Mountains don’t ask your age; they only ask if you’re willing to climb.
In Mexico there is a hiking crew made up entirely of senior citizens who call themselves Rucos Extremos. Every year they tackle La Popa Fest, a climb to the summit of Cerro de La Popa. From a distance the peak resembles the stern of a ship, its rock face plunging almost five hundred meters straight down.
This self-portrait means the world to me. I shot it with my phone under a blistering sun, surrounded by at least eighty voices singing and honoring Mexican hiking culture. When I first took up hiking I couldn’t haul my professional camera gear—the extra weight was out of the question—yet that never stopped me from documenting the journey. Even if every step up felt like pure hardship, the moment I came back, reviewed the photos, and shared them with friends, the suffering melted into admiration for the scenery and the sheer energy of those adventures. That ritual alone kept pulling me back to the mountains.
The ascent was brutal, not just because of the elevation but also the semidesert heat and the liters of water we all had to carry. Along the way I passed hikers of every age and fitness level. Their determination pushed me forward, step by step, until the skyline finally opened at the top.
Whenever I look at that photo I remember that life can hit hard, yet with spirit, a camera in your pocket, and the right people beside you, there is always another summit calling your name.