August 1972

I was 17 and I worked on the same farm as I had since I was 14. It was started and owned by two brothers, and one of them, Dave, had invited me to go into the mountains on a camping trip with him, his family, and the three exchange students from Japan I worked with. I eagerly accepted, as I loved the mountains already, and I enjoyed the company of these people. We hiked 7 miles into the Sawtooth Mountain wilderness area in Idaho, from the east side, south of Stanley and Redfish Lake, and made camp.

The pictures I have here are scans of prints I recently found in my old stuff, I had forgotten they existed. Some are 3-1/2 inch by 5 inch that I took, probably with the Kodak SLR given to me by my Dad. Other prints are 3-1/2 by 3-1/2 inch and there is a note on the back of one, not in my writing. I think this is from Sara, Dave's wife.

The Climb

Photo: I am on the right, Snowyside Peak in the background. The color has faded from some of these almost entirely, a reminder of old technology, not the good old days of color photography. 

The climb was exhilarating and my confidence was good and I kept going up and up. By and by I neared the high point and I reached the summit. I don't remember that part, just that I was there. I no doubt looked at the scenery and the other side, and I then made a decision. I decided to go down a different route than I had climbed up, not wanting to have to deal with the loose rock. Of course I didn't know what was ahead and I took the chance of having to back track.

Photo; Snowyside Peak above Toxaway Lake, near where we camped

I remember some things about the descent, the rock was better, and steeper, and I was wondering if I could find a good safe route all the way. There was a point when I felt it would be very difficult if I had to return the way I came, maybe not even possible the same day. I was most of the way down and I could see the slopes below were easier, and then it happened. I came to a blank wall…"cliffed out"

I looked and climbed around every way I could and there it was, a blank steep face of granite between me and the next ledge over. I felt my heart sink and had to fight back panic. Like a caged animal I kept going back and forth looking and hoping to find something easier, but there was no other route to be had. I couldn't make the step across, and jumping would be flat out suicide. I figured this was a dead end and thoughts of having to go back and being overdue played at my mind and made me feel sick. I then looked closer…

There was a thin crack in this rock face between the ledge I was on and where I needed to be. I had an idea, and I pulled out my knife that I carried. I placed the knife in the crack as far over as I could reach, and I then hammered it in with a rock I picked up off the ledge. It rang with the sound of steel in stone that a climber learns to listen for, that I would someday learn. This, I thought, might be the foot hold I could use to cross the wall…

I got myself in position and stretched my foot out as far as I could. I could place it on the knife handle and put a little weight on it and I could feel it bend. I shrunk back onto my ledge… I looked at this situation every way I could. I reasoned out what must be done. I had to get my weight as close to the rock as possible. I would have to make a move out onto the knife handle and I would be completely committed. There were no hand holds or any way to catch myself if I slipped. There wouldn't be a second chance. I still had a choice, but thinking about it was making me crazy and time was running out. My brain had reasoned out what to do to the tiniest detail. Still I wondered if it would work and I doubted it. I wondered if this would be the end, and it seemed like such a stupid way for it to come down to this…

It was too late to turn around practically speaking. My energy was more than half gone and to re climb the steep side of this mountain and get back down all the loose scree on the other side seemed beyond possible. In a way I had committed to what I had to do now long ago back on the summit, and I began to realize it. In this way I had to let go of the fear and accept that this was the only chance I had to survive. I was on a threshold and had placed myself there, and I had cut off my own retreat.

I practiced the move as best I could over and over, and I followed through in my mind until I thought I had it perfect. Then I stepped out onto the knife…

As I made my move to the right across the wall the knife flexed and I was aware of it but moved without hesitation, stepping onto then passed the knife and stepping onto the ledge with the other foot. Time stood still and it took forever but only a second.

I was across and onto the other ledge, my heart racing and my head pounding from adrenaline. I caught my breath and took a new look at my situation. I could see a route down from here, I could do this. The ledge sloped down and I positioned myself so the knife was now above me. I tried to move it by grasping the handle and it wouldn't budge. I got a rock and hit it one way then the other, over and over, and it loosened some. I kept working it this way for what seemed like a long time and finally it was free. As I pulled it out of the granite rock I immediately saw that the tip was broken. I sheathed it and began to downclimb…

I reached the high snowfield and it was nice and compact and firm. I skied down with just my shoes and could carve some pretty good "S" turns, I was back in my element.

Below the snow was a vast boulder field. I remember the fatigue setting in and my feet starting to hurt, and I kept pushing myself, feeling the need to have this ended and be back with my people…

Photo: a typical alpine landscape in the high Sawtooth country.

The lessons learned that day would play over and over in years to come, some being re-learned time and again. The quest of the climb, the crux, or pivital point, the point of commitment, the desperation of the unknown, the freedom of letting go, and the sheer love of the mountains. My pursuit of climbing would lay dormant for a few years while I made my way through transitions of high school to college and from Idaho to Alaska, and entered into that place some call manhood. Like all climbs to follow, the memory is fresh in a way to this day, and it still fuels the fire of longing to once again be in the high places of the mountains.

Looking back at me looking back to the valley from which we had started.