bid for power, there is always fear to face.

With this in mind we started our trek with a shamanic ceremony of prayers and offerings of tobacco and Agua Florida from Peru. Although our trekking companions were unfamiliar with the shamanic way, they good-naturedly participated. We gave them each an eagle or hawk feather (garnered from the Mendoza zoo) to carry as an offering to the mountain apu and leave at any place they wished.

The walk to base camp took four days, and before too long we were scattered along the trail, leaving us with many hours of solitary walking. Depending on one’s temperament, this could be difficult or a welcome opportunity to commune with the mountains. I used the opportunity to listen to nature, watch for animals, and pray to Spirit for a good trip. After navigating the Quebrada de las Vacas, we arrived at the Quebrada de Rio Linchos, where we viewed the mountain in all its glory for the first time, and the stormy weather gave it a somber and stark appearance.

At this juncture I decided to perform a simple tobacco ceremony I had learned from my Andean shaman teachers in Peru. This is to ask permission to approach the apu. A powerful mountain guardian and an elemental spirit who watches over the land for miles around, an apu is considered an intense concentration of power and energy that can be tapped for personal objectives, but it can also be quite dangerous. According to Incan tradition, you must approach it with the utmost respect or it can take your life. The Incas say that the apus come in pairs, one female and one male, and it is best to greet both of them. Aconcagua is no different in that it is flanked to the east by Mount Armandino, a male apu not quite as high. According to an Incan tradition that we learned in Lake Titicaca, the male apu must be approached first. You must then ask permission to approach the female apu, in this case Mount Aconcagua.

Both Laurie and Bill, our second mountain guide, told me that this ceremonial style has always felt to them like the correct way to approach the mountains. Most people, they said, come only to summit and they miss the real meaning of the mountains here: the power, the respect, the gifts they offer. Not only do most climbers overlook these important aspects, but they miss the beauty as well. Many complain that the mountain is ferociously windy and cold and call it a giant slag heap, as if it were unworthy of their efforts to climb it. We conjectured that perhaps according to shamanic tradition, this is why the mountain claims many lives every year.

Laurie invited us to savor the rock formations, the greenery, and the stark beauty of the surrounding peaks on the approach to base camp. We were on the lookout for guanacos, the handsome barking dromedaries of this region that leave crisscrossed trails all over the higher slopes. Laurie helped us find guanaco hollows, dead spots in the wind where the guanacos like to lie down to rest. They are marvelously still places where the cold wind abates completely. He taught us about the importance of not rushing, of taking a slow pace to conserve energy and appreciate what the mountains have to teach. He wanted us to take care of our bodies and acclimatize slowly so they would carry us unfailingly to the highest elevations. He showed us how to feel the power of this soaring land anchoring our slow-moving feet. He demonstrated for us how to walk carefully to reduce fatigue and strain on our tendons and muscles. Every turn of an ankle and slip on a rock could sap energy and fatigue us unnecessarily, he warned. We should pay attention to what our feet were doing to conserve our limited resources. Both he and Bill were filled with the knowledge of many tricks to stay warm and relaxed even in this rugged environment. They extolled us to hydrate often and stop at the first sign of a hot spot on our feet. I was impressed with how tuned in Laurie was to the beauty and nature of this stark and harsh environment. He constantly pointed out natural features that I would have missed entirely if it were not for his keen eye.

When we arrived at Plaza de Argentina, the base camp was mostly deserted. Later there would be hundreds of climbers, but now only a handful of tents sprouted here and there behind their makeshift rock walls. It was early in the season, and the weather was unseasonably cold and windy. After we set up the tents, I constructed a simple small medicine wheel out of stones, the first of four we would place on the mountain to honor the apus. We offered traditional ceremonial gifts of coca leaves from Peru and tobacco from North America and requested a safe journey up the mountain with good weather to make it possible.

At 14,271 feet, base camp was a good place to acclimatize. We would carry everything we needed up the mountain ourselves. On the first day out of base camp, we made a light carry to camp 1, our packs mostly loaded with food, stove fuel, and warm clothing. The rough trail carried us to a craggy valley surrounded by ice fields at 16,240 feet. We had to negotiate a trail among thousands of densely packed penitentes, sharp wind-carved ice formations that can rise five feet or more. The route was tortuous, and small stones constantly rolled down from the melting above the trail. We kept a sharp lookout for larger rocks that could become bone-breaking missiles, but we were fortunate to move through unscathed. After the penitentes, the trail coursed over intensely windy and dramatically rocky terrain before becoming sharply steeper upon a large ice field. Here we zigzagged up a very steep section of rock-hard ice covered by a few inches of fresh snow. Several in our group were visibly shaken, terrified by this section of trail, but there was no alternative route and we pressed on. This was simply the challenging nature of the climb.

