Found! (The Epilogue to Lost)

Within days before performing the piece “Lost” for the First Speak storytelling series at the Tin Pan Theatre, I climbed Mt Hood. I still performed the piece intact as it tells the story of how much climbing provides community, satisfaction and even validation…but at that moment, I had already been found…

The climbing season on Hood was nearly over. Temps were increasing, crevasses widening, fumaroles exposed, and rockfall increasing. Timberline Mountain guides, who are the exclusive climbing guides on Hood would be shutting down their operations in a matter of days.

I called my buddy Cliff, one of Timberline’s guides, to check on conditions and pick his brain. There was a short weather window, literally about 18 hours that was aligning perfectly between my crazy summer schedule and John’s schedule at the bike shop. Cliff said we should be fine. That there would be a nice boot track. In fact, we were able to get in on a friends and family deal (usually reserved for guided clients) and pay for the snow cat up to 8500ft, skipping the first 2500ft of slogging.

Now you might this this is “cheating,” and to some degree it felt that way. However, John had gotten up to 9 or 10k ft twice before and I had two false starts on Hood. The tough part is at the top, and that’s what we needed to surmount in order to calm the demons that unfinished business can conjure.

We drove up to Timberline Lodge’s overnight parking lot arriving around 8pm, and along with a handful of other determined souls, we tried to get a few hours of fitful sleep before waking at 12:15am and meeting the snowcat at 1am.

The snowcat driver was all business. “Sharps” (ice axes, trekking poles) get stashed in a cage on the outside of the cabin. We were warned of the prospect of the snowcat rolling and all signed a separate liability waiver just for the ride. The ride proved uneventful though and in about 20 minutes, we blasted up 2500ft ensuring we would be get a taste of real climbing quickly.

John and I were conscious to get ahead of the two guided rope teams (mostly so that they wouldn’t feel like we were just following in their footsteps and effectively skirting guiding fees). We were dialed, threw on our crampons, and set out with intention. I was nervous about my fitness level, so I employed the “one earbud” technique. It’s generally considered bad form to listen to an iPod while climbing with a partner in the middle of the night on a glacier, but I kept the volume down low enough so that I could still get a solid rhythm to follow and be able to hear my partner and stay aware of the specter of rockfall. It made me crank and we made solid progress.

There was another team we passed in a crevassed section who already looked wasted and it was barely 3am. “They’re not going to make it,” the little voice inside my head stated dispassionately. “I wonder what they think of me.” The last glaciated peak I attempted to climb was Makalu in Nepal in 2010. Four years out of practice makes you rusty. Injury makes you weak. Fear makes you tremble.

I was nervous and the echo in my head became deafening. I trepidatiously expressed my frustration with my nervousness to my partner who has cojones many times greater than my own. He admitted nervousness as well. Although John has a freakish level of fitness right off the couch, he’s experienced enough to know that if things go wrong on Hood, they can go really wrong. Remember those crevasses, fumaroles, and rockfall that I mentioned early? Add avalanches to that list earlier in the season. He’d gone up twice and turned around due to concern about avalanche conditions. Although I’m always the physically weaker of the two of us, I have more experience in that area. He wanted to come back with me to try to get ‘er done. His response didn’t inspire confidence, necessarily, but it did make me feel less alone in my nervousness.

Huge fumarole

Huge fumarole

We kept inching along, passing people, figuring out section by section, testing the waters…or the snow rather. We traversed north of the “Hogsback” to go straight up the “Old Chute.” A HUGE fumarole lurked at the bottom of the ascent up the Old Chute. A fall here could mean a deadly tumble into that fumarole. The climbing was not that tough, but that fumarole never vacated the back of my mind.

We began following a boot track that went straight up which makes the going a LOT easier. However, there were three crazy slow rope teams ahead of us who would not yield. We shifted right and began kicking in our own steps – exhausting work in these soft conditions. John took the lead and ended up kicking steps the entire way. Although he was doing the tough work of breaking trail, the snow was sugary and I still had to kick in a few more times to get good purchase with each step.

We passed the three rope teams and what we saw was astounding. Each team was roped together by some kind of hemp rope, the rope was tied around their waists (no harnesses), and they were carrying coils in their hands (providing no protection in case of a fall). No one was wearing a helmet. They were all clearly inexperienced except for the guy in the lead barking orders. No wonder Hood has a reputation for accidents due to its accessibility to the uninitiated. We wanted to put as much space between us and them as quickly as possible.

