Mt. Rainier Sanctification

At a Glance

Metadata	Details
Publication Date	2022-07-01
Journal	Dialogue A Journal of Mormon Thought
Authors	Heather J. Longhurst

Abstract

For nearly three hours, I’d been trying unsuccessfully to sleep. It was definitely not the most comfortable bed I’d ever had—only a thin yellow and silver accordion-style pad separated my sleeping bag from the particleboard platform bunk. I had no pillow; a pillow was too much of an extravagance to haul up to ten thousand feet. But I was glad I opted for the warmer, albeit slightly heavier, sleeping bag. Even though my bed was hard, it was warm as I cuddled a hot water bottle like a teddy bear.The room rattled with the snores of three men, my climbing partners. I was the only woman. We were lucky to get a spot in the stone shelter at Camp Muir, the climbing basecamp of Mt. Rainier. We would be waking at 1:00 a.m. to begin our summit attempt, a climb of nearly 4,500 feet that would take six to nine hours. The sun had finally gone down, the hazy glow of the small, dirty windows extinguished at last. But it wasn’t the light in the room that kept me awake. Or the snoring. Or the lack of a pillow. It was panic, silent and extreme.Today had been harder than I’d expected. We climbed about 4,800 feet from the trailhead at Paradise with me struggling the last one thousand feet. Although I’d completed hikes with weighted packs in preparation for this climb, my pack felt too heavy. I didn’t layer up and allowed myself to get too cold in the snow and wind. I was depleted, and we hadn’t even started the hard part yet.What in the world was I thinking? Rainier is a serious mountain—14,411 feet of massive rock and ice. I was tortured with possibilities—me, hauled off the mountain by a Chinook helicopter, dangling above the trees in a rescue basket or falling in a crevasse, pulling the entire team after me, where we’d all suffocate and freeze to death.More than violent death, I feared revealing that I wasn’t strong enough or brave enough. That I simply didn’t have enough stamina and grit. Tomorrow I knew I would be asking things of myself I’d never asked before and discovering things I’d never known. More than anything, I was scared I wouldn’t like what I found.At some point, counting fears must have worked like counting sheep because I fell asleep. A few unrested hours later, I stepped into the frigid air. At elevation, June feels like January. Looking up, I saw an indigo and purple sky filled with the most glorious display of stars I’d ever seen. The Milky Way looked as though God had spilled a bottle of glitter across the universe. I breathed in the magic of it all.Despite my fears, it felt right that I had come.We finished the morning tasks—boiling water for freeze-dried breakfasts, gathering ropes and carbineers, and lacing up crampons—and it was time to rope in. From here on out the four of us would be tethered together by a long purple rope.Mike, the most experienced climber by far, took the lead. A kind and jovial fiftysomething with a gap-tooth grin, Mike was the quintessential Boy Scout. He would be attempting his twentieth summit today, the cap to an intimidating and perfect record of nineteen attempts, nineteen summits. Mike was incredibly encouraging and patient and never made any of us feel the least bit small.Second on the rope was John, one of my most cherished friends but also someone I had barely spoken with in three years, not since the day I fired his wife Lara, shattered our friendship, and triggered his divorce. When my husband Matt and I picked him up from the airport two days ago, he greeted us with warm hugs and smiles, saying, “I’m really here and it’s really you guys!” That’s what you say to people you don’t see or talk with often but think about a lot. For the sake of the climb and our previous friendship, we were both pretending things were fine.Third on the rope was me, the weakest link, a newbie climber and forty-one-year-old mother of three, carrying more than my share of emotional baggage.Sterling, a twenty-two-year-old student and part-time lifeguard, filled the fourth and final position. I called him Strapping Sterling, partly because he was tall and muscular but mostly because of his handshake. He had a very firm handshake that I found incredibly reassuring. It boded well for his ability to rescue. We began, the four of us linked together by a long purple rope. It felt surreal. There was the tiniest hint of light on the horizon. We were traversing the upper portion of the Cowlitz Glacier, the incline relatively gentle. Concentrating on my pace so that the rope wasn’t too taut or too loose, I carried my ice axe in my left hand. Combined with the crampons on my feet, I felt very spikey.I’m such a badass right now, I thought, trying to convince myself this was possible.The last time John walked this path, he’d been on a mission: propose. None of us could imagine a more epic location for a marriage proposal. On that trip, he’d climbed with his girlfriend Lara, my husband Matt, and another buddy, Brent.Back then, Lara was my friend and fellow dancer. We all had big expectations for John and Lara, me included. After all, I’d engineered their meeting in the first place.I couldn’t wait for them to become our married besties, to create the quintessential Mormon life together where they would