Machachi, Ecuador

3,844 miles from San Francisco

A harsh wind was bearing down on us. We were 18,000 feet up, and yet over 1,300 feet of frigid climbing still remained. We slowly skirted along a narrow trail bordered by a steep plunge into the unknown, far below. The lights of Quito shimmered in the distance. Moonlight glistened off of icicle-laden crevasses. It was a clear, cold night and we were nearly there – nearly the first party of the day to reach the summit of Ecuador’s second highest peak. Nearly to the top of that smoldering giant and quintessentially beautiful volcano, Cotopaxi.

Southeastern Panama is hot. In truth, it’s more than hot – it’s steaming. A country-sized natural sauna. A muggy, wet jungle mist coats everything and your skin can’t help but to perspire as it fights a losing battle against the inevitability of overheating. We ran up the 45º driveway time and time again. A sloth – appropriately named perezoso (also the word for lazy) in Spanish – lounged in the trees with its permanently grinning expression seemingly mocking us as we trudged down the steep hill yet again, another lap filling our minds and lungs with dread. We hadn’t lost our minds entirely, despite willingly overexerting ourselves in this jungle gym, we’d simply been convinced to commit. Sold on the premise of achieving something bigger than ourselves, on taking a risk with an upside that we’d cherish forever and a downside that we’d rather not consider.

Entrepreneurship, by definition, involves risk. Think of those you know who have succeeded or failed in pursuit of it. Undoubtedly, they cast the comfort of steady, stable employment aside in favor of something more raw. Something more dangerous. Yet, it is not often that the entrepreneur risks said stability to build a business that is inherently based on risk itself. It was in Northern Guatemala that a crazy idea began to make its rounds in our thoughts and conversations. We were headed for the Andes – the world’s second highest mountain chain behind only the Himalaya – in a few short months. Wouldn’t we be crazy not to at least attempt to stand on top of something massive? By chance, we realized that Ecuador’s towering mountains were quite popular among mountaineers and we’d be arriving there just in time for their peak climbing season. While we were both experienced backpackers, neither of us had climbed serious mountains. It was abundantly clear that a high quality guide would give us the best chance at success. Once I found Diego and Andes Climbing, I knew I needn’t look any further.

Diego was born in Santa Ana del Pedregal, a small rural village in the shadow of Cotopaxi. So close, in fact, that it was often covered in a rain of ash when the mountain came to life. Cotopaxi has erupted more than 50 times since 1738, with the most recent taking place in 2015 and closing the mountain to climbers for over 2 years. Villages on the other side of the mountain have been buried by lahars, eruption-induced mudslides, time and time again - killing inhabitants and annihilating any structure in their path. In one of its largest eruptions, in 1877, those lahars flowed over 60 miles in several directions through the small country, depositing mud and rock into the Pacific Ocean and Amazon River Basin simultaneously. Cotopaxi has been the bearer of much-needed tourism to Diego’s home, but it is also an unforgiving master, a raw symbol of the power of nature.

His parents ran the Refugio at Cotopaxi for many years, and he effectively grew up there. Many mountains in South America have Refugios, huts of various sizes and amenities that house mountaineers as part of the acclimatization process of a summit attempt. Cotopaxi’s Refugio is at 15,748 feet of elevation, and Diego’s childhood was thus spent kissing the sky. His mother and father both served as caretakers of the Refugio, and his father worked as a mountain guide as well. Throughout his childhood, Diego was surrounded by mountaineers high on pre-climb adrenaline or slumped in the satisfaction or disappointment of post-climb recovery. He fell in love with the mountain before he loved anything else.

Diego made a habit of observing his parents and their delicate dance with the pre-attempt mountaineers. They moved smoothly through the crowded Refugio, always ensuring that every need and comfort was accounted for. They always seemed to provide a sense of calm for the would-be climbers huddled together for warmth. They helped to remove stress and made them feel as welcome as is possible when a midnight summit attempt was all they had to look forward to on the other side of a meager night’s sleep. Once he was old enough, a young teenager, Diego began to climb Cotopaxi himself. His father spoke often of his dream to open up a hostel with a guiding service for the ever-increasing flow of mountaineers flocking to Ecuador’s majestic peaks. That dream lit a fire in his father’s eyes, and Diego took to it as well – imagining himself going into the family business when his father deemed him worthy.

Devastatingly, that dream was not to be. Diego’s father became ill and passed away suddenly without ever having the opportunity to act on the oft-discussed future that he had so clearly envisioned. It was clear, then. Diego’s path in life had been unfurled at his feet. He was to be the one to see this dream to fruition, he was to be the one to accomplish what his father, gone too soon, never had the chance to do. As a young, strong mountaineer Diego was competent at climbing through high altitude terrain and conditions at an age when most are still watching cartoons on Saturday mornings. He became a guide as soon as he could, and started climbing Cotopaxi. Often.

