Surviving Stupid

We were up hours before dawn and quickly traversed the snowfield on Shuksan Arm in the near dark. I looked back in the pre-dawn light to see a full moon still hanging above Mt. Baker's right side. The sky was clear and a deep purple-blue, the magical blue hour that precedes the sunrise. So far, so good, I thought. After we crossed the snowfield, we began to climb Fisher Chimneys, a steep section of fourth-class rock that would lead to the snowfields and glaciers above.

Fisher Chimneys is where the real problems of bringing a dog along became painfully apparent. Sport's owner had sold Dave on their capabilities by telling him that they had made several Yosemite Valley ascents. What kind of ascents were never qualified, and they had most likely been backside walk-ups. Surely not steep rock chimneys, nor high angled glaciers. I felt sorry for Sport as he balked and whined. The rock chimneys were too fragmented and steep for him to climb by himself. Sport knew it and would not budge.

Sport and his owner were with me and Jeanette, who would be first on the snow together when I mean if, we reached Winnie’s Slide, a steep icy snow slope that led to the Upper Curtis Glacier. The others stood behind us, looking impatient.

“This isn’t going to work,” I told Sport’s owner.  Now was the right time for the both of them to call it a day and turn back.

I was astonished when he stubbornly insisted on going ahead. To do so we’d have to help him push his dog up Fishers Chimneys. Dave, still supportive of their plan, encouraged us to get on with it. He and I took turns helping the owner push Sport up the chimneys. Looking back now, I’m astonished that we did it. I think I finally caved in by thinking it was easier to keep moving than to stall out arguing in a stalemate situation. And even after pushing the big dog up the steep broken granite chimneys, we would find it would not be the end of our ordeal.

As any sane person would expect, Sport’s problems continued on the steep icy slopes of Winnie’s Slide. We were roped together in two teams; Denny, Jeannette, and I on the first rope, and Dave, the dog’s owner, and Louise on the second rope. Sport had no harness and traveled solo since there was no good way to add him to a rope. I admired Sport’s desire to please his owner as he tentatively moved forward on the icy surface. This approach slowed us down to the point that I developed a sinking feeling that our climb would soon be over. We had our crampons and ice axes. The dog had only his paws and couldn’t get any purchase on the snow.

I have since heard of brave dogs in the Alps and Himalaya ascending steep snow and summits successfully. Sport had no knack for it and was terrified. The first Shuksan ascent with a dog project was going nowhere. And yet, his owner persisted in his quest to climb this glaciated peak with Sport. We inched forward. Finally, only after Sport began whining and sliding around so much that it was apparent that he wouldn’t be on his feet much longer did his owner agree to stop.

We all stood there on the icy slope, the upper sections still in the shadows of Mt. Shuksan. It was pretty damn cold, and we needed to start moving, one way or another, up or down. Suddenly, Denny and Dave each left their respective rope teams and huddled together to hold their private summit conference. Forgive me, but that’s what it was. I could see them together, speaking quietly but urgently. As they spoke, they moved their ice axes with some agitation, much as I could visualize the rattling sabers of two young cavalry soldiers, eager to charge into the fray of battle. I had a sinking feeling that we would soon be left behind as they formulated a new rope team for a summit push.

And that’s what happened. Dave, Denny, and Louise roped up and made for the summit, leaving Jeanette and me holding the bag, I mean dealing with Sport and his hapless owner. There was no way we’d complete the climb with that pair, so we considered parking them and seeing if we had time to make the summit on a rope of two. So, we briefly left the dog owner and his faithful German shepherd and climbed up a bit higher to explore that possibility. And it might have been quite doable for the two of us despite the time constraints, but the fate of the dog and his owner weighed heavily on us as we considered our next moves.

This is an excerpt from ‘Surviving Stupid,’ an adventure story from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.