Summit

We had been climbing for two days in Washington state’s North Cascade Region.  It was early July and the flowers in the higher elevation were just blooming.  Acres and acres of purple, red, yellow, and orange transforming the mountain into a freshly opened box of crayons. 

The narrow dirt trail had lead us down into grass filled valleys and up again to the narrow rocky mountain edge that allowed only one person to cross at a time.  We had one more day of climbing ahead of us and then we would make the summit. My climbing partner known in the industry as “Tight Rope” had completed this route annually for the past 5 years.  It was a tradition each year to take somebody that had never been and to share the beauty of the area. It was my turn this year.   

After a certain amount of time as a hiker or climber, there is a right of a passage tradition that takes place. When that time comes, you’re given what’s known as a trail name.  Mine is Distance Goat, my climbing partner was Tight Rope.  I received mine after a summer of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).  Tight Rope received hers after balancing across a sketchy horizontal rope climb between two summits.  

I loved hiking with Tight Rope, we were similar speed, didn’t

enjoy breaks but knew we had to take them and loved camping. It was very easy to be with her. We both carried heavy packs but never mentioned it on the trail, we just kept going at a hypnotic pace.  Left foot. Right foot. Left Foot. Right Foot. Over and over again.  Soon our rhythm was in sync and before we both realized it, it was time to set up camp and cook dinner.  

Camping at 8500ft elevation is one of my favorite experiences as a climber. The air smells fresh, the sounds are quieter, yet the mountains are bolder and the views are a cacophony of shapes and colors. In the middle of the night when cities are pitch black without a street light, the mountains are lit all on their own. I’ve never needed a headlight in the middle of a clear night, the moon and stars are so bright they bounce off the snow making the entire landscape glow.  

Summit morning comes early and cold. Normally 2am early and same for this climb. We both set our alarms for 2am, to boil water for breakfast, probably some oatmeal and a cup of coffee, if you’re lucky and the mice didn’t chew their way into you pack and eat your food. I’ve always been surprised how many mice are in the mountains. Never take a pack into the tent or you’ll not only have large animal problems you’ll also have small rodent problems.  

We finished our breakfast, cleaned our bowls and mugs and then started to throw items in our small day packs. We’re leaving camp set-up and after we summit we’ll be back down here for the night. My adrenaline is running high with a combination of excitement and nerves.  Question after question keeps running through my brain. Did I train enough for this day? Do I have enough food for the day? Will the weather hold so we can summit? Should we be concerned about avalanches? Am I strong enough to hold Tight Rope if she falls into a crevasse?  Is she strong enough to hold me if I fall in? Enough. The only way to answer these questions is to continue. I put on my harness, my helmet, my crampons, my daypack and we rope up.  We’re now connected by 20ft of rope and need to be more instep today then we have been all trip. She’s leading and will set the pace, if she pulls me on the rope then I’m going too slow, if there is rope dragging on the snow then I’m going to fast. It’s a climbing rhythm that we will need to dance to for the entire day.  

“What time do you think we’ll summit?” I ask

“Hopefully no later than 10am. We need to be back down before it gets too warm and the possibility of wet slab avalanches increase.”

We take our first steps away from camp at 230a and head for the summit.  

It’s almost 5am before we decide to take our first break.  It’s difficult to enjoy the scenery while on a rope team. Each step takes concentration and focus to ensure I don’t make a misstep, and yank Tight Rope down or let slack get in the line. So our breaks are the only time I get to look around and take in the beauty that we’ve climbed. The sun is starting to peak over the mountain range and the wind is calm. The beauty of the morning is my favorite time of day when climbing. There’s nobody else out.  It just your footsteps and nature.  

Even during our break we sit 20ft apart still roped up. There are crevasses surrounding us and we need to be ready just in case one of us falls in. Climbing on a rope team can be very lonely. You’re connected but not close enough to talk or share thoughts. I’ve found myself so overwhelmed with loneliness that I start counting during the climb. One, two, three, four. One two, three, four. Over and over again until the next break. It helps me focus not only on the rope that is guiding me to the summit but also my steps. 

Being from the Midwest, I never thought I would be climbing mountains. The people that did that were eccentrics when I was growing up, they felt out of reach. They were the people I read about or watched on TV. They weren’t actually people. Yet here I was at 10,000ft, with only 900ft let to go to summit. I was one of those people. 

The wind started to pick up just before we made the summit.  We had a clear view of the mountain range for only a couple of minutes before the clouds rolled in. We enjoyed our lunch at the top, took some photos, rested for only a short time and then started back down as the wind continued to pick up and the snow began to blow. 

We stayed roped together for the majority of the way down, fearlessly trying to see the crevasses that were now hidden by the blowing snow. We walked right up to the ledge of a crevasse before even realizing we were so close.  Have you ever looked down into the depths of a crevasse? Think of it as looking into a crack in the 10th floor of a building and not being able to see all the way down. That feeling of vulnerability is overwhelming, knowing that with one wrong step you could fall so deep and so fast the person on the other end of the rope may not be able to save you fast enough, before they are pulled in by gravity.  

As the wind continues, my goggles begin to fog up and become even more difficult to see. This storm wasn’t suppose to happen, it came out of no where, fast and hard, with no relief in site. As we continue to get lower and lower on the mountain towards camp we hope the storm will weaken but with each step that doesn’t seem to be true. When I look back to see how far we’ve come, our footsteps are gone.  They have been swept away into the wind as if we had never been here. As if we had never submitted this mountain. Our footsteps are gone. 

Going down always takes half the time it takes to climb up. This holds even more true in this scenario. We’ve moving faster going down, practically running in our crampons, which of course is a big no-no because if a spike gets caught on anything you could easily break an ankle. We’re being safe yet moving fast. We decide to take a break, drink some water and have a bathroom break. Tight Rope is going to the other side of  of the giant boulder for a quick “pee on the rock” moment.  If you’ve ever used the facilities outside, you know that wind is not your friend and it’s best to get out of the wind as much as possible.  This was that moment for Tight Rope. This is also the only time its acceptable to untie from each other and even in extremely dangerous situations it’s frowned upon and climbers learn how to pee while still in a rope. That can really be a challenge, especially for women.  

While waiting for Tight Rope to return my thoughts began to wander. We were only an hour away from camp, I could feel it. Soon, I would be having a warm bowl of Mac n’ Cheese for dinner followed by a little sip of celebration whiskey. I’ll be warm in my tent, snuggled into my down sleeping bag and feeling exhausted from accomplishment.  

I continue to patiently wait, fueling my body with snacks and water but something isn’t right I’ve been waiting for too long. I try and yell around the massive boulder that’s the size of a Hummer but the wind drowns out my voice. So I try again. Nothing.  

“TIGHT ROPE! YOU OK?”

The only sound I hear is the wind maneuvering around the mountain and playing with the snow. My goggles continue to fog up making it harder to see even a couple of feet ahead of me. I try to wipe them off but that only make it worse. The longer I wait, the colder I’m getting. I remove my backpack and set it down so I can sit on it, thinking this will help keep me warmer. 

As I continue to sit and wait, I look ahead and see the empty end of the rope, that my climbing partner should be hooked to. The rope continues to be buried by snow, I sit and wait. Where is my climbing partner? What happened to Tight Rope?