When the climbing became difficult like this, I remembered my shamanic training to ask the spirit of the mountain for courage and strength. I practiced a chi gong breathing exercise to draw vitality from the mountain with every inhale and to let go of whatever was burdening me with every exhale. This proved beneficial and helped me forget my fears and my fatigue.

We managed the ice field without incident and arrived at camp 1 exhausted but exhilarated when, as if by magic, a white falcon flashed over our heads in a spectacle of speed and beauty. After caching our supplies, we returned to base camp. The treacherous ice field commanded as much attention on the way down as on the way up.

At about this time I began to appreciate how difficult this climb would be. Over the next two days we made two more carries over this same route, but each day the weather and conditions changed, making for dramatically different experiences. The second day hit us with heavy winds and extremely low temperatures and we beat a hasty retreat after setting up a tent at camp 1. The third carry was very challenging because we were carrying full packs of forty-five to fifty pounds through the penitentes and up the steep ice fields. On this day I concentrated on every breathing and mental exercise I had ever learned from my shaman teachers over the years, and to my relief and satisfaction the exercises paid excellent dividends. Despite the hardships, I felt keenly awake and happy to be on this trip. Arriving at our destination, we immediately began the daily process of collecting and melting ice for hydration. At these altitudes, water is frozen unless you are fortunate enough to find a small trickle of running water.

That night an intense storm hit with high winds and subzero temperatures, resulting in wind chills of up to thirty degrees below zero. I registered four degrees in the tent as we cooked dinner from the awkward position of being stuffed in our expedition sleeping bags. Frost from our breath condensed and lined the inside of the tent, turning it into something like an igloo. Every move became slow-motion labor, and keeping warm was the primary objective. Boiling water endlessly, we poured it into our water bottles and stuck them between our legs to keep warm. Unbeknownst to me the water was too hot for my skin, and I woke up with a nasty burn on my thigh that was not to heal for a month. Serious shamanic tests often leave a permanent mark and this is one I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

At these altitudes, skin cracks and scratches and cuticle tears become serious problems because they simply do not heal for lack of oxygen. Eventually all of our fingers and knuckles were covered with medical tape and Band-Aids to protect scratches and cracks that wouldn’t mend until we returned to lower elevations. I discovered the value of superglue on skin cracks, and it prevented some of the worst ones. This was all part of the challenge of high-altitude climbing and we took it in stride.

That night for the first time, I had trouble with the altitude and felt as though I were drowning. Laurie advised me to take Diamox, a prescription medication for altitude sickness, and it improved my condition immensely. Some of the others on our team started it too.

The next morning the storm continued unabated and we couldn’t escape going out to relieve ourselves. Such an ordinary process becomes extremely trying under such conditions, and I learned to appreciate the luxury of nice sheltered toilets in everyday life. Laurie suggested we return to base camp to get some exercise and escape the fury of the storm.

We made the trip to base camp to find that the older supply tent we had left there had been flattened by the storm. Other climbers’ tents had also been destroyed, and the outfitters said the storm had been terrific. All the outhouses had blown down. But returning to base camp gave us the opportunity to have a cooked meal with one of the outfitters as well as access to warm water to wash ourselves and feel more civilized. It was a welcome relief.

At this point TJ announced that he would not be continuing. Trying to do business by satellite phone, he learned that one of his merger deals was not going well and Laurie cautioned him that it was dangerous to have his mind elsewhere and not on the climb. Bill, our other guide, would go back with him to the highway. This meant that Laurie would be our only guide to the top and if something happened to any one of us, we would have to abort the climb. This fact made each of us aware of our responsibility to every other team member. None of us wanted to be the one forcing the trip to end, so from this point onward we were all extra careful and put out an additional effort that ultimately paid off.

The next day, for the fourth time in four days, we climbed up to camp 1, where we were met with an amazing sight. A beautiful hawk was sitting in our camp on a rock next to our tents. Laurie said he had never in all his years seen a hawk in camp there. In our eyes this was a positive and welcome sign that we had approached the mountain with proper respect and protocol. I thought of the hawk feathers we were carrying with the intention of depositing them on the higher reaches of the mountain.

