A Father and Daughter Climbing Partnership
Photos and story by Jim and Jessica Easter
All great adventures have a common element - there is an identifiable and definitive starting point. Ours occurred in the summer of 1998 when my then seven-year-old daughter, Jessica, returned from day-camp at the Houston Museum of Natural Science and announced that she wanted to be a mountain climber . . .
Thinking to myself that this was an unusual career choice, I recalled that she had on previous occasions pronounced her desire to be a dinosaur hunter, conductor, and ballerina, so maybe mountain climber wasn't too far-fetched after all. This time however, JJ (short for Jessica Jordan) launched into a detailed description of the recently released IMAX film, Everest, which she had seen earlier in the day. Her new role model was Araceli Segarra. If she had said that she wanted to be like Madonna or the Spice Girls like other seven year-olds, I could more or less relate, but a Spanish mountain climber was way out of my frame of reference - and as to mountain climbing, I certainly didn't know the vocabulary, let alone the celebrities, of the climbing world. In the pine forests, bayous, and coastal plains of east Texas, mountain ranges are in short supply. In fact, the highest elevation in Houston - found at the outdoor amphitheatre - towers 137 feet above sea level. Of course, we saw the IMAX film again that next weekend, and it was at that moment that our adventure truly began.
I should have known that JJ was destined to be a climber when I came into the kitchen one morning when she was about 18 months old to discover that she had pulled out the drawers to make a ladder and had climbed up on the counter. I found her calmly standing there with both cabinet doors open, searching for her special cup. Following up on her new career choice required me to find her a place where she could really climb. The local climbing gyms all said she was too young until I talked one gym manager into letting us sneak in on a slow Monday evening. JJ took to the sport immediately and was soon a regular at the gym where the manager continued to turn a blind eye. One day he presented JJ with her own membership card, making her official.
JJ's first real exposure to climbing was during a family vacation to Colorado, where JJ discovered the local climbing gym. After watching her in the gym, the owner offered to take us on a day trip so JJ could get on some real rock. As she wriggled into her harness, I examined the rock, which looked to me like it was as smooth as glass. How could anyone climb this? Of course JJ was on top looking down almost before I could complete the thought, and the owner looked at me and said, "You're gonna be in a lot of trouble keeping up with her."
JJ maintained her interest in climbing over the next three years and finally began to pester me about climbing a real mountain. By this time I'd resigned myself to joining whatever venture ultimately transpired. I began to check out guide services on the internet and came across AAI's website. In my initial email inquiry I outlined JJ's interest in the sport, her natural athletic ability, and how I wanted her to connect with a guide service that would do more than just arrange the trip. I wanted her to really learn the skills she would need to know. Sheilagh Brown responded, and over the next few months she helped organize a course geared specifically for us. I stressed several times about being complete rookies at this sport and what we didn't know about mountaineering could fill volumes. Sheilagh was incredibly helpful and organized a private course on Mt. Baker similar to the 6-day Intro to Mountaineering course. One of the best decisions Sheilagh made was to pair us up with AAI guide Mark Allen.
When we arrived at AAI's office, it seemed everyone wanted to meet this ten-year-old girl from the flatlands of Texas who was about to climb Mt. Baker. I can't stress enough how helpful everyone was; from the office staff to the guys in the gear shop, everyone went out of their way to make us feel welcome. When we met our guide, Mark, he showed a laid-back but calmly serious demeanor. Mark started at the absolute beginning, showing us how he packs his backpack and how best to arrange gear for the hike in. We got packed up and drove to the trailhead.
A few hours later, we had made the short hike onto the slopes of Mt. Baker and settled into our camp. Wasting no time, our training began. Knots, equipment familiarization, how to operate the stoves, how to coil ropes, then it was on to the ice. The first thing we learned was how to perform self-arrest. I have no idea how many times we practiced sliding down the ice making self-arrests. Sitting, on our backs, upside down, face first - you name it, we did it. I remember Mark stressing that if you take a hard fall on a steep grade, invariably you will be going head-first and you won't believe how fast you'll pick up speed . . . it's just like going down a water slide. I was glad that Mark took the fundamentals so seriously.