The chute got steeper and steeper. I knew some climbers rope up for the steepest parts and some people use two ice tools, especially when the snow is more firm. The slope really got my attention but I was comfortable forging forward front-pointing with one axe. We surmounted a slightly unnerving bouldery section with verglas (thin ice) in between the rocks to reach the crater rim right as dawn broke.

It was magical.

All those times when the alarm goes off at some ungodly hour, I think to myself EVERY time, “What the hell is wrong with you, girl???” But I muster the will to get up and get ready in the cold and dark. And then I am rewarded with this.

Easy part of the crater rim

Easy part of the crater rim

We made the mistake of roping up for the final section on the crater rim due to the big exposure (drop-offs) on each side. A guy died here a few weeks prior when a cornice on the north side of the rim broke. However, it was all reasonable scrambling and walking to the true summit to call Hood mine, so we wasted some time since it wasn’t necessary to bust out the rope.

I only took one summit photo holding a sign saying “Michelle was/will be here” for my mountaineering friend currently battling cancer. No need to dwell when the conditions were only going to get even softer now with the sun rising.

We reversed our steps to head back down the Old Chute. The temps began warming quickly and the snow was loosening up. It was becoming like weird chards of broken glass that wouldn’t hold your weight. I was gliding down with each step for a couple of feet before my weight would settle the snow. Unnerving but fast. Thankfully the snow firmed up a bit more after a few hundred feet.

The three rope teams were retreating without summitting. They were so nervous that they were going down backwards, facing into the slope, creeping along painfully slowly. We walked down facing forward, plunge stepping with increased confidence despite the fumarole lurking in direct sight.

Descending quickly

Descending quickly

The rest of the descent was uneventful until we reached the 8500ft. No snowcat now. We began to slog down the snowcat tracks when a lightning storm broke out on the horizon just a few miles away. So we began to jog toward the lightning, toward the safety of the lodge and civilization.

When it was all over, I was intensely satisfied. Mt Hood is a coveted objective and has turned around many seasoned mountaineers when the conditions weren’t right. But I was also left thinking, “Really, this is what I have been feeling so incomplete and lost about for the last four years?” It’s a funny thing how easy it is to take for granted what you have or what you can do, and how much you can yearn for it when you cannot. The human condition.

I’ve crossed Hood off my list.  And I am found again.

Fearlessness is Bullshit

“A rejection is just a re-direction in life.” – Jill Shapiro

The next time someone tells me they admire me because I’m fearless, I’m going to vomit. Don’t worry, it will be figurative, not literal. 🙂 It’s frustrating because many people seem to use it as an excuse. They are open to be inspired by someone they consider to be fearless, but they won’t apply that inspiration to their own personal situations. “Oh, he/she’s fearless, I couldn’t do that. I’m too afraid.”

There are truly few people who are actually fearless, and I would posit that they should NOT be admired. What’s so inspiring about someone doing something scary if they are devoid of fear???

I know how full of fear I am in all areas of my life. If I create a perception of being fearless, yet trying to convince others that “If I can do it, so can you!”, then I have completely failed. It’s difficult to identify with fearlessness. Why? Because fear is completely normal and human!

It’s precisely because I feel fear intensely, assess the risk, and then find a way to work through the fear that I can feel satisfaction and reward. When I was in college, I entered every single classroom assuming I was going to fail due to my lack of self-confidence, support network, and financial resources. However, I would focus on doing my very best at every assignment/test/paper, and I surprised myself by graduating first in my class.

When I first started rock climbing, both indoors and outdoors, I would tie in (connect the rope to my harness) and feel an intense wave of anxiety as I would walk up to a climb. That lasted for several YEARS, and sometimes I questioned why I kept coming back when the anxiety was so strong, but the sense of accomplishment of working through the fear to get to the top of a route far outweighed the discomfort of feeling that fear. Now that fear is completely gone as I was successful at desensitizing myself to it. However, I can still get “gripped” while lead climbing outdoors and am working on that primarily by controlling my breathing. So, no, I am still not fearless while climbing.


There are a couple of tricks to working through fear and keep it from holding you back from your dreams. The first trick is to find the peace of mind to stop in the moment, take a deep breath, and say, “Wait, is this danger real or perceived?” You’ll often find it’s perceived. We are the ones that are paralyzed by fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of suffering. And if we work through it, things often work out just fine. When they don’t, such as when you bomb that presentation or don’t get that second date, no one else remembers it a year later.

