I awoke from my sleep the other night. This has become a new normal for me. I have not had a good night's sleep since the night before we left our tent for our summit attempt on Mt. Jefferson. I have tried a myriad of remedies ranging from the natural to prescriptions. Even on my best night, I wake up several times throughout the night. I suppose it just comes along with the territory for now. However, something was different about this wake up call. I felt this strange feeling of inspiration and motivation come over me.
We were having an unusual spell of gorgeous, sunny days for the Pacific Northwest. I grabbed my laptop and my fingers instantly typed in the Google search bar the following words: "Climbing Mt. St Helens in Winter." I read up on the route, which is called Worm Flows and then proceeded to complete my in depth weather check. Everything was good to go. It was 1 am. I knew I needed a few more hours of rest before making the two and a half hour drive and twelve mile climb. I set the laptop down and set my alarm for 5 am.
Strangely, my body did not fight sleep as much as it usually does after one of my many wake up spells. Next thing I knew, my alarm was waking me up to a gentle yet energetic tune. Time to pack my backpack and let my friend know what I was up to. In attempts on not waking her up this early in the morning, I had planned to leave her a note with the details. I left my room and was headed downstairs when I saw the soft, yellow glow seeping out from underneath her door. I tiptoed to her door and softly whispered, "human?" She responded! I told her my plans and she stated that I was buzzing with energy. She accompanied me downstairs while I packed the rest of my things.
This will be my first truly solo hike/climb since I decided to leave the dogs at home due to the long day that this climb would entail. I made sure I packed headphones in the event that my empty mind went haywire. I had audio books downloaded to keep my mind occupied and even brought a back up cell phone for music. I was just about ready to start my long, quiet drive to the trailhead when she asked, "Are you bringing Tommy?" I stopped in my tracks and was silent for quite awhile. What was I afraid of? Why wouldn't I take him? He had never been to the summit of Mt St Helens for he was waiting for winter when it was more of challenge. "Yes...I'm going to take him!" I responded with both excitement and hesitation in my voice.
We both ran back upstairs and found the perfect pouch. It was small enough to take a small amount of Tommy's ashes with me. Small enough to fit in my pocket. Now that I had the pouch I was going to take him in, it was time to open the perfectly adorned scattering tube to access his remains. The pain was real. The struggle was intense. I pushed through. I would have done anything to go on this climb with my lover. I opened the lid and delicately placed one spoonful of what remains of my husband into the pouch. I sealed the pouch and placed it in my left hand pocket along with the rock that is inscribed " I love us." It was a rock that we would give back and forth to each other on different summits - an idea we initially got from the penguins that search the beaches for the perfect pebble to give to their mates. I realigned the image on his scattering tube so it was perfect and placed his wedding band back on top and headed out for our climb together.
Like I have mentioned previously, I am not afraid of hiking alone. I have spent countless days hiking and scrambling to summits in the sierras while solo. However, there is a piece of me that is afraid of what my mind might bring up while out in the mountains these days. With no distractions of daily life, what will I think of? Will I break down in tears and not be able to carry on? Will I have flashbacks? The scariest thing for me regarding my mental game is the unknown. I know I have to be alone at some point but I have definitely been postponing it out of the fear. Arriving at the trailhead I told myself that it was time to face the truth. Time to face the pain. Time to face the fear. It was time.
From the trailhead, I instantly needed snowshoes for traction. I focused on my breathing and the wandering trail through the forest. I had only gotten a tiny glimpse of the mountain during the drive in and she was now in hiding. Once out of the tree line, the route was up for discussion. I saw snowshoe tracks going up a ridgeline, heading toward the summit. I saw other tracks wrapping around a small hill where I saw a sign that read "Ski Trail Loop." I waivered on which way to go. This was not in the research that I had read. That was when I heard Tommy's voice, "If all else fails, just go up." So, that's what I did. I knew my goal was the summit, so I headed straight for it and went up the ridgeline. That ridgeline met up with another steeper ridge that needed to be gained at which point I realized that this must not be the "route." There wasn't that many footprints and from what I understand, this is a fairly popular mountain. That is when I scanned my surroundings.
