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Published: September 17th 2007
When one of the guys from my crew mentioned his plan to climb a mountain this weekend, I couldn’t hide my enthusiasm and practically begged to tag along. I’ll take any opportunity to get out on a trail in Glacier National Park. Jake hesitated, “Are you sure? It is a 10,000-footer.” I was insulted. Of course I can handle a good steep hike, and yes, I’m definitely in.
I had no clue.
Friday morning I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. After filling our day packs with water, trail mix, cheese and beer, six of us Montana Conservation Corps volunteers piled into the CRV and headed for Glacier—we were a regular clown show. After our stretch circle and a pit stop in the bushes, we hit the trail. We walked among the pines, and I gobbled in the fresh air and did a little reflecting. But after a couple of miles, I started to get anxious. Thus far we traversed nothing more than a handful of inconsequential hills. Where was this scary mountain? And what was it called again? Oh yeah, Mt. Siyeh. Elevation: 10,014 feet. Come on Siyeh, where you at?
At about that time, Jake and the
guys went off trail and headed straight for the forest. “Where are you guys going?” Jake pointed, “That’s Siyeh. We’re off trail from here on out.” What the hell?! “Okay, cool. Sounds good.” Shit. We’re about to just walk up that side of that huge fucking mountain? Okay. Just breathe for a second. It looks doable. Yeah, I can totally do this.
We had about 3,000-3,500 feet of elevation to cover in about 2 miles. Think steep, very steep. For about the first 500 feet or so we scrambled up what they call scree, aka huge shards of broken rock--going uphill, they work against you every step of the way. Once we hit our first section of solid rock and had to actually climb up a series of short ledges, the group got split up and I began to question the whole endeavor. I kept climbing, trying to keep up with the guys, but I couldn’t find a good place to overtake the ridge. Shit, how am I going to get up this? I wandered around a bend and everyone was out of sight. I climbed up the ledge, hoping my footing was solid, if not—don’t think about that
right now. I made it up, and sat trying to catch my breath, the air was already thin—from elevation and fear—and we had another 2,000 feet to go. I looked down at the ground we’d covered. I looked up. Fuck. We just started, and there’s no way I can do this. All the way up there? I can’t even see the summit from here, just ridgeline after ridgeline. There’s no way we can climb that, no way. Jake came to collect me. “We’re heading around the other side, you ready?” “Yeah, sure.” No big deal, right? It’s just a matter of plummeting to my death. But what choice do I have? I can’t get back down alone, and what if they don’t descend the way we got up here? I’d be on my own. I’ve got to keep going.
At about that time, we heard Becca calling for Harry. Shit, she’s on the other side of the mountain, separated from the group, and who knows where Harry is. Great. I kept following Jake, who was trying to find the route up (by the way, no one in our group had climbed Mt. Siyeh before). Great. This is just great.
Harry’s probably already dead. “Uh, Jake, don’t you think we should find Becca?” He mumbled something and I followed suit behind John and Doug, who were following Jake, who didn’t know how to get us up this mountain.
We found Becca and stopped for a minute. Jake looked as us, “What do you two want to do? Are you going up with us, or do you want to wait here?” Becca and I exchanged exasperated glances. She waited a second and asked, “What do you want to do? I could go or stay.” Oh great, now it’s up to me. My pride kicked into gear. No way am I going to be that girl who couldn’t hack it, goddamn it. “Sure, I can keep going.” Why did I just say that? What am I doing? Here we go.
Ledge after ledge we ascended. With each step up, I developed a pleasant little chant in my mind: This is so dumb. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I’m going to die. This is insane. What am I doing? Someone is going to die today.
Finally we hit the last 700 or so feet of
The Endless Last Stretch to the Top
That's what scree (aka hell) looks likescree before reaching the final ridge—the summit. Okay, I can handle this. My calves were on fire, bricks knotting up under my skin, dragging me down. With every step I lost about six inches as I fought against this sea of shattered rock. It wasn’t steep enough to fall, but I was leaning into the side of the mountain, traveling upward on all fours. The icy wind thrashed violently through my sweaty hair, against my steaming cheeks. It started to rain. Gasping for air, I stopped to dig out my rain jacket, unraveling it with stiff fingers, hardly functioning. What good are you, damn fingers, if you won’t even bend? I looked up. Damn it. I go on and on, yet the higher I climb, still the summit is so far off. An optical illusion. Are you kidding? Will this hell never end? I’m starving, I’m freezing, and I’ve got to get to the top of this mountain, which is apparently drifting upward with each step. God help me.
