Find Your Inspiration - How Climbing Mt. Shasta Changed My Life

The power, beauty, intimidation, and sheer presence of mountains is a draw for climbers around the world. As a kid, I was always in awe of the mountains. Growing up on the East coast of the United States did not lend itself to getting to see or be around such magnificent wonders of nature. The stories of climbers on Mt. Everest, K2, and other big mountains made me awestruck. It was something that remained this mythical image, and I believed it was something that would stay out of reach in my life. Anyone who climbs has their reason, and this is mine.

In 2008, I got my first real view of a mountain. The beautiful Mt. Rainer greeted me on every clear day for the three years while stationed at Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington State. I would look at it in wonder and amazement. Depending on the viewpoint, it would look just massive on the horizon. It reminded me of how small we are, and that mother nature is the one in charge.

Up to this point in my life, I had not spent much time out in the woods (outside of military training), so mountains were a bit intimidating to me. I didn't know much about climbing or even how to get introduced to it. I went out on my first small climb with an Army Ranger buddy of mine, Jesse Yandell, out in the Snoqualmie pass. There was nothing technical about the hill, nor was it steep in elevation, but it was the first taste of what it was like to reach new heights and the power of being out in nature. I went out on one more small climb in the Olympic Mountains but never climbed Mt. Rainer. It would be another eight years before I experienced the climb that would change my life in some incredibly symbolic ways.

When I left Washington in the summer of 2011, I was slated to go to North Carolina for my next assignment. The move kicked off with a road trip across the US with the family. During my drive, I found out that my marriage was going to be over. Life tends to throw you curveballs, and I was not exempt, so now minus one, I drove across the country with my two kids, dog, and cat. It was apparent that what I thought was going to be my life moving forward was drastically going to change. As I was driving down I-5 through California, I realized that my family dynamic and professional path was crashing down on me. As I continued my road trip with my kids, I struggled with what I was going to do moving forward. I was in utter shock and disbelief.

I got "hooked" on the outdoor lifestyle for good in 2014 when I took a solo trip out to Zion National Park in Utah. At the age of 41, it was my first solo trip. I was finally planning and going on a journey by my rules, my schedule, and my time. During one hike early in the morning, I thought, "this is living." It was both physically challenging and mentally and emotionally trying, as it was something I had never experienced. I truly felt "alive." It gave me a degree of clarity on myself that I had not yet experienced at this point in my life. It became even more powerful, as hiking became a passion that I also started to share with my daughter. I knew that hiking was going to remain a part of my life going forward, but still, I was not aware of the impact that lay ahead.

The story comes full circle in the summer of 2016. In June, I relinquished battalion command of 1st Battalion, 3d U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard) at Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall, VA. Later that summer, I was set to attend the National Defense University (NDU) at Fort McNair in Washington, D.C. On the professional side, things were going about as well as I could have hoped given the change in circumstances following my time in Washington State.

As my change of command was approaching, I started to feel that urge that John Muir so eloquently stated: "The mountains are calling, and I must go." I researched multiple 14ers (14,000 ft peaks), as they are called, to determine what would be the best mountain to attempt. The logical thing would be to go for Mt. Rainer, but I was not sure that would be the best first climb to try. After much internet research, I decided upon Mt. Shasta, CA, which is a 14,180-foot peak. It looked like it would be an excellent first "big" mountain to climb. Nestled away East of the town of Mount Shasta, it is the 11th most prominent peak in the United States. I distinctly recall flying into the airport and waking up in the plane and looking out and seeing this massive mountain and thinking to myself, "what in the hell did I get myself into." I had not had that feeling since I was two days into basic training after enlisting in the Army. Just like in basic training, it was too late to turn back, I was committed, and so the journey began.

