Washington II
The Mountain is Fear - Part 2
Day Two was training. It was mostly stuff you learn to prevent you from falling to your imminent death. Yes very serious stuff, but the practicing was a lot of fun. Sliding, glaciating, stopping, falling. Everything a grown man should be doing. We ate lunch in a snowy meadow overlooking the National Park, then it started to rain and we hiked down to the bus and prepared for the next day.
Day Three, we begin the ascent. For most of the day, we were in our mountaineering boots. For those who don’t know about these boots, putting them on is like strapping center blocks to your feet. Then as the climb became steeper, we add crampons which allow your boots to be the carriers of twelve sharp lethal weapons as well as added weight to the weighted bricks referred to as boots. Then the helmet, the axe, gloves, and jacket…Equipment. Check.
The last hour of day 3 was a direct ascension to basecamp with the drama of a driving right to left snow storm. Being in the midst of this storm, surprisingly gave me peace and stilled the anxiety. Why? Because I was doing it. I wasn’t waiting or thinking, I was going, moving, experiencing. Then out of the driving snow, I saw our day 3 destination, basecamp. A small hut at ten thousand feet above sea level furnished with 20 bunks, but not like your childhood bunkbeds, more like sardines in a square tin-can made of plywood.
After a “pregame” meal and instruction from our guides, I felt excitement and a desire to go, but I think my anxiety remained because I got up at least six times to relieve myself in the four hours we had to sleep. At ten thousand feet, you can imagine the pleasantries of making your way over jagged rock through snow and freezing temperatures, just to take a piss.
However! Each time seemed worth the trip. Because by this time it was 10 PM and the storm had broke and the sun was setting beneath the vast sky with peaks peering in the distance. Even after the sunset, the stars seemed numerous and close enough to touch like your toes on a sandy beach. As my anxiety waned in the night, it turned to steely focus at the moment of our wake up call.
Day 4. 2 AM. The guides bust in and it was time to go. Less than an hour to eat, drink coffee, fill up water bottles, put on the necessary equipment, and be roped up and ready to go.
In these moments of crunch time and challenge, you find out a lot about yourself. My fear was present but only enough to fuel my excitement. Questions filled my mind, not of worry but confirmation. Do I have what it takes to summit? How far will I be able to push myself? What will I feel when I reach the top and my eyes gaze across the vastness of miles and miles of God’s Creation? When. That’s a good thought.
The first part was the warmup, not too steep but had spots with challenges like loose rock and intentional maneuvering. Then break.
While resting with a quick sip and a snack, the adrenaline began to wear off, and the truth of the climb had officially begun. Sitting in the cold twilight of the morn, the sun peaked above the clouds pushing the stars back and giving light to the world around. Then we stood, put our back to it and continued on.
Walking among the glaciers is not an easy feeling, but a sobering one. As we weaved through a few, we reached the dreaded “Disappointment Cleaver”. This section was a steep face of loose volcanic rock. Each step was as intentional as it was exhausting. Stepping right over left, left over right, missing a large rock to step on a couple of smaller ones not giving your leg the proper stability to push to the next. Then repeat in no particular order. Reaching the top of this section was a relief, not fully realizing that coming down this section was no piece of cake either.
This stop was hopeful and exciting because everyone was pumping fists and slapping gloves, but relief was the common sentiment among the group. The next few hours were a blur, with memories of turning around with views of endless clouds and landscape with mountainous peaks posing in the distance.
We reached our final stop before the last big push to the top. In my mind, it felt like the side of a cliff. A snow packed sheet, rounded just enough to dig your crampons into and have a seat on your pack for a quick drink. All the while hoping not to drop anything because it might be gone off the side the earth.
Then our guide tells us to start getting ready for the last section and gave all some good news: Everyone in the group was going to make it to the top. According to our efforts displayed in the morning, we deemed worthy to finish the climb up to the top…and back down.
In all honesty, reaching the summit was fairly anticlimactic. We made a brief stop in the volcanic field near the summit (yes the ruins of the blast where tons of lava oozing out of over hundred twenty years ago.) Then left our packs and strolled across the snow covered field that resembled a large stadium or coliseum surrounded by magma shaped bleachers. After crossing the wide open space, the final portion was up a hill to the summit over steamy warm mud that stuck to your crampons on each step. Putting a lot of things into perspective.
Looking around at this rounded topped summit and thinking “is this the highest point?” I silenced this thought because unmet expectations can drown true moments of triumph and dilute the enjoyment of the view. So I took it all in. The effort, the achievement, the insanely stunning three hundred and sixty degree view from fourteen thousand feet, and the people who I experienced all of this with. Shared experiences especially struggles and adventures may be the pinnacle of human existence.
The climb was every bit worth it, but if only there was a helicopter at the top waiting to pick us up and dropped us at the bottom, or even better, magically a long slide appeared sending us thousands of feet down to the bottom, then this climb would’ve been a memory that fueled a swinging door of multiple trips (especially if that slide was a real thing, imagine sliding for thousands of feet.) However, life is not lived on the mountain top, thus we made our descent back to civilization. Too many times, I learned the hard way that life is lived “one foot in lush fields of barley and the other in the desert”. Experiencing bliss one moment then struggle the next. I say this for many reasons but mainly because the climb back down was torture.
I won’t go into detail except to say, that mountaineering boots, especially rentals, are made for the uphill not the down. During training, they spoke of the need for duck tape to keep your feet fresh and blister free. My feet barely felt a thing going up, going down it was like my boots were made of bamboo sticks and the mountain was extracting information out of me. In the end, we succeeded and found each part to be memorable despite and because of the pain and difficulty.
Likewise, my life has been an endless pursuit of circumstances with an expectation of a certain emotion, mainly contentment. However, despite my life long inclination, I don’t believe contentment is found in our surroundings but in our present self and our willingness to trust the story laid out for us.
