In that view came the promise of impending warmth. It cast the mountain’s purple-hued shadow in a perfect triangle, stretching across the landscape and far into the Trinity Alps, toward the Pacific Ocean. I was clambering up a steep incline aptly named Misery Hill (I believe most mountains have a section titled this), freezing in the icy blast of wind that came over the ledge, when the sun rounded the curve of the earth behind me. The first time I climbed and summited Mount Shasta, the best view was when the sun rose. Is there a difference between spending 12 hours climbing a volcano or spending 11 hours climbing a volcano? Either way, the view is incredible. The summit is only one part of their grander adventure. Members wondered if they should have tried anyway.

We pass another group of Italians which had a defined turn-around time and also failed to reach the summit. Because, we are still alive.Īs far as I’m concerned, that is the definition of a successful adventure. I have been the person who raised a white flag mere yards away from a summit and I have borne the frustration and disappointment of my climbing partners. These are the corrosive (but safe) contracts between friends and outdoors partners in the mountains. I can tell that only one of the party was uncomfortable, and they had agreed to stay together. They tell me they turned around 1,000 feet shy of the summit. My only equipment is a pair of ultralight trekking poles that click-clack as I trod my way up the intermittent snow and rock.Ĭlearly, I’m not taking this mountain serious enough. I can’t tell if their expressions as they raise their down-turned faces toward me are disdain, disgust, or jealously. Their bags are loaded and they’re wearing the heavy boots and helmets of mountaineers. They’ve likely been up since one in the morning and climbing nonstop for hours.

Somewhere around 9,000 feet on the moonscape slope of a volcano, a team of climbers is descending, each member with an almost threatening frown of disappointment and exhaustion.įatigue and air hunger make for a bad mood. Sometimes it is the view.Īccording to my grandmother, it’s winning a nickel at Bridge Club. As I grow older, I am coming to appreciate different measurements of success.

Miss incredible thick