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Nando said, "Then let's die walking."

Roberto Canessa, the medical student, was the first to speak the unthinkable. "There is meat out there. It's human. But it's protein. It's life." Searching for- Society of the snow in-All Categ...

Everyone thought he was mad. The peaks were 4,600 meters high. They had no gear, no map, no food. And they were starving, freezing, dying. Nando said, "Then let's die walking

Helicopters came. Two of them, Chilean Air Force. The first pilot, seeing the wreckage and the emaciated survivors waving from the snow, whispered into his radio: "I see dead men. But they are moving." But it's protein

Then, the sky turned opaque.

For ten days, they climbed. They slept on ledges no wider than a coffin. They drank snow. They ate the last strips of frozen human meat. At the summit of the first peak, Nando looked back: the wreckage was a silver speck. Then he looked forward: nothing but white mountains to the horizon.

Every year, on October 13, they meet. They eat together. They laugh. They remember the 29 who did not come home. And Roberto Canessa, now a cardiologist, often ends the toast the same way:

Nando said, "Then let's die walking."

Roberto Canessa, the medical student, was the first to speak the unthinkable. "There is meat out there. It's human. But it's protein. It's life."

Everyone thought he was mad. The peaks were 4,600 meters high. They had no gear, no map, no food. And they were starving, freezing, dying.

Helicopters came. Two of them, Chilean Air Force. The first pilot, seeing the wreckage and the emaciated survivors waving from the snow, whispered into his radio: "I see dead men. But they are moving."

Then, the sky turned opaque.

For ten days, they climbed. They slept on ledges no wider than a coffin. They drank snow. They ate the last strips of frozen human meat. At the summit of the first peak, Nando looked back: the wreckage was a silver speck. Then he looked forward: nothing but white mountains to the horizon.

Every year, on October 13, they meet. They eat together. They laugh. They remember the 29 who did not come home. And Roberto Canessa, now a cardiologist, often ends the toast the same way: