“Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi” “An ox cannot hope to do that which Jupiter can do” - Hans Kammerlander

(Me on Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier in the background)

With the support of our outstanding leaders and encouraging teammates I soldiered wearily into camp. For the remainder of the school we traveled unburdened by heavy cumbersome packs. I showed well in the skill classes and most importantly the awesome pre-dawn push up the hanging glacier to the glistening summit.

All of us suffered on the down-climb with fatigue, over-heating and dehydration.

               Excerpt from my Mt Adams story, “Follow the Rope”: 

“This trip more than any other,

including my summit of Kilimanjaro by the Western Breach in 2004, placed me at levels

of physical and emotional endurance that went beyond any previous experience.

For the guides it was just another day in the mountains. Most of my teammates had

all been to volcanoes in Russia, Ecuador or Mexico and knew what to expect.

This advertising guy was happy just to survive the moments when I couldn’t possibility

take another step but took it anyway because stopping was not a choice.”

On the final day, the fully weighted downhill retreat to our vehicles pounded the soles of my feet to the point of a painful limping hobble. All the other guys switched to wearing sneakers when we moved off the snow, I had leather boots. Somehow I’d missed the memo but I had traversed Mt. Kilimanjaro with those boots with nary a blister…could it have been simply old feet? When I jettisoned the heavy obligation for the last time, even in light of a successful summit and a second mountain traverse on my resume, I told myself, “never again.”

Be that as it may, I picked a number and stood in the line of recanted self-promises. The reason simply this; the exhilaration of negotiating the ice and feeling so acutely alive, roped together with my team mates, knowing if I dropped my water bottle it was to tumble 3,000 feet, taking those impossible steps and the gift of mountain challenge produces a narcotic that can over time erase pain and negative memory.

It was with this wonderful endorphin spiced feeling and coveted memories that I watched myself dampen and close the #11 envelope containing the applications for an attempt to summit Washington’s iconic Mt. Rainier in August of 2008. I was on another mountain quest with my sons. I love that feeling of life.

As always, during my mountain preparation process I’d ordered a topographic map and a few books about Mt. Rainier to discover and study the trail choices, outfitters and climbing strategies. Basically, I could pick a two, three or four-day climb on any three of the most popular trails. There are (based on the book, Mt. Rainier - A Climbing Guide by Mike Gauthier) over 53 different confirmed routes to challenge all skill levels up Mt. Rainier. The difficulty of any of them can be affected by which season of the year one chooses to climb or the weather conditions on that day. But even though this will be my fourth volcano, I’ve still only climbed one technical route and that was snow and glacier, not rock or ice walls. I wanted to simply use the skills I learned on Mt. Adams, pick a less traveled route and minimize the danger of rock fall and avalanche.

But I’m ahead of myself.

“The people who get on in the world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want. And if they can’t find them they make them.”

- George Bernard Shaw

I had every intention of doing this trip alone. Nate (my 21-year old) and I had climbed Mt. Fuji (12,300 feet) and Mt. Kilimanjaro (19,340 feet). Mt. Kilimanjaro is non-technical (no mountaineering skills required) but the extreme altitude made this epic father/son adventure the real deal. Chris (my 18-year old) had climbed Mt. Fuji with the rest of the family but had not taken to the altitude well, so I never even considered him. Plus, he and I had done our father/son trip to Go-Kart Racing School in California the previous summer.

So, there I was, contemplatively bent over the kitchen table perusing my freshly scored topographical map of Mt. Rainier with my newly purchased reference books open to route descriptions. Quietly, I noticed Chris looking over my shoulder carrying the curious posture of affiliation. He begins asking the type of questions that telegraphed sincere interest; I didn’t hesitate, “Do you want to come along with me?”

“Yes Dad, I think I do.”

His words carried exceptional meaning for me because I feel an intimacy with the forces of life when in and atop mountains, sharing that “life” with son(s) especially, is an awesome and hugely rewarding business.

