It was approaching 3:30 AM on Saturday morning as I
attempted to turn my body over in my tight quarters. I was wrapped in a sleeping bag, wearing a
pair of snow pants and a fleece jacket, sleeping between my two friends Nick and Scott inside a two-person tent on the snow covered ground, 10,400 feet up the side of
Mount Shasta. As I turned, I felt my
foot lightly strike Nick in the head. Or
maybe it was his face. “Sorry Nick” I
said. No response. He was knocked out and apparently didn’t feel
or hear a thing. What a fun night this
was! I closed my eyes in an effort to
get a little more sleep before it was time to start climbing again. I began cracking up about my current
predicament knowing that without a doubt, Scott, Nick, and I would become best of friends amid this experience of being crammed together in a tent all
night on a mountain, barely able to move.
My adventure began at 4:00 AM on Friday morning. I began stumbling around my apartment trying to
wake up, getting my gear together for the upcoming adventure. As I gathered my equipment I took mental
inventory of everything I needed: Mountaineering boots, snow pants, ice axe,
gloves, helmet, headlamp, goggles, bandana, warm clothing, tent, sleeping bag. Scott and Jose arrived a few minutes before 5:00
AM. I said goodbye to my wife and dog,
crammed my gear into Scott’s trunk, and we hit the road. It was a nine hour drive from West LA to
Mount Shasta. We made our way up the 5
freeway through the central valley past farms, ranches, small outposts, and
distant mountains. After passing through
the town of Redding, the flat, featureless land gave way to rolling hills
filled with Douglas Fir trees and granite mountain peaks. As we crossed the bridge and passed over
Shasta Lake, we watched the jet skiers and wake boarders on the lake below. A warm summer day was in progress in the Northern
California mountains. Our destination
came into view as we descended a hill on the freeway. Part of the southern Cascade range, Mount
Shasta is a free standing mountain rising 14,172 feet, towering over all of the
surrounding peaks in the area. The
mountain is so prominent, it can be seen up to one hundred and twenty miles
away from the freeway. Even in June, it
was still covered in snow, completely white. “Can’t wait to get up there” Jose said as we
all fixed our eyes on the mountain. We
were going to be climbing with a group of thirteen people up Avalanche Gulch to the summit. Due to its
elevation and towering prominence, Mount Shasta tends to draw in extreme
weather, the conditions having the potential to deteriorate sometimes within an
hour. We had all heard stories about
this mountain. About climbers being
forced to turn around because they became so ill with altitude sickness, they
could barely move. About how people had
gone back down alone and had gotten lost.
A few weeks ago, a friend of ours had climbed up eleven thousand feet before
having to retreat back to camp for fear of heat stroke. While the climb isn’t technically challenging,
it is steep in certain areas and requires the use of crampons and an ice axe. This expedition was going to be about one
thing; working together as a team. We
all shared a common goal of reaching the summit and we would help each other
along the way to accomplish that goal.
When we arrived into town we made our way up the windy, tree lined road through the Shasta-Trinity Forest to the Bunny Flat trailhead. Once the rest of our team arrived, we greeted each other with hugs, high fives, and handshakes, made our final preparations and began climbing around 7:45 PM. The plan was to climb up the mountain side (there was no trail) in the snow to Helen Lake High Camp, rest for the night, and begin our push for the summit the next morning at 6:00 AM. We made our way through the forest, single file, with the tree lined path soon giving way to the exposed mount slopes. After a mile of climbing through the middle of the giant U shaped gulch, we turned around as the sun was setting. The sunset was spectacular and various hues of purple, blue, and orange hovered over the horizon above the tree line and mountains in the distance. We stopped at horse camp, elevation 7,900 feet, to de-layer and use what was by far the cleanest outhouse restroom I had ever seen. As we continued to make our way up the steep mountain side, the sun was setting and soon fell below the horizon. We switched on our headlamps, and although it was now dark and the temperature was in the 40’s, I hardly felt cold. The steps up this steep climb were keeping my blood flowing and keeping my body warm. Hours passed, distance was covered, and by midnight we were ascending a particularly steep climb, about a thousand feet below camp. During a brief rest break we turned off our headlamps. With no light pollution to dilute the atmosphere, the sky was absolutely stunning. A million stars sparkled brightly down on us. If we had looked long enough, we could have identified countless constellations. As we pressed on, exhaustion began to set in. The steepness of the climb, altitude, and the weight of my pack were taking a toll on me. Still, I kept moving forward, periodically