I am sitting on a boulder at 4,850m on the side of Huascaran in Peru and the Sun is just setting behind my back. The date is June 17, 1998. At this moment I am unaware that this mountain, where a mere mention of its name sends shivers down the spines of all people who know about the tragic fate of the Czechoslovak expedition to Peru in 1970, will show us its generous face and permit us to reach its highest peak at 6,768 metres three days later. In Peru, less than 10░ south of the equator, the dark sets in very quickly and in less than an hour, filled with conversation with friends, where the word most frequently heard is Huascaran, I have a completely black sky overhead with an unbelievable abundance of stars. It has got appreciably colder. I climb down the boulder and go to the tent to fetch my anorak. Precisely when I glanced to the west for the first time I was attracted by a not exactly conspicuous but fairly visible shining cone in the sky. It stretched from the horizon, where it was most prominent, up to about 40░, maybe 50░, above the horizon where it faded away. For a moment I hesitated what it was that I was seeing. First of all, I excluded high clouds illuminated by the setting Sun. It had been quite a long time since sunset and it was pitch dark. Besides, the cone of light showed absolutely no signs of bands or other features typical of clouds. I also quickly refused the hypothesis that it was an aurora. So near the equator it occurs very rarely and it would look different anyway. The conclusion was obvious: I am watching the zodiacal light. Although I had been a hobby astronomer for more than 30 years, I had never seen this magnificent, subtle astronomical phenomenon before. I immediately called my friends and we stood for a long time looking towards the black skyline of Cordillera Negra with the magical zodiacal light above it.
Having spent my whole life with a camera in hand the view of the zodiacal light made me restless. Like many times before in the Caucasus, the Alps, or the Himalayas seeing a beautiful starry sky a strange feeling of sadness stole over me that I was unable to photograph it. I had the necessary equipment at home, i.e. the paralactical mounting, its weight is such that I could not take it up mountains. And it would not work on Huascaran anyway as I would have to mount it upside down. Neither did I bring a tripod. The unique quality of the moment spurred me on to desperate measures. I found a large stone with a tiny flat area where I could stand the camera so that it aimed in the right direction. I set the camera to "B" and then came the most difficult part, to freeze my movements and with frozen hands hold the release several minutes without moving the camera that I pressed frantically onto the rock. I took several exposures on the Ilford Delta 400 black-and-white film and the Fujichrome Sensia II 100 color slides. I estimated the exposure time would be about 10 minutes. Nevertheless, after 5 to 7 minutes the frozen finger let go, without my permission. In two weeks time, at home, it turned out that it was plenty enough for Ilford Delta 400 pushed to 3 200 ASA. The color slides were too dark although the zodiacal light could be seen quite well. A year and a half later I managed to "extract" the zodiacal light from the slides to perfection using a 12 bit film scanner. Both the black-and-white and the color photographs provide a better view of the zodiacal light than could be seen with the unaided eye.
All my friends from the expedition that climbed Huascaran knew that I was a teacher by profession who due to his professional inclinations was always ready to keep on lecturing until stopped by force. I was therefore asked to give a short talk on the subject "Zodiacal light". I was immediately in my element because I found four victims willing to listen to my lecture. I had no idea that what I would present to them in a minute would be more of a clown's act than a serious account. To speak at an altitude of 5 kilometres where the body receives only half of the amount of oxygen that it is used to is an enlightening experience. If you mutter only short statements of the type: "Pass me the rope! or "Who has overcooked the pasta?", you will not recognize any difference. But if you are about to pronounce a longish speech, you are lost. Your well-rehearsed rhythm of breathing, which you do not have to think about, will fail. After a couple of uttered continuous sentences, the oxygen debt will get you without any warning. You feel like suffocating and blow heavily. Of course, this will happen in the middle of a sentence while you are convinced that finishing the sentence is just beyond your power. There is nothing for it but to take in a few breaths and after a longish pause continue. All in all it comes as close to communication with a spacecraft, with irregular breaks in connection, as you can get.
I could spend all night gazing at the star-spangled sky but the freezing air and fatigue from the climb impels me to find respite from the rigours of the day in my sleeping-bag. When I wake up in the morning it is already light. I quickly creep out of the tent with camera in hand. I look west to Cordillera Negra where I saw, for the first time in my life, the zodiacal light the night before. As happened yesterday, I again witness a fascinating display. The landscape is under the dark of the immense shadow of Huascaran extending several dozens of kilometres into the distance. The vastness of the shadow makes me realize how huge the mountain we are going to climb is. As in a dream, I watch how fast the shadow sweeps across the landscape and quickly diminishes due to the Sun ascending almost perpendicularly up the sky. I am shaken from my dream by a voice from our tent: "I must go down to the sea next time!". It shows that my friend Bob survived the night and that the overcooked pasta with fruit sugar which I had cooked for dinner last night did not cause him permanent damage. End of daydreaming, time to climb.
It is June 20, 1998, 9:20. I lay on my back and watch the clouds floating slowly just above my head. I am on the southern (the highest) summit of Huascaran at 6,768m. In a few minutes the rest of my friends will reach the top as well. My improbable, 30-year old dream from childhood has come true.
My thanks go to the mountain that permitted us to reach its summit and return home safely. It presented us with many wonderful, unforgettable experiences. Of the many memories from this climb a view of the beautiful starry sky and the magical zodiacal light will definitely stay with me forever.