Part three: The Summit and Life After (the experiences of a novice mountaineer)

This is the last of the series. Parts One and Two can be read here and here.

If you haven't stopped by Matt's blog, please do so now. Or at the end of this post. Whichever. It's the same event, told by a different person, experiencing it in some different ways. I am definitely the more dramatic of the two, but most people already know that. I just finished reading his last post myself, and it's good. 

I left off just above the ice step (which is now, a few weeks later, almost entirely impassable). We had something like 2,000 ft left to climb to the top of the mountain, and I felt like we could see it the entire way up. We had mostly switchbacks to the top. They were steep and unrelenting. The air was thinner, the wind was stronger, and the ridge above us never seemed to get any closer.

What energy I had left was quickly diminishing. I drank about half as much water as I should have, and I ate even less food. Every once in awhile I'd try to eat some trail mix, but I probably wouldn't have had the guys not told me to. In retrospect, it was stupid. Also in retrospect, I was a little delirious because of how tired I was. 

At one point near the top a couple of guys came running down past us, looking happy and cheerful, and they told me we were just around the corner from the top. But "just around the corner" really was another hour away, I think. Maybe 45 minutes? I've never pushed myself so hard mentally before. 

But then... we made it. 

I finally saw the guys go over the top, and when I got there myself I fell onto my knees and cried. I was feeling so many things there on the top of that huge beautiful mountain top. First I felt relief. I had made it! I could sit down for a moment and celebrate. And then I felt just sheer amazement. I couldn't actually believe I had made it. It seemed like the longest day of my life, and there we were, sitting at the top, having summited the mountain.

Right next to me was John, and then there was Matt and Brent in front of us. Brent had his camera out already and busily snapped some photos. They were excited and absolutely exhausted. I could have stayed in that spot all afternoon, but within moments we were heading down into the crater to the rocks and the very tippy top of the mountain on the other side.

Twice while we were walking over we stopped and a couple of people laid down. Honestly, it's a blur. I remember myself lying down at one point, but it doesn't really seem real. At the other side we tried to find a place out of the wind and cold to rest. All I wanted to do was sleep, just for a few minutes (hours). I remember thinking I'd be fine with just being left up there to die in the cold like "Green Boots". In retrospect I don't think I'd actually be fine with it, but it definitely felt like a good idea there at the top.

 ^^ walking across the crater

Mike, our friend and guide on the adventure, said it perfectly in an email he sent to all the climbers the week after we returned:

"Climbing Rainier is a hard thing, but there are future challenges that can and will be equally difficult.  Remember that you can do hard things.  Put your face towards those 30-45 mph winds and keep climbing.  At some point the winds will change, the difficulties will fade into distant memories and the experience of the journey with trusted friends will be the real reward."

I could not have said it more perfectly myself. 

And then back we went down the mountain. I remember hearing Brent say something only Brent would say, and I sighed a huge sigh of relief. With a few hundred feet between us and the summit again, we were feeling better.  

Going down was definitely better than going up, but it was tedious. Our shins and feet were really starting to ache. We found out later that Matt's feet took the worst beating (now, a month later, his toes still look like a mountain fell on them). Down some glaciers, down the ice steps (as related in part two), down Disappointment Cleaver (so annoying going down, too), over Ingraham Flats, down the scree, and back across the crevassey glacier and to our tents. It was ten hours up and 6+ down. 

 ^^ Matt and Little Tahoma 

and a crevasse

^^ Post-Conquering of Mountain Happy

We decided to stay at Muir that night again and hike out the rest of the way in the morning. Sleep that night came easily for us. We slept hard and deep. Brent was the first one out in the morning, and he was SO happy. Happy and ready to run a marathon, it sounded like. I, on the other hand, just wanted to keep not moving. But down the Muir Snowfield we went. Some of us ran (Brent), some of us fell on our butts (me - ouch!), and some of us decided to glissade on shovels as well as we could (that would be Matt). And we made it.

^^ Matt is definitely the prettiest sleeper. 

Me definitely ugliest.

favorite picture of Matt maybe EVER^^^^^^

 ^^Doing as BYU Ballroom Alumni do 

 

 ^^ the team

I would be remiss to not mention the love and support I felt walking into the Longhurst Residence. The house was quiet, but the table was set, food was on the counters ready to be made and eaten, and there was a great big lovely note left by Heather on the counter for all of us, as well, with instructions to take baths, rest, and eat. That woman, and a few other wonderful people in our lives, were a huge support to all of us as we went up that mountain. I think all of us appreciated the encouragement they gave us. None of them knew whether to expect us home on Saturday or Sunday, and with such a potentially dangerous climb for us, we knew it was an uncomfortable wait.  My poor mother hardly slept that weekend. Thank you wonderful people, you!

Not even 24 hours after getting off the mountain I found myself sitting at my desk at work, wondering if that weekend had really happened. I slept a lot that week, getting close to 10 hours of sleep every night no sweat. That mountain totally took it out of me. But I found that beyond the physical recovery I was totally mesmerized by the experience. I would sit at my desk and get lost in my thoughts. One of my coworkers, a PhD working on all things Phi and a retired avid mountaineer/climber, was walking past me one day that week and did a double take. He walked slowly back to me, gave me this knowing look, and said, "you're still on that mountain, aren't you?" 

That mountain for me was eye-opening. I saw and experienced incredible things I've never felt before. I saw the world from different angles, with views on top of the clouds for miles, huge shadows cast by the mountain itself, and things that seemed so big to me at sea-level became tiny and insignificant from above. I heard one gentleman say that up on that mountain, a few years before, he felt small and insignificant. But when I was up on that mountain, close to the sky, and feeling so close to heaven, I felt big. I felt known. I felt like I was a part of this huge beautiful world. 


~

It is a month tomorrow since we made it to the summit, the seven of us. Bonds were renewed and strengthened on that difficult journey together with friends I have no doubt will be dear to me for a lifetime or two, fears were conquered, and eyes were opened again to the majesty of this world. It was an experience I will cherish for many years to come.

So now I finish the series for Mt. Rainier. Thanks for sticking through to read to the end. Pulling these thoughts together and plopping them onto a post took a little longer than I anticipated.

This life is a good one.