Iñaki Ochoa de Olza is a massive void in the lives of those who loved him, myself included, of course. Charisma, unlike the ability to climb mountains, cannot be trained. It is innate, period. Iñaki was a beacon and possessed the strange gift that accompanies individuals with an attractive personality: it was always enjoyable to chat with him, to meet up for skiing, climbing, or running in the mountains. In his company, conversations were always brilliant, sprinkled with thousands of anecdotes derived from a long journey in the Himalayas that granted him the fortune of knowing the best climbers of the time. Everyone remembers Iñaki in the leggings gifted by Carsolio, or with the down jacket from some other star. That’s why it felt strange to see him in new clothes, a gift from his sponsor: ‘I have so many boxes of unopened clothes at home that I don’t know what to do with them,’ he laughed at himself, aware of how hard it was for him to secure sponsorship… which he didn’t even desire. His laughter was an explosion, a shockwave that immediately infected the atmosphere. I still have his contact in the phonebook of my mobile, as if only deleting it would also erase all the memories… or the yearning for one last conversation. Sometimes, even knowing that this telephone number now belongs to someone else, I feel like pressing it and seeing who answers. He might answer himself, scolding me with a ‘it took you a while to call, dude.’

I no longer know very well what it means to be a great mountaineer, or Himalayan, or climber, but I do know how to recognize those who love the mountains viscerally. In Iñaki’s house kitchen in Pamplona, I stared fixedly at a calendar on the wall, with all the dates crossed out and small hieroglyphic notes. ‘What is this?’ I asked. ‘These are the days I train, I mark them with a cross.’ Not a single day was left unmarked. That day, I understood that Iñaki respected himself much more than he let on, that his passion and his will to do it right were much more powerful than one could imagine. His vast knowledge of the history of mountaineering, its routes, heroes, and anti-heroes also provided clues about a passion to which he dedicated himself as if there were no tomorrow. Sometimes, I wondered how he made a living. Only one thing could distract Iñaki: women. In this complicated aspect, he was a master, and now I understand that he wasn’t just a simple collector but someone willing to live many lives in one, giving a lot in return… except his freedom. When he wasn’t singing a verse drawn by Barricada, he spoke with enormous affection and admiration for his parents and siblings, without falling into sentimentality but making it clear that they were his emotional support. From the void left by Iñaki’s departure, an admirable foundation has grown: SOS Himalaya. It’s the art of giving just because. And it helps to know that Iñaki’s family and friends have unearthed shovels to fill an unfathomable hole by creating smiles.