Tip-Toeing Up a Mountain
“Hey, what’s going on?” Tim, my guide, is standing calmly on my right. Minutes before, he was 30 feet and several people above me in the rope team. I glance up. Crazy man climbs like a monkey. What did he ask me? Oh. Well Tim, I’m standing on the face of a mountain, 1,000 feet off the ground, and feeling a bit uncomfortable. “Standing” isn’t quite right. The toes of my crampon-clad boots are embedded in the snow piled on the vertical wall we’re climbing. It’s more like tip-toeing. I’m tip-toeing up a mountain. How did I get here? Right. I chose to do a mountaineering course in Alaska. Today is another in a string of challenges. The daddy long legs that crawled across my face the first night we bunked down at base camp was just the beginning. No bathing. No toilets. Since I have to ask for the group trowel – named Kevin –for the more serious business, there’s been no hope of privacy concerning personal routines. Yet, every day I’ve hiked out of camp with a 60 poun...