slipping in the uneven snow. We climbers exchanged few words with each other along this challenging section but we were all focused and determined. My world was confined to the light of my headlamp, the snow on the ground in front of me, and the footprints of Rigo, our leader, who was in front of me leading the way. I was trying my best to climb in his steps to prevent stumbling. “Man Rigo, your footprints sure are a nice view” I joked with my head down looking at the snow. I occasionally looked up, hoping to see a horizon where the whiteness of the snow and the blackness of the starry sky came together, indicating that we were approaching the crest of the hill where we would arrive at Helen Lake, our destination for the night. I stopped, looked back, and saw a long string of headlamps down the mountain. Our group had become spread out. Our other guide, who was in the back, had notified us via walkie talkie that a couple of our team members were having some cramping issues. We decided it was best to stop and wait for a few minutes while they caught up. We soon resumed forward progress, step by step, and I could now detect a line in the distance where the snow met with the sky. “We’ll be there in seven minutes if we keep moving” Rigo said. I kept climbing, feet sliding down in the snow occasionally, and soon we heard the sound of flapping tents. As we crested the hill, the tents came into view. Several of them were set up in the small, flat area, some of them next to snow walls or in holes to mitigate the strong winds that were rushing through. One guy was in a down sleeping bag sleeping on top of a sleeping pad in the snow with a make shift circular wall built around him. By the time everyone arrived, it was very windy and we struggled to get our tents set up. Mine almost took me away like a kite while I was trying to slide the pole through fasteners on top. After several minutes of trying and getting nowhere, I laid the tent in the snow and laid down, deciding I would go “cowboy style” i.e. sleep in my sleeping bag on top of my tent under the stars. Nick offered to let me sleep in his tent so I helped get it set up. When it was time to crash at around 1:30 AM, there were three guys including myself, crammed into Nick’s two person tent. Laying right between Nick and Scott I said “Wow, I feel like a hot dog. You guys are sure going to keep me warm tonight!” We had a good laugh and drifted off to sleep. The wind below our tent around all throughout the night and it was difficult getting to sleep.
I managed to sleep for a couple of hours but was wide awake when my rooster alarm went off at 5:30 AM. After climbing over Scott and getting my boots on, I unzipped our tent and crawled outside. The morning air was cold and refreshing and the sunrise was breathtaking. A few people at the camp were also awake and admiring the view. The only problem was the wind was still blowing and it was blustery. I turned to face the mountain and watched a line of climbers pushing for the summit. A few minutes later, Rigo emerged from his tent. We exchanged pleasantries and watched the line of climbers. “Half of those people won’t make it” Rigo said. “Yeah, this wind is kind of brutal. Hey, what do we do if we need to take a wiz?” I inquired. He pointed to a small hill of snow next to a line of tents. “Go up there and aim away from the wind”. I had to wait a few minutes for the wind ease down but I did my business and remained dry. Returning to my tent, I reached into my pack and pulled out a small pack of donuts and a granola bar. The donuts had been dehydrated and were crumbling as I picked them up but they were still delicious. I was feeling optimistic. “we got this” I thought to myself. All we need is the wind to dissipate. Thirty minutes passed and the wind still howled. Now, the people who were climbing to the summit were coming back down and running for cover. The wind picked up and began blowing snow and ice. Scott emerged from our tent in the middle of the chaos. “Good morning buddy! Welcome to summer camp” I said. Tents were flapping everywhere, gear was being blown around, and people were trying to shield themselves from the blowing ice and snow. Two hours later, the forty mile per hour constant winds had not let up one bit. We had a group gathering and the unanimous decision was to head back down to the trail head. No way we were going to be able to climb another 3,500 feet to the summit with forty mile per hour winds blowing snow and ice straight into our faces. After a long struggle, we were able to pack all of our gear up and we began our decent back to the parking lot. A few minutes after leaving Helen Lake, the wind had subsided and we could now enjoy the scenery. It was a beautiful sunny day with clear, cool air and blue skies. A few of us adopted a method of getting down the slope by taking off our crampons, sitting in the snow, and sliding down on our butts. Not only was it lots of fun but it was faster than walking down. Scott and I hiked down together for a while. We chatted about how nice the mountain was, how crazy the weather had gotten, and how we would come back for redemption.
