This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the tragic Peru 1970 Expedition. Beneath Huascarán, an earthquake back then killed all 15 members of the expedition along with seventy thousand other people. For us, a chance to pay tribute to these top Czechoslovak climbers and to thank them for the legacy they left us. After all, some of them came up with the Jizerská 50 race and got the first pioneering editions off the ground.
"Katka – this one's for you – the Jizerská 50 on wooden skis! Sign up!" That's more or less how the call from the Czech Mountaineering Federation reached me; the idea of reminding the wider public of the link between climbers and the Jizerská 50 was theirs. Fifteen bibs for climbers brave enough to start in period clothing on wooden planks from the seventies struck me as an irresistible offer. I was straight on the phone, begging them to find me a place in the team. Sometimes I can't believe the opportunities that come my way thanks to the readers of my Jasan poems.
We put together a strong team, including the daughter of one of the Huascarán climbers, Jana Jírová, and several elite climbers from the Czech scene. My brother Ondřej Mandula, who holds a Czech Mountaineering Federation award for ascents of peaks over 6,000 metres, historian Libor Dušek, who is making a film about the Huascarán expedition, Martin Leskovjan – a daring sandstone climber, Czech ski mountaineering champion Marie Zelená and two granddaughters of the Huascarán climbers – biathlete Bára Jírová and climber Svaťka Spěváčková. Each skier wore the bib number of one of the Huascarán climbers on their chest – the first fifteen numbers of the race, which are traditionally never handed out. The official numbering at the Jizerská only starts at sixteen. I got number 4, which belongs to Vilém Heckel, the famous photographer. His book Hory a lidé (Mountains and People) has been one of my favourites since I was little.
We had special arrangements – we started right after the elite women, just before the start of the main men's race. So they'd notice us, not that anyone could miss us among the cross-country skiers. We lined up in the tracks singing the national anthem and knocked back a shot of rum right at the start. For courage! No grease, no glide. But just past the stadium we ducked into the woods and cheered on the elite men at the Huascarán memorial. To be on the safe side, we let the first two waves of the race go before heading back out onto the course. We weren't going to risk a broken bamboo pole. And we didn't want to hold anyone up. Nice and easy we inch forward, the faster ones waiting for the slower ones who happen to have a technical problem, are gluing a gaping boot, or topping up with Rex Gold grip wax or rum. Lo and behold, by kilometre ten my brother reports an empty bottle. Luckily Honzík Špecián, owner of the Knajpa mountain hut, generously filled it back up – a sponsorship donation, he said, so we could keep going.
Over time we dropped back to the tail of the race, among the veteran racers. Some have the same kit as us, the same leg warmers and retro shell jackets, but also the prestigious bib numbers of entrants with 30 or more starts under their belts. We could have recruited them into our team. Our pace is steady, no slacking. From a certain point on, we keep overtaking the same racers. We're faster uphill, but they cut us down on the descents, even though we pole with all our might. For the hundred-and-fiftieth time on the course we meet and greet Mr Šťastný ("Mr Happy") and ask him if he's happy. Right up to kilometre 45 he always told us he was.
At the last feed station we earned our sausages – we'd been looking forward to them ever since Jizerka. We're served by the famous climber Alena Čepelková, who selflessly pours us tea. A storm is rolling in, but we'll be at the finish first. We made it in daylight. With minimal losses, a few blisters and aching legs, but happy that something so beautiful and symbolic had been seen through to the end. On top of that, we raised a decent sum for charity to support Tomáš, a climber who fell in the Tatras and needs help. I'm glad it all worked out – thanks to everyone, and hore zdar, as Czech climbers say!
