He is a passionate mountain lover and, like every morning, he set out on a hike that winter morning, eager for fresh air and that sense of freedom that he could only find on mountain trails. The snow was soft on the trail, the wind howled between the rocks and blew through his jacket. Despite the bitter cold, an inner peace pervaded him.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the silence. A cry that was not part of nature, that did not belong to the wind or to the mountain birds. He flinched, his heart leapt. The sound was muffled, but laced with despair. He looked around and saw a man on the snow-covered ledge below, motionless, huddled in the icy embrace of the cliff. Their eyes met - the middle-aged man's eyes showed fear, pain, but also unquenchable hope.
Jan did not hesitate. He deftly untied the rope from his rucksack, tied it around the nearest rock and began to carefully descend. The snow crunched under his boots, his toes numb with the effort, but he didn't stop. "Hold on, I won't let you go!" he called, and when he was close enough, he saw the man's lips twitch. "I've fallen..., I can't feel my legs..." he uttered, barely audibly. His body was shaking, his skin was icy, his breathing shallow.
With shaking hands, Jan took off his jacket and threw it over the man. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to keep him conscious. "Peter," he blurted out. "Peter, listen to me. I'll call the paramedics, but you mustn't fall asleep until then. Let's talk. Tell me... What do you like to do when you're not hanging on the mountain shelf?"
Peter laughed weakly, almost inaudibly, but Jan saw him struggling. "Fishing," he gasped. "By the lake..., the peace, the water..., I've always loved watching the lake's endless depths."
"Great," nodded Jan, one hand searching for his phone. "Imagine you're there. It's warm, the sun is warming your face, you can see the endless blue depths of the lake you love so much. Which fish caught you last?"
Peter's voice grew weaker and weaker, but John did not let it drift into the darkness. It seemed an interminable time before the voices were finally heard. The jackets of the rescuers appeared above the edge of the wall. They carefully lifted Peter and carried him to safety.
Just before he was loaded onto the helicopter, Peter squeezed Jan's hand with the last of his strength. "Thank you..., without you I would have been lost, I probably wouldn't be alive."
As Jan walked back down the path alone, the wind was no longer in his face, the air was no longer so cold. He no longer felt only the effort in his chest - he felt something deeper, something that would follow him forever. Connectivity. Humanity. And that invisible thread that emerges between strangers in moments of real, sincere help.
Zala Krupljan, 4. 2. 2025
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