Let me interject here that I am a devotee of Willi Unsoeld.  Everest West Ridge summiteers with Tom Hornbein in 1963, educator (co-founder of Outward Bound), Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Washington State and Evergreen Colleges, plus, head of the Peace Corp in Nepal.

Some of his more potent quotes are:

1. “Risk is at the heart of all education”.

2. “It has to be enough to kill you”.

3. “It doesn’t matter what it is, you have to have something to fight. Doesn’t have to be a mountain but it has to be something. And it isn’t important whether you win or lose, only that you keep fighting”.

4. “…For me God was no longer to be found in traditional steeple houses, but rather seemed to dwell vividly among the bare austerities of Earth’s higher places.”

5. “Know the sacred in nature”.

6. “Get experience first hand, don’t rely on others for it”.

My mission could never be to emulate Willi Unsoeld. He was indeed a mountaineering legend. Bill Moyers interviewed Willi and described the experience as one of the rare times he’d ever been in the presence of a real “giant”. Willi died in an avalanche on Mt Rainier attempting a dangerous winter ascent. A blizzard and heavy snowfall forced a tremendous slab of snow to break away, killing Willi and one student. Introducing him to you fully would take many additional pages or a standalone book. I’m sharing this because many of my experiences and credo are characterized in his quotes.  They help explain the “why?” at the foundation of my continued mountain activity and passion.

“I love the upward ways, to the sun-tipped crest of the mountains, high over the billowy world, where the wind sings hymns of praise, and the snows break into fountains, and life is a flag unfurled” – Harriet Monroe

I didn’t begin to climb mountains until I was 50-years old. An age wrought with limited advantages especially for a flatlander climbing into altitude.  There are no new routes for me, no Herculean quests, I simply wished to experience some of what I’d read and imagined collected within the cherished pages of my library.

Incorporated within my three summits to date; however, are Unsoeldian experiences brushed with the patina of the sacred, an awareness of being and insignificance in the dominion of numinous presence. Who of us wouldn’t wish to return to a place like that or share it with our children, even with potential danger?

It has been my experience that the suffering and elation combined in any mountain journey returns a gift of fulfillment not easy to attain in “normal” life. I believe the severity of the battle fought ruminates and produces an equal measure of pride in self and life. To use Willi’s words, I liken it to fighting a common foe. All of us who have seen the “Band of Brothers” could understand the brotherhood and bond created in combat. A bond very difficult, if not impossible, to explain to someone who was not involved, it makes all the difference being on your knees in front of the event experiencing life first hand.  Mountaineering is a style of combat against the mountain, the elements and one’s self. It incorporates; planning, skill, endurance, fatigue, risk and trust to name a few. All of it shared together. When on a mountain adventure and after you can look into the eyes of your teammates and speak without words because all of you have just endured and suffered the same exploits, whatever they happened to be.

It happened to me on Mt. Adams. Nate and I experienced that bond together on Kilimanjaro.  That adventure cemented our relationship forever in a very positive and beneficial way. We will always be father and son but we walked off that mountain with a bond on a completely different level.

The potential to brave anything remotely close with Chris was what removed any hesitation from my mind.

I felt so good about the possibilities; I invited Nate the next day for all the reasons described above. He agreed of course but my enthusiasm quickly turned to measured concern as it dawned on me I hadn’t said anything to my wife Kristin.

Now dear readers most of you are expecting the cliché; she never understands, it’s too expensive, you didn’t ask me first, rant. But it is here I can faithfully remove my tongue from my cheek. Over our 27 years she has seen my passion grow from a stunning collection of mountaineering books (any one of which are permanently residing on my night stand) to three successful summits. She’d received the tear-choked, emotional call from Africa after our summit of Kilimanjaro and seen my feet swollen for several days after Mt. Adams. She has read the heartfelt descriptions written after my adventures.  Indeed, she saw my preparation for Mt Rainier begin in December. What she didn’t know was I had asked both sons to join me. When I offered my “hand in the cookie jar” explanation her quipped response was a smart-alecky, “Well, why don’t you invite my father too”. (He’s 79 and not about to scale any 14er’s any time soon) but in wife-speak this meant, “Ok, have a good time.”

