Setting a Goal: To Climb a Mountain (Part Two)

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The mountain was surrounded by clouds when we started up. It’s a short route from the upper trailhead, a mere 1 ½ miles to the summit, but it’s almost straight up. Soon we emerged from the lower forested portion of the trail and were faced with the series of steep snow slopes that lead to the rocky summit. It was at this point that I had my first doubts. Should we turn back now? But no, each time I keep chugging forward, intent on reaching that oh-so-close summit. 

As we topped the snow slopes, we were informed by groups on their way down that the clouds had just cleared at the summit and there were mountain goats galore to be seen. That erased any doubts I had about turning back and we pressed on.

Just short of the summit we were met by the last group of people on the mountain who were on their way down (perhaps a clue that I should have picked up on?) Instead, we were overjoyed at having the summit to ourselves. We spent precious minutes taking pictures of the fading sun reflecting on Mount Rainier, Adams, Baker, St. Helens, and the other snow covered peaks in the Olympic Mountain Range. There were mountain goats everywhere who seemed as curious about us as we were them.  The view was breathtaking.

We soon realize it’s time to descend and while we finally feel some urgency, there is no panic yet. That sets in after we find ourselves unable to locate the poorly marked trail in the lengthening shadows. After several false starts down mountain goat trails, we are greatly relieved to find the right path.

It's now dusk and we arrive back at the top of the snow slopes with a critical decision to make. If we walk down the steep snow fields, it will be fully dark by the time we are halfway down. We don’t have headlamps or flashlights and the moon has yet to rise. While it will be tedious picking our way down the icy slopes in the darkness, it’s the stretch of trail that meanders through the woods that will be impossible to navigate. The meager starlight cannot penetrate the thick canopy of trees.

We must get down fast, and we quickly realize our only option is to glissade, which is just a fancy term for sitting on your bum and sliding. Most climbers find this exhilarating and look forward to this part of the descent. But not me. Even under the best of circumstances, I dread the feeling of sliding out of control down a mountain. Call me crazy.

And this is far from the best of circumstances. In the waning light, on unknown terrain, and with rotten snow underneath, we slide using a trekking pole as a brake. I successfully make it down several of the slopes but on the last one, I let myself go too fast and careen out of control. I land in a pile of sharp rocks and scrub trees with more than my pride injured.

It was only determination to avoid becoming the lead story on the local news that propelled me the half mile back to the car in the now deserted parking area. A visit to the emergency room revealed multiple deep scrapes and bruises as well as a dislocated hip. It is sheer luck that my hip somewhat popped back into place after my slide, otherwise I would never have made it out under my own power.

I pride myself on being a prepared and cautious outdoor enthusiast. It has bothered me that I made a series of such stupid decisions and I have a deep ache in my right hip on cold days as a reminder.

So it’s more than just a fitness goal for me to climb Mount Ellinor again. I want the chance to do it right this time. Come September, I plan on returning there equipped with a conditioned body, a fully stocked pack, a proper plan, and a much happier ending.