His schedule was brutal, with each week involving 3 separate ascent attempts with new clients. For context, that much climbing means an average week might look as follows:

Monday: Pick up clients and hike to the Refugio

Tuesday: 1am Summit attempt, 1pm drop off clients in town

Wednesday: Pick up clients and hike to the Refugio

Thursday: 1am Summit attempt, 1pm drop off clients in town

Friday: Pick up clients and hike to the Refugio

Saturday: 1am Summit attempt, 1pm drop off clients in town

Sunday: Rest

He worked in that way for 6 years. Practically living life at 6,000 meters. He never stopped and never slowed, and put aside as much money as he could – dream and destiny still clearly in mind.

Somehow, between risking life and limb on a severe mountain time and time again, Diego met his future wife, Janeth. She was a literature teacher and was drawn to his commitment in pursuit of his goals. They married soon after meeting, and she too began to put aside money for their future. After 6 years of intense work, Diego lightened his schedule so that he could commute to Quito, roughly an hour East of where they lived, to study tourism. He viewed the knowledge gained in that course of study as an essential step in his path towards building his business.

Eventually the plan came into focus. Diego and Janeth pooled their money and bought property in Machachi. The town of 30,000 sits between a half dozen peaks over 16,000’ in elevation and therefore serves as the perfect hub for visiting mountaineers. They built a simple house with an extra bedroom and fed visiting climbers in their kitchen. Diego’s domain was the mountain, Janeth ran the hospitality side of the equation while continuing to teach. Eventually, as their reputation grew, Diego asked Janeth to join him in this pursuit full time. She obliged, they buckled down and have built a lovely basecamp and program that works like clockwork. They’ve relied exclusively on organic growth, never taking any loans. They don’t accept any request that comes in, choosing instead to base timing for their climbs on the availability of the best guides. Diego might be a entrepreneurial risk taker in the business of managing risk, but his approach to his business has been one of slow, steady and meticulously detailed growth. He and Janeth now own a hostel, a restaurant/lounge area and more private and shared rooms on a beautiful piece of land. They share the place with their young son and an energetic white puppy named Cotopaxi, of course.

When I nudged him to tell me about his experience being an entrepreneur, Diego simply laughed and shrugged it off. He said that he’s doing what he loves and giving people from around the world an opportunity to experience the powerful nature that has defined his life. He expressed his sincere gratitude for Cotopaxi, for Chimborazo and for the other volcanic magnets that draw altitude-inclined tourists to this region of Ecuador.

Our guide held up his hand flatly with fingers extended, signaling us to come to a stop below a small corniced ridge in the lee of the strong wind. Our timing was off and the conditions were too cold, he told us, we would have to continue on towards the summit and descend again before the sun rose. We had been climbing in darkness for 4.5 hours, our crampons audibly crunching into the icy trail, with our path illuminated by nothing but the shine of our headlamps and the many stars above. Our pace had been good, our preparation had paid off. But now, faced with the rare opportunity of a cloudless night in Ecuador’s high mountains, we refused to let that pace separate us from the chance to see the first shafts of light pierce the sky from on top of the world. We paused and made our proposal to Marco, our guide. “¿Podemos seguir tan lento como sea posible?” /“Can we continue as slowly as possible?”/ He nodded his approval, but his ultralight gear was clearly yielding to the icy, bitter wind. My hands were going, too. David told me to pump blood into them by repeatedly forming a fist and releasing it. It worked, slowly.

We crawled onward. One deliberately gradual step at a time. As we neared a wall of black, exposed rock that I knew was followed by nothing but the summit ridge, the horizon changed. Golden, brilliant light appeared at the base of what had been sheer blackness. Filled with new energy, our sluggish pace proved accurate and the final sheer section of climbing that should have taken us 45 minutes was intentionally stretched to 1.5 hours. That stretch rewarded us with a view unlike anything we’d ever seen. Pure, clear visibility for hundreds of miles in every direction. Every one of Ecuador’s mammoth peaks was visible – Chimborazo and the Illinizas, Antisana and Cayambe. Cotopaxi’s active crater spewed smoke laced with the vile smell of sulfur. The sun edged over the horizon, and we had the summit to ourselves for 15 glorious minutes.

We had been sold not just a dream, but the belief that we could do something like this. That we could extend ourselves beyond comfort and draw a great deal of satisfaction from it. Diego is a man of self belief. A man who was willing to risk life and limb for the possibility of attaining what his father never could. Now, with safety and security well in hand, he encourages others to share his belief. To wager on their own ability to overcome fear and the environment for that brief moment of bliss on top of the world.