To The Top

Long, long ago before internet was on cell phones and home computers were commonplace, I saw a photo of Denali reaching towards the sky. I remember riding bikes to the library (one of those buildings that holds books) and turning the pages in mountaineering books…one day.

This is definitely one thing I can blame on my mom, she is the hiker.  I know now she had a daughter so she would have a hiking buddy.  When we would visit my grandma she always said “hey let’s go for a hike at Will Rogers State Park” and off we’d go.  Will Rogers State Park is as nestled as anything can be in Los Angeles offering spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean the higher up you go and we always managed to hike the loop trail to the highest point we could reasonable reach in a few hours.  Our weekend jaunts included what seemed like endless car rides to Sequoia National Park for more hiking.  I “discovered” my very first period in the campground bathroom.  My mom told me “just wrap some toilet paper around my underwear, the nearest store is 30 miles away.”  By the time I was nine she was taking my brother and me up Half Dome in Yosemite.  (Here is where I must admit the cables were a bit to daunting and I waited at the bottom, which haunted me until my 30’s when I returned to the very top to dangle my feet off the edge as the climbers topped out over Half Dome’s face.) 

My mom decided it was time to hike to the highest peak in the lower 48, Mt. Whitney, 14,505 feet.  I was fourteen.  The first plan was to hike part way, camp, and then reach the summit on the second day.  Instead, we hiked up and back in one day, 22 miles round trip.  Being fourteen and sexy I raced some cute boys to the top, leaving my mom and brother behind.  My mom said I wrote “18” in the summit log book, instead of my real age. I can’t remember and it was so long ago I doubt there is proof anymore.  But it was Mt. Whitney, at fourteen, when I knew my heart belonged in the mountains.  After tackling the highest point in the lower 48, why not the highest point in North America, Denali?

I truly believe I had absolutely no idea back then of what it meant to climb Denali.  Until then I had only hiked.  But as time went on I learned to climb rocks, ice and mountains.  I joined backcountry ski patrol to learn about avalanches.  I soaked up rescue clinics to learn crevasse travel and survival.  I read – at the library.  In 2007 I made my first attempt, successfully reaching 14,200 feet where bronchitis set in and my climb was over.

 Since then there have been some hiccups.  In 2009 I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I had nine surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation.  When treatment ended I set my sights on climbing once again.  After an incredibly hard weekend of testing to become an AMGA certified single pitch instructor I was diagnosed with lymphedema.  Lymphedema was my personal death sentence.  I was told no lifting weight over 8 lbs, climbing would forever be easy and simply recreational, no caffeine and no spicy food.  Of those, I gave up caffeine. 

 On Friday I begin my journey to Alaska.  My climbing partner and I will fly onto the glacier May 13^th.  Like when I hiked Mt. Whitney with my mom, we will make our summit bid about May 25^th from 14,200 feet, climbing just over 6,000 feet to reach the summit in one very long day….