Climbing itself has no value, it is only given worth by what each individual is willing to commit to it. In the darkest part of night, I unravel myself from the warmth of down and tentmates to step outside and prepare for ascent. It's been said that success, when it comes, feels like the most natural thing in the world. If achieving the mental and physical wherewithal to summit a volcano is success, then perhaps this is true. The donning of harness and crampons this morning is a cumulative result of honoring the many opportunities I've had to commune with the alpine. I never aspired to be here when I started out, under a starry sky on this highway of climbers, but it feels like the most natural thing now to be high up on the frozen glacier.
Momentarily lost in daydreams and sleep deprivation, the frigid wind sharpens my focus onto the teams who are climbing ahead of mine: a line of glittering headlamps proceeding upward in the darkness, like newborn stars marching up to take their places among the constellations. Thoughts of past and future disappear in the face of this thing that is so much bigger than I am. Beneath my awe for the environment is gratitude and respect for my kind: we are but small bundles of down, technical gear, and big ideals traipsing through the wilderness. Those who survive- or dare I say, thrive- in this arid and unforgiving place, must strip away ego and social labels that define them at home or work- because the mountains do not care who we are at home or work. I relax into the knowledge that my logical arguments don't matter to Nature, and I feel the fear- of danger, of failure- that keeps me overly-focused on protocol and what-if's begin to slip away. There is no fear in the present- it is just me, my body, the mountain. Rest-step, ice axe, rest-step, refuel.
At 13,000' the mountain glows pink in the sunrise, my core starts to chill and my extremities lose feeling. Hastily swallowed energy chews that I enjoy so much at sea level taste overpowering and artificial. Lungs become reluctant to let go of the carbon dioxide they've laboriously created. I have to consciously use them as bellows to empty all poisons and leave room for the precious, thinning oxygen needed to stay warm, to keep moving. As each step on the sun-drenched snow carries me farther from the layers of atmosphere and pavement below, my heart grows clearer, my body cleaner. Discomfort and fear fade, the goal to summit dwindles; rest-step, ice axe, rest-step, breathe.
There is no space for extra thought or excess movement; no space for attachment to future success. I am alive and that is enough: a small, weak creature quietly pleading with Nature to let her continue.
Note: Opening quote by Mark Twight, in Apologia from Extreme Alpinism
Image: Little Tahoma as seen from the Ingraham Glacier by Jill Yotz, 2014