Winter Ascent of Mt. Democrat
I’m crying. A lot. I got there, finally. I threw my axe in the snow with everyone else’s who beat me to the top -threw with it the exasperated joy of a completed goal.
Heavy and weighted breaths came first, then the salty water rolled past my glasses and froze on my face. But I thought I was passing it off as just having a running nose from the wind, blowing snow and 40-degree weather. Reality hits, one more time.
This summit has a view of multiple groups around us, and it’s a gorgeously clear blue sky day - the only down-side is the occasionally strong gusts of wind with tiny bullets of snow that act like sand paper against your worn and exposed skin.
He stood here. He stood everywhere around us. “look, Holy Cross.. and is that Princeton? That’s Conundrum and Castle. Look down there, those are the Colligates. And over there, the San Juans.” Every one of them.. he stood on, and many for multiple times. Like this one, here. The soil under my feet. I can’t stop the tears, and I don’t want to. This is what it is, the grief is weighted by the reality of the situation, the beauty of the area, and the symbolism of the mountain tops and this mountain being the first one he ever took me on. We once stood here together.
I was in pain after the first 30 or 40 minutes up the ½ mile crampons and ice-axe approach. A 45degree slope was taking it out on my ankles and later my knees. My calves hurt from, basically, climbing on the edge of my boot or the top of my boot. I thought, “Jesus, I’m not sure I can do this.” Forrest was the loudest cheerleader. August was supportive in his “suck it up” mindset, and Joe, bless his heart, was sore and also wasn’t about to let me trail behind on my own. I kept going. Another step at a time.
I have a voice in the back of my head saying “step-step-step-step” with flashbacks to the hut trip of death where I was in the rear saying “step-step-step” because every single step hurt so much. This time my mantra went along the lines of “it’s ohkay, it’s ohkay, it’s ohkay, you’re fine, you’ve got it, it’s ohkay, it’s ohkay, esta bien, esta bien…” It helped me up and down the mountain. Mostly, I could hear Craig’s laugh and mock of me in a “that’s awesome, you’ve got it” kind of way, just like he did (and mocked me much after the fact) on the death march trip.
Esta bien. Life will go on. It’s ohkay. It will be ohkay. The beauty of the mountains that remind me of him, of losing a friend, of not fighting hard enough, or not getting over myself and my own petty emotions…it will be ohkay. One can commit to “change their ways” and “learn something from the lesson” - Or, one can keep climbing mountains and experiencing the beauty and wonder of seeing the tips of Colorado knowing that only so many footsteps touch the tips, and he was one of them. The mind-blowing reality of touching earth and sky, death and life, heaven and hell - well, it’s all very Eliade, but it’s a very elaborate and sensational experience. For this reason, this trip was not only physically wearing but also emotionally healing. I am so thankful for having the ability to have completed this mountain, for having friends to push me to the top, and having the physical abilities (even if they are limited) to get there. Mind, body, and spirit were united at the top of the summit, etched in my own memory and experiences. Experiences so very limited by my own verbiage and rhetoric.
