Mountains are never too far from my mind, since I can just glance out of my window and see the beautiful Japanese Alps. Twice weekly I pass through a tunnel under another mountain to where the the beautiful Yatsugatake range pictured above-- points like an arrow to the highest Japanese mountain, Fuji.
A series of recent events focused my mind even more intently on mountains.
It started when in January this year, when Sir Edmond Hillary passed away. I've had a special interest in Hillary-- his life, and what he felt about life's meaning and challenges-- since 1978, when I was asked to climb Mount Ranier. 'Where Hillery Whittaker trained before climbing Everest', and I accepted.
Later I'll tell you what happened on that climb.
Then, this summer, came the tragic news of the 11 deaths on K2-- and the sad stories behind the tragedy of these who had challenged this slightly lower, but more dangerous, neighbor of Everest.
First summited in 1954, K2 has a fatality rate of about 25 percent. Fredrik Straeng, a survivor of last week’s disaster, said that a lack of experience on the part of new climbers was a cause of the mishap. “The accident could have been prevented. These mountains lure way too inexperienced and naive people.”
'Tourist' climbers aside, the reality is that, until recently, on either K2 or Everest, if 10 people went up, only 6 or 7 could count on coming down. These climbers must have known that the danger was there. Decisions were made. Choices taken. We view the consequences.
If you're going to climb a mountain, you have to have the feeling that it's worth dying for! If you're going to climb any mountain--the mountain of this life, the mountain of accomplishment, the mountain of obstacles, of difficulty--it has to be worth braving wind and cold and storm, symbolic of adversities. (DBB)
Next, someone close to me was in the midst of a mountain-sized decision concerning their life. I wanted to communicate how important it is to see both the reality of the challenge they were considering-- that-- besides courage-- wisdom, experience and teamwork were needed. I realized that the experiences of climbers and the intense challenge of mountain-climbing relates so vividly to the various challenges we face in life.
Then, during one day's morning devotional reading, someone read from a book condensation which included, from The Law of Mount Everest, by John C. Maxwell,
“As the challenge escalates, the need for teamwork elevates”
This was like a key that brought to focus what I'd hoped to relate. Excited, I returned to my desk to look up something I'd just read by Tenzing Norgay,
You do not climb a mountain like Everest by trying to race ahead on your own, or by competing with your comrades. You do it slowly and carefully, by unselfish teamwork. Certainly I wanted to reach the top myself; it was the thing I had dreamed of all my life. But if the lot fell to someone else I would take it like a man, and not a crybaby. For that is the mountain way.
I think I understand, a little, the K2 climbers-- who pushed into danger when an apparent 'window of opportunity' had opened. For I too had – in my own, far less experienced way-- risked my life and the life of another by pushing past the limits of my strength and experience.
An experienced climber and friend called to say that he had a short break from work, so he wanted me to join him in summiting Mt. Ranier-- a giant that loomed above my home near Seattle, Washington.
We would arrive at the mountain in the afternoon, then hike to near the summit, where we would sleep on a glacier before finishing the climb and descending the next morning.
“The Everest team went straight up and back in one afternoon,” he assured me.
(From the Wikipedia) Mountain climbing on Mount Rainier is difficult. It includes climbing on the largest glaciers in the U.S. south of Alaska. Most climbers require two to three days to reach the summit, with weather and conditioning being the most common reasons for failure. Climbing teams require experience in glacier travel, self-rescue, and wilderness travel. About 8,000 - 13,000 people attempt the climb each year , about 90% via routes from Camp Muir on the southwest flank. About half of the attempts are successful. About two to three mountaineering deaths each year occur due to rock and ice fall, avalanche, falls, and hypothermia associated with severe weather.
I grew up where the world was, well, flat-- Middle-America flat. And although I'd scrambled up a couple mountains in California and Mexico-- this was a mountain with a capital 'M'-- 14,410 feet (4,392 m) and covered with 27 major glaciers. Rising from nearly sea level, the peak looms over the surrounding area-- rising above its base even more than K2-- over 13,000 feet (4,000 meters). Locals just call it, 'The Mountain'.
My appreciation of The Mountain's size grew as we hiked from Paradise Lodge to Camp Muir-- up, and up, and up-- ascending 2,300 ft. It was early fall. We met park rangers-- normally stationed at Camp Muir-- who were descending as it was the last day of the official climbing season.
“Looks like you'll be the only ones on the mountain. Watch the weather-- it can change quickly.”
Alone on the mountaintop, you feel so close to the Lord. The voice of His Spirit there is so loud it's almost like it's thundering! But the voice of the multitude is so loud in the valley that you can't hear the voice of God. The silence on the mountain peak is deafening. You get a real "high" on top of a mountain. It's a thrill! (DBB)
We reached snow as we approached Camp Muir at 10,000 ft (3,000 meters). We took less than the normal 3 hours to make this part, yet the sun was already setting when we got to Camp Muir-- a rough stone building constructed in the early 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corp. Climbers normally stay at this point to rest, often leaving in the wee hours of the morning to reach the top at dawn if possible.
