Donuts and Helmets

A story about climbing North Sister - one step at a time.

We set off from the trailhead with donuts stuffed in our hydration packs and helmets strapped to the outside. The horizon was hazy with wildfire smoke, but the sky above us was bright blue.

As we ran up the dusty trail through the Pole Creek burn zone, we could see the top of North Sister protruding above the trees. I stared at the crimson summit, perched over spidery tentacles of snow and ice. That was where we were going – if we could make it all the way there.

I was running with my friend Alli and our plan was to climb as high up the mountain as we could. Alli is at least 37.5 percent mountain goat and has scaled this gnarly volcano several times, including a pair of solo ascents, so the climb itself would not be as much of an issue for her, but she thought we might run into a prohibitive amount of snow.

I thought we might run into a prohibitive amount of my fear.

North Sister is a 10,085’ pile of harsh features. The mountain looks like it’s issuing a warning to stay far, far away, not extending an invitation to climb to the top. Her summit is a pile of crumbling rocks that towers over violent cliffs and waves of steep scree that seem like they might ignite a rocky avalanche at any moment.

I’d heard a lot of things about North Sister that made me think its summit was going to ignite some fear in me. There was the menacingly-named “Terrible Traverse,” where you have to cross mounds of loose scree, with nothing to secure your body to the mountain as you walk over the unsecure footing. When I asked my boyfriend what to do if I fell on the traverse, he said “don’t.”

Then there’s the “Bowling Alley,” where you need to scale rock that is such rubbish that it might crumble in your hand or beneath your feet without notice, launching you to definite doom over the cliffs below. And then there’s some 5th-class hands-on-crumbling-rock scrambling above more no-fall terrain.

Many people protect the uppermost part of the mountain with a rope that’s anchored to something stable in case you do fall. But, we were taking the fast and light approach and traveling without the extra gear, so it would be up to us to keep our bodies attached to the crumbling mountain. I knew our method could be done safely, but I was also quite certain that it would be a very real challenge for me and my discomfort with climbing things that can result in no good, terrible, very bad falls.

But I’ve been climbing more and more mountains that once felt 1000 percent unattainable for me, and that’s made me wonder what else I can do that I’ve previously written off as “nu-uh, not for me, no can do, never-ever-ever-ever-ever.”

And so here I was, looking up at North Sister, on a mission to climb as high as possible, and wondering if the summit could be the next place that was not actually the impossible destination that I’d designated it.

But, when I looked up at the menacing mountain from the nice buttery trail and thought about everything that stood between me and the summit, I was still a skeptic. It was hard to believe that I could get all the way to the top – past the atrocious traverses and alpine alleys that might bowl me over a ledge. It was a lot. I thought about sitting down on a rock and suggesting we go get blizzards from the closest Dairy Queen instead.

It was a lot like when I think about doing other very big things. When the mere thought of the magnitude of what I’m trying to do can be so overwhelming that I don’t even start.

Like, how I won’t work on my book proposal for weeks at a time because it’s so hard for me to get past the idea of what the finished product needs to be.

Or, like how when I started training for the Oregon PCT and got wrecked by a 16-mile long run, I almost scratched the whole plan because 460 miles is a lot more than 16 and how the heck was I supposed to go from a soul-and-muscle-crushing 16 mile run to going all the way across Oregon?

Or, like when I think about other big mountaineering objectives, like solo-ing North Sister like Alli, and they seem so far from where I am that it’s tempting to just quit alpine everything and take up flat-ground hula-hooping instead.

Alli and I kept moving higher and higher up North Sister, scrambling up scree fields like determined spiders and hiking up the steep ridge while oohing and ahhing over the incredible alpine views that surrounded us.

When we crested the ridge after thousands of feet of climbing, we had to traverse across the mountain to the summit block. So we picked our way up and over piles of rocks and rubble. Grabbing onto fins carved into the rocks and finding ledges to hold our feet as we made our way across the mountain.

And I found myself having so much fun, even through the dread of what was to come with the final spicy push. It felt so incredible to be moving our bodies over such rugged terrain, just two women traveling over this gnarly volcano, with a pack full of donuts and helmets - and a lot of appreciation for where we were and what we were doing.

“This is so fun!” I yelled over to Alli, as I looked around the jaw-dropping landscape. I wanted to be doing this, even if parts of it were a little unnerving.

“It’s my very favorite thing,” Alli called back, through the very biggest smile.

“Okay, we’re here,” Alli said as she pivoted her body to let me know we’d reached the first of the high alpine hurdles: the Terrible Traverse.

I looked past her and saw the traverse I had heard so much about. A slope of loose rocks unraveled into an abrupt drop off the mountainside.

“What do you think?” she asked me. She had been the most patient and encouraging friend all day and I knew she would support me through whatever I wanted to do.

“I mean, I think I can probably do it,” I sighed.

I had been here before. Where I knew something would scare me, but I also knew I was capable. If I could just keep moving through my fear and not let it shut me down.

My sigh was conceding to the fact that I knew I was about to embrace some discomfort.

“What do you say we just take it one step at a time? We can always turn back if it gets to be too much,” she suggested.

“Yes, one step at a time sounds great.”

Alli started walking over the slope of scree. Her steps were light and smooth. I was in such awe of how well she could move over the challenging ground.

I followed behind her, trying to find some confidence through my cautious steps. I could do this.

I tried not to think about the crumbling bowling alley ahead of us, or the steep scramble after that, or the final rocky pitch to the summit. Just one foot in front of the other. Then the next. Light and controlled.

Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe.

And all of a sudden, we were on the other side of the traverse. And it had been much easier journey to get there than I’d built it up to be in my head.

The bowling alley loomed around the next corner. A wall of shifty dirt and rocks tucked between craggy ledges, hovering over a long, steep, and rocky slide down the mountain.

“One step at a time?” Alli suggested.

I nodded.

“Let’s do it.”

And I scrambled up a ramp behind her, appreciating how solid it was compared to the traverse.

I kept cracking jokes – about butt scooches being one of my go-to methods of alpine travel and about all of the summit donut cheers I wanted to make. Alli lobbed more back my way.

“This next stretch is good rock,” she cheered.

“Well, better rock,” she laughed, as a baseball-sized hunk of the mountain broke off in her hand.

“I have officially added ‘better rock’ to my list of favorite things in life,” I yelled over to Alli, as I searched for a hold I could trust to take the next step.

We kept going, step-by-step. Some were shakier or slower steps than others. Some were steps backwards as I tried to find a better way forward. Some steps felt really good and fun. And others made my heart hammer into my chest.

But there was so much momentum pulsing through every one of those steps. As I got myself higher and higher up the mountain, I found more and more confidence that I could get all the way to the top. And more determination to do exactly that.

And it wasn’t lost on me, as I took those final steps up to the summit block, that that was exactly what I need to remember as I keep wanting to do bigger things in the mountains. Things that can seem so far from where I am right now.

And about so much else that can feel so overwhelming that I don’t even try. Book proposals and the biggest running goals and scary alpine things.

It all happens step-by-step-by-step. And there is progress and momentum and confidence that builds through every single one of those steps, the forward ones and the backward ones, the really scary ones and the really fun ones.

And while taking the first step can feel so far from where I want to go, it’s exactly what I need to do to get myself there.

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