Crazy. That's what I thought, too, about people who would strap ferrous metal to their feet and carry ice axes in hand and then set out to be the highest point on a mountain. And what about all those crevasses in between the base and summit that we hear about? The accidents that claim lives every year? Climbers lost in whiteouts, taking bad falls or getting hit by ice chunks the size of watermelons? Yep, nuts.
And then on a January night in 2007, bored, I ventured out to my local REI store to attend a clinic that was somehow related to Stacy Allison, the first American woman to summit Mt. Everest. Cool, I thought; that would be a story worth hearing. But she wasn't there. It was a presentation put on by the American Lung Association for their Reach The Summit fundraising program, of which Stacy Allison is the event chairperson. Okay, maybe I should have read the clinic description a little closer, but I would have felt awkward leaving. Silly me. By the time they showed the "ooh" and "ahh" video, I was considering something "crazy." In a phone conversation with Mom just before I left home, I assured her I had no intention of climbing a mountain. Two hours and $150 later, I had registered to climb Mt. Hood. My training would start in late February for a June summit attempt. Could I really do that in four months? I wasn't sure, but the conditioning program sounded like something I could use to get away from the days, nights and weekends on end of deposition reporting and transcription.
I took Mom to the official kickoff party where I first got to see some of the other participants who must have attended similar REI presentations. I had no idea what to expect, but I was sure that I would be a) not the youngest one there, b) not in the best shape, and c) afraid to admit that I'd never seen a crampon, let alone strapped one to my foot. I was right on all three counts, but I wasn't alone. Fortunately, the program focused on hiking and clothing for several weeks before getting to technical equipment. My REI visits were about to become much more frequent, and my annual dividend would start to swell magnificently.
I religiously attended every conditioning hike, convinced that if I so much as missed a single soggy outing, it would cost me the summit. By the time we spent our first day at snow school with Timberline Mountain Guides in mid-May, I was feeling confident that my level of conditioning placed me in the middle of the pack. I felt good about that. Once I learned how to kick step my way up a slope in crampons and use my ice axe for self-arrest, I was ready for the big day.
June 21 was my summit date. Our team spent the night prior at Silcox Hut on Mt. Hood, sleeping restlessly for a few hours before rising at 11:00 to start gearing up for the climb. By 12:30 we were on the ice at the 9000' level, making our way with headlamp illumination to the Hogsback ridge at 10,500'. From there we would become rope teams of four, and the climb would become steeper, slower. By 5:15 we had kicked and ice-axed our way up the final headwall to arrive on the summit ridge trail just as the sun's glow was starting to show in the east. From there it was a short hike on the narrow ridge over to the true summit of Mt. Hood at 11,239', and we arrived there just as the sun broke the horizon. We spent about 20 minutes basking in our accomplishment and snapping pictures to share with our generous sponsors before it was time to head back down. Clearly the work was only half over. We arrived back at Silcox Hut at 9:15 physically exhausted but mentally charged, ready for a huge breakfast and gallons of hot coffee. Okay, what next?