There, I collapsed onto a slanted stone map table. I wasn't conditioned and had pushed hard; climbed too fast. My head was pounding and I was dizzy and nauseous. After a moment I pulled myself up and did my best to look strong and alert. I'm not sure how good of an actor I was, but it was clear that we were going to press on.
The day was also clear-- beautifully, perfectly clear-- south, all the way to the horizon, all the way across Washington and well into Oregon. In those moments I absorbed an image that I've never forgotten. Around 50 miles away, Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens glowed in the setting sun. Mount St. Helens was still a tall cone then-- known as 'the Mount Fuji of the Americas'-- before losing 400 meters-- 1300 feet-- and a third of its mass in a volcanic explosion in 1980.
On the mountain you are the first to see the sun rise and the last to see it set. You see the full circle of God's glorious creation--the 360-degree circumference of the horizon, the entire scope. It's like seeing all of life from its beginning to its end and understanding. feel like you're living in eternity, whereas down below they're living in time. You see the world in its proper perspective, with range after range to be conquered, and a world beyond the vision and horizon of normal men. You see distant peaks yet to be climbed, distant valleys yet to be crossed. You see things that the men in the valleys can never see, or even comprehend. (DBB)
As darkness fell, we prepared for our next leg. The plan was to cross the Cowlitz Glacier, climb a passage up a cliff covered in loose rock and ash at Cathedral Gap and then camp at 11,000 feet on the Ingraham Glacier. As we roped ourselves together, I received a brief instruction on how to 'self-arrest', should my partner-- to whom I was securely roped-- fall into a crevice or on an icy slope, I was to become an anchor by turning and digging in with my ice-axe.
“If you don't, the one who falls will just pull the other with him.”-- I got it.
It was dark now. A narrow pathway of packed snow wove across the glacier. My increasingly unsteadiness caused me step off the path repeatedly, sinking into deep snow, adding to weariness. After some time of silently moving ahead, we came to a stop.
“There's a snow bridge. I'm going to check it.”
I watched as he inched slowly forward for a few moments before it collapsed and he slid down into a crevice.
I watched-- just watched. I watched and realized that he'd only fallen five or six feet-- maybe a couple meters. It registered that I hadn't 'self-arrested'-- I hadn't moved at all. We could have both easily gone into the crevice, had it been deeper. We could have...
“Sorry,” I said weakly.
I think it dawned on my partner that half of his team was in no shape to go further and he suggested we turn back and spend the night at Camp Muir, which we did. He took it well, and I would have taken it better, had I known how many don't make it to the top. Besides, had I been more aware of the dangers, I would have been more honest my condition earlier.
My inexperience, lack of preparation, unrealistic expectations and, to a great extent my pride-- not being willing to express my weakness-- brought us close to disaster.
My conclusion?
The mountain-- as any great challenges in life-- can indeed be a measure of what we are made of-- our strengths-- and weaknesses. These challenges are tough-- but worth taking up. The greater the challenge, the more is required for it to be conquered -- hard work and preparation, along with right attitudes and teamwork.
My favorite quotes from Tenjin Norgay and Sir Edmond Hillary (and team) -- the first to summit Everest- May 29, 1953
(Hillary) I’ve always hated the danger part of climbing, and it’s great to come down again because it’s safe ... But there is something about building up a comradeship ― that I still believe is the greatest of all feats ― and sharing in the dangers with your company of peers. It’s the intense effort, the giving of everything you’ve got.
(Norgay) “[The pair of climbers who had preceded us] were worn out with exhaustion, and, of course, terribly disappointed that they had not reached the summit themselves. But still... they did everything they could to advise and help us. And I thought, 'Yes, that is how is is on the mountain. That is ho a mountain makes men great.' For where would Hillary and I have been with out the others? Without the climbers who had made the route and the Sherpas who had carried the loads? Without Bourdilon and Evans, Hunt and Da Namgyal, who had cleared the way ahead? Without Lowe and Gregory, Ang Hyima, Ang Tempra and Penba, who were there only to help us? It was only because of the work and sacrifice of all of them that we were now to have our chance at the top.”
(Hillary) The explorers of the past were great men and we should honor them. But let us not forget that their spirit lives on. It is still not hard to find a man who will adventure for the sake of a dream or one who will search, for the pleasure of searching, not for what he may find.
Only pioneers climb mountains--people who want to do something that few have ever done before, who want to get above the multitude and go beyond what has already been accomplished. Pioneers must have vision--vision to see what no one else can see; faith--faith to believe things no one else believes; initiative--initiative to be the first one to try it; courage--the guts to see it through! (DBB)
Sources:
News compiled from various articles, Hillary and Norgay quotes from wikiquotes.com and DBB quotes from “Mountain Men” by David Brant Berg
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