From here we began our carries to camp 2 at 18,897 feet. The trail rose through another steep ice and snowfield, curved over to a col, and then rose several thousand feet more over rocky terrain in a number of zigzags to camp 2. At these heights the scenery became spectacular with the peerless Andes spread out all around us. The challenge was to pay attention to where we were placing our feet while appreciating the fabulous scenery. At the col the wind suddenly blasted with hurricane force and each step became an exercise in staying balanced under our heavy loads. Higher, we found a rocky perch out of the wind and witnessed a truly spectacular sight. Long fingers of icy clouds coiled out from the peak of Aconcagua, creating an aerial display that none of us had ever witnessed before. The cloud show left us open mouthed and staring in wonder. It was hard to break away and resume the challenge of the climb and again watch our every step. On this trek fingers and toes lost their feeling and the cold wind became a ferocious force sucking the air out of our lungs.

At camp 2 the air was rarified and breathing truly became a challenge. I had never been above seventeen thousand feet and found I could barely catch my breath. Laurie put us right to work preparing a tent site for our high camp, and the labor was absolutely exhausting, but this was the only way to acclimatize. The trick was to put tent stakes into the frozen ground without ever lowering our heads below heart level or we risked passing out.

We built the next of our medicine wheels here on top of the world. Although it had taken us many hours to climb up, going back down to camp 1 was a speedy affair. Laurie demonstrated to us how to move fast on the way down by literally skating down the scree, and we covered all three thousand feet in an hour. Going down was terrifically hard on the knees and thighs, and upon reaching camp 1, I was achingly exhausted. Fair weather saw us through the night and we made another light carry over the same territory the next day, this time in harsher weather.

Finally it was time to carry full packs up to camp 2, a seriously daunting endeavor. I was most concerned about this part of the climb because carrying heavy loads is not my forte. At 140 pounds, I had to heft over a third of my body weight in very thin air and this was extremely difficult for me. This would be a make-or-break affair because if any one of us failed to make the carry, none of us could summit. No one wanted to be the deal breaker so we toughed it out over many hours. To help myself climb, I sang quietly to the apus, something I learned from my Shipibo and Andean shaman teachers in Peru who taught me that to make contact with apus you must sing to them as if you were singing a lullaby to a baby. You must respectfully sing of their great beauty and power and tell them exactly what you want of them. I sang and asked for strength and endurance, which I then felt surging through me as if by magic. There was a point at which I realized I was going to make it, and I felt such a thrill of exhilaration that tears streamed down my face, freezing in seconds in the icy winds. I asked that the others feel the same endurance, fortitude, and strength, and although it was very difficult for some of our party, we all made it. Lena’s effort to get to camp 2 was so great that she was hypothermic by the time we got there, so Laurie immediately put her in a sleeping bag in the tent and brewed her cups of hot tea to warm her. The rest of us set up the other tent, melted snow, and cooked dinner in the thin atmosphere. It is common to lose one’s appetite at these elevations, but I was starving and was able to eat a big meal. Some in our little group skipped dinner and just crashed.

The next day was supposed to be a rest day, but with Laurie there was no such thing. We spent it acclimatizing and training in new skills. Laurie had us out on the Polish Glacier that looms above camp 2, practicing putting on and taking off our crampons. We got a full class on how to walk like John Wayne to avoid impaling ourselves with our own spikes. He wanted us to take them on and off six times in rapid succession until we knew how to do it by feel in the dark. The weather continued to deteriorate, and before long he had us building cairns to mark our passage up the traverse. The next day was supposed to be summit day but the weather was so bad we had to take a rain check.

Before turning in to the tent, I checked out two graves that were but a stone’s throw from our tent. They were simple affairs of piled stone with makeshift crosses made from metal debris. At the foot of one grave was a pair of climbing boot liners attached to feet sticking out of the end of the rock pile, a sobering reminder of the dangers of altitude. Finding some rocks big enough to cover up the feet was a real effort. Afterward I offered some tobacco for this climber and all the climbers who had met their end in this harsh environment. According to Laurie, the graves had been there since the eighties when two helicopters were sent up to help after an accident and both of them crashed, delivering more fatalities. Now the local authorities no longer send help, and some of the climbers who die here are simply buried on the mountain, their bodies too difficult and expensive to bring down.

