Perhaps It Was Hope Lending Us Wings

My feet, like Lachenal's, were very cold and I continued to wriggle my toes, even when we were moving. I could not feel them, but that was nothing new in the mountains, and if I kept on moving them it would keep the circulation going.
Lachenal appeared to me as a sort of specter--he was alone in his world, I in mine. But--and this was odd enough--any effort was slightly less exhausting than lower down. Perhaps it was hope lending us wings. Even through dark glasses the snow was blinding--the sun beating straight down on the ice. We looked down upon precipitous ridges which dropped away into space, and upon tiny glaciers far, far below. Familiar peaks soared arrow-like into the sky. Suddenly Lachenal grabbed me:
"If I go back, what will you do?"
A whole sequence of pictures flashed through my head: the days of marching in the sweltering heat, the hard pitches we had overcome, the tremendous efforts we had all made to lay siege to the mountain, the daily heroism of all my friends in establishing the camps. Now we were nearing our goal. In an hour or two, perhaps, victory would be ours. Must we give up? Impossible! My whole being revolted against the idea. I had made up my mind, irrevocably. Today we were consecrating an ideal, and no sacrifice was too great. I heard my voice clearly:
"I should go on by myself."
I would go alone. If he wished to go down it was not for me to stop him. He must make his own choice freely.
"Then I'll follow you."
The die was cast. I was no longer anxious. Nothing could stop us now from getting to the top. The psychological atmosphere changed with these few words, and we went forward now as brothers.
I felt as though I were plunging into something new and quite abnormal. I had the strangest and most vivid impressions, such as I had never known before in the mountains. There was something unnatural in the way I saw Lachenal and everything around us. I smiled to myself at the paltriness of our efforts, for I could stand apart and watch myself making these efforts. But all sense of exertion was gone, as though there were no longer any gravity. This diaphanous landscape, this quintessence of purity--these were not the mountains I knew: they were the mountains of my dreams.
The snow, sprinkled over every rock and gleaming in the sun, was of a radiant beauty that touched me to the heart. I had never seen such complete transparency, and I was living in a world of crystal. Sounds were indistinct, the atmosphere like cotton wool.
An astonishing happiness welled up in me, but I could not define it. Everything was so new, so utterly unprecedented. It was not in the least like anything I had known in the Alps, where one feels buoyed up by the presence of others--by people of whom one is vaguely aware, or even by the dwellings one can see in the far distance.
This was quite different. An enormous gulf was between me and the world. This was a different universe--withered, desert, lifeless; a fantastic universe where the presence of man was not foreseen, perhaps not desired. We were braving an interdict, overstepping a boundary, and yet we had no fear as we continued upward. I thought of the famous ladder of St. Theresa of Avila. Something clutched at my heart.
Did Lachenal share these feelings? The summit ridge drew nearer, and we reached the foot of the ultimate rock band. The slope was very steep and the snow interspersed with rocks.
"Couloir!"
A finger pointed. The whispered word from one to another indicated the key to the rocks--the last line of defense.
"What luck!"
The couloir up the rocks though steep was feasible.
The sky was a deep sapphire blue. With a great effort we edged over to the right, avoiding the rocks. We preferred to keep to the snow on account of our crampons and it was not long before we set foot in the couloir. It was fairly steep, and we had a minute's hesitation. Should we have enough strength left to overcome this final obstacle?
Fortunately the snow was hard, and by kicking steps we were able to manage, thanks to our crampons. A false move would have been fatal. There was no need to make handholds--our axes, driven in as far as possible, served us for an anchor.
Lachenal went splendidly. It was a hard struggle here, but he kept going. Lifting our eyes occasionally from the slope, we saw the couloir opening out on to...well, we didn't quite know, probably a ridge. But where was the top--left or right? Stopping at every step, leaning on our axes we tried to recover our breath and to calm down our racing hearts, which were thumping as though they would burst. We knew we were there now--that nothing could stop us. No need to exchange looks--each of us would have read the same determination in the other's eyes. A slight detour to the left, a few more steps--the summit ridge came gradually nearer--a few rocks to avoid. We dragged ourselves up. Could we possibly be there?
Yes!
A fierce and savage wind tore at us.
We were on top of Annapurna! 8075 meters, 26,493 feet.
Our hearts overflowed with an unspeakable happiness.
"If only the others could know..."
If only everyone could know!
--Maurice Herzog
(from "Annapurna: First Conquest of an 8000 Meter Peak ")