As the trip progressed and we got to know each other better, I told Mark how JJ's interest in climbing originated and how, unlike most kids her age, she's remained committed. Most kids seem to change interests about as quickly as they change clothes. I think Mark was still a little wary about how things would unfold as we moved from the skills part of the course to the actual climbing. We soon moved to our high camp and got ready to make the climb to Baker's summit. When it was time to leave for the summit at midnight, JJ and I struggled to get ready. Neither of us really knew what to expect, and coming from a part of the country as flat as a tabletop, the summit of Mt. Baker still seemed as far away as the moon. We started for the summit at 1am and broke the route down into small manageable pieces. "We'll get to that funny looking rock," followed by "OK, now to that patch of ice." This worked really well until we came to the Roman Wall. As we stood looking up JJ asked Mark, "Is that as steep as it looks?" Mark replied, "Nope, it's three times steeper than it looks."
With those encouraging words, we started the final push to the top. At some point Mark pointed out the crest of a brown sandy-looking bump not too far away and with a smile said, "That's it, that's as high as we go." While Mt. Baker only reaches a modest 10,700 feet, we both felt like we'd stepped out on the summit of Everest. Of course JJ had to emulate the famous picture of Tenzing, with her ice ax held aloft beaming for the camera. We had a few snacks and sat on the summit a while before starting the long descent. Along with the fatigue following a long day, we both felt a huge sense of accomplishment. This was a true milestone for both of us. For me, it was the most physically demanding thing I'd done since high school football. On the way down and on the hike out, we alternated our discussions between what sort of food we'd eat upon arrival back in Bellingham and where our next trip would take us.
Mt. Baker was a true milestone for both of us. For me, it was the most physically demanding thing I'd done since high school football.
Over the next few years the AAI staff worked to help us identify unusual and unique locations to explore, and Mark was always game for an adventure. Many of the locations we chose he'd never visited, so we explored them together. One year we decided to do a rock climbing trip - but not just any old rock climbing trip. We decided to go to the Cathedral Basin - a unique background range abutting the Canadian border on the east side of the North Cascade Crest in the Pasayten Wilderness. Acclaimed to have some of the best rock around, it looks a lot like Yosemite. The bad news is that the range involves a twenty-three mile approach, requiring the services of a horse-packing company. Heck, I was sold ... what self respecting Texan could refuse 45 miles roundtrip on horseback?
After riding in the 23 miles, we found ourselves surrounded by granite spires reaching above 9,000 feet, and we camped next to alpine lakes originally stocked with trout that were carried in by the old prospectors in coffee cans. We spent five days in the Cathedral Basin and worked hard under Mark's tutelage to learn the skills needed on rock, just like we did previously on the ice of Mt. Baker. Of all the things we learned, I have to admit that our first exposure to rappelling made my mouth dry. I've watched JJ's skills and confidence improve in both the gym and on the mountain, and while I had confidence in her abilities, as a parent, watching my daughter edge over and then disappear off a cliff was a hard thing to do. Since then, we've rappelled countless times - but even to this day, when I tie in and look down, I still get that funny, slightly queasy feeling. Believe me, there is no feeling in the world as unnatural as backing off a cliff.
By the time our packers returned to take us back to the "real" world, we'd climbed the north face direct route on the north peak of Amphitheatre Tower, the west ridge skyline route on the west summit of Amphitheatre Tower, and lastly, Cathedral Peak - though unfortunately, we had to turn back 100 vertical feet from the summit of Cathedral because of threatening weather. On the long ride out, we talked about our next trip and agreed that our long-term goal would be a trip to some truly big mountains, such as those in the Alaska Range. Before that, however, we'd need to develop additional skills before embarking on such a trip.
