I'll try to keep this short and sweet, although that my be hard, especially for me. This summer, I have already had two scary experiences in pursuit of adventure. The most recent and most scary by far was my recent climb of Mount Marathon in Seward, Alaska. It's a three mile round trip climb from sea level to over 3,000 feet. The average incline is 38 degrees. Amazing view of Seward but almost hardly worth the fearful heart flutters. Here is my story:
I'll admit that I was naive about the climb. All I really knew about Mount Marathon was about the annual race every Fourth of July but also specifically about the runner last year who was "swallowed by the mountain." An Anchorage man who started the race last year never finished. It was hard to stomach last year, especially because Seward and Anchorage have that big town/small city feel. Everyone knows everyone. If someone dies tragically, chances are you are somehow connected.
Like I was saying, when invited by two teacher friends to tag along on their trip to Seward to climb the mountain from hell, I naively said, "sure!" After a two hour drive to Seward, I looked up and was somewhat intimidated by the sheer size and incline of the beast. The signs at the trail head pretty much say "turn around stupid or die," but hey, I'm in the best shape of my life, I've got this, I thought. If there's ever a time to do it, do it now! So dumb.
We started at the base of the mountain climbing hand over foot up a 60 degree rock face. My friends climbed on although I later found out that was the most terrifying part for them. I was all adrenaline, so I didn't care. Once you hit the main trail, it's an easier climb--you can pull and hold yourself up by grabbing the exposed tree roots and sturdy rocks. However, the higher you get, the looser the rocks. I should've known.
Once you pass the tree line, there is nothing to hold onto, and you are still barely halfway up the mountain. How do you climb up the additional 1,500 feet, you ask? By holding onto loose rocks with dear life. Yes, most of the time, the rocks you step and grip to crumble while or shortly after you step or grab. About three quarters of the way up, I was reasonably uncomfortable. "Look at the bald eagle soaring under us," my friends shouted and pointed. "Hell no," I replied. "I want to live."
Thankfully, my brave friends coached me to safely after I hugged the mountain in one spot for five minutes. "I give up," I told them. "I'm scared and I just want to get down." "Um, well, Nicole, there's no way down really...so you're better off continuing up."
Although I don't really understand how someone can pretty much disappear from the mountain, I COMPLETELY understand why people call 911 and ask for immediate rescue assistance. I almost sucked my thumb on the side of that damn mountain. I felt a little better knowing my husband was 2,000 feet below working in Seward, but I also didn't want him to have to identify my mangled body. Climb on I shall, I told myself. And climb on I did.
Over two hours after beginning our climb, we summited. I could hardly enjoy the view because I was so shaken up. There's nothing like watching rocks fly by you as you hug a mountain with dear life and then almost immediately think about how your body would fare if it were to experience the fall. Nothing.
After a short break and snack at the top, (thank you Costco Fiber One bars--surprisingly I kept my shit in), we started our climb down. Much easier. The momentum helps. It's hard on the knees, but it a relief to know that ever step you take means you are closer to sea level. Never been happier.
I managed down with minor scratches (no devil's club thorns this time, thankfully) and a few sore muscles (mostly my upper body from gripping the mountain side). The most taxing part of the climb was mental--and I thought I was mentally tough. I can run around a track 72 times, no problem, but I can't keep my mind busy on the side of a mountain. My graphic imagination got the best of me. I won by summiting but lost by surrendering. I will never climb that mountain again.
Not thirty minutes after we made it down, a lone hiker was being heli-rescued off the mountain. Surprise! He had gotten himself in the same pickle--he was descending but got himself stuck and did not feel safe to continue down. For hours, a helicopter searched, hovered, lowered a rescue team, etc. I felt lucky--defeated but lucky. If it weren't for my friends (shout out!), that would've been me--which is why I never hike alone and why I will never hike up Mount Marathon again. Kuddos to the people who race up the mountain every Fourth of July.
Below is the link of the rescue the day of our climb:
http://sewardcitynews.com/2013/06/another-mount-marathon-rescue/
Quote of the day: "Friends don't let friends hike Mount Marathon. Don't do it" -Nicole Staker
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