Then I made it to the final ridge. A few tricky maneuvers over these ledges—Sarah, don’t fall. Watch each step, each hand hold. Make sure. Don’t shift your weight, or
On Top of the World
(and scared to be there) else—don’t think about it.
And I was up.
And it was unreal.
Spare the poetry, I was speechless. “Oh my god. This is unbelievable.” I said it over and over. I had no words. I gazed out upon hundreds and hundreds of rocky peaks stretching into infinity. I sat on the rock heaving, gasping, still scared and utterly amazed. I took a peek over the edge of the other side. Holy shit. Just two feet from where I sat was a vertical drop of 4,000 feet into a vibrant blue glacier lake. The wind wrapped around my bones and pounded my body, fighting to throw me off the edge. I put on my fleece, covered my ears, and found a ledge to hide behind. I ate my cucumber and cheese and the last of my trail mix. I sat shivering and breathless, staring out into the horizon as the shadows shifted silently accross the mountains.
This is insane. I’m on top of the world. How are we going to get back down? Don’t think about it. This could be your last look at beauty, so embrace it. I’m going to die on the way back down.
This is unbelievable. I’m so fucking cold. This is my last day on this earth. Thank you, Mt. Siyeh, it’s been real.
Finally we headed back down. We found a drain that offered some mercy—not too steep to climb down. Half way there, we hit a snow tunnel and had to climb about 20 yards underneath it; one by one we made it through. After that, it got steep, really steep. I moved downward, ledge by ledge, each one covered in loose rock. I couldn’t get a solid footing. I was freezing up with fear. This is it. I’m not going to make it. I followed Becca and John, inch by inch, back toward the drain where it wasn’t so steep. Shit, there’s a huge boulder jutting out right in my path. How the hell am I going to get around that? I’ll have lean out, and I’m going to lose my balance. Shit. This is it. I had a solid hand hold, but where could I put my foot? The only option looked sketchy. If this rock isn’t secure, I’m going down. They can collect my remains below. My whole body was shaking, my knees were jelly. I
took a deep breath and went for it.
I reached for John’s arm for balance and made it. Whew. I was back in the drain. Home free.
From there we hit more scree, and for about a 500-700 feet we surfed it down. Bolts of pain pierced through my knees. My thighs pulsed, threatening to retire with each step. But I’m almost there. I’m going to make it off this mountain alive. I’m not going to die. Hell, I could do this for 2,000 more feet if I had to. I’m alive and I’m on my way to solid ground. Everything else is irrelevant--the pain, the fatigue, no problem.
And sure enough I made it. When my feet hit the grass, I fell prostrate and kissed it. Thank you, thank you, I’m alive! I can’t believe it. I’m really here on solid ground! At this point, I was floating. The guys were already working on their beers. No thanks, water’s fine by me—my body was begging for it. I surveyed the damage. One gash on my pinky, and a couple rips down the ass of my pants. Wonderful! I’ll take it! I wandered into the bushes for
a bathroom break then we scurried through the pines toward the trail, racing against the setting sun.
I lay lifeless in the back of the car on the pile of soiled day packs. The six of us rode safely on the four wheels of Becca’s Honda CRV, winding down into the dark valley. I’d never felt so alive, but I couldn’t move a muscle. I gazed out the window onto Lake McDonald as flickering lightening transformed the black void into a glassy display reflecting the endless rocky ranges on the water.
Staring in awe at the show, I was struck by the blessedness of the moment. Never again will I intentionally set myself at odds with nature, seeking to battle this splendor. Nope, mine is the role of admirer, not conqueror. A lesson hard learned, but one I’m sure to remember.
Mt. Siyeh, thank you for your wisdom. Thank you for your mercy.
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ChristinJ
Christin Marshall
You look like you're about to poop your pants in the pic. Awesome!