Our hearts are heavy tonight and the dinner conversation a bit more somber. Some of our party went down with a guide to head for base camp early. All for different reasons, their decision to descend is the most respected choice in mountaineering, one that takes strength, maturity, and courage. Climbing tall peaks is never about how far we can push ourselves, but about respecting our limits and knowing when, for the sake of our team, to call this day our summit. And that is why our hearts are heavy.

Since we began this trek two weeks ago, we have come to deeply care for one another. Conversation has flowed beyond the biographies of our lives to the maps of our souls and the gentle silence reserved for only the most familiar friends. We do not climb to reach summits alone but to plumb the depths of our inner lives as well.

That’s why this note is to our group six months from now, when everyday life feels routine, and the memories of this trek will have faded:

Dear Friends,

By the time we read this on August 2nd much will have happened since our cold nights and card games on the mountain. Mary Beth and Jess will have summited Everest and brought needed attention and funding to Ovarian Cancer. We’ll all have read Tim’s book, Jack will have a fresh harvest of greenhouse tomatoes, Dom might finally have a sunburn from his beach vacation, David will be signed up for Denali, Cameron will have spent the better part of the summer in Costa Rica, and Gator will be a legend on Mount Rainier. The infrequent emails we share will take us back to this moment and our memories together. But we won’t remember the hard parts, for that tends to fade.

Instead, we’ll remember the early dinners, deep laughs, nicknames, and lessons that brought us home different people from when we left. We’ll remember our gratefulness for those who spent their careers serving our country and the allure of Alaska. We’ll remember the basics of geology 101 and the majesty of how the Andes first reached for the stars. We’ll remember trying to avoid sunburn and yet yearning for the first kiss of morning sun on our tents before breakfast. We’ll remember going to bed at seven pm, rationing batteries, forgetting if we filtered our water, and the magic of a Garmin inReach. We’ll remember the Argentines who sacrificed months from home to make this climb possible, and we’ll remember the loved ones back in the states who picked up the slack so we could chase our alpine dream.

Deeper still than these moments are truths that will form who we become. For together, we’ve learned how to rest and seen that empty days have a joy all their own. When obligations, activities, and emails stack up we’ll remember our slow days as much as our climbs. And lastly, we’ll remember that a group of eleven strangers - folks with little reason to cross paths in our ordinary routines - became friends by sharing our stories and a common goal. We’ll remember that it’s true for most strangers we pass (yes, even that group) and hold a moment’s more space for the serendipity and friendship still ahead on our future climbs and ordinary days. We’ll remember each other and what we shared together with deep affection - and that’s what will matter most.

Climber Hudson Baird & Team