sit in the pews every Sunday with their perfectly styled and adorably curious children. Waiting below as they climbed, I dreamed of the weekends we would all hang out and roast s’mores and go on hikes, of Lara and me baking cakes and being in book clubs together. I was so excited and invested in their relationship, I even helped John choose the ring—a beautiful green emerald in a diamond halo on a gold band that I knew would perfectly complement Lara’s fiery auburn hair. He carried the ring to the top of this mountain, she said yes, and he put it on her finger.Perfect. Until it wasn’t. A last-minute purchase, my hydration pack arrived the afternoon before our departure. On the mountain, in the dark and wearing bulky gloves, I fumbled with the unfamiliar nozzle. The mouthpiece came off completely, squirting water everywhere. I couldn’t get it to stop.“Hey guys? Could we stop for just a second?” I called.“This isn’t a good place to stop,” Mike called back over his shoulder, his headlamp bobbing. “It’s prone to rock fall.”“Okay,” I said, as water leaked. Embarrassed and not wanting to inconvenience anyone, I kept fumbling, trying to reattach the mouthpiece as we hiked. By the time I got it under control, I’d lost a fair amount of water, my clothes and gloves were wet, and I still hadn’t had anything to drink.But this wasn’t the first time I’d put myself and others in a precarious position because I didn’t insist that we address a problem.After John and Lara married, we worked together at a ballroom dance studio. They were instructors and I was the executive director. Problems arose between John and Lara that bled into the classroom. Parents and students complained. Not wanting to strain my friends’ new marriage, I ignored issues or tried to take care of them myself.But, just like my tube, things were leaking. When we finally got to the top of the Gap, we were greeted by an incredible view of Little Tahoma, a black pyramid peak silhouetted against the rainbow of the early morning horizon.“It is so beautiful,” Sterling said. “So, so beautiful.”I smiled. I like people who appreciate a good view. Mike let us enjoy our wonder for a few moments before encouraging us on. As we reached Ingraham Flats, another climbing basecamp, the sun crested the horizon, bathing the snow in golden light.As we walked past the camp, John unexpectedly turned around and asked, “How are you doing, Heather?”I was surprised and touched. When things started going badly, there were many days when John arrived at work looking as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. I’d ask, “How are you doing, John?” There was rarely any talk about how I might be doing. It didn’t seem odd at the time. I’d taken on the role of fixer and rescuer—not just for John but for Lara too. This unevenness in our friendship made me feel needed and important, at least for a while. It was important to me to be important to them. John’s inquiry into my well-being was a nice change of pace for both of us. We’d come a long way.Looking at the magnificent setting—the towering rock walls on three sides and the glorious view of the misty valley below—I was overcome with emotion. I couldn’t believe I was actually here doing this.“I am deeply happy right now,” I said.He nodded, and I could tell he was happy too.Soon we were at the bottom of Disappointment Cleaver. A cleaver is a rock ridge that separates, or cleaves, two glaciers. It’s one of the most physically demanding parts of the climb, requiring us to boulder scramble for the better part of an hour to gain one thousand feet in elevation. Disappointment Cleaver breaks people. At this point, many realize they have underestimated climbing this mountain. They give up and turn around. I worried that I would be one of the quitters.I decided that this was probably a good time to fess up about my water situation.“Guys? My tube is completely frozen. I haven’t been able to get any water out.”“Well, that won’t do!” Mike said, quickly coming over to inspect and help.“Heather, put your tube in your coat for a little while. That will melt the ice. Here. Take my water bottle,” John said.“I can’t take your water bottle, John. What will you drink?”“I’ll be fine. Have you had anything to drink since we left?” he asked.“Not really.”“Heather, get the water.”He turned his pack to me so I could unzip the pocket and pull his water out. It was really wedged in there, and I started to make a joke about how pulling it out was like birthing a baby when it suddenly popped free and hit me full force in the nose.“Ahhhh!”“No!”“Oh, man! Heather, are you okay?”I held my nose and closed my eyes to let the stinging subside while I considered whether I had broken it or not. After a few moments, I decided I was fine. I opened my eyes to see three helmeted heads gathered round, peering down at me.“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I said, embarrassed at the attention.