To the left, three of four small ridges over, I could see the stamped out path to the summit. I debated whether or not to retreat and get on the path or continue up the path less traveled. It would have been and exhaustive measure just to meet up with the normal path. I decided to stay on the path less traveled. I call this pulling a "Tommy." Throughout all of our adventures I can recall several occasions where we took the more "creative" route - somehow leaving a nicely groomed trail for one covered with downed trees and boulders and scree (my favorite!). As I fought my way up this icy ridge, grabbing onto trees for added oomph, I giggled to myself. Of course this is how our climb would go, he wouldn't have it any other way.
For those that don't know me, I am typically a trail kind of girl. I prefer a nicely groomed trail over bushwhacking through the forest. I prefer solid footing over loose rock or boulders that move underneath my feet. I prefer knowing exactly where I am going as opposed to guessing my route. I prefer a nice timid day to hike as opposed to too hot or too cold. I can still do all of the other situations, I just may or not be a little more vocal about my dislikes. On several of our climbs, I would reach a point where I would have a mini mental break down about how much the footing sucked or how I didn't like hopping over trees and getting whipped with branches. Today was different though.
I was getting hit with branches as I forcefully pulled myself up the icy slope. I was scrambling on volcanic boulders with my snowshoes still on, pulling and testing holds before I used them for the rock is very crumbly. The slope on the ridgeline that would eventually take me to the summit became steeper. My snowshoes were becoming less effective in combating the steep slope and the snow was becoming softer due to the gorgeous sun. I switched to crampons to aide in my climb. From time to time (more times than I am normally okay with), I would take a step and my foot would sink through the snow until I was waist deep. I would dig deep and struggle my out of the post hole and carry on. I fought and fought this mountain, this less traveled route. I fought hard. I dug deep. I continued.
Normally, I would have lost my composure at the second or third time I lost my footing. However, just like when I awoke at 1 am, something was different this time. It very well could have been that I had a mission to get Tommy to the top. Or it could have been that Tommy was providing me with some of his strength and level headedness. Whatever it was, it was amazing. Long story short, I failed to reach the summit. I decided to turn around when it was nearing 4 pm and I still had about 1000 vertical feet to climb. I was prepared to hike out in the dark but ideally I don't like to still be pushing for the summit when it comes to dusk. At the point when I realized I couldn't make it, I turned around and attempted to soak in the views. From where I was on the mountain side, I could see three other glorious cascade mountains - Mt Adams, Mt Hood, and always looming in the distance, Mt. Jefferson.
It was at this point that my knees slowly buckled and I sank until the snowy slope of the mountain caught me. I wasn't in danger of falling. It was more of a sinking to my knees move, I was giving in. Tears rolled down my face and I told Tommy that I couldn't make it, that "I tried so hard, baby...I just couldn't do it." I sat there on the mountain side and just cried. The tears weren't there for my failure. They were there because of my pain, because of losing my lover, because Tommy wasn't here to see this beauty and experience this mountain. I cried and I cried and I cried. I told him how much I miss him and how much I love him and how sorry I was for not getting him up there to see the other side. The pain was real. The struggle was real. The hurt was so real. I couldn't escape it this time by hopping on my computer or calling my mom or turning on a movie. It was just me, the mountain and my pain.
Again, I dug deep, turned my pain into strength and carried on down the mountain. My phone that I was using for music died and I was left with my thoughts and my thoughts only for the descent. I made it. I talked to Tommy at times as if he were there. Other times I was just silent and my mind was still. I reveled in the things that I had accomplished during the ascent. I was proud of myself. I found strength in the pain. I realized that I now have a strength that is untouchable - a strength that may have always been in me but one that I never knew was there. Pain doesn't always have to break us down, it can build character, and show us what we really want. Pain is just another obstacle. Pain can be beautiful and strong and graceful. I embrace the pain and all that it brings me.
P.S. I am stronger because of you, Tommy. I love you with a passion and we will be on many summits together, my dear. I had a dream the other night and you were in it. I asked you, "what do we do now?" and you said "My love, we could talk, we could lay, we could just be." And then you wrapped your arms around me in a lovers embrace. I could feel it. My skin around my back and shoulders were tingling with the sensation of your arms wrapped around me. I could feel it, baby. I would give anything to feel that again. I love you so fiercely, lover.
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