All right, here's a good story for you, with 3 main
characters: me, my very own stupidity, and a steep
little mountain...
The mountain is called Pao de Acucar (Sugar Loaf
Mountain), and it's God's gift to Rio's postcard
industry. Perfectly situated right on the ocean, the
1319ft. peak overlooks the city and affords
spectacular views of the city, both by day and by
night. I've attached some photos of the peak with this
email.
It is, actually, one of the top tourist attractions of
the city, with cable cars going up to the peak on a
regular basis. I'd gone up Saturday evening and
watched the sun set over Rio from the peak, at which
point I truly believed that Rio lived up to its slogan
as "The Marvellous City." I hope my night photography
of the city turned out well, too...
Anyway, I heard through the grapevine that it was
possible to climb this mountain, instead of taking the
cable cars, and I figured this would be a perfect
activity for me during the day. (In hindsight, I
realized that it's also "possible" to climb Mt.
Everest...)
So the next day I woke up at an ungodly hour (7:00AM)
and headed over to the base of the mountain. By 8:00,
I was at the foot of the beast, looking up. It was a
beautiful morning, without a cloud in the sky.
This is where my stupidity enters the picture. I
didn't bring any water. None. And it was ungodly hot.
In fact, by the time I'd started climbing, I felt like
I was in the devil's own furnace. The suggested route
I'd heard about was up the back of the mountain, which
faces east (that's where the sun was), and the sun was
cooking up the rock like you wouldn't believe. And it
was very, very humid, so that within a few minutes I
was turned into a sweat factory.
My guidebook gave loose instructions as to the trail
to follow, and I went up several different wrong
routes, only to come to an impasse later on
and--cursing profusely, of course--would be forced to
double back to find the right trail. This wasted
valuable time and energy.
And then there was the exposed area. To continue, I
had to cross and climb this practically smooth section
of rock that was at about at a 45 degree angle (that's
a lot steeper than you might think, believe me).
What made it particularly worthy of deep focus and
concentration was that, if I were to slip or lose my
grip in any way, there'd be nothing to break my fall
(other than the jagged rocks in the ocean several
hundred feet below, that is). Quite exciting.
I made it past this, and then the climb intensified
(not in terms of danger, but of climbing difficulty).
And I was being roasted alive by the sun and rock,
sweating like a madman, and thoroughly dehydrated.
My breath was coming in gasps, my T-shirt and my pants
were soaked through with sweat, my heart was beating
abnormally fast (a frantic "whoomwhoomwhoomwhoom"
right in my throat), and I was in such need of water
that my mouth was completely dry.
I wedged myself between two big rocks to avoid the
glaring sun and took stock of my situation. The lack
of water was a big problem. No matter how strong or
fit I might be, it's impossible to go on forever with
this kind of heat and exertion without rehydrating.
I could already feel the effects of dehydration, and I
figured I had maybe half an hour left in me before I'd
pass out or my leg muscles gave out on me completely.
Looking up, I tried to gauge how long it would take me
to reach the peak, and couldn't. From my vantage
point, it was quite possible that I was only half an
hour away, but it's always hard to tell, especially if
you can't actually see the peak--all I could see was a
big outcropping of rock, which may or may not be right
below the peak.
I sat there, my brain baked by the sun, marinated in
sweat, and came to the following conclusion. The sheer
idiocy of not bringing water had handicapped the
amount of time I could spend exerting myself, and I
was almost through, physically. I'd lost a lot of time
and energy going up false trails, and I was fairly
high up, but didn't know how close.
Although a last ditch effort to make it the rest of
the way up was possible, I might also fail, which
would really suck. And it wasn't like I was being
chased up the hill by armed bandits, so going back
down was an option.
I cursed the thought, but I really had no choice but
to go back down. The thought was galling, but I only
had myself to blame. @!#$% @$%^#$^&#$%!!!
It took me over a grueling hour to get back down (the
exposed area was even more interesting going down,
where I could clearly see where gravity wanted to take
me...) Back in civilization, I immediately gulped down
two water bottles and a Coke (for sugar). And I was
very annoyed.
After a hearty lunch, I went to the beach, but I could
see Pao de Acucar from there and it got me really
pissed off, so I went to drown my sorrows by going to
watch a movie, vowing to finish what I'd started if it
was the last thing on earth.
[Fast forward a few days. I wrote the above on Tuesday
and now it's Thursday.]
I returned to Pao de Acucar shortly after waking up
(late afternoon--another evening of merriment behind
me).
This time, I was prepared. I wore shorts for more
ventilation, the sun was starting to set on the other
side of the mountain, and I had 2 gallons of Gatorade
strapped to my back.
I made it back to where I'd been without a hitch, and
cheerfully continued upwards. Then I came to the most
difficult climbing stretch I've ever experienced in my
entire life.
This was no incline. It was straight up and down rock.
A mini-cliff, if you will, about 30 or 40 feet high.
Now, for an experienced technical rock climber, this
must've been child's play, but I don't quite fall into
that category. I found it particularly challenging,
and more than a bit frightening.
In fact, half way up this "wall" I made the mistake of
looking down, and had a momentary burst of panic. My
God! I was hanging on to these little cracks and
protrusions and if I screwed up I was completely
toast!
I flattened myself against the wall, calmed myself,
and kept going up. There was no choice, really, since
at this point in the climb it was easier to go up than
down (unless I let go, of course).
I must've used up a month's supply of adrenaline, but
finally, I was up over the ledge. Phew! What a rush. I
spent the next 20 minutes there sipping Gatorade and
enjoying life.
Then I climbed the remaining portion of the mountain.
There were some challenging parts, but nothing quite
matching the intensity of that little cliff.
And, once again, I watched the sunset over Rio, this
time with the great satisfaction of having earned my
way to this spectacular viewpoint.
Alrighty, I'm off to dinner and another wild night in
Rio.
Ciao!
Gabriel
