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 pound pack on my back. I learned how to rig and jug a rope, climb with an ice axe, set up camp. I drank glacier water, ate wild salmonberries on the trail, pulled myself out of a crevasse, and slept on an icefield. I even survived 24 hours in a 3-person tent with five ripe-smelling women to wait out a blizzard after my tent buckled.

Now, I’m the reason we’ve all stopped.

“Talk to me.”

Oh, yeah. Tim. The quiet command brings me back. My feet are tucked into the snow, heels hanging out over an abyss. My knees are pressed against the white wall in front of me, arms extended in the awkward shape of a ‘W’ as if I’m trying to hold on. I can feel the cold of the mountain on my face, like standing in front of an open freezer. My breathing is shallow, fast. When did that happen? I’m more anxious than I realized.

I say the first thing that comes to mind, voice shaking. “I just want to be at the top. Right now.” Yep, I’m freaking out.

He smiles, and in a soothing voice says, “We’re almost to the top. Hang in there.” He skips back to his place at the lead.

Hang in there? Hilarious, Tim.

Ten minutes pass in a blur, and finally, we crawl onto the mountaintop. I disengage from the team and stand alone, turning a full circle as my breathing slows. On top of the world, the other peaks ringing the basin are no longer above us but at eye level, glaciers spilling down. The sky is a vibrant blue.

How could I ever be afraid to try anything after this?