Business Matters

Trail Notes [Part 6, Finí]

By Alden Solovy

Honesty is a key ingredient of bravery

Nine months have passed. Flooding has claimed key portions of the Wonderland Trail. Today, the trip I took back then is impossible: around Mount Rainier, then up it. But, according to rangers, only a handful of folks even attempt to summit the mountain after circumscribing it.

Nine months have passed and I’m sleeping on the side of another mountain. I’ve climbed 11,700 feet up the West Face of Mount Shasta. My backpack makes a lumpy bed, but it’s better than lying on the rock and scree that is my temporary home. Exhausted, I sleep nearly three hours.

When I came down from Rainier, I was convinced that I would never attempt to summit another peak. I learned what I needed to know, both about the mountain and myself. And I never wanted to be so cold, or so tired, ever again.

That’s what I thought, anyway, but something drew me back.

Mountaineering’s most eloquent chroniclers insist that they don’t know why they climb. Yet, to a one, they strive to understand the drive, exploring the motivations behind this life-threatening, injury-inducing pastime within the context of telling their tales and sharing their adventures. They dance at the fringe of the obvious question—“But why?”—as if they are either unwilling or unable to lay out a specific answer.

Perhaps the question carries too much risk. Once committed to paper, the answer could destroy the mystery, the cache, the essence of the internal struggle that propels the mountaineer higher and higher. I can’t really say why I wanted to try again, but I did.

We drove to Shasta’s trailhead and hiked 3,000 feet to base camp, where we pitched our tents, made camp, practiced basic mountaineering techniques, ate a communal dinner and hit the sack for an early wake-up call.

The weather the next morning was ideal: low winds, clear sky and moderate temperatures. Our group started late, heading up the mountain at 4 a.m.

At about 9 a.m. I gave up. I didn’t have the concentration or, frankly, the brute will, to climb to the top. On that day, my heart, my mind and my body were not up to the task.

Getting off the rope was a tough decision. My companions urged me on. The guides seemed certain that I’d reach the summit. And I didn’t want to be seen—either by myself or by others—as a failure. If I had stayed on the rope, I would have held my team back. My choice allowed others to summit: 10 of the 12 climbers on our team made it.

The simple truth from my trip to Mount Rainier ruled the day on Mount Shasta. Honesty—honesty in the face of desire, encouragement and ego—is fundamental to bravery. To say “today I can’t make it” takes more courage than pressing forward, risking injury and costing others their shot at the mountaintop.

I’m done mountaineering, at least for now. Yet the draw to the open trail and mountain vistas still yearns. But why? Beauty. Adventure. The lessons I might never learn at home.

You can contact Alden Solovy at asolovy@healthforum.com

This article first appeared in the August 2007 issue of H&HN magazine.

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