Most recently, she has joined me on several training jaunts with my 55-pound water-weighted pack. On one particular sunny spring morning as we hoofed silently along the freshly mowed path surrounding our Wisconsin acreage she queries, “Do you think all of you should be on the same rope?”  Again, in wife-speak this means, “I don’t think all of you should be tied together, I’d hate to lose all of you at once.”  Honesty requires me to admit I had considered this issue. Kristin pays attention. She’d seen the pictures from Mt. Adams with the teams roped together. It was a valid, intelligent and loving question. History and statistics have shown small percentages of climbers have pulled each other down mountains and entire groups have been overrun by avalanche.

As Kristin would have already ascertained along with my faults, I consider our sons treasure and would not put them at unnecessary risk. There is; however, risk involved on snow slopes, crevasses and mountains. (As Ernest Hemingway once said, “There are only three real sports: Bull Fighting, Auto Racing and Mountaineering”). For me, that is part of the exhilaration but risk can be measured particularly as a novice by choosing an outstanding outfitter (like IMG), a well-considered route, the number of days on the route for acclimatization, the time of year and proper training.

Kristin knows I do my homework. I shared with her that the Emmons Route is the least susceptible to avalanche and rock fall of any routes on Rainier and that our IMG guides will have us well prepared for any lurking dangers. The beginning of August is the end of the summer climbing season. The route will be well trodden, temperatures relatively clement and our chance for a snowstorm almost nil. We will have classes in the required skills for our route; ice ax self-arrest, walking in crampons and roped glacier travel.

(Myself & Mike pictured on Mt. Adams summit, Mt. Hood in the distance)

At any rate, as we continued to wander through our acreage, I told her the decision about who’s roped to who will be made on the star-lit morning of our ascent. I’d fancy climbing together with my sons because of the sense of community and safety I felt on Mt. Adams but a myriad of situational and strategic input could affect my personal preferences. We will choose wisely. Hey, who’s kidding whom? I’ll probably be relegated to the slow guys at the back, struggling with my “A” game. (Prophetic, indeed)

“The charm of mountain climbing lies not in the climbing, in success, nor in failure but in the great range of emotions provoked through these physical experiences.”

- Frank Smythe

Finally, the piles of mountaineering gear covering the ping-pong table, UPS deliveries and months of physical preparation, lead to the assembly of all the pieces into our travel luggage and I’m chomping at the bit.

The boys are predictably cranked and my Mexico City pal, Enrique Rivas a.k.a. Kiko, whom we are meeting at the Sea-Tac airport, is predictably worried. My sons have been on top of volcanoes before Kiko not so. My Hispanic friend’s unfair advantage is he lives at 7,500 feet and his office is 9,400 feet above sea level, the same as high camp on Mt. Rainier. We live at 700 feet. In two days we all will be humping 55-pound loads to high camp. As of July 31st I had carried the 55-pound pack 42 miles (it is 7 miles [at altitude] to high camp on the mountain) and ridden my bike 400 miles in 25-mile nonstop segments. As it would turn out, that preparation wasn’t even close.

(Nate, Kiko & Chris)

The next day we drove to a 6,000-foot pass to help the flatlanders acclimate and enjoy the smell of cedar and pine. The massive white presents of Mt. Rainier teased us with flashes of view offered by random gaps in the forest as we negotiated the serpentine path. All of us were wound pretty tight.