Eventually we made it back to our cars and once everyone arrived, we congregated at the Black Bear Diner for a meal around 1:30 PM. During brunch, our guides congratulated us on our impressive feat. As we ate, Ronald went around the table to each of us, pointing out what he viewed as our best quality. He then went on to say that we were all winners, thanked us for showing up, and reveled in how much he loved the experience. There was lots of laughter, smiles, and everyone seemed lit. This adventure as a team had brought us all closer together and connected us all in ways we had yet to understand. We finished eating, paid our tabs, and Scott, Nemo, Jose, and I bid the rest of our team farewell and began our journey back home. After nine hours, I was dropped off at my apartment and hauled my gear inside. Walking through the door, I gave my wife and a dog hugs and kisses, told them how much I missed them, and began sharing stories. It was great to be home, but a part of me didn’t want this trip to end. Even though the rest of the team and I had only been together for thirty-six hours, I missed them already. We started out, all connected by one goal: reaching the summit. If someone was struggling, we would give words of encouragement or physical assistance. We were all in it together. This ran deeper than sitting around, drinking beer, watching TV, and having meaningless conversations. These were true friendships with a purpose. This sense of togetherness and teamwork has created strong friendships within the running and hiking community. Sometimes I won’t see these guys for a few months at a time, but when we reconvene, it’s as if we never missed a beat. We pick up right where we left off. In addition to hiking and climbing, we also participate together in several running events. With each adventure, our friendship evolves and our respect for on another grows stronger. I will be forever grateful to the friends I have made in the running and hiking communities both in California and in Chicago. These are the friends in my life with whom I connect on the highest level. We all share a hunger, a sense of adventure, and we revel together in our accomplishments. Thank you for everything you guys are awesome!
When we arrived into town we made our way up the windy, tree lined road through the Shasta-Trinity Forest to the Bunny Flat trailhead. Once the rest of our team arrived, we greeted each other with hugs, high fives, and handshakes, made our final preparations and began climbing around 7:45 PM. The plan was to climb up the mountain side (there was no trail) in the snow to Helen Lake High Camp, rest for the night, and begin our push for the summit the next morning at 6:00 AM. We made our way through the forest, single file, with the tree lined path soon giving way to the exposed mount slopes. After a mile of climbing through the middle of the giant U shaped gulch, we turned around as the sun was setting. The sunset was spectacular and various hues of purple, blue, and orange hovered over the horizon above the tree line and mountains in the distance. We stopped at horse camp, elevation 7,900 feet, to de-layer and use what was by far the cleanest outhouse restroom I had ever seen. As we continued to make our way up the steep mountain side, the sun was setting and soon fell below the horizon. We switched on our headlamps, and although it was now dark and the temperature was in the 40’s, I hardly felt cold. The steps up this steep climb were keeping my blood flowing and keeping my body warm. Hours passed, distance was covered, and by midnight we were ascending a particularly steep climb, about a thousand feet below camp. During a brief rest break we turned off our headlamps. With no light pollution to dilute the atmosphere, the sky was absolutely stunning. A million stars sparkled brightly down on us. If we had looked long enough, we could have identified countless constellations. As we pressed on, exhaustion began to set in. The steepness of the climb, altitude, and the weight of my pack were taking a toll on me. Still, I kept moving forward, periodically slipping in the uneven snow. We climbers exchanged few words with each other along this challenging section but we were all focused and determined. My world was confined to the light of my headlamp, the snow on the ground in front of me, and the footprints of Rigo, our leader, who was in front of me leading the way. I was trying my best to climb in his steps to prevent stumbling. “Man Rigo, your footprints sure are a nice view” I joked with my head down looking at the snow. I occasionally looked up, hoping to see a horizon where the whiteness of the snow and the blackness of the starry sky came together, indicating that we were approaching the crest of the hill where we would arrive at Helen Lake, our destination for the night. I stopped, looked back, and saw a long string of headlamps down the mountain. Our group had become spread out. Our other guide, who was in the back, had notified us via walkie talkie that a couple of our team members were having some cramping issues. We decided it was best to stop and wait for a few minutes while they caught up. We soon resumed forward progress, step by step, and I could now detect a line in the distance where the snow met with the sky. “We’ll be there in seven minutes if we keep moving” Rigo said. I kept climbing, feet sliding down in the snow occasionally, and soon we heard the sound of flapping tents. As we crested the hill, the tents came into view. Several of them were set up in the small, flat area, some of them next to snow walls or in holes to mitigate the strong winds that were rushing through. One guy was in a down sleeping bag sleeping on top of a sleeping pad in the snow with a make shift circular wall built around him. By the time everyone arrived, it was very windy and we struggled to get our tents set up. Mine almost took me away like a kite while I was trying to slide the pole through fasteners on top. After several minutes of trying and getting nowhere, I laid the tent in the snow and laid down, deciding I would go “cowboy style” i.e. sleep in my sleeping bag on top of my tent under the stars. Nick offered to let me sleep in his tent so I helped get it set up. When it was time to crash at around 1:30 AM, there were three guys including myself, crammed into Nick’s two person tent. Laying right between Nick and Scott I said “Wow, I feel like a hot dog. You guys are sure going to keep me warm tonight!” We had a good laugh and drifted off to sleep. The wind below our tent around all throughout the night and it was difficult getting to sleep.
