It was the year 1819, when I, Simón Bolívar, began my treacherous journey to Bogotá in New Granada. I had come up with a brilliant yet suicidal plan to defeat the Spanish viceroyalty there. I would cross the seemingly uncrossable Andes Mountains. It was such an unthinkable approach that the Spanish would be ultimately shocked when we showed up. Although death plagued my army of 2,000 greatly along the way, the element of surprise was too great a benefit.

Everyone was tired, soggy, and wet. We had just finished wading through the last of the flooded plains when one of my commanders came up to me and said, “Sir, the soldiers are already fatigued before the battle has even begun. How soon do you suppose we’ll get to the viceroyalty?” I was forced to remember the fact that I hadn’t yet told any of my soldiers of my plan to cross the Andes, due to my fear of them leaving me.

I figured that I should tell the truth at last, but instead I replied, “Soon enough.” Yes, soon enough everyone would find out that it was quite the opposite of soon enough. For, at that time, we were first beginning to cross into the mountains.

The intense howling of the wind soon became all that one could hear. With the wind came blasts of freezing cold that beat our skin until chipped blisters accumulated on all of our faces. Well, I assumed on everyone's faces, because of the horrible visibility I could only see who was immediately in front or beside me.

Those who had it the worst were the indigenous people who lacked proper clothing and were thus exposed to the perilous cold. I was even beginning to grow numb from it. However, the icy weather wasn’t our only problem. Steep ridges made every step feel like we were pulling big bulky boulders tied to our ankles. Precisely every force of nature was against our advance.

Midway through the trip, one of my commanders found his way to inform me, “Sir, I don’t at all think this is a good idea. This is far too dangerous, and I am going back. I advise you to do the same.” Fortunately, he was my only commander who quit, but it still pained me to see him leave.

I don't think I was the only one affected by his departure. The overall outlook for this hike quickly turned from bad to worse.

“This is utterly hopeless!” I overheard a soldier moan.

“To take this path is a death sentence!” another man croaked.

I wished to take their pain away, but I just couldn't turn back after all we had already been through. Besides, in the future all we will remember is the sweet victory that came because of this suffering.

In those harsh conditions, we trudged on for seemingly forever. Thus, I was greatly relieved when I caught sight of the end of the pass. Unfortunately, our hike had withered down the army to a few hundred. The bitter cold, blistering winds, and high elevations had taken its toll on my men. Nonetheless, I believe that was the cost for independence. All of this was worth it.