Elegy on a Mountain

TW: references to death, suicide

I am awakened by the cold breeze against my exposed face as well as by the intense pain in my back. I look to my left; I am stunned by the sky’s infinite void as well as by the spectacular view of the glacier-covered peaks and valleys of the Rocky Mountains. I’m lying on the edge of a narrow rock platform, suspended thousands of feet up in the air. I panic when I realize that Jess isn’t with me but I try not to move too much since any sudden movement will surely send me falling to my death. I continue to look up at the blue sky while I consider how I ended up on this rock platform.

At 6 a.m., Jess and I, along with our guide Sam, left base camp and started our steep hike and eventual climb up the formidable North West Ridge of Mount Waddington. At a towering 4,019 m, Waddington is the highest summit in British Columbia and it is not recommended for novice climbers. Even with our five years of climbing experience, the remote location, harsh climate, harrowing heights and risk of avalanches assured us that this was going to be challenge—exactly what we paid for. Up until now, the most challenging events happened before we set foot on the mountain: an oppressively long 12-hour drive from Vancouver to White Saddle Ranch Heliport, and then a shaky, 30-minute helicopter ride to Fury Gap where we set up camp.

“Jess? Jess, where are you?” I shout as I look at my immediate surroundings. Even though I lost my food rations pack after the initial fall, I still have my ice axe which is lying next to me. I hold the ice axe close as my shaky hands take my cell phone out of my coat pocket; the screen is thoroughly shattered. I reach into my pants pocket and I find the crushed ring box, with the ring still intact. I had this brilliant idea of proposing to Jess when we got to the summit. A powerful gust of wind blows against me, almost blowing me off the ledge. I stick the head of my ice axe into a nearby rock crevice, holding me securely in place. Unfortunately, during this sudden life-saving maneuver, I lose my hold of the ring and the ring box; they both tumble off the side of the mountain. The wind starts to blow fiercely.

I look at my altimeter watch; the display says 11,480 feet. We were so damn close to the summit—less than 2000 feet away. I sigh, shut my eyes, and then clench me teeth. I don’t want to be up here like this. I’m terrified as I realize that I can’t feel or move my legs. I lift my head and I see that my legs are resting in an unnatural, contorted position—undoubtedly, they’ve been shattered. The jury’s out as to whether or not I’ll ever be able to walk again. While I can move my arms and torso, there’s a piercing pain that shoots from the back of my head, into my neck, and then into my spine. I’m disgusted at myself for worrying about being paralyzed while Jess and Sam are dead. I scream—the sound echoes against each of the nearby peaks.                

There’s another scream that echoes back to my ears but it didn’t originate from my tone-deaf voice. It’s the sound of Jess screaming at the moment when our anchor dislodged itself from a rock crevice, sending all three of us plummeting. “Jess?” I shout again. The rope, which was attached to all three of us, is still attached to my harness. I start to reel in the rope and it does so very easily due to the lack of weight on the other end. I get to the end of the rope and it looks like it’s been cut—either Sam or Jess made the final act of self-sacrifice while I was unconscious. I am petrified at the thought of looking over the cliff and seeing Jess’ fragile body splattered against the rocks and ice—to be fair, I was so high up that I probably couldn’t see all the gory mess. “Jess! Jess!” I shout, in hope that maybe she’s still alive. The responses that I get in return are the echoes of my pathetic voice.

Jess is gone and I’m alone on Mystery Mountain. In a few days, someone will realize that we never returned from our climb. By then, I’ll be dead. I start to snicker as I think about the waiver that we signed at the beginning of this excursion and how we laughed at the idea that something horrible could possibly happen. After all, many climbers tackle Waddington every year, with only a few incidents in the last decade. Why are we so special that we’re the ones who had to fall?

The sun has disappeared behind the mountain range; as a result, it’s rapidly getting darker and colder. As I lie there in this subarctic climate, I start to shiver uncontrollably and my teeth chatter. Even though it’s July and it’s a comfortable 23 degrees in Vancouver, the temperature at this altitude is about -10 degrees and much colder when factoring in the windchill. It’s not intolerably cold when you’re warmly-dressed and constantly moving but when you’re lying on a rock ledge and have been immobile for hours, it’s basically a death sentence—albeit, a slow one.

I don’t want to spend a pitch-black, windy night up here, especially since I don’t know what I’m supposed to be living for. I’ve lost Jess, the only woman that ever got me and the only one that I want to spend my life with. Without her, what’s the point? I consider my options: death by hunger and dehydration are too long and painful; dying from the cold—which has probably already started—is the most likely outcome; or I can wait it out in hopes that whatever’s left of me will be rescued. I could lie here and wait, for days, until hunger, thirst, or the cold extinguish my existence or, I can roll myself off the ledge and end it quickly.

I’ve never considered suicide until today; that’s probably why I’m stalling. That and so that I can consider the news that Jess gave me before we went on this trip: she was pregnant. We were going to be parents. I was going to be a dad to a little girl or boy. I wanted to cancel the trip because I didn’t want her to strain herself on this rigorous climb but she insisted that we continue with our plans. It was going to be our last difficult climb together—and so it was.

I’m now shivering under a peaceful, starry sky. Aside from the stars, the whole world below is enveloped by darkness. The wind has died down—all I can hear is my labored breathing. Jess and the baby are up there in the sky and there’s only one way that I will ever be with them. I let go of the ice axe. “God forgive me,” I say to myself as I muster the last bit of energy left and turn to my side, falling into the emptiness below.