Hidden Courage (Atlantis) by Christopher David Petersen Page A
Authors: Christopher David Petersen
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up, matching his lower foot to the higher foot, resting, then stepping higher, continuously repeating the cycle.
As he climbed, he fell into a subconscious routine, moving higher as if on autopilot. After a short time, his muscles loosened up and he began to feel his strength and confidence build. He changed his routine from stepping up and matching feet to taking full steps above his feet as if he were walking up a set of stairs. This greatly increased his speed, as he stepped one foot above the other, over and over.
Almost in a trance as he climbed, his mind drifted off from the sound of his heavy breathing and his footsteps as he kicked his feet into the snow with each placement.
In his mind, he began to play the simple chorus of a familiar song. Over and over, he replayed the chorus. After a while, as he breathed out, each note in the chorus corresponded with each exhale of breath, in essence subconsciously creating a metronome. His pace of climbing became matched with the beat of the song, a phenomenon common in climbing that made the hours of long, hard work pass more quickly and painlessly.
Nearly three hours passed and Jack’s repetitious hard work was paying off. He had ascended nearly the full 1000-foot face, a monumental task. He looked down and saw the small platform he left from, then worked his eyes out across the dangerous ridge he had crossed the day before. Inside the long fluted trench, his view of the snowfield was blocked. The most he could see of it was that portion leading up to the ridgeline.
He was nearly 2,000 feet above the snowfield and the huge blocks of ice that sat below the ridge looked like pebbles. He was really high up. If he slipped, even a little, he would tumble all the way down to those ice boulders and to his death – a very sobering thought. With a couple hundred feet to go, he made sure there were no mistakes.
A short time later, the steep slope relaxed a bit and Jack could now climb without the need of his hands for balance. As he crested the top of the slope, he found a narrow platform that meandered around the mountain. Measuring fifty feet at its widest point, it resembled a wide sidewalk that created breaks in the fluted trenches.
Jack stopped for a moment on the walkway, drank some water and ate a peanut butter sandwich, then walked around from the north side to the east side of the mountain. He stood at the edge of the ‘sidewalk’ and looked down into the snowfield for his plane. At first he became scared, unable to find it. Concentrating his focus on the area at the bottom of the south ridge, he spotted it; it blended in with some of the larger rock and ice boulders.
Jack looked up at the sky. There were thin clouds forming overhead. He remembered the weather forecast from the previous day: a low-pressure front moving through the area. He had hoped that it wouldn’t impact his climbing, rationalizing that the Andes range would form a barrier, preventing the weather from passing through, as he had heard was the case in the Cascades of the Pacific Northwest . He looked at the fast-moving clouds and accepted the reality that the weather could become a problem. He took a mental inventory of his gear and concluded that he had three days of rations if things got bad, two days more than he needed. It was not a comfortable surplus, but it was adequate. He turned and hurriedly headed back to his route.
The next 1,000 feet or so looked to be the same kind of climbing that he had just completed, only not as steep. He breathed deeply a few times, trying to repress the anxiety that was building inside him again. He started off up the slope, this time moving faster than before. He was happy that he still hadn’t run into anything technically difficult, although he still could not see the upper slopes that still lay hidden from his view.
As he climbed higher, he could feel a cool breeze blow against his face and into his nostrils. He
As he climbed, he fell into a subconscious routine, moving higher as if on autopilot. After a short time, his muscles loosened up and he began to feel his strength and confidence build. He changed his routine from stepping up and matching feet to taking full steps above his feet as if he were walking up a set of stairs. This greatly increased his speed, as he stepped one foot above the other, over and over.
Almost in a trance as he climbed, his mind drifted off from the sound of his heavy breathing and his footsteps as he kicked his feet into the snow with each placement.
In his mind, he began to play the simple chorus of a familiar song. Over and over, he replayed the chorus. After a while, as he breathed out, each note in the chorus corresponded with each exhale of breath, in essence subconsciously creating a metronome. His pace of climbing became matched with the beat of the song, a phenomenon common in climbing that made the hours of long, hard work pass more quickly and painlessly.
Nearly three hours passed and Jack’s repetitious hard work was paying off. He had ascended nearly the full 1000-foot face, a monumental task. He looked down and saw the small platform he left from, then worked his eyes out across the dangerous ridge he had crossed the day before. Inside the long fluted trench, his view of the snowfield was blocked. The most he could see of it was that portion leading up to the ridgeline.
He was nearly 2,000 feet above the snowfield and the huge blocks of ice that sat below the ridge looked like pebbles. He was really high up. If he slipped, even a little, he would tumble all the way down to those ice boulders and to his death – a very sobering thought. With a couple hundred feet to go, he made sure there were no mistakes.
A short time later, the steep slope relaxed a bit and Jack could now climb without the need of his hands for balance. As he crested the top of the slope, he found a narrow platform that meandered around the mountain. Measuring fifty feet at its widest point, it resembled a wide sidewalk that created breaks in the fluted trenches.
Jack stopped for a moment on the walkway, drank some water and ate a peanut butter sandwich, then walked around from the north side to the east side of the mountain. He stood at the edge of the ‘sidewalk’ and looked down into the snowfield for his plane. At first he became scared, unable to find it. Concentrating his focus on the area at the bottom of the south ridge, he spotted it; it blended in with some of the larger rock and ice boulders.
Jack looked up at the sky. There were thin clouds forming overhead. He remembered the weather forecast from the previous day: a low-pressure front moving through the area. He had hoped that it wouldn’t impact his climbing, rationalizing that the Andes range would form a barrier, preventing the weather from passing through, as he had heard was the case in the Cascades of the Pacific Northwest . He looked at the fast-moving clouds and accepted the reality that the weather could become a problem. He took a mental inventory of his gear and concluded that he had three days of rations if things got bad, two days more than he needed. It was not a comfortable surplus, but it was adequate. He turned and hurriedly headed back to his route.
The next 1,000 feet or so looked to be the same kind of climbing that he had just completed, only not as steep. He breathed deeply a few times, trying to repress the anxiety that was building inside him again. He started off up the slope, this time moving faster than before. He was happy that he still hadn’t run into anything technically difficult, although he still could not see the upper slopes that still lay hidden from his view.
As he climbed higher, he could feel a cool breeze blow against his face and into his nostrils. He
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