Solo Summit

There are moments in our lives when we look at a challenge and say: I want to conquer that. When the prospect of moving to Stehekin was becoming a reality, I set myself a goal. One monumental, but obtainable goal: to climb Mt. McGregor.

At 8,122 feet of elevation, over 6,000 feet of elevation gain, and 8 miles of switchbacks, McGregor is Stehekin's badass guardian. I knew I wanted that summit and it became my singular summer goal. But I had no idea just how fantastic the experience would be.

Tuesday August 18, 2015, 7am. I'm awake early, mostly from jitters. I didn't think I'd be nervous, but there I was, lying in bed, contemplating my choices. All my fears quickly washed away when I boarded the bus and received plenty of encouragement from Ronnie, our bus driver, and the firefighters and fellow hikers on the bus. After that, I was ready.

Reaching outside of your comfort zone is a scary experience. I've hiked alone plenty of times, numerous distances, trails, difficulties, ect. I've even backpacked by myself once. Three miles from the parking lot and civilization, but the howls of coyotes too close for comfort were enough to keep me awake most of the night. However, I wouldn't swap the experience for anything. And I realized, as I was bouncing along in that big red bus towards the trailhead, that those solo trips were preparing me for this one.

Eight miles and 6,000 feet is a long way to battle with your own mind. There were plenty of times were I thought to myself, 'You can stop and no one will be the wiser' or 'Turn around now and no one will judge you.' But I would know. I would know I didn't make it. And that singular thought is what kept my feet moving up that damned mountain. With a partner, it's harder to say no. When your only combatant is your own thoughts and your own conscious, that is the true test of your will power.

Yeah, I'm kind of a badass.

When I finally reached my campsite at Heaton, after hours and hours of merciless switchbacks and August heat bearing down on me, I screamed. I found a campsite over-looking the trail I'd just battled and I yelled into the abyss. I was thankful that I had made it, thankful that I was physically capable of making it, and thankful that I'd chosen to do this by myself. For nothing in that moment would compare to sitting in the dust and dirt, staring at the setting sun over mountains and glaciers, knowing I just beat my own mind. Yes, I still had to summit. Yes, I still had to get through a night, alone on the edge of the world. But in that moment, little else mattered.

Sunset from Heaton Camp

I fared the night better than I expected too. With only small rodents and birds to keep me company, it was easy to get some sleep. And when I woke up at two in the morning, needing to pee, I wasn't scared to wander into the trees to find a bush. And when I came back, I was greeted to the most incredible spectacular view of the Milky Way. With no light pollution and a slivered moon that was already beneath the mountains, I found myself in awe. Glad that I didn't need my rainfly, I fell back asleep to the shimmering of the stars.

I wanted to be on the trail at 5am, but I guess my tired muscles had other plans. Instead I was on trail by 6am and heading towards the summit. Now, in a perfect world the trail to the summit would have been a nice, graded path with a wee scramble at the end. Nope. I was not that lucky. After a half mile of crusty, dusty, steep trail I was face to face with my worst nightmare. A scree field, large enough to make grown men cry. The kind that moves with a mere look. Don't get mad at it or it will bury you in jagged little demons. But brave the treacherous field I did. Though to be frank, I was more worried about climbing back down that section...

100 yard scree field and 1/4 mile Class 2 scramble to the summit

When I cleared the scree field, I approached the section I was most looking forward to. A quarter mile scramble to the summit that weaves its way around two minor peaks. The scramble is marked by faint, almost non-existent orange arrows, creeping along cliffs and boulders. Most of the sections had wonderful hand holds that allowed for a smooth climb to the top. Only a couple areas were slightly too exposed for my comfort. But thankfully I wore my approach shoes, so the sticky rubber enabled my fears of falling to be quelled.

After a momentary vocal battle with a marmot and a necessary photo op with a glacier, I pushed to the summit, my feet following the magnetic pull of the radio tower situated at the top of the world. I had done it. I had reached the top of Stehekin's massive sentinel. So what's a girl to do when she reached the summit of her single summer goal? Have a dance party of course!

Victory dance on the Summit of McGregor to "Happy" by Pharrell Williams

After a much need breakfast and lots of photo ops, it was time to head down. Like my mother so wisely says (and something I kept in mind the entire trip up) "Going up is optional. Going down is not." And honestly, as I said earlier, I was dreading going down that damn scree field. And I was right to fear it. I'd put my hand on one rock and twenty would move around it. I sent more time pulling my hands and feet from mini rock slides than anything else. Definitely the scariest part of the trip. But once my feet hit solid trail the rest was easy going.

Summit Radio Tower

I made it back to Heaton Camp and packed up my things. There was no way I was dragging 30 pounds of gear up that mountain so I left most of it at camp, toting only the lid of my backpack as a should sling. It actually worked out considerably well and I never felt it mess up my balance. I had summitted and returned to camp, ready to head out by 10am. And now... the easy part. Or so I thought.

When you are hiking uphill, your muscles are forced to work extremely hard moving you forward. However, when you are traveling downhill, there are no active muscle groups working. Its just gravity. So, why does it hurt more to go downhill? Because apparently your muscles are working on keeping your body upright and that takes more effort. Or something like that. Either way, it only took me a mile to realize that downhills are the devil. And my knee seconded the accusation.

Sandalee Glacier on the North Face of McGregor - I touched it!

I returned to High Bridge by 2pm, successfully completing the descent in half the time it took me to summit. And by the time I got down, the only thing I had energy left to do was remove my shoes and flop on top of a picnic table to await the arrival of the bus. I had told Ronnie (since he would be the one driving the bus on my second day) that I would be back before the final bus left High Bridge at 6:30pm and that if I wan't there, something was wrong. But luckily, nothing went wrong and I was there for the 3pm bus. And Ronnie was all smiles and congratulations when he saw me.

It really is another world up there.

As I rode the bus down from High Bridge, body sore, and emotions high, I was reminded of just how lucky I am that I have the opportunity to pursue such lofty dreams. I have a supportive family, an amazing husband who has absolute faith in me and my abilities, and a strong friend network. Without their help and encouragement, I wouldn't be where I am today. Standing on top of the world. Later that night, I ran back into Ronnie. He told me that it took a lot of guts to do what I did and that he was tremendously proud of me. I got similar responses from my sister, my parents, my husband, and my friends. That was the icing on the McGregor cake. The perfect end to the most wonderful day.

Summit Fever!