A few days ago was the anniversary of Caballo Blanco’s death. A wonderful character who inspired Christopher McDougall to write Born to Run.
Looking back, that’s when I knew the search was over. We didn’t ease up—we soon got back on the trail and kept beating the brush until daylight faded—but the adrenaline charge which had kept us hammering for three days had been subtly re-channeled from urgency into potency. No one said it, but we’d begun to enjoy the run, to the point where it felt less like a rescue and more like a tribute. I kept catching myself thinking, “I never would have known these guys without Caballo. I never would have even attempted a run like this before I met him.” We’d lost Caballo — we could feel it — but the Caballo-feeling was taking over.