At 2:00 pm we gathered to meet the five other team members, the four guides and run through our gear. I liked our IMG guides straight away. One of them was Aaron Mainer who had been my wing man on Mt. Adams and would prove to be my shadow again on Mt. Rainier. Greg (head guide), Eric and “Otter” were like all the other guides I’d met; sinewy, indestructible and humorous. Don’t you just hate guys that can eat 7,000-calories a day and stay thin?  All the clients were relative newbies like us. My three summits may have counted for the most experience but the age gap qualified me for an AARP Climbing Pass and preferred trailhead parking. We loaded our backpacks strategically with the next items we’d need on the trail easiest to reach. All of us added around 10-pounds of group gear.  The pack was 55-pounds or more even after I’d taken some stuff out. The game was on!

(A few months prior to the trip I’d had some trouble with vertigo but the symptoms had gone away. Then, within days before we were to leave the symptoms returned.)

The night before our start I slept quite well but if I rolled over or got up, I’d get dizzy. I said nothing. I told myself, the meds I’d received just the day before we took off would mask the symptoms; they had worked in the past.

L to R; Nate, me, Aaron, Chris, Kiko, Otter (low), Katie, Drew, Andrew, Chad, Greg & Eric

The morning our departure dawned clear and crisp, my weather luck on mountains continued. We were all poised for a great first day. As we began working up the trail, looking up caused me to feel dizzy. I kept staring at the ground just ahead of my feet. My heart was saying keep going. My brain was telling me I was screwed. How do you avoid looking up in the mountains? Difficulties multiply when the mind is not engaged in the tasks.

As we continued to ascend, it became increasingly difficult to keep my legs moving at pace with the others but I’d been there before, the geezer was last again. The mild scrambling and rock hopping over the river basin demanded balance. To make life even more interesting, some of the boulders moved under foot. Nimble hasn’t been in my playbook for a quite few years now and agility strapped to a 55-pound pack for me at least, an oxymoron. Plus, I didn’t know when I’d get dizzy. I started feeling like I was about to lean into a left hook. Aaron was doing his best to help me with a slower pace and reminding me how to breathe. (You have to pressure breath as you gain altitude. You exhale through pressed lips forcing oxygen into your blood stream.) My body wasn’t processing the decreasing oxygen. My train had derailed. It was an easy decision to turn myself around. Clearly, it was not my day in the mountains. On a flat patch of trail, I simply stopped and told Aaron I needed to make a decision. I turned myself around 3 hours into the route.

Facing the consequences of my decision was a completely different and heart wrenching matter.

I’d only told my wife Kristin and my doctor about the vertigo and dutifully refilled a past prescription but “soldiering through” under those circumstances was completely stupid. Looking back, confiding in my sons, Aaron and Greg (our head guide) about the vertigo would have been prudent but I really didn’t think it would be an issue. I assumed the medication would work. Somehow, telling people in advance was an automatic ticket to bail. I also feared there was a good possibility Greg would have thrown the flag on me if I’d been honest with him. (I have apologized to Greg.) I didn’t care if I came into rest stops last but falling in some of the areas we were negotiating could have meant injury at least.

Aaron walked out with me. He’d seen me struggle but succeed on Mt. Adams. Now my emotions were dragging me all over the place. Aaron treated me with respect and dignity that made my situation livable. For the second time in print I wish to sincerely thank Aaron for his friendship and grace.

Now, the wonder and enduring the wait for the team’s safe return is choking me.

“There are times in life; you can count them in minutes, when you experience awareness far greater than you usually find in a whole year.” - F. M. Dostoevsky

The following morning on fresh legs I scampered up to 7,000 feet passing all the struggling weekend vacationers. Twice I was asked to take group photos. It was surreal. None of those nice people knew my heart felt broken by the separation from people I love or the turmoil my emotions were churning up. They didn’t know that yesterday I was a mountaineer; today I was simply a tourist. But how could they? Nobody knows our real back-stories but that morning I would have opened up with just a nudge. I dutifully took the correctly framed pictures with the sun behind me, accepted their sincere thanks and continued on with my story available but left untold. As I ascended my intent was to view the climbing route from a ridge overlooking the valley. I moved efficiently unburdened by a heavy pack wondering if I’d made the correct decision but turning my head to view a passing jet, brought on the vertigo spins. This reconfirmed yesterday’s choices but did nothing to remove my ache.

