Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

Changes in Altitude33losing a parent at a young age was like. I didn’t want my two kids tofeel the same anguish of parental loss. That flower gave me the energyI needed to get up that morning. In fact, I felt so much relief that Iactually started to question my sanity. What tangible reason, other thanthis flower, did I have to be so hopeful? I wish that I had picked it andcarried it with me, but in a way I did. From then on, I’d always find away to return to that spot on the ground where, for a brief moment, I’drealized that I would survive.An hour or so later, just as the sky was showing the first trace oflight in the east, we were all back on our feet. Southern Colombia isa mountainous place where the steep cliffs and high valleys are coveredin rain-forest vegetation. I knew the geography fairly well from thetime I’d spent in-country and the surveillance work I’d done. As nearlyas I could surmise, we were in the mountains somewhere betweenNeiva on the west side and Florencia on the eastern side of the CordilleraOriental. It was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. Thethree parallel north/south sets of Cordillera mountain ranges (east,west, and central) are all part of the Andes. I suppose we should havebeen grateful that our targets for February 13 took us primarily south.If we’d gone farther west in the Cordilleria Central, where the tallestpeaks were more than seventeen thousand feet and the lowest passesbetween them at ten thousand feet, our march, as epic and hellish as itwas, would have been even harder.Given our injuries—Marc was battling a similar back and hip problemto mine, while Tom most likely had a concussion to go along withhis head lacerations and broken tooth—even if we had been fullyacclimated to the altitude, it still would have been tough going. Add ahealthy bit of hunger, lack of real sleep, the enormous stress, and weweren’t exactly the von Trapp kids tromping around singing about thehills being alive with the sound of music. Instead, our sound track wasthe alternating but relentless crunch of feet on the hardpack, the slurpsucksound of the mud, and the heaving gasps of our breaths. This was