Two years previously, four Argentinean climbers had perished above camp 2 on the Polish Glacier. They had been roped together but had not anchored themselves to the ice, and so when one slipped they all crashed down the mountain together in a tangle of crampons, rope, packs, and limbs, meeting a grisly and bloody death. Up here in the thin, oxygen-deprived air, climbers don’t always think straight and unfortunately they sometimes make serious errors in judgment. One of the most serious of these is underestimating the difficulty of the mountain and continuing for the summit too late in the day so that rescue becomes nearly impossible. The weather can turn from mild to nasty within minutes. Many have perished this way. Several years ago Laurie arrived on the summit to find a frozen corpse of an Argentinean guide lying on his back with one arm extended skyward. He had told his clients he was just going to rest a little and would be joining them in a few minutes. He lay down, probably went to sleep, and never woke up. This is the way altitude sickness can strike, with shocking suddenness and complete mental disability. Here you can never let your guard down for even a moment.

Sobered, I headed for the tent to wait out another fierce mountain storm. In the morning it had mostly abated, and we were able to make a practice summit run. Covering a third of the distance to around twenty thousand feet helped acclimatize us for the effort ahead. This day turned out to be extraordinarily beautiful, and the scenery was peerless in its expansive top-of-the-world views. The Pacific Ocean appeared to the west of Chile. Glaciers, ice fields, and tiers of high mountains rose up to meet the sky in every direction. Mercedario, rising to twenty-two thousand feet, loomed up to the north, a mountain Laurie mentioned he wanted to climb someday.

To prepare for summit day we melted snow and filled all our water bottles with boiling water, prepared our gear and snacks, and then tried to get some sleep because of the early rising time the next morning. Yet sleep was elusive and a heavy wind began its onslaught, making summit day an uncertainty. Fitful and cold, we all moved in and out of disturbed sleep waiting for Laurie’s call. The early morning winds became so heavy I was certain we would not be going, but suddenly Laurie’s yell pierced the darkness. “Get up! We’re leaving in twenty minutes.” The wind had strangely abated altogether.

Trying to hurry at nineteen-thousand-plus feet in a small tent in freezing temperatures is extremely difficult. I staggered half asleep out of the tent into the starlight and fixed my crampons to my boots by feel. I thought, This is it! Crunch time! But in all truth I felt tired and unready. One of our members was slow to get going and it wasn’t until five thirty that we were assembled and on the trail.

We had on every warm item of clothing we owned, including down coats enclosing the hot water bottles. Our headlamps swung this way and that, lighting the cairns we had so carefully constructed over the past couple of days. The dawn revealed itself in unbelievable splendor as we trudged up the long traverse, crunching over snow and ice to connect with the normal route coming from the Plaza de Mulas on the west side. Our route would be much longer than that more popular one. Eventually we intersected that trail and ran into a steady stream of climbers coming up the other side. Some of them had been waiting three weeks for decent weather to summit; finally the time had come. The trail became extraordinarily steep, and climbers could take only three or four steps before resting. At one point I lost all feeling in one of my feet and Laurie made me take off my boot while he massaged life back into it again. Again we set off, rising higher and higher, eventually entering a harsh, windswept gully leading to the summit. Here we met climbers in trouble: a South African with no water; an Australian spitting blood and descending rapidly; a Spaniard suffering from altitude and fatigue, literally crawling his way up the mountain. We offered assistance when possible and continued our upward climb. I lost all track of time and could eventually see climbers at the top and hear them shouting to their fellow climbers below.

Suddenly, and unbelievably, I heard Laurie say. “Well, guys, it’s time to turn around.” I could see the summit. I could practically touch it. I could smell it. Yet Laurie continued: “It’s two thirty, past our turnaround time. Let’s go.” Laurie, of course, was the boss and the expert.

I tried to evaluate the situation. I felt lightheaded, but for the most part I was in good shape. I could make it but I had to confront the fact that getting to the summit was not the be-all and end-all of the trip. It was the total experience of the climb I had come for. I was on a pilgrimage and had already accomplished the essentials of the weeks-long ceremony. I realized at that moment that to truly understand the priorities of what was important I would not be allowed to summit. The apu had closed that door in order to teach me. I quickly looked around for a spot to make the final medicine wheel and gathered the rocks together. Laurie helped me in silence. I added tobacco and placed the hawk feathers I had brought with me to release on the mountain. Lena and Fred were still coming up the trail, still climbing to where Kathy, Laurie, and I stood. Clearly not feeling well, Lena was dizzy but relentlessly forcing herself up the mountain. Laurie checked on her with concern and said flatly, “Let’s go.” We prepared to go down, fully understanding that now it was necessary for us to get down fast.

