Almost There

The chilled wind swept across my face stinging my tear-filled eyes. Tear drops rolled slowly down my cheeks oddly leaving behind a modicum of warmth in their salty tracks. I was sitting in the left route around The Heart just above Avalanche Gulch (two features on the South side of Mt. Shasta), short roped to five other climbers with my knees to my chest in an effort to regain some warmth. Never in my life had I felt more humiliation or sense of defeat than as I sat on that mountain side and watched as other climbers continued by me in their pursuit of the summit. The tears and sadness came easily, the breathing did not.

I don't know why I was so disappointed in not making the summit. Though with all the things that had been torn from my grasp and sent spiraling out of control over the past few months, I suppose that I felt that making the top of the mountain was something that was within in my grasp and that achieving it would somehow make up for all my other losses. Regardless, there I was at about 12,500 ft - the highest I had ever climbed - wading through a sense of depression and helplessness that I hadn't felt in months.

Waking at midnight, we had been climbing for about eight hours before I decided to turn around. It was not an easy decision for myself, but I knew that I was slowing the group down and there was still about three hours of climbing left to make the 14,179 ft summit. If Blair and Brent had any chance of making the top before the turn around time, I knew that I couldn't climb with them any more - I was too weak to keep up the pace. At the time, I couldn't breathe, my head was spinning and pounding, and an overwhelming sense of nausea kept me from moving too fast. All symptoms of acute pulmonary edema; I knew the only way to feel better was to go down. I put my hands up in defeat and started climbing down to another group that was being short-roped to base camp.

The trek down proved to be just as energy-sapping as the ascent. My legs felt like Jello by the time we reached base camp. I curled up in my sleeping bag and slept fitfully for several hours; the pounding headache, labored breathing, and constant coughing prevented me from getting any actual restful sleep. I was woken by one of the mountain guides several hours later to check on my condition - there was some concern as to whether or not I should start my way down to the trail head another 1,200 ft below base camp. I opted to stick around for a while, still feeling too weak to make the hike down. In my tired and weakened state, my mind flitted around, landing occasionally on things that I had no desire to think about. It was all I could do to choke back the sobs - I didn't want others worrying about me more than they already were especially since the tears were no longer pooling in my eyes as a result of feeling as sick as I did.

Around 4 PM I managed to get camp packed up and started down with Eric, one of the guides, and Meera, another climber who had injured her leg. The descent was slow and easy, though I still felt as if my energy levels were well below normal. About an hour after leaving base camp we reached the trail head and parking lot. Not far behind were the other climbers - everyone was worn out, but happy to be back. By the time I had reached the bottom, I didn't know whether to be happy, sad, disappointed, proud, or anything else. I was sad for reasons not related to the climb, I was defeated because of it, and I had a sense of loss that was linked to something else entirely - somehow all of my disappointments and feelings from the past four months had become intertwined and inseparable...

Now, several days later, after getting some much needed rest, I can look back on the experience objectively. I realize that I did my best at the time, but my body gave up on me in a manner not uncommon for a number of climbers who attempt to summit. I climbed higher than I ever had before and I raised money for a great cause. As for everything else, I realize now that my emotions had been assaulted in large part due to my lack of sleep. Maybe it's a cop-out, but I've slept on it all and have once again pushed everything to the back of my mind as best I can and am continuing forward.

Reflecting on everything now, I am proud of myself for trying, happy that I made it as far as I did, and I am determined to go back and defeat the mountain. Shasta isn't going anywhere and neither am I - next time I will make it to the top.

-hypoxic jonathon