While I had confidence in her abilities, watching my daughter edge over and then disappear off a cliff was a hard thing to do.
The next year, we decided to go to Colorado for our family winter break. While my younger daughter was snowboarding and my wife was hanging out at the spa, JJ and I could be found at the Ouray Ice Park practicing waterfall ice climbing and getting a feel for really cold weather. We found we both enjoyed ice climbing, and JJ could of course go up and down like a yo-yo. However, I still couldn't seem to shake that funny feeling I get when I have to rappel and back myself over the cliff, sliding down into the canyon. I've jumped out of airplanes 127 times without a second thought, but rappelling still bothers me. We've been back to Ouray once since, in 2006, and now at least I can manage to watch JJ disappear over the edge on a rappel without a lump in my throat. JJ has never lacked determination, and for the first time I began to notice that she was developing into a really good climber as her strength and coordination matured. AAI guide Dawn Glanc was a tremendous help as well, adding to JJ's skill set and teaching her more efficient technique to conserve energy.
Our next big trip was to Canada to try our luck climbing glaciated Mts. Tantalus, Dione, and Serratus in the Coast Range of British Columbia, northwest of Whistler. When we met up with Mark in Bellingham, his jaw dropped. JJ was no longer a skinny kid but had filled out and was almost as tall as him. "You've grown . . ." was about all Mark could manage at the time. Our one-week trip was fun, although we struggled with some nasty weather with intermittent whiteouts, which cut short our time for climbing.
Despite this we were able to climb almost to the top of Dione, and we topped out on Serratus. While descending Serratus, we took the route off the south side and quickly learned that every single rock we touched was loose. And I don't mean just loose; I mean it would come straight out in our hands - even big rocks that looked like they shouldn't move. This increased the danger from rockfall tremendously and made us proceed with extreme caution. I almost never think of falling, but in this circumstance I began to wonder if the protection Mark was placing would withstand a hard fall. We made it down eventually, but it was a slow process, and we returned to camp just in time for dinner after a twelve-hour day. Despite the sketchy weather, we felt the trip was a success and that it was a good warm-up for Alaska.
I was beginning to fear that the local CPS might greet our plane
and want a few words.
JJ and I began to get ready for the Alaska trip shortly after the 2005 Christmas holidays. We started our training program, though unfortunately, since there are no mountains in our area, we were limited to gym workouts. Step climbers, treadmills, EFX machines, and yoga became part of our routine. As our departure date approached, we checked and rechecked our equipment. JJ took over the role of equipment manager and made sure everything was ready and working properly.
Our flight to Alaska was an adventure in itself. We were in prime cruise season, so on the airplane we were sardined-in by a bevy of blue-haired matrons wearing white tennis shoes and accompanied by their well-trained and long-suffering husbands. Conversations usually went along the lines of: "Now tell me honey, why would a sweet young thing like you want to go into those mountains?" This question was usually punctuated with a sidelong disapproving glare at me. I was beginning to fear that the local Child Protective Services might greet our plane and want a few words.
After arriving in Anchorage and retrieving our three huge duffel bags, we met up with Mark. If he appeared surprised the last time he saw JJ, he was really amazed this time. At 14, she stood 5'8" and came complete with the strength and endurance of a true mountaineer. The following day we took the shuttle to Talkeetna, checked in at the ranger station for the climber briefing, had an enormous burger for lunch at the Roadhouse, and then returned to the airport to begin the dreaded wait for a break in the weather so we could fly into the mountains. While we hung out at Talkeetna Air Taxi, our cruise friends from the plane happened by on their way to a "flight seeing" trip through the mountains. By this time, we were all set and wearing our glacier clothes and boots. The cruisers seemed to view us as anthropological specimens to be examined and commented upon, much to our amusement. Sometimes they'd even whip out a camera and take our picture. Since we weren't privy to their conversations, we started to make up our own, which usually went something like this:
Mark (in his best chicken-fried southern accent) "Hey Beulah, ya'll see that there fella' in the yellow shirt (meaning me), whatcha bet he don't make it . . . yep, that boy's gonna be toast fer sure." This was usually followed by a slap on the thigh and uproarious laughter. I'm sure the cruisers wondered what was so funny and probably came to the conclusion that the whole lot of us were nuts.