Just as we left our highest point, a golden brown dog with a sweet face and swollen teats approached, coming down from the summit. This was impossible — no one sees dogs at this elevation. Yet here she was, ambling along as if she were on an ordinary walk, apparently feeling no effects from the altitude whatsoever. At first we just gaped at her, uncomprehending. Then she attached herself to our group and with great loyalty accompanied us down the mountain for the rest of the day. We passed many climbers still on their way up the mountain, but we were going down with purpose, Laurie and Fred supporting Lena as we descended. We dropped three thousand feet in a hurry, and Lena began to feel better again. She doesn’t remember much about that sequence, just the dog and the power of the mountain. By the time we got back to within sight of camp, it had been twelve hours. I can’t remember ever being so tired in my life; Lena was fine but tired too. The dog curled up outside our tent to keep us company, whining pitifully in the cold. We found something for her to eat and called her into our tent, where she snuggled up between us.

Suddenly I had a realization. This was no ordinary dog. Since we had been denied the summit of Aconcagua by five hundred feet, the summit had come to us in the form of this wonderful dog. Aconcagua is a female apu, and of course the dog was female. Lovingly we covered her with a down coat, and we all crashed into deep, exhausted slumber.

The next morning we broke camp and started down, carrying full, heavy packs with everything we had carried up. I thought going down would be easy but it was clearly not a simple task. Navigating the icy slopes with a full pack is treacherous and requires absolute attention. Not a few times I slipped on rocks and ice and terrified myself, but there was nothing to do but get up and keep going. We descended six thousand feet in just a couple of hours. At base camp, after sorting out the things that would go down on mules and those we would carry ourselves, we set off again and dropped another two thousand feet. Our red blood cell count made us feel powerful and energized, and we admired lush green grass and bushes and marveled at the beauty of the landscape we had not fully appreciated on the way up. Out of a desire to carry a light load, we had shed many of our supplies. We slept outside without tents and witnessed the most magnificent display of stars I have ever seen. The night was extremely cold and conducive to active dreaming, but the brown apu dog helped keep us warm once again.

The next day we faced a daunting task. It was more than thirty-five miles to the highway and we had to cover it all by nightfall — without food. I had never walked more than twenty miles in a day, and the trail was extremely rocky and difficult in many places. Keeping a good pace, we covered an amazing amount of ground, yet by about twenty miles our legs were cramping and our toenails were hurting badly. Here, with great gratitude and sad farewells, we left the apu dog with the rangers, hoping she would attach herself to climbers who were going in.

We covered the last fifteen miles in an agonized dream state. When we arrived at the highway to meet the van that would take us back to Mendoza, we were beyond exhaustion. Limping and staggering, I led our little group in a ceremony of thanksgiving for a successful pilgrimage to Aconcagua. By this time everyone fully understood the power of what we had experienced and had great gratitude for returning safely.

In three hours we were in Mendoza, and after welcome hot showers we were out eating a hearty meal that we could only dream of during the last three weeks. After several recovery days in town, Lena and I returned to Santa Fe in time for Christmas Eve with the family.

POSTSCRIPT

I observed several phenomena in retrospect after returning home. For two weeks following the trip, every night was like the night before summit day. Intense dreams marked each night, and every morning I expected Laurie’s voice to boom out, “Get up! We’re leaving in twenty minutes.” I woke up with a sense that I had been traveling extensively all night. Lena and I both felt extremely altered and nothing seemed normal or recognizable. I was certain I would never be quite the same again. I felt the mountain had come back with me to support me and help me. I was not used to this strange feeling. While watching Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, I had a moment of terror when I recognized that the mountain was with me in the theater and was calling to me just as Frodo was climbing up to throw the ring into the lava. I realized it was possible that I could return to climb it again, though this could be done in the dream state as well. Climbing Aconcagua was physically the hardest thing either of us had ever done in our lives, yet it made other endeavors quite possible.

In my assessment over the years, the bid for power on the mountain was successful in every way. I do feel more powerful, more resilient, more willing, and more alive than ever before. I am extremely grateful to have had the opportunity to make this extraordinary climb.

EXERCISE

Get to know a powerful natural totem or ally. Perhaps it is one of your local mountains, a canyon, waterfall, river, pond, or rock formation. Spend some time getting familiar with it and visit it often. Talk to it and perhaps ask it questions. Bring it offerings and blessings. See if it starts to get inside your dreams or thoughts. What is its nature, its qualities, its characteristics? What is its medicine? What does it require of you? What is the price it demands? How can it help you?