Pico Duarte. In English, this means Peak of Duarte, the highest mountain in the Caribbean.
The peak was named after Juan Pablo Duarte, one of the founding fathers and most highly-respected historical figures in the Dominican Republic. He represents perseverance, strength and honor; after climbing to the summit, I learned why the peak was named in his honor.
Coming from Minnesota, a state where the closest thing to a mountain is an ant-hill, I have always had an infatuation with mountains. Pico Duarte was no different. As soon as I discovered it was climbable, I was gung ho about reaching the top of the peak.
The first day of spring break, my group awoke at 4 a.m. and headed for the mountain. The trip was dusty, muddy and rain pounded on our windshield as we navigated through narrow passageways with cliffs on either side. We could not see more than five feet in front of us, and right as we reached the start of the trail, the tire of the taxicab popped off.
With this great start to our journey, we began our ascent. The start of the climb was magical in a way as we entered into a forest that blocked us from the rain, but remained layered in fog. The “climb” at the foot of the mountain was more of a leisurely stroll with slight inclines along the way. I was deceived into believing that the entire trip would be a piece of cake, but as I turned to face the next segment of path, I discovered that I was sadly mistaken.
Our guide, Sandy, had demolished a tree along the path to make walking sticks for our entire brigade, and at first I chuckled to myself wondering when we would ever need to use them. When I looked up and saw the directly vertical trail extending miles and miles up the side of the mountain, I rejoiced at Sandy’s brilliance.
I gave myself a pep talk and began my ascent. After two minutes of constant climbing, I had to check my pulse to ensure that I was still alive. I was covered in a combination of sweat and mist, and I discovered muscles I did not even know existed. Though I was dog-tired and sinking deeper into the mud every step I took, the only direction to go was up, so I continued onward.
After another hour of climbing, my legs got numb to the pain, and my body somehow continued to work as I set into a rhythm of constant motion. The difficulty of the climb was exhilarating; every step I took, I felt accomplishment surge through my body. As I looked around, I could have been anywhere in the world. Fog encapsulated the entire mountainside so that all I could see were the two steps in front of me.
I climbed for nearly 12 hours that day with the prospect of finally sitting down enticing me to keep moving upwards.
The next morning, I awoke to the sunrise uncovering the mountainside, and for the first time, I was able to see the breathtaking view. After stopping every 10 steps to take in the surreal views of mountains layered upon mountains, my group reached Pico Duarte.
When I stood atop the summit, I forgot about all of the mud, sweat and leg cramps endured throughout the trip. The view took more of my breath than the exhaustion of the climb. As I looked out at the world, standing at the highest point in the Caribbean, I was in awe. Pico Duarte was rightly named after a man who represents perseverance, strength and honor, because it takes strength and perseverance to reach the top.
Climbing to the peak, I stretched my limits further than I ever thought possible. Now I know that no matter how difficult a situation may seem, simply taking one more step, and then another, you will eventually end up where you are supposed to be, and all of the hard work and perseverance will be worth it.