From my vantage point I couldn’t see the team but willed them on anyway. The sadness I felt was extreme and tears flowed not because I let anyone down but because I know what they will feel and see. I would not get to fight the common foe and share the numinous presences with them this time or perhaps ever, at least on a summit. There was finality to the sadness; I wasn’t sure why? As I contemplated, I realized that the reality of the boys going on without me on the mountain mirrors our real life situation. Chris is off to college and Nate is graduating from college this year. Kristin and I are facing an empty nest. Predictable, unavoidable and survivable as that is, it is the end of a coveted chapter of our lives and is obviously something I didn’t want to end. Or should I say begin. I’d also collected three summits on three different continents in a six-year time period. Begun at an age when most folks would be reminiscing, if they went at all. The time to reassess the style of this particular hobby was forcibly at hand. It was all a bit overwhelming.

As I sifted all these thoughts and feelings around in my mind I stood before the massive, shimmering northeast face of Mt. Rainier knowing the potential rope teams were going to be three ropes of four. Under different circumstances I could be roped to my sons experiencing the exposure, exhilaration, the view and much, much more.

“You’re bound together by the climbing rope, the very umbilical cord of your connection with each other, and there’s constant awareness of the other members of the team and a closeness and a cooperation that grows up among mountaineers that is the nearest thing I’ve seen to the brotherhood of the battlefield.” - Willi Unsoeld

Thankfully, I’ve been to summits with both sons in the past. This climb was only a chance to repeat the process but our prior successes had aided in my decision to turn back. I had nothing to prove to my sons or anyone else.

Back at the Alpine Village I had plenty of time to mull-over the situation. A high traverse just below the top was going to lengthen the summit climbing time to around 10 to 12 hours up and 5 to 6 down. The risk factor I normally tucked away had a field day in my fertile imagination. I always believed I’d measured the dangers by whom I chose to climb with and where. This climb was no exception but being removed from my sons added an element of fear to my sadness. I had every faith in Nate & Chris’s abilities and the confident IMG guides but I’d never experienced the sidelines in this situation before. It magnified my fear and no matter how I “spun” the mountaineering risks in the past, climbing at altitude on glaciers and ice is dangerous business. And there I sat at the Inn with vertigo, watching the morons on Judge Judy.

Not being with them was mostly unbearable…I waited nervously for the phone to ring…

(A lenticular cloud and 50 mph winds, Nate “Blondie” above)

(Nate & Eric, above; Nate, Kiko, Chris & Greg)

The tradition of depositing my father’s ashes on mountains fell upon Nate’s worthy shoulders. He described his choice as follows, “we were above 11,500 feet, to the right was the mountain, to the left was mountain but within my entire peripheral vision was a spectacular sunrise.”

His grandfather would be beyond proud.

“It is impossible to make any who have not experienced it realize what that thrill means. It proceeds partly from a legitimate joy and pride in life.” - George Mallory

At the trailhead, the first comments from the team to me were, “Gee, you’re clean!” All of them of course had collected four days of dust and sweat, smeared in with gobs of sun block.

One look in the eyes of my sons and friend told the story; they knew they had done something extraordinary.

Greg pulled me aside and shared that without the big wind the boys were summit material. Nate told me without any regret only Christopher possessed the strength to summit with the guides. Kiko knew he was done at 13,000 feet. The top; however, was a moot point.

Ed Viesturs, the first American to summit all fourteen 8,000 meter peaks in the world without supplemental oxygen always said,” Summits are optional, returning is mandatory.” Nate, Chris and Kiko climbed higher than all the mountains in the Cascades and descended the mountain better men in the bargain.