“Why don’t you sit down for a minute?” Mike suggested. I found a rock and sat. Sterling noticed one of my crampons was a little twisted off the end of my boot and silently readjusted it for me.I let him. We’d been moving up the cleaver for about thirty minutes. Our purple rope was coiled so that we wouldn’t knock loose rocks down on other climbers, which created a tight seven feet between us. It was important that I keep the pace Mike and John set for the team, so I kept pushing, even though my heart rate was too high. It’s best to climb with a low heart rate to avoid sweating. Sweat freezes and makes you cold.Each step up was the equivalent of at least three or four steps on a staircase. Everything was jagged and uneven.As I climbed, my mind drifted to the day in the library—the dark day when everything broke.The situation between John and Lara had been going downhill for months, often exploding into arguments at the dance studio in front of the students. An imbalance of power existed between them. He was older, more experienced, a former star and champion, and male. She was younger, with lots of new, untested ideas, fewer trophies, and female.It was obvious what needed to change. Lara needed to stop. She needed to fall in line with expectations of how a woman should act with a partner, not just in ballroom dance but in our LDS culture generally. I believed it was Lara’s duty to lift John up to achieve his vision, not challenge his authority or process. The studio gave lip service to the idea that they were equal partners with their matching co-director titles, but in reality, her job was to facilitate his success. I wanted her to recognize when she should be quiet and let John lead. She also needed to do a better job of hiding her anger and distress while at the studio.Meanwhile, John wasn’t making enough of an effort to build up his dancers and manage the dance moms’ expectations. Parents and students were angry. As the executive director, I expected him to put the studio’s needs (which were really my needs) ahead of his wife’s. I wanted him to figure out how to handle Lara so they could focus on the kind of coaching everyone wanted them to do. He needed to take the lead with his partner and convince her to submissively follow.With the pressure of a national competition upon us, parents were frenzied. I’d fielded meeting after meeting, trying to bridge the gap between coaches, students, and parents. I was exhausted from trying to soften harsh words that were launched like missiles between opposing parties while still endeavoring to honor the gravity of people’s feelings. The parents demanded action. A bold move was necessary, and it was my job to execute it.Lara was breaking unspoken rules. She craved an equal voice with her husband, but no one wanted to give it to her—not John, not the parents, not the students, and least of all me. In demanding it, she was making trouble. I knew only one way to handle problem women who demanded too much power; I had seen it play out in ways big and small in various systems throughout my life.I cried all night before our scheduled meeting as I struggled with the conflicting duties of boss and friend. I hated the position I was in. I couldn’t see clearly for myself the right thing to do, and so, like a rookie, I trusted the voices around me that were the loudest and most persistent, voices that championed the idea that women who refuse to play by the rules need to be expelled.The next day, I walked into the library, looked both my friends in the eye, and fired Lara.And then sat paralyzed in my chair as I watched their marriage crumble. At the top of Disappointment Cleaver, Mike, John, and Sterling had their packs off, backs to the rising sun. Below us, Rainier’s ridges rippled away in waves of sapphire and cobalt. We were alone on the mountain until a small gray bird, no bigger than my fist, flew up and landed on a rock. She looked around as though being at twelve thousand feet was the most natural thing in the world. Nothing lives at twelve thousand feet. No trees, no scrubby little bushes, no insects—nothing that should entice a little bird to make such a journey. I wondered what she was seeking.Maybe she wondered what I was seeking. From the top of Disappointment Cleaver, we meandered to the part of the trail that traverses massive crevasses. For now, there was still an ice bridge over the crevasses. There were anchors to secure our rope as we climbed through, an added safety measure in case one of us slipped or the bridge gave way. I felt incredibly grateful to the person who had left them there. They had taken the time to put the anchors in place—not for themselves and their own safety but for those who would come after. I was struck by the kind of love strangers show for each other we up and over the ice I looked down, into the As the the snow and ice from and to of magnificent to end in to be but in a way that and the of a to into that was to into your and become part of the mountain was with the thing I had feared for so But I didn’t to turn away or or or I wanted to take it to the of few after that day at the library, by John and Lara decided to move to to to their I to for a work and Lara and I at a I’d to but still hadn’t taken the time to see and She this and all of her into words like After she John to me for a very long time. they share that they had decided to divorce. It was they said, and they each other more than felt like massive Not their I I’d been a better and had a better job of the culture at the they could have worked together Or it were that in only would come to a I’d words at the I could have just said it would still be I’d been a better I could have helped Lara to with her I had up in the way I should she wouldn’t have felt