Today’s post is ostensibly about climbing a mountain. But really, it’s about death. And not a metaphorical mountain, but an actual mountain. Specifically, Mt. Thielsen, about 9200’. And not metaphorical death - the actual no-longer-alive kind. The interesting thing about this particular mountain is that today, I climbed it. All the way to the top. Well, OK, not quite - I stopped about 20 feet from the top on “Chicken Ridge”, so named because you literally must value your life about as much as a chicken to try the last part without ropes and pitons, which I did not have. Actually, scratch that: chickens are pretty smart. They wouldn’t do it either.
I did 3 smart things climbing this mountain:
1) I let somebody (my parents) know where I was going and to get help if I didn’t call.
2) I carried several redundant GPS systems and a fully charged phone
3) I did not climb past “Chicken Ridge”.
Then, I did 3 stupid things:
1) I didn’t carry enough water.
2) I went by myself.
3) I overestimated my own abilities.
One of these 3 things almost got me killed. Want to guess which one? If you guessed #3 - you’re a winner! So, it turns out that there are two important things about climbing: one, when people who know what they’re doing tell you do something, you should do it, and two, climbing up is actually way easier (on a technical level) than going back down. So, when they said “you should carry an ice axe”, I thought to myself “it’s unseasonably warm and not that icy; surely i won’t need it to climb”. Well, duh - you need the ice axe to *get back down*.
As I plummeted down the side of Mt. Thielsen, uncontrollably cascading towards a pile of jagged rocks, these two facts became manifestly obvious.
Fortunately, I had listened just enough to just smart enough people, and I did have a set of what are called “microspikes” on my shoes (think golf cleats, but a bit more so). With the frantic power that only people who realize they are in grave danger possess, I dug those sons of bitches into the snowpack as hard as I could and clutched at rocks as they flew by. And slowly, surely, I stopped. I had slid about 100 feet. As I lay there, panting, I realized something: this isn’t over. This is going to happen again. And, sure enough, it almost immediately did. This time, I stopped it faster - maybe 30 feet down. But I realized something: I am screwed. I don’t know what I’m doing, and it’s about 800 or 900 feet down to the place where the snow started to level out. The snow is at about a 50 or 55 degree angle and every time I try to stand up, I just start sliding. So, after quickly going through all 5 stages of acceptance, I realized the obvious: I’m going to have to slide. And I did. And it was terrifying. I figured out how to do a barely controlled slide for about 5 to 10 feet at a time. I was lucky: the snow was soft, and when it started to pile up under my butt, it would stop me. I was doubly lucky: this could have been avalanche conditions, and here I am dislodging big chunks of snow. I could watch bits about as big as my fist cascade down the hill in front of me, all the way to the bottom. It took me about an hour - maybe more - to get down that 800 feet.
Was I ever in danger of actually dying? No, probably not - at least not at first. Fortunately Mt. Thielsen doesn’t have any big cliffs to go over. But I easily could have hit a rock and ended up with a broken leg, alone, at 8700 feet above sea level (with no water). I had visions of myself, broken fibula or wrist, trying to use my cell to call for help (fortunately, it was charged, and actually, you get service, because it’s so clear that radio signals travel).
So, yes - I am officially an idiot.
It’s a funny thing about life. I value mine quite highly, and yet, to be honest, some part of me knew that what I was doing today was a bit stupid. Mind you, I didn’t know how stupid it really was, but the point is, I *knew* it was safer to just sit on my couch and watch documentaries about people climbing mountains. But I didn’t do that. Why? I believe we’re the only species that intentionally puts ourselves in harms way for anything other than food or procreation. That’s probably not 100% true actually, but still: you don’t see bears climbing mountains just because they’re tired of, you know, eating fish and having bear sex. I think there’s something about us, as humans, that recognizes that if you have no chance of death, then really, you don’t value life the same way.
But next time, I’m bringing an ice axe and a friend.