When the danger is real, respect it. Fear can keep you alive. As the mountaineer/speaker/author Alison Levine says, “Fear is normal, it’s complacency that will kill you.” Fear is a totally valid human reaction to real danger.

Real danger - there were avalanches crashing down around me at 21k ft

Real danger – there were avalanches crashing down around me at 21k ft

Follow your intuition that that stranger might really mean you harm or that prospective work environment really could be toxic. I can’t even count how many times I’ve listed to my intuition in the mountains. Others around me might have thought I was wussing out, but my intuition told me the danger was real and I listened when the consequences were high. One such time was on Mt Whitney’s Mountaineers Route where I got the heebie jeebies on a slope and decided to turn around 700 ft from the top because I was concerned about avalanche danger when the temps rose later in the day. As we crossed that slope the second time on our retreat a little lower, I saw an extended crack in the snow. We practically ran across the rest of the slope. That’s REAL danger.

Heebie jeebies on Mt Whitney

Heebie jeebies on Mt Whitney


The second trick is to do the mental exercise of determining different scenarios. What’s the best thing that can happen if you take this risk? What’s the worst thing that can happen? If you continue to climb despite the fact that your toes are already numb and the temps are dropping, worse case is frostbite…maybe far worse. Best case is summitting your objective. Not an acceptable risk for me.

If you are afraid of telling that special person in your life how you feel about them, the worse case may be that you scare them off. Best case is that the feeling is mutual. How awesome would that be to find out that the feeling is mutual versus the prospect of finding out the hard truth that it is not? You’ll find the latter out sooner or later!

If you are worried about taking that new job, pitching to that new client, making the case for a promotion to your boss, what’s the best thing that can happen? You get the new job, client, promotion and have a chance in hell at being successful. Worst case is you have to work through rejection and focus on your next opportunity. Seems like a no brainer when it’s laid out like that, doesn’t it?


The third trick is to tell others and create accountability. Simply naming the fear makes it tangible and creates power to address it. Afraid of public speaking? Announce on Facebook that you are joining Toastmasters and want some partners in crime. Tell your friends that you are starting that new job search and they will keep asking you for progress reports. Make that standing weekly date at the climbing gym with a supportive partner. If you keep your fears locked away in your own head, it’s REALLY difficult. I always tell my climbing partners when I’m getting gripped on a route – they are well trained to shout encouragement and remind me to breathe.

Everyone has their own individual Achilles’ heels. I’m no longer really afraid of heights, of asking for what I want, of leading others in the backcountry, of delivering keynotes to large audiences, of taking risks with my career, but NOT because I’m fearless…because I’ve worked extensively through those fears consistently over YEARS. All of these things used to be REALLY tough and they are no longer.

What can be harder than carrying a pack and dragging a sled in the middle of the night in Alaska?  Vulnerability

What can be harder than carrying a pack and dragging a sled in the middle of the night in Alaska? Vulnerability

BUT I’m still working my fear of vulnerability and rejection. I’m confident in my skills, my abilities, and my potential to have positive impact on this world, especially in group situations. However, I am a really open, transparent, and giving person, and when I feel rejected or betrayed one on one, it can paralyze me with fear and a major gut reaction to pull back. Vulnerability and emotional pain to me is far more painful than any subzero temps I’ve endured, more draining than carrying the heaviest pack I’ve ever carried, and more intense that any unprepared bivy I’ve survived.

“Remember, we are all affecting the world every moment, whether we mean to or not. Our actions and states of mind matter, because we’re so deeply interconnected with one another. Working on our own consciousness is the most important thing that we are doing at any moment, and being love is the supreme creative act.” -Ram Dass

There are some good reasons for this based on my wacky family situation that cause me to continually seek ways of validating my self-worth and take things too personally. I’ve come to realize that’s my next frontier of fear. But just as with my history with heights, public speaking, career moves, guiding, I can chose let the fear rule me, to close down and protect myself…or I can continue to take risks, stay vulnerable, and potentially reap great rewards.

Even writing this publicly is the first step to naming the fear publicly and forcing accountability…I chose to consciously embrace vulnerability with other individuals.  Let the pain begin!  😉

What’s your Achilles heel? And what are you going to do about it?