Terri, the group's guide, was waiting for the missing few, including Celso, to arrive at the camp. He was an Indian from the same tribe that had gone to the city to study and prepare to work in the community with his people. Since he left years ago, he had not had the opportunity to return until now. The news that his father was very ill made him make the decision. Unfortunately, a few weeks ago, he had left this world and he had returned to his savannah to participate in the funeral rituals with his family. Now he remembered with nostalgia when he first reached the top with his father, one of the oldest porters in the area. Celso needed to feel his land, walk the paths that old Morok had walked so many times and let himself be carried away by the magic of the place. Only one thing bothered him a little, and that was climbing with a group that did not understand the essence of the mountain. They were people who came from the city with new shoes and a lot of learned theory, although there were always some sensitive people and he had a sixth sense to recognize them.

We began the journey through the savannah, following Terri, the Indian who would be our guide and who, together with the others who knew the route, would take care of the food and tents that would serve us as refuge. All this was carried in a kind of bundle they carried on their backs and called guayare made of palm and bamboo. We crossed the icy Tek river and later the mighty Kukenan, whose current was so strong that to cross it we had to hold on to some ropes that served as support, despite that, I slipped and fell sitting on the bottom that was covered with smooth stones. Celso helped me and I got to the other side.

We walked for about five hours, the route was intricate but the emotion was so great when we saw the immensity of the mountain in front of us that fatigue gave way to energy. I couldn't understand how we could climb the mountain, which appeared before us as a blue lady with smooth, straight walls, crowned by an immense plain.
One of the oldest formations on the planet breathed close to me, vibrant, splendorous, adorned with clouds that embraced it. We walked in silence, and from time to time the guides sang very soft songs in their language. I asked Terri about the lyrics of those melodies, and she told me that they were part of her tradition, it was a request for protection from the gods to guide us along the way, they also asked for protection for their families waiting for their return. A little further on Celso went, head down and thoughtful, withdrawn from the group, meditating and asking permission from the guardian spirits to visit the mountain. Every time he stepped on that sacred place for his ethnic group, the mountain surprised him in some way, manifesting its nature. At that moment he saw it so close that he could not contain the emotion of touching its bark, caressing its rocks and drinking from its lagoons.