To climb or not to climb

Over the last 3-4 years, we'd hiked a lot around Mt. Rainier. We were awe struck by the magnificence of the mountain, madly in love with it. To us, the mountain was god .... and its pinnacle the holy grail. To me, the hike to Mt. Rainier summit was a pilgrimage that every Seattelite must undertake atleast once in his/her life.

 

Earlier this year, an opportunity knocked. Asha, a non profit organization, were providing a guided climb for interested folks in July. The hike to the summit is not easy though. As a matter of fact, its not a hike at all. Its a climb: Hike is non-technical, just normal walking on slightly steeper topographies, with no special gear requirement. Climbing is technical, requires special gear, and special training to learn how to use the gear. Mt. Rainier climb requires gaining considerable fitness, which in turn requires a 6-month training regime. Team Asha guides required a firm Yes/No confirmation about commitment to climb with them this year, by the first week of May 

 

It was the 4th of May, I remember, and I was still pondering whether or not to commit to the climb. During our CrossRoads lunch hour, I tried to persuade my hiking enthusiastic friends into committing to the climb. If they were in for the plan, the decision would have been a no brainer: I would have had to do it then because they were doing it, peer pressure you see :). But turned out, that for various reasons, they did not want to commit to the climb this year.

 

So then, the ball was in my court and I had to again put on my decision making hat. I began to ponder: Given that my friends were not doing it, should I back out as well? Or should I do it alone? Do I have it in me to train day in day out every weekend for the next 3 months? Do I have the time, is there enough motivation?
Mind you though, I was already half way there. Since February, I had been hiking on weekends to gain fitness, so why was it going to be very different doing the same thing between May to July? One difference was commitment pressure: Hiking without commitment is similar to dating a girl or having a live in relationship, hiking with commitment is like marriage :). Second difference was the circumstances. I thought things had changed a bit between January and May.

 

Coming to the point though, I was still confused, not sure about what I should do. I thought long and hard, and eventually came to a conclusion. Firstly, I'd always thought that I was mentally strong enough to survive any situation, mentally I wouldn't break easily. Now if I could also gain the toughness to brave any physical challenges, then I thought that the combination would help me survive anything/anywhere. Secondly, I'd always wanted to let go of this thing called peer pressure. I thought now it was even more imperative for me to not base decisions on others, one should learn to survive and thrive on his/her own if need be. And then finally, I always desperately wanted to summit Mt. Rainier some day. Then why not this year! I had already done the hard work of gaining fitness the past 3 months, and had the time (and fortunately the money) to practice more now. It was just a question of having the discipline to follow a strict regime for the next 3 months, which was also anyway a need of the hour for me.

 

The decision was made. The commitment forms were submitted.

On one hand, I was confident that the decision was the right one because it was made rationally, with sound intent, and keeping the right principles in mind. But admittedly, from the core of my heart, I was still feeling apprehensive and scared of doing this alone. But then again, brain was the boss here. For a change, I kept my heart at bay and let my brain do the thinking. Something that I should have learnt to do years back.
 

The most difficult hike of my life

I've always been a summer hiker. With sun on my back, I seldom thought hiking to be a challenge. In fact, to me, hiking always seemed to be a pleasure.

This year though has been different. I haven't had the luxury of "summer" like conditions. I've had to hike in cold, grey, winter like conditions with "storms" threatening to ruin my "hike". One such hike, and the most difficult one, was the one to Mailbox Peak on the 7th of April this year. 

The Mailbox peak hike is arguably the toughest hike in the Seattle I-90 corridor. It is tiring and taxing in even the most perfect conditions. In my case, what awaited that day was a "storm". Needless to say, the hike was going to be challenging.

Given the poor weather, I had to make a "decision": Should I brave the storm? Or shoud I abandon the hike? I decided to carry on with my hike, and to not let the storm disrupt my plans. The decision was made keeping the longer term in mind. Yes, it would be tough and challenging in the short term tomorrow, but it is the right thing to do considering the more important climbs in the longer term future, I thought to myself.

I had an almost sleepless night, on the 6th of April. But nevertheless, I made sure that I was not late for the hike. At the trail head, the worst fears were realized: It was already pouring down heavily and the forecast wasn't looking promising. Thus, in less than ideal weather conditions, I started the hike. In no time, I was all drenched in the freezing rain. As I climbed altitude, the rain turned into snow, the muddy ground turned into a snow field. I started to feel extremely cold, I was shivering as I was walking along. To make matters worse, my fingers and toes started to get numb. At the beginning of the hike there were quite a few people who had started the hike together, but as the hike had progressed, everyone had kind of got dispersed. Thus, I was walking alone in that condition in the snow storm. Given my idle mind, and that my hands and feet were numb with almost no sensation, I felt like it was a bout of hypothermia. Exaggeration in hind sight, but seemed very probable to me at that time. By this time, I was probably a little more than half way up to the summit. It was again decision time for me: Should I continue to the summit or should I retreat back. I was cold and tired but not enough to give up just yet. I decided to continue. I summoned all the reserves of energy I had left in my body and started to climb quickly. I wanted to get to the top as fast as possible, and rush back down to asses possible damage to my numb hands and feet.

As I marched along, I started to assess my situation in this hike. I started to think what is making this hike so unpleasant and miserable. I thought maybe the conditions were just not suited to hiking. But then there were other folks, that same day and same time, who were climbing along without too much discomfort. I then thought maybe I was just not fit enough. But then again, just the week before, I had hiked with the same group of people and at that time I seemed to have been one of fittest of the lot. So what changed between now and then, I wondered. And I got back the answer. It was my "gear". The gear that I had was not meant for harsh weather. It didn't keep me dry, it didn't keep me warm, it didn't protect me when I needed it. I'd hiked with this gear before without any discomfort. But that was all in sunny weather. Today, when the weather had taken a turn for the worse, the gear had let me down. I kept cursing my gear as I climbed. But then I realized that it was my fault really. I had chosen the wrong gear for the wrong hike. My friends and guides had warned me about the gear at the time I went with it, but I'd ignored the warnings. I was paying for my own sins I thought.

Time passed, and after a grueling four hours or so I somehow managed to get to the summit. As a mark of reaching the summit, I opened the mail box there (hence the name Mailbox Peak btw). It felt like I had to "let go", drop something, leave something in that mail box. And I surely did: I left my inhibitions, my negative energy, my frustrations with the gear all there. The climb down turned out to be easier. More importantly, I reached back the trail head with no damage done to my hands and feet. Sensation returned as altitude decreased. I was relieved that I was safe, and happy that I did not abandon the hike in some of the toughest conditions I had ever encountered.

I returned home, had a shower, and then decided once and for all to let go of the gear and its thoughts. Next to follow that evening was a well deserved, filling dinner at IHop. At the dinner, I told my friends this story of my gear and the decision to part ways with it.

The previous night had been a sleepless one, but this night, after the eventful day, I managed to sleep well. It was an unforgettable hike.