Climbing Cabezón, Opening

Two men climbed a desert peak. The peak stood out lonely, tall, and majestic from far away. Even so, it was a worn version of its former self, its slopes weathered away, leaving behind only the neck of the volcano it had been millions of years before now.

Two men climbed a desert peak, starting their ascent at different times and from different places. Both men had climbed this peak some twenty-odd years ago. Both had lost friends to one thing or another. Both had watched their wives pass decades earlier than expected.

The first man, in his early retirement years, had just lost his wife to cancer a few months before. He had put his affairs in order, gave his adult children a vague sense of his plans, and climbed up when no other hikers were around. His grief drove him upward and blinded him to the beauty around him. He reached the peak near evening and could see where the sun would set. He walked below the crown of the peak on the western side and found a spot mostly hidden from view from the flat top that was once a lava pond inside the volcano’s mouth. It required a minor climb down but was exactly the spot he was looking for. With the sun just above the horizon, he shifted some rocks to make the beginnings of a shelter and settled in for the night. He pulled out a blanket and a flask from his pack. He wrapped himself in the blanket and opened the flask. Toasting his beloved wife as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, he started crying as he had the day she died. He sobbed all through the dusk, the emerging stars blurry through his tear-laden eyes. As night fell, he sobbed himself to sleep.

The night was chilly, but the sorrowful man slept through it. Still in the shade of the crown of the peak, the sun was well up when he awoke. Sunshine and long shadows could be seen nearly to the horizon. He rummaged in his pack and found a breakfast bar. Despite the brilliant sunshine and the clear blue sky, the shadows absorbed the man’s attention, like spirits calling to him. Below the peak, he could see the first hikers arriving in their cars and trucks. He got to work.

In the mornings and evenings when no one else was at the peak, he shifted more rocks to build his shelter. As it took form, one could see that it merely surrounded the man, making an outline of his body as he lay watching the sunset. It looked a bit like a well-fitted sleeping bag made of rock. Narrowest at the feet, wider to the hips, and then went straight until rounding at the head. Using his pack as a pillow, he figured he needed no other space. He avoided the other visitors, retreating to his shelter when they were at the peak. Initially, he would crouch in his shelter, spying whether he could see them and, more importantly, whether they could see him. But none of the visitors noticed him and he would merely lay in his shelter while he could still hear them at the peak. Each evening, he watched the sunset, toasted his wife with another swig from his flask, and sobbed himself to sleep. After a few days, he finished his shelter and his provisions, only his emergency supplies remaining in his pack. His plan was nearly complete.

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