“Tap, tap, tap, PLUNK.” I wiped the drip of water from my forehead, didn’t realize my hand renovated 1969 camper was going to have a leak. That's a later problem. Within moments my phone sang the glorious tune that it was time to hit the road. It was still dark out, but I managed to locate a jar of peanut butter, an apple, and a case of beer. I chucked them into the back of Roxy, my trusty 4Runner, and started on the two-hour drive for the North Cascades.
It was still early November, my first November in the PNW, and an old high school friend invited me out for my first summit hike of a “real” mountain. Mt. Vesper, 4,000 feet of elevation gain, and an 8-mile out and back trail provided the perfect opportunity to get my feet wet into the true summiting experience.
A High Sierra backpack, worn down hiking shoes, and a new Patagonia quarter-zip made me feel like the mountains are where I belong. At least that’s what the commercials look like.
One could say that I sa-beer-ly underpacked, barely carrying enough water and snacks to last a full 7 hours, but you better believe I had more cans of beer than I did people on the trip.
About three-quarters of the way up, I realized that “getting my feet wet” was not solely a metaphor, but a reality. As each step broke through 2 feet of flakey snow, landing in a stream of rushing water, I began to regret my decision. I was soaked, cold, exhausted, and miserable. People out here do this for fun?
After my third slip into freezing temperature water, we stopped 200 feet shy of the summit. Enough was enough. Our safety became our priority. We turned around to see the sky, which had been filled with clouds and fog all morning, decided to open up. This was our window. We snapped a few shots to prove how far we made it, and turn to head back down.
As we started our descent, all I could think about was the can of Fat Tire sloshing around in the bottom of my bag. As much as a summit beer was the hope and dream, we figured getting to a safe spot would make the beer taste that much better.
I was humbled, my 23 years in the flat plains and corn fields of Ohio forced me to underestimate the instability of nature at this caliper. The mountains have taught me to respect their presence.
“Clink” went the blue and red cans as I salute my friend for a job well done. We then looked at each other, turned, and reached our cans to the summit, cheers to you Vesper.
