After two failed summit attempts due to weather that could only be described as “miserable with a chance of regret,” I finally stood on the top… insert dramatic music… of That Mountain I Refused to Give Up On.
Turns out, the route was actually well-flagged the whole way. Go figure. On previous trips I must have been too busy wrestling with wind and questioning my life choices to notice.
Snow started around 1500m, and like the genius I am, I decided to wear trail runners. Nothing says “I’ve learned nothing from my past experiences” quite like voluntarily soaking your feet in slush for hours. My toes took a brief vacation to Antarctica, but I’m happy to report they returned with only mild resentment.
This was also the day after I ran a marathon, because clearly my legs and I have very different definitions of “rest.”
Shoutout to Ben and Alex, who were brave enough to join me despite our impressively late start. Most people plan for sunrise summits, we aim for sunset plus a headlamp exit and mild existential dread. We may not be efficient, but we’re persistent.
In the end, it was a long, soggy, satisfying day. The summit was beautiful, the company was top-notch, and the descent? Well… let’s just say we lit the way with our headlamps and our poor life decisions.
Would I do it again? Probably. But maybe with dry socks next time.
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