I landed in Oregon, grabbed my rental car, and started the drive south down I-5 toward Mount Shasta. It was a routine drive, but I was a bit anxious about what was awaiting me. Would I make it to the top? Was I physically and mentally strong enough to accomplish the goal of my first summit? These are thoughts that I would consider ordinary for someone about to embark on a new adventure. As I came into visual sight of Mount Shasta, I received what my first blindside hit and wave of emotion on this adventure. It suddenly dawned on me that I saw this very mountain almost precisely five years earlier when I was making my drive across the country. An incredible wave of emotion overcame me, and memories came rushing back. I recalled the feelings of that drive, and I remembered seeing the mountain. I did not know that the mountain I saw on the trip in 2011 was the same mountain I was about to attempt to summit. I pulled over to an observation point of the mountain. I sat there, stared, and thought about my life and what had occurred over the five years since the summer of 2011.

Finally, having arrived in town, I settled in my hotel and began to pack for my adventure that was to occur in a few days. I was planning to get out and hike a bit and get acclimated to the altitude. My excitement began to build as I prepared while in the shadow of this magnificent mountain. Little did I know what awaited me.

I met up with my group at Shasta Mountain Guides. I decided it would be a great time to have one final big breakfast before I went out on the 3-day summit attempt and settled on grabbing a bite at the Black Bear Diner. To this day, those are the biggest pancakes I have ever seen. I like to eat, but I could not finish those pancakes! While I was sitting there eating breakfast, I was texting with my kids back home and sharing a bit of the adventure with them. As we were texting, I told them that in life, I wanted them to try something and fail versus not trying at all. It is better to have tried and failed than never to know if you could have accomplished something at all. I was referring to my giving it an attempt to summit Mount Shasta as to trying something new.

As I sat at breakfast and reflected a little, it dawned on me that maybe I was not adhering to what I was telling my kids. What I started to ask myself was concerning my career in the military. I was coming up to the point where I could retire from the Army and start a new chapter in my life. I questioned whether I was staying in the military because it was comfortable and familiar. There were other things I had to consider based on my family dynamics such as knowing that going to NDU would require an additional service obligation of two years to the Army and my desire to stay near my kids. I thought it was profound that while I was trying to give my kids life lessons, I was giving myself a dose of advice. I also realized as I was sitting at the diner looking out at the mountain that I was not afraid of avalanches, frostbite, rockfall, or any other dangers associated with climbing. No, what scared me the most was the fear of failing. I doubted that I would stand on the top of the mountain and feared telling others I couldn't do it. Those thoughts would stick with me throughout the climb.

We were finally up on the mountain, and it was simply beautiful. The views were amazing. The feeling of being above the clouds was powerful and humbling. We did a mix of skills training and altitude acclimation as we made our way up to 8,000 feet the first night and camped out at just under 10,000 feet the night before we made our summit bid. I started to get a little concerned as I was feeling a bit off. I was not sure if I was experiencing the effects of the altitude or suffering from caffeine withdrawal (sad, I know). I did as the guides instructed the day prior and drank plenty of fluids and ate to sustain myself. It was time to make the summit push.

We departed around 3:00 am, and in the distance, you could see the headlamps of the teams ahead of us further up the mountain. I think this is one of the best views. All these people shared the same goal, but they all had their reasons for doing so. As we approached 11,000 feet, my head was hurting, and I was concerned whether I would make the summit, as getting sick or risking something more dramatic was not worth it. As much as I hated to do so, I informed one of the guides that I was not feeling well. I relayed my symptoms, and he told me to let him know if it got worse after we crossed the 11,000-foot mark. Fortunately for me, we had someone on our team who spent his life researching altitude sickness and the impact it has on climbers. Seriously, how lucky could I get? He gave me some Naproxen, and within 30 minutes, I felt better. It was like I was a different person. I went from being concerned about making it to feeling healthy and fully into the moment. It also allowed my mind to move from that to more profound thoughts. There are hours spent putting one foot in front of the other, and it leaves you much time to think.

