Photo story: The Summit of Costa Rica

Facing a challenge that seems beyond your reach is a strange mix of fear, hope, and compassion. Since I was a kid, I've had intermittent knee pain, a trait I share with my family. It didn't help that in my 30s the meniscus in my left knee tore at one end. Climbing the stairs to the second floor of my house always reminded me of this.

So, what would it be like to climb 3,820 meters to reach the summit of Costa Rica, Cerro Chirripó? It seemed impossible, but also a duty to myself, a way to learn the limits of my body, mind, and spirit. I trained for two months in the hills of Escazú with Warner Rojas, the first Costa Rican to climb Mount Everest. Each trip to the mountains with Warner made me feel more confident, but I knew the final challenge would be much greater.

The day to climb Chirripó finally arrived in February. I was lucky enough to have Rafael with me. Rafael was born in San Gerardo de Rivas, at the foot of the mountain, where he has spent his 77 years. He is an icon of Chirripó, he was the first muleteer (the person who carries cargo to base camp) in 1965 when there wasn't even a trail and it wasn't yet a National Park. He has climbed Chirripó more than 2,000 times, undoubtedly the world record on this mountain, but since turning 50 he hasn't climbed it as often. Rafael agreed to accompany me on my first ascent to the summit of the country, and what he told me would be his last. I couldn't have felt more honored.

We started at dawn with headlamps under the stars. The first step I took meant that this was real, that I was going to do it, there was no turning back. The trail constantly changes, its vegetation, its terrain, all playing an important role in my mind and body.

I encountered three birds, small dinosaurs with yellow crests, not particularly afraid of me because they're used to the muleteers, whom I also encountered descending with their horses after taking my bags to the camp, with my camera and lenses, a tripod, a drone, and everything else that would allow me to forever document the scenic beauty that awaited me with open arms.

I was putting my training to the test, and although I was sometimes short of breath, it was paying off. After a few hours, the sun that had just risen between the mountains, illuminated “los crestones”, the iconic relief of the National Park. It was like seeing the Eiffel Tower, the Sydney Opera House, or the Colosseum. I had seen them a thousand times on TV and in magazines, and now they were real.

At the end of one of the most difficult climbs on the trail, known as "the hill of the repentant" because it causes many people to abandon the trail due to its steepness and the accumulated fatigue, was finally the base camp. Seeing it seemed unreal. The camp was full of people like me, tired but with an enormous sense of accomplishment reflected in their eyes and smiles.

Here, Olman, the only park ranger in the National Park, was waiting for me. He spends two weeks looking after this Costa Rican treasure, working on different tasks such as taking water quality samples from the lakes, helping and caring for tourists, controlling illegal tourism, and occasionally carrying out rescue operations. Olman tells me that what he likes most about spending most of his life at the National Park is the peace and silence he finds here, two aspects under extinction risk in our increasingly urban and stressful lives.

Before nightfall, when I must go to bed early because the final ascent awaits me the next day, I walk through the valley with Olman. I feel the altitude of this unique place in my head and with every step.

To reach the summit, Olman and I set out at 3:20 a.m., equipped for the intense cold and drizzle, but under a clear sky bathed in stars. Occasionally, the headlamps of hikers shone through the vegetation, a sign of human life in this inhospitable place. At one point, we decided to turn off our headlamps, embraced by the darkness and a sense of solitude, guided by the light of the full moon.

After an hour and a half, Cerro Chirripó was finally before us, filled with the same lights, some even at the summit, though the sun hadn't yet risen. Between a wall of rock, slow steps gained altitude until, about 10 meters above me, the sign and the flag at the top appeared. I was above the clouds. I could see the horizon and lakes that had been filled thousands of years ago by glaciers.

The intense, cold wind that kept me from taking off my gloves was a welcoming embrace. I had done it.

In the early hours of my last night at base camp, the temperature barely reached 2°C. Coyotes howled under the stars. I went out with my camera one last time to photograph the Milky Way. Majestic, it rose above “los crestones”, reminding me that we are a part of nature, not apart from it, but even more so, we are part of the universe, and our planet, that tiny blue dot in space, contains everything we love.