I learned I could survive the horrendous wait.

“Gas-e-ous adj 1. Neither solid nor liquid and with a tendency to expand infinitely.” – Webster’s Dictionary

My favorite story from the mountain was the night when the Jambalaya precipitated identical gaseous reactions in both Nate and Chris. As the boys filled the inescapable tent with maggot gagging farts, their tent mate Uncle Kiko railed and swore in Spanish at the “incredible” and unavoidable stench. The boys continued the relentless pounding of Uncle Kiko by blaming him as the source of the odious environment by calling out, “Kiko es diablo azul! Kiko es diablo azul!” (Kiko is the blue devil.)

I’ve known Kiko for 12 years now. We have raced go-karts and vacationed together in the past. This was to be our first mountain adventure. As I hugged my cherished friend at the trailhead, I told him I was sorry for not being with him and he said, “Forget it, your boys are wonderful”. I sent a preliminary draft of this article to Kiko. His powerful and heartfelt comments are quite moving. With his permission, I have included the email unedited because it reflects his kind and gentle soul. (Kiko’s native language is Spanish)

Mi amigo, I wish I could write like you and be able to express my feeling as clear

as you just did. It made me cryed . It was one of the most incredible experiences

in my life, I saw things the made me cry, things you only see in national geographic

books or documentaries, things that make your heart stop, things that can make

anybody like me, Im atheist, wonder about “god”. Thank you Lalo [my Mexican nickname], thank you very much for your friendship (including the Abell bunch) and for opening my

eyes to this experiences and ones to come. I have to say that I felt the responsability of having your kids next to me when we were at 13,000, I felt like I was the “daddy” in that

moment. I know I will always have a special bond with them for the rest of my life

even If I dont see them again, something that will not be easy to happend.

Life means venture - to live is to risk. The person who takes no risks does not really live” - Charles Houston

So…boys and girls, where exactly does this put the 57-year old, slightly thinner/fitter, dizzy, VP desk jockey and his passion for mountains?

I easily could have stopped after Kilimanjaro. 19,340 feet high is where you used to be served free peanuts and soda; pilots call it Class A airspace. Kili is highest mountain in the world you can climb without mountaineering skills. It was the perfect goal for a 50-something novice. Then, my passion pulled me to mountaineering school on Mt Adams and the additional skills to navigate glaciers and snowfields, skills that could offer many additional mountain possibilities. Those two mountains remain the most rewarding and coveted adventures of my life, next to being a father.

I trained for Rainier more than any other climb but it is still one of the premier endurance climbs in North America. I couldn’t practice for altitude in Wisconsin. The smart play would have been spending time at 12,000 or 13,000 in Colorado somewhere prior to Mt. Rainier but who has time for that? At least I got into better shape for 700-feet above sea level. I was hammered by increasing elevation and the heavy pack on Rainier. I’m not sure I could have gone on torturing myself like on Mt Adams even knowing the first day was the most difficult but the vertigo symptoms made continuing foolish. Obviously, “Old Snowy” Mt. Rainier had other revelations for me.

Had we stayed home, my sons and friend would not have tasted the awesome challenges or performed as they did and I would not have seen that special spark of life in their eyes. They have been to a place few mortals will ever tread.

When Nate and I came off Mt. Kilimanjaro all the folks we met were non summiteers. Everyone was taking away very different experiences and emotions. What I learned is that in mountaineering and life for that matter; you have to take what the mountain gives you and it may very well be what you never expected. But whatever you receive is indeed a benefaction if you are open to it.

Yes, I would have loved to be there with them up there but it was not necessary for me to be in their footsteps, to understand or to receive the mountain prize.

As for summits with full packs, ok baby…never again…but an ox can look at Jupiter…

See you in the mountains.

Chris in front then L to R; Nate, Katie, Andrew, Aaron, Kiko, Greg, Eric, Chad, & Otter