Nuts or not, we were soon off. Our flight to the glacier lasted some 45 minutes, and we were all amazed at the scope and size of the Alaska Range. We planned to keep a night schedule, so the late evening departure from Talkeetna actually helped jumpstart our trip. After settling into camp and fixing a late dinner that ended sometime in the early morning, we knocked off for the day, or night, or whatever. That evening we spent time reviewing glacier travel skills.
Our first summit attempt occurred the next night. We hiked to the base of the mountain and cached our snowshoes at the bottom, planning to retrieve them on the way back, and started up the slope. We climbed for several hours but took timeouts to stop and take in the awesome views unfolding in front of us as the sky lightened. After a long and difficult climb, and with only some 400 vertical feet remaining, we opted to call it a day. By that point, we were struggling through waist deep, slushy snow, and while we all wanted to get our first Alaskan summit under our belts, we knew that continuing to push on in such conditions could easily result in a wrenched knee or worse. We threw in the towel and started back down, immediately discovering that any attempt to plunge-step simply broke through the icy crust on top and swallowed your entire leg up to the hip in a wet, slurpy posthole. We all struggled and finally got down to a more stable platform, agreeing not to ever leave snowshoes at the base of a mountain again.
We hiked back to camp through an almost surreal gloaming, which was accented by stray rays of bright sun that broke through the cloud layer for a moment, only to vanish as quickly as they appeared. The difficult descent from the top of this unnamed peak was one of the toughest days I've ever had in the mountains, but fortunately it was offset by one of the most incredible views I've ever seen in my life. I can't begin to accurately convey the unbelievable remoteness of the location and the pristine nature of these mountains. The absolute lack of smell in the air, along with the sound of total silence are indescribable. Perhaps a poet or someone more gifted with words could do a better job than me.
Over the next days we made two first ascents and had the privilege of putting our boot prints where no one has stood before. We sat on the summits of Alaskan peaks enjoying views my friends the flight-seers could never imagine. We had a birds-eye view of the Moose's Tooth, a long look down into the Ruth Gorge, and of course gazed at Denali. Like most climbers, I've read many books and articles that ponder the age-old question of "Why do you do it?" There are probably as many answers to that question as there are climbers and certainly no one-size-fits-all answer. For me, I have a simple throw-down answer: my daughter asked me to. Over the years, I've developed my own reasons, which are hard to fully articulate. I read once that if someone has to ask that question, then they'll never really understand the answer, no matter how good it sounds.
Little did I know, that hot summer afternoon in the IMAX theater, where this adventure would take us. I've watched my daughter grow from a gangly girl hanging out in a climbing gym doing her best to act like a tough guy, to a real team member on an Alaskan expedition. On countless occasions, I've watched her measure a risk, make her decision, and then go for it, or not. And on a few rare occasions I've seen her fall, sometimes really hard. But she always got up, and that's one of life's great lessons. Mark has been a great teacher and an exceptionally positive influence on JJ, in addition to becoming a good friend. JJ once had a school assignment to write an essay about someone she admires. Some of her classmates wrote about great men such as Gandhi and Mandela; JJ's essay was about her teacher and guide Mark Allen and the lessons she's learned in the mountains.
Our adventure certainly isn't over, but 50 year-old guys like me do at some point have to acknowledge reality. At some juncture, I know her skills will outstrip my ability to keep up with her. That's the point at which I'll probably start thinking about hanging up my ice ax and crampons. Perhaps the best thing that may come from our adventures is that JJ and I have both learned that we can depend on each other no matter what and that one of us will always be there holding the rope for the other. I believe that's a life lesson she will take with her well beyond mountaineering.
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