EVERYDAY LIFE: My first glissade

by John McKnight

Believe it or not I was nine years old when I climbed my first mountain. Seems my life has been uphill ever since. But that first peak was a thrill I’ll never forget. It was fun, it was hard, it was scary, and it was thrilling, all in one breathe.
The climb up started with your basic bushwhack through stream beds, over waterfalls, up steep side hills, and through rough woods. As we worked our way up and out of this mess we reached a large snow filled basin surrounded by steep rocky cliffs in one of natures many cathedrals. It was lunchtime so I didn’t really notice anything other than how cool it all looked. Then I began to wonder about the route up. As my dad pointed out the snow field we’d ascend and the ridge we’d traverse, my young stomach knotted a bit. But just a bit.
Going up is always easier than going down.  It’s why we always get ourselves into odd predicaments that make our knees shake and our voices quaver. But even at that I was a little intimidated by the sheer steepness of the upper reaches of the snowfield. Two hands on my ice axe I moved up two steps at a time, never ever looking down.
Once up we worked our way along the ridge top and raved about the amazing views, even picked up a few quartz crystals along the way. And for the most part this was pretty easy and not too scary. It was only the final pitch to the summit that I felt that knot in my stomach again.  Not that it was any harder, just a lot more exposed dropping off a good 500 feet on both sides.
The summit itself wasn’t much better, just a jumbled up pile of rocks at the end of the ridge effectively exposing us on three sides. Once there I huddled up as close to the ground as I could get and waited to get used to the feeling. Then signed the register, could still be up there but has likely been replaced by now.
Like all climbs the rest on top doesn’t last too long, it can’t. You’re really only halfway to your destination which is basically where you started. So feeling a little more secure we headed back the way we’d come and talked excitedly about glissading down the 500 foot snowfield we’d climbed up. Now that would be fun.
But a funny thing happened as we got closer. Not only is it harder to climb down than climb up, but it looks a whole lot steeper from the top. Too steep I decided, no way I was going to slide down that cliff. As I stood there teeth chattering I watched one after another of our party go whooping down the slope. Looked fun, sounded fun, made me want to mess my pants.
Finally it was just me and my dad, and I think he wanted to just shove me down the hill at that point. I kept asking about us going another way down and he kept insisting there was no other way down. And I can’t say I could disagree looking around, but it was just too scary, no way I was going to slide down that cliff. Then off he went, hootin’ and hollerin’ the whole way leaving me standing there by myself.
There’s times when dad just knows what’s best, and I guess this must have been one of them. What choice did I have? Terrified I sat on my butt and started to glissade, ice axe dug hard into the snow. Then a magical thing happened, I forgot how scared I was and started having fun. And as I barreled mostly out of control into the rest of our party at the bottom, I yelled that I wanted to do it again.  Next year son, next year…

John McKnight has been exploring Whatcom and Skagit counties for over 25 years. He can be e-mailed at john@foothillsgazette.com.

EVER(Editor’s Note: This column was previously published in the Foothills Gazette. John McKnight will return in our next edition, April 9.  Feel better John!)