There were three, including me on my rope team, and we were moving at a pretty good pace based on our fitness level. It was a guide, me and a 17-year-old making a first summit attempt as well. We were approaching 13,000 feet and the ridgeline along our route. We were at a point in which we were climbing in a line up to the ridge. Up to that point, we were using a switchback approach. I was third in line, going up this route and took my second blindside hit of emotion. It was like a quarterback sitting in the pocket too long and a safety coming on a blitz. It laid me out, and I started balling. Tears were rolling down my face while I tried to hide it from the other two on my rope team.

The massive wave of emotion of the previous five years ran through my mind in a blink of an eye as you see in the movies. I was reliving the painful drive across the country learning my marriage was over, my divorce, the pain my kids went through, the change in career path affected by my divorce and the sheer amount of pressure I felt during those five years. It all hit me right there on the side of the mountain. Here I am some big, bad Army Ranger on the side of a mountain overcome by emotion. It was an overwhelming experience; it was like this symbolic, parallel event happening in my life. I was physically attempting to climb a mountain while at the same time, I felt like I was reaching the summit of my own personal climb of the last five years — the two worlds colliding on the side of Mount Shasta.

Something else strange happened on that mountain. It was like a mind shift occurred with me. Instead of feeling sorry for myself and how different my life had become. I started to adjust my perspective and what had happened. Instead of feeling bad, I began to embrace where I was and what I was doing. I was climbing a mountain, chasing a dream, and living my life. Had I still been married; it was almost certain that I would not be on the side of Mount Shasta at that moment. It was then and there that I started to look forward instead of looking back. I was not only accomplishing a goal, but I had also survived the most challenging and difficult period in my life. I was reaching my personal summit!

The remainder of the climb went great, and I knew I was going to summit at that point. I was physically and mentally strong. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other until we reached the summit. At approximately 9:00 am, my team reached the summit. It was, and today remains, an indescribable feeling to stand on the summit of Mount Shasta. The sense of accomplishment mixed with the wave of emotions was surreal. I felt invincible and on top of the world. I was ready to conquer new challenges in life.

The summit is only halfway to completing a climb and the way down is far less full of anticipation and excitement and more about just getting down safely. The way down was spent mainly thinking about what I had told my kids earlier about trying something new. Was it time for me to move on from the military and see whom I could become outside the only thing I had ever known in my adult life? The most important thing to me remained to be a father, and I knew that staying in the military would likely make it challenging to make that a priority. The odds of having to move or face another deployment were high, and with my kids at that time going into high school, the choice became obvious. I wanted to be there for them.

The following week after the climb, I told my boss that it was time for me to retire. He was a bit surprised by it, but he knew me well enough to know that I struggled with the idea based on my family. He even asked me if I wasn't just feeling the high of having summited the mountain. I assured him that what happened was that the mountain gave me the clarity I had been missing. Just over a year later, in 2017, I retired from the Army and set upon a new challenge. Climbing Mount Shasta forever changed me.

Since then, I have climbed Mt. Baker and Mt. Adams, WA, Mt. Washington, NH, and Mount Whitney, CA. Each of these has meaning, and after each one, I come back to a better and more focused person. The climbs provide the time to reflect on where I am and where I want to go in life. It is a physical challenge as much as it is a mental break from day to day life that allows me to focus inward on becoming a better person. Every summit attempt feels the same when I see the mountain. The excitement, anxiousness, wondering if I will succeed, all drive me to come back. There are times throughout the year where I "need to go." I have to get to a mountain because I need a mental break and the time to re-focus.To me, a mountain so clearly represents life. There is so much time with your head down looking at your foot placement that you can forget the beauty around you. In life, we can get caught up in the daily grind and not live in the moment. Stop and enjoy the journey, and before you know it, you will lift your head and see how high and far you have come along the way. You, too, can reach your summit.

For me, it is a mountain, but for others, it is a beach, a trail, baseball field, or another form of escape. There are many ways to discover who you are and what you can become. I would encourage everyone to find that thing that gives them complete clarity to think about where they are, who they are, and where they want to go.