I did it!!!

And it about did me in...

Unaccustomed as I am to sleeping in a sleeping bag, on a floor, at about 7000 feet altitude, I didn't get a refreshing rest the night before my wake-up from the guide at 3 a.m. No matter -- I was ready to go, if not physically, certainly emotionally and spiritually.

It was so peaceful and beautiful at La Compartición at that hour, and the moon was so bright a flashlight was hardly necessary.

Rocelio had risen first, and prepared a bit of food for us to eat before the final ascent. We left by about 4, with Joel on foot and me on the mule. BTW, her name was Paloma which I think means something like sparrow or swallow. A lovely and feminine name that belied a creature of Amazonian proportions and sinister disposition.

Riding a mule is difficult. Riding a mule up a steep incline is more difficult. Riding a mule up a rock-strewn steep incline is even more difficult. Riding a mule up a rock-strewn steep incline in the dark is ... Well, you get the picture. The picture of me falling off. Onto the rock-strewn steep incline.

Add to this the auditory imagery of this blogger-adventurer-priest screaming out in pain "mierda! mierda! mierda!" then "that's Spanish for s***!" Joel was not impressed with my linguistic virtuosity. He did, however, rush to my side to help me up. It was obvious that he was worried, and he kept asking if I was OK.

The bruise to my inflated pride was enormous, but I had a feeling it was going to be surpassed by my the black and blue that I could already feel developing on my thigh, and the pain in my chest (right side, not left, so it wasn't a heart attack). I got back up but did not mount the mule again, since I was really shaken. As this was the last leg of the trip, it was very steep, and Joel kept asking me if I really wanted to walk, or if I wouldn't prefer to take the mule. I kept mulling over in my mind which I preferred: pain or fear. Pain, since my right leg was already very, very sore from the fall. Fear of mounting the mule again and falling off. After a while the combination of the pain, the darkness, and the fatigue of climbing at that altitude got the better of me, and I succumbed to the whiles of the lovely Paloma.

I had a religious experience at that point. It's called petitionary prayer -- i.e. praying for oneself. The gist of this oration was something on the order of "Oh God, please don't let me fall off this mule again, and I promise I'll never do anything this stupid as long as I live." Then I asked for the intercession of St. Francis, my patron, and patron of animals, for good measure. I also threw in a word to St. Mary for good measure, remembering her donkey ride to Bethlehem. Suffice it to say that the Christmas carol popularly known as The Carol of the Beasts will never have the same cachet for me. "I said the donkey all furry and gray..."

Well, those prayers were answered, and we made it to Valle de Lilis, which is the last stopping point before the final ascent. I had read, and Joel insisted that it would only take about a half hour to reach the summit. But we would have to do it on foot.

I'm sort of amazed that even with my injuries, I had enough determination, or adrenaline, or sheer stupidity to forge on ahead. As we made our way to the top, the sky was already beginning to lighten, and suddenly the grey of the sky was streaked with red. "Rosy-fingered dawn," were the words that Homer used, I believe in The Odyssey. Something about an experience like that left me speechless enough that someone else's great words were better than anything I could think up on my own.

We reached the summit just before sunrise, and scrambled up some boulders to the summit. El techo del Caribe -- the ceiling of the Carribean. A simple plaque, a Dominican flag, and bust of Duarte marked the spot. Joel and I waited together, the heavy silence broken only by the steady wind. The skies turned form grey, to red, to gold --the sun rose, and I was there.

Words of congratulations. The obligatory snapshot. A sense of accomplishment.

As we walked back to the Valle de Lilís where we had left the mule, again, someone else's great words were better than anything I could think up on my own. This time it was an old gospel hymn that came to mind. I sang it mostly to myself, but loud enough for Joel a few paces ahead of me to hear:

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
consider all the worlds thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed:
Then sings my soul, my savior God, to thee
How Great Thou Art, How Great Thou Art.
Then sings my soul, my savior God, to thee
How Great Thou Art, How Great Thou Art.