I managed to sleep for a couple of hours but was wide awake when my rooster alarm went off at 5:30 AM. After climbing over Scott and getting my boots on, I unzipped our tent and crawled outside. The morning air was cold and refreshing and the sunrise was breathtaking. A few people at the camp were also awake and admiring the view. The only problem was the wind was still blowing and it was blustery. I turned to face the mountain and watched a line of climbers pushing for the summit. A few minutes later, Rigo emerged from his tent. We exchanged pleasantries and watched the line of climbers. “Half of those people won’t make it” Rigo said. “Yeah, this wind is kind of brutal. Hey, what do we do if we need to take a wiz?” I inquired. He pointed to a small hill of snow next to a line of tents. “Go up there and aim away from the wind”. I had to wait a few minutes for the wind ease down but I did my business and remained dry. Returning to my tent, I reached into my pack and pulled out a small pack of donuts and a granola bar. The donuts had been dehydrated and were crumbling as I picked them up but they were still delicious. I was feeling optimistic. “we got this” I thought to myself. All we need is the wind to dissipate. Thirty minutes passed and the wind still howled. Now, the people who were climbing to the summit were coming back down and running for cover. The wind picked up and began blowing snow and ice. Scott emerged from our tent in the middle of the chaos. “Good morning buddy! Welcome to summer camp” I said. Tents were flapping everywhere, gear was being blown around, and people were trying to shield themselves from the blowing ice and snow. Two hours later, the forty mile per hour constant winds had not let up one bit. We had a group gathering and the unanimous decision was to head back down to the trail head. No way we were going to be able to climb another 3,500 feet to the summit with forty mile per hour winds blowing snow and ice straight into our faces. After a long struggle, we were able to pack all of our gear up and we began our decent back to the parking lot. A few minutes after leaving Helen Lake, the wind had subsided and we could now enjoy the scenery. It was a beautiful sunny day with clear, cool air and blue skies. A few of us adopted a method of getting down the slope by taking off our crampons, sitting in the snow, and sliding down on our butts. Not only was it lots of fun but it was faster than walking down. Scott and I hiked down together for a while. We chatted about how nice the mountain was, how crazy the weather had gotten, and how we would come back for redemption.
Eventually we made it back to our cars and once everyone arrived, we congregated at the Black Bear Diner for a meal around 1:30 PM. During brunch, our guides congratulated us on our impressive feat. As we ate, Ronald went around the table to each of us, pointing out what he viewed as our best quality. He then went on to say that we were all winners, thanked us for showing up, and reveled in how much he loved the experience. There was lots of laughter, smiles, and everyone seemed lit. This adventure as a team had brought us all closer together and connected us all in ways we had yet to understand. We finished eating, paid our tabs, and Scott, Nemo, Jose, and I bid the rest of our team farewell and began our journey back home. After nine hours, I was dropped off at my apartment and hauled my gear inside. Walking through the door, I gave my wife and a dog hugs and kisses, told them how much I missed them, and began sharing stories. It was great to be home, but a part of me didn’t want this trip to end. Even though the rest of the team and I had only been together for thirty-six hours, I missed them already. We started out, all connected by one goal: reaching the summit. If someone was struggling, we would give words of encouragement or physical assistance. We were all in it together. This ran deeper than sitting around, drinking beer, watching TV, and having meaningless conversations. These were true friendships with a purpose. This sense of togetherness and teamwork has created strong friendships within the running and hiking community. Sometimes I won’t see these guys for a few months at a time, but when we reconvene, it’s as if we never missed a beat. We pick up right where we left off. In addition to hiking and climbing, we also participate together in several running events. With each adventure, our friendship evolves and our respect for on another grows stronger. I will be forever grateful to the friends I have made in the running and hiking communities both in California and in Chicago. These are the friends in my life with whom I connect on the highest level. We all share a hunger, a sense of adventure, and we revel together in our accomplishments. Thank you for everything you guys are awesome!
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