Climbing Trail

The Andes Part 8

Before friends continue it would be nice to help each other. Don't forget to like 👍, comment 📝, and make your favorite stories friends.

Check stories. Enjoyable!!!

-------------------------------------------

The next morning, it was our eleventh day on the mountain. Roy Harley invented a broken transistor radio. With his skills, he could make the radio alive again. With a little effort, we were able to capture radio broadcasts from Chile.

Every morning, Marcelo takes Roy out into the ice river. He moved the antenna while Roy was twirling the waves. The hope is to hear the news about the rescue effort, but so far the only ones caught are football match broadcasts, weather reports and political propaganda.

This morning, Roy, trying to save battery, almost turned off the radio when we heard a broadcaster read the news: After ten days of fruitless searches of a Uruguayan plane that crashed in the Andes on October 13, the search effort was officially halted.

After a moment of silence, Roy shouted in disbelief and began to sob. Marcelo approached him and asked somewhat hysterically.

"What's? " Squealing Marcelo, "What's he saying? "

"Suspendieron la busqueda!" Roy shouted, "They have canceled the search! They left us! "

For a few seconds Marcelo looked at Roy with an angry look, just in case Roy was just boasting, but when Roy stopped, Marcelo fell to his knees and roared in agony.

This is crazy, totally crazy! I felt myself falling to the brink of hysteria.

Then the sound of fear caught my attention. It was the voice of Coco Nicolich standing next to me.

"Nando, please, tell me that this is not true!" he stuttered.

"It's true, "I hiss, "Carajo, we're gonna die."

"They killed us!" Screaming Nicolich, "They left us here to die."

I turned around and saw some of our friends emerge from the plane.

"What news is it?" Someone shouted, "Do they know where we are? "

We both glanced at Marcelo who was sitting low in the snow. I tried to talk, but my words were stuck in my esophagus. Finally Nicolich invited them all back to the plane to say the bad news.

"They have stopped our search." Nicolich said quickly.

Some people stared in disbelief. The others immediately cried, the rest were angry and cursing.

"We need to stay calm." Nicolich continued, "It's up to us now. We have to make a plan."

"I'm going to get help, "I said, "I'm not going to die here."

Gustavo said, "Calm Nando. "

"Fuck up! I won't calm down! Give me some meat to carry, give me another jacket. Who's coming with me?"

"No! I can do it! I'm going to climb out of here! But I have to go now! "

"If you leave, you will die. " Gustavo answered.

"I'm dead if I stay! " I said, "t

This place is our grave! "

"Nando, shut up and listen! " Uttled Gustavo. "You don't have winter clothes, you don't have climbing experience, you're weak, we don't even know where. "

Gustavo helped Numa finally managed to calm me down who was panicking. But I managed to convince them to try climbing. At least see what's behind this mountain.

Finally Gustavo, Numa and Daniel Maspons left. Each carried a pair of snowshoes from the seat cushion and a pair of glasses from the cockpit sunvisor. But beyond that, they only wear sweaters and cotton shirts. No gloves nor blankets. But it was a sunny day, the breeze and the sun were quite blazing. If it goes according to plan they will return to the plane before dark.

"Pray us" Gustavo said as the climbers departed. We observed the three of them stepping across the ice river towards the high peaks to the west, down the former track of Fairchild before dredging the snow mounds. As they paved their way slowly up the slope and further away, their bodies grew smaller and smaller until only three small points climbed the white expanse of the mountains. They look small and fragile when climbing. Like three mosquitoes, my respect for their courage will be eternal.

All morning we watched them climb, until they were out of sight, and then we kept watch until dusk, watching the slopes for signs of movement. As the light dimmed, there was still no sign of their arrival. Then darkness descended and a more biting cold forced us back to the shelter inside the plane. That night, strong winds blew through Fairchild and forced snow into every crack and crack. While huddling and shivering in a secluded hideout, our minds go with our friends on the open slopes.

We prayed fervently for them to return safely, but it was hard to hope. I tried to imagine their suffering, trapped in the open with their thin clothes, with nothing to protect from this killer wind. We all knew the face of death very well, and it was easy for me to imagine my friends lying stiff in the snow. I describe them as bodies I've seen buried outside this plane like waxed, bluish pale skin, invulnerable, stiff-faced, sticky snowflakes on eyebrows and lips, close the jaw, gray hair.

I saw them like that, the latest stiff in the dark, three more friends who are now just frozen creatures. But where exactly are they? This question started to attract me. Everyone has the right place and time to die. When's my time? Where's my place? Is there a point in this mountain where I end up falling and lying like everyone else, frozen forever? Is there a place like this for all of us? Is this our destiny, lying scattered in this nameless place? My mother and sister are here by the plane; Zerbino and the others on the slopes; we are left, where will we lie when death decides to pick us up? What happens if we think that escape is impossible? Will we just sit here and wait to die? And if we did, what would life be like for the one who would die next, or, worst of all, for the one who would die last time? What if the last one was me? How long can I stay sane, sit alone on a plane at night, accompanied only by ghosts, and the only sound is the wind that never stops?

The wind blew all night, but finally morning came. One by one we cleaned the frost from our faces, put our feet in frozen shoes, and forced ourselves to stand up. Then we gathered outside the plane and began to observe the mountains looking for signs of our three missing friends. The sky was without clouds, the sun had warmed the air, and the wind had weakened to a breeze. The visibility was pretty good, but after a few hours of observation, we didn't see any movement on the slopes. Then, as it was near noon, someone shouted.

"Something is moving" he said. "There, over the ridge of the mountains!"

"I saw it too!"someone else said.

I looked up at the mountain and finally saw what they saw: three black spots on the snow surface.

"It's just rocks" someone grumbled.

"They've never been there before."

"You're hallucinating" someone else complained.

"Look. They're moving."

In a slightly lower place on the slope there is a black stone bulge. Using the stone as a reference point, I continued to look at the points. At first I was sure they were not moving, but after a few minutes, it was clear that the dots were moving closer to the rock bulge. It's true!

"That's them!"

"Mr Carajo! They're still alive!"

(Connected)