Don't look down (part II)

It is later. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, but dusk is beginning to fall. I am shifting myself down a channel of grey slate, one stone at a time. Elkin said I would be able to walk it, but I can't because it's too steep. My butt and my legs are grazed and bleeding, and my progress is beyond slow. I don't know where Amanda and Dave are, because I can't see them anymore, and I hope they're OK, and I worry for them because they both have kids.

How to channel anger

I feel anger well up inside me, and I hold onto it because it will drive me forward and get me down this godforsaken slope. In my head I compose an email of polite, yet firm complaint, and I'm surprised at how detached I can be from the situation when I'm thinking of what I'll say about it after. I think about this blog, and what I will be writing. That today is one of the worst days of my life. That I would probably take a day of rock bottom depression over this.

As the anger builds, I say my thoughts out loud to the slate as it moves and slips under me. Fuck you, Elkin, for putting me here. For putting Amanda and Dave here. For making a really, really dumb decision. And fuck you, Mount Veronica. I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in you. So if you don't mind, I'll have those coca leaves back and you can do one. I believe in me, and I will reach the bottom of this goddamn mountain if it's the last thing I do. But it won't be, because I'm stronger than that and I'm buggered if this is going to defeat me.

A large rock clatters down the slope and misses my head by about a foot. Fabulous. I have to put up with flying rocks now too? Don't you bloody dare.

Mind, you better do something bloody good with that cash I raised. Because this is for the others. This is for the people whose families and friends don't understand, for the people who thought that the way out was at the bottom of a bottle, for the people who think they might not be worthy of their lives. And I can take this hellish slope if it means just one of those people can feel better.

And finally, to the people who didn't sponsor me because they thought I was just going on a jolly, fuck you too. I'd like to see you go through this, and hold it together the way I am. Because if there is anything to learn from this, it's that I am a freaking badass.

Girl, alone

To my left, Joel appears, holding out a hand to pull me up out of the channel. I grip it and tentatively follow in his footsteps. It is almost dark now, and we are picking our way around the mountain by the light of a pocket torch. He stops intermittently to blow a whistle and flash the light into the valley, from where faint shouts are reaching us. He got help.

We get to a path, and he stops facing the valley. After a few more minutes of the whistle and some shouting, he hands me the torch and tells me to wait. I shine the light in the direction he tells me, and he disappears into the night. It's cold now, and I can't see much except for the lights of the houses down below. I want to be there with some soup and a blanket. In a burst of childlike longing, I want my mum.

Joel does not come back. The torch beams in the valley weave about, and one disappears. The other is moving far off to my left, heading (so I think) for Amanda and Dave.

Don't leave me. Please don't forget me. I'm here. Please... The tears come. I'm scared now, scared of being stuck here on my own all night with no protection from the cold, no water and no food. I don't want to be out here alone. Please find me. Please find me.

Superman wears a poncho

It must be 20 minutes later when Agustin appears. He approaches shyly, asks where Elkin is. I don't even know how to say, 'I don't know' in Spanish, so I just shrug and hold out my hands. He heads off up the path and the fear that I'm being left alone again floods over me. But he's back in a couple of minutes, and shoulders Joel's pack, which has been left behind. Then he takes my hand and leads me back the way he has come.

From the moment we set off to the moment we arrive in camp, he has my hand firmly in his, bracing his forearm against mine to guide me along. We hold branches for each other, exchange awkward smiles in the dark, and inside I am close to worshipping him. Forget Henry Cavill. Forget lyrca and capes, and wearing your pants over your leggings. Superman is a chef and wears a poncho. Sweet, shy Agustin who has barely said three words together all trip, is now a giant as far as I'm concerned. Between watching my step and avoiding further scratches from scrubby bushes, I contemplate asking him to marry me when we get to camp. I will make it to camp.

Twelve hours after setting off that morning, we arrive at my tent. I am suddenly exhausted. I put my bag down and throw my arms around his slight frame. Gracias. Muchas gracias. He brings me a bowl of soup that I savour despite my tiredness, partly for its flavour and partly for its warmth, and I climb into bed. For a while I lay, straining my ears for the voices of my companions, but sleep takes me and I know nothing until the following morning.