the need to pull away from both the and John, which to me felt like one and the I hadn’t their with all of would still be the I my by myself in and to the world that I wasn’t also I didn’t have time to be I was too needed and also didn’t have time for any of my At I sat alone with my over my as though I was it and didn’t talk to I all from kind women who reached out to me. At I in my and my best to avoid all I cried a and for no each day, my husband was about I’d slipped into a and and I didn’t how to get out of the place I was one day I found the most beautiful of on my It was an day, not a or an or a kind of were so kind of that I would choose for The words on the were never take back the words I said when I was but I just you to how I was as though a long purple rope had finally made way down to the place where I was and someone me from the just never expected that person would be Mike was when the were us. The change in his from to jovial made me realize that we had just overcome that was left was two thousand feet of up the At this and we to climb feet The sun was rising in the the snow was a and the view of the world below us was in every walked a little in the snow with the mountain down to the rocks and I looked down, the world would I just kept my eyes on the I was fine. The snow was so that our crampons couldn’t but also not so that the snow under our feet. I took each step with I’d made to Matt, who couldn’t come because of a every step a good he’d said with his around me, more than a little he had to sit this one out. been here before with John and Lara and the of the physically demanding than the this last bit was as as an step Mike allowed us a every hour or Sterling and I were both climbing at an than we’d ever which to a about could a climber with or making it for them and their team to far, we’d been I climbed, I wondered where John’s mind was right ago, at he me he was trying to a better of to the mountain this time. the but A of my last with Lara about a the we had been on our We didn’t talk about the past very but we there On this she had been about John and their climb and the and the of it all when she turned to me suddenly and said, be John was carrying expectations up the words my heart like a For years, this of me, that my had been the for so much and marriage, the studio the of it in my expectations. At the I’d being in the of their I’d been for John to propose. What could be more more than a on top of a I him it would make for a that would to his children. I didn’t stop to think that my words were pressure on John to take this step before he was really at my the of their was in service of an Lara my it was the first time someone had spoken things out at least in my My the took and demanded that I see it for what it wasn’t John, to my fears, I needed a I needed to climb a mountain, this time not and and into I a mountain doing the my own and not trying to from time I was carrying my own expectations up the I climbed and experienced the mountain for I to that had never been to me I didn’t create the between John and Lara when I fired are by the they are massive and often for a very long time. A climber create a when they step they just the of ice and snow that was it to the and mountain helped me that there are a few things I have many I do not. of the things I do not are other people’s and the needs of their to with that idea was both and There were four and Mike to them to us. I you that was the he’d we’d each the It’s a left to then one of his looked than the of a just a ridge of this one was I you that was the he say we have hours left to I said with a and because this the he said that his would be as as couldn’t believe The end was in I was actually going to summit Mt. Rainier. At the of the we and get to the of the mountain, we had to the and go up a small but we were to We in the warm glow of what we’d of over me. I’d my own was strong enough and brave the or John to his and to Mike, Sterling, and I the role of Our time linked up by the purple rope had all of us in ways that allowed us to one We knew in this John needed and across the in that was the of moving the the you with your next to a but a thousand an I John had come to the one he could think what of his and When he fell to his he things down on the each own and to be from their weight while I didn’t get on my because that to John, I my and said my own silent I the weight of what I had been parts that were and the parts that had never been to in the first I decided it was time to I made the I had my had me to this place at the top of the I wouldn’t this for I the that had me to had long been to to other people. It was time I found some for new We couldn’t see it, but we felt It and us, pulling at our stinging our and our This was a that only at the of the where and The the things that each of us had each to the where they into of and and got up from his and came us. The four of us our around each other in a the of people who too big for John had a big just for me. this friends I asked was too. been We just needed to a for a little with we walked to the of the summit and looked out over the world and into the for me, and for Lara too. final of was still between us.

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Original Source

DOI: https://doi.org/10.5406/15549399.55.2.04