August 26, 1921,. 'With a shout we greeted the summit as its first visitors. ... The summit of the mountain is an extremely narrow knife-edge. We had to use great care in moving about, as there were many large blocks just poised on the brink.' by Francis P. Farquhar and Ansel F. Hall

Dear Son,

A son such as you, who like all His children, stumbles at times, nevertheless makes this fathers and mothers hearts glad. Life is splendid and its vistas breathtaking, but at times treacherous as an episode in my life might illustrate:

My diary excerpt - June 1989: We got a fairly late start in the morning and do to my over-ambitions ascended and then descended a nasty class 4 and 5 chute. Chuck’s wisdom prevailed that we would take much too long on this interesting rock challenge. We found a class 3-4 route – Likely the main route and did what we could to make up time. After a long and arduous assent, we scanned the awesome horizon from a castellated peak. It is perched along a knife-edge.

We caught our breath and breathed in the spectacular vistas of God’s creations. Checking our watch, I quickly snapped a summit panorama and gulped down the last bit of water. I looked cautiously at Chuck. Little needed to be said as our expressions bore the concern plain enough. Only then as we checked our knapsacks for supplies was our collective folly evident. We had both forgotten our flashlights and we had only gear would only keep us warm under constant effort at this altitude. Immediately we began to scamper down the jutting 14 thousand foot peak of the Middle Palisade.

This took perhaps a dozen rappels as I sliced up our small supply of ribbon to protect our rope from the sharp edges of the rocks. As I would descend, Chuck, who had preceded me, while I stabilized his anchor, would be looking for the next good spot to sling our lifeline. By the time we descended from the massive peak’s rock face to the sloping glacier below, it was approaching pitch darkness. We were perilously late coming down.

My companion and I determined despite lacking light of any kind and no water or food, that pressing on to camp was preferable to digging in. We struck on ahead and Chuck forged a fast pace which I struggled to keep up with him. My only resource to aid me was a wooden walking stick I had found near the tree line 3000 feet below. I would probe the shadows frequently for some surety as I plunged after my companion’s shadowy form down and ahead. At one point, to catch up, I was determined to glissade on my back, ‘turtle shell’ style, down a precipitous slope. Chuck, who was somewhat ahead of me and below, could see my faint dark form careening down or perhaps he heard me coming, but in any case, being closer he could make out the shear cliff I was heading for and called out as loud as he could for me to arrest my descent. I new and trusted my partner. I also knew that he had descended the path I was currently on and could see the dangers I could not. I jammed my walking stick into the hard snow with all my might. Now I didn’t know how close the cliff was, 10 feet or 100? I could only envision myself sailing off the 200-foot cliff and so with all my might, I laid into the stick. Suddenly, as I skidded down the slope, it snapped in two leaving me with only an 18-inch stub. I took what was left and put it to good effect for all I was worth pulling all my weight on top of my little anchor and thus stopped just shy of meeting my maker.”

Or perhaps I did find him that moment, but it was a powerful lesson to me. I’m not talking about foolhardy climbing practices; sure I learned plenty on that score as well. I’m referring to the idea that at times it may be advisable to defer our passionate judgment to those who have both traveled the path we are on and to whom have our best interest at heart. On those dark confusing times when we seem to be careening out of control towards an unknown fate, a voice crying “warning” in the wilderness can be a Godsend to the man who has ears to hear.

There was no moon and the overcast heavens hid most of the stars, but still the pure white blanket rendered the undulations as variations of deep deep grey to pure black; enough to make out general direction now. I still saw no moon, but perhaps hidden behind the massive range gave some faint hint to our path. As we rounded the long ramp making up the cliff face, I could finally see the lower plateau comprising a high frozen pass. I was quite spent as I was taxed my small frame for all it was worth to meet Chuck’s lanky stride. We would occasionally call to each other like sounding bats in a cave, but he never let up, ever driving us closer toward our camp looming only in our mind’s eye below.

At the edge of the plateau was a headwall which lead down to our camp perhaps a mile by the crow flies. The wall was a cascade of rocks covered steeply with snow and ice. Chuck plunged on down and I followed, again sliding on my back to catch up. As I came to a rest at the bottom, I could feel the snow now for the first time penetrate my layers and I felt the clammy cold begin to sink in. I was so dreadfully tired and now could only occasionally sense my companion’s location ahead. The path was a snow and rock strewn frozen creak bed that led gently down toward or camp on a tundra-like ledge. I thought finally there is the 3-foot ledge. Camp is only a few hundred precious yards a way – at last. My nose nearly bloodied as I came face into a massive boulder. I new my perceptions were now getting badly distorted and sensed the cold and ardor were now taking a dangerous toll. Shirting the boulder, I moved on down stream - occasionally stumbled, knowing I must not, I dared not stop. Then the 1^st of a bit of moon lent a distant view of our camp and with it safety and a flood of emotions. I climbed up from the stream bank to the scrubby grass ledge and my stumble gave way to ragged trudge. I collapsed in a thankful heap and I pawed at the tent searching for a zipper and warmth. My mind and hand would neither cooperate and I gently cursed to tent that hid its’ respite. The cold made me curl to a ball and then I knew I was deeply bone cold. I think I had heard Chuck a short distance away getting water and determined to wait for his help. I knew that he had not slid in the snow as I had and was undoubtedly in far better shape. I was so grateful for that comforting thought as I huddled in only partial clarity of mind.

Chuck returned in a few minutes and seeing me in a fetal ball helped my into the tent and into my bag. I began to shiver and drank lightly from the canteen. He gave me a candy bar and largely for my sake warmed up some herbal tea. I thanked my partner and praised God for our survival. It seemed like hours before I felt warmed again and then I slept deeply.