Glory Dole
I am an Alpine Scrambling graduate and course instructor, and I still feel fear every time I sign up for a scramble. This morning is no exception. At 4am, my alarm blares a jolting reminder that it’s time to get up for a snowshoe with The Mountaineers, but all I want to do is stay in bed and forget about the mountains. The last time I was on snowshoes, they tried to kill me, and I haven’t let go of my grudge.
A near miss as an early recreationist
In January 2022, before we joined The Mountaineers, my wife Olivia and I went on a winter outing at Paradise on the south slope of Mt. Rainier. Recent transplants to Washington, we had very little experience in the mountains or on snow. Our packs lacked The Ten Essentials – we didn’t know what those were. Without a plan, we showed up to Paradise with our snowshoes and followed other people up a steep slope, hardly noticing that the people we were following also had crampons, helmets, and ice axes.
Suddenly, my snowshoe slipped and I fell more than 100 feet, hit a boulder, flew another 20 feet, and landed face down. What was only seconds of falling felt like an eternity. I remember thinking, “This is how I die.” A few moments after the fall, I assessed my condition. I was alive, but couldn’t tell if I was injured. I saw blood on the snow, but didn’t know what was bleeding. I did a quick head-to-toe assessment. No head or neck pain; I could move my arms, hands, legs, and feet. I took out my phone and put it in selfie mode: nothing broken or busted, just scrapes on my face. I managed to remove my snowshoes, put on microspikes, and traverse to an area that was less steep. My wife safely descended from the spot where I fell and embraced me. I wept in relief. We had almost lost each other.
For a long time after that incident, whenever I closed my eyes, I felt like I was free falling. I found it hard to sleep. I told Olivia I didn’t want to go to the mountains anymore, but Olivia suggested that before giving up on mountains altogether, we take some classes. Days later, we joined The Mountaineers.
Today’s trip will be my first snowshoe back on steep terrain since my fall. I thought about canceling yesterday, but instead I packed my gear. I thought about canceling before going to bed, but instead I set the alarm. I think about canceling when the alarm goes off, but instead I get up and put on the tea kettle. I fix breakfast, pack my lunch, double check my Ten Essentials, and head out the door.
How to feel safe when you’re scared
Our scramble to Old Baldy Mountain begins smoothly. As we progress up snow-covered terrain, the slope’s steepness and ice intensifies, so I put on microspikes, pull out my ice-axe, and don my helmet. At this point, I am comfortable walking with this gear. I’ve learned and practiced how to walk in balance and feel secure putting this skill to use.
As we advance, the snow deepens and we switch to snowshoes. My confidence disintegrates. I don’t trust my snowshoes, and my inner dialogue spirals: I’m not capable. I don’t know any of these people. I’m the only one who is scared.
Despite my fear, I follow the walking in balance protocol: move the ice-axe, move my downhill foot, move my uphill foot, repeat to the summit. I stay in motion, trusting the process and taking the next best step.
Summit smiles at the top of Old Baldy.
We finally summit Old Baldy. I am relieved, but still need to go back down, which scares me most. Instead of being alone in my fear and allowing it to turn to anger and isolation, I decide to take a risk. I speak up using a tool I call “Talking in Balance.”
Step 1: Observe the facts. Instead of overwhelming myself with negative thoughts like “I’m not good enough” or “No one cares if I’m scared,” I focus my attention on observing my surroundings. In this case, I notice the mountain is steep, I don’t know anyone very well, and I’m not confident in snowshoes on steep terrain.
Step 2: Ask myself what I’m feeling. After observing the facts about my situation, I can make a clearer assessment about how I am responding to the conditions of my environment. In this instance, I feel scared and isolated.
Step 3: Ask myself what I need. It is difficult to understand our needs if we don’t yet understand how we’re feeling and why. Once I recognize I’m feeling scared because of the terrain and gear, I understand that I need a buddy to descend with me down the steep areas.
Step 4: Make a request. The Mountaineers prioritize teamwork in backcountry travel. It’s up to me to understand what I need and ask for it, so my teammates can support me. On this steep snowshoe, I want someone to be my buddy, but first I need the courage to ask.
I sit next to the trip leader and tell them, “That steep part on the way up made me nervous. I was really scared and thought about turning around. I’d really like someone to be with me when we descend. Will you go with me?”
Walking in balance while descending Old Baldy.
I’m met with immediate support, making me feel seen, heard, and part of the team. No longer afraid of being alone, I confidently face the steep descent with my buddy and feel supported the entire way down. I still get moderately nervous descending, but my fear is manageable because I know I am not alone. My Mountaineers team has my back.
Communicating what I feel and asking for what I need has helped me become more secure on my outdoor adventures. It has also given me the confidence to pursue leadership roles that allow me to support others who are new to the outdoors. As I continue pushing myself to summit challenging peaks, walking and talking in balance remain essential to my safety. I still have moments of fear, but every time I face them I climb higher and come home stronger.
This article originally appeared in our fall 2024 issue of Mountaineer magazine. To view the original article in magazine form and read more stories from our publication, visit our magazine archive.
