Tag: Climbing

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Meeting Myself at the Summit

by Craig Karls


For as long as I can remember, the outdoors have been my friend. Growing up in the St. Johns neighborhood of North Portland in the 70s and 80s, I spent much of my time roaming the woods and meadows of Smith and Bybee Lakes, Hayden Island, and Forest Park—collecting plant specimens and immersing myself in nature. The outdoors provided a welcome respite and temporary sanctuary from a home life that was dysfunctional and sometimes violent. 

The author on the summit of Mount St. Helens on
Mother’s Day 2015.



One of the most memorable events of my childhood occurred on a Sunday morning–May 18th, 1980, to be exact. From my front yard, I saw Mount St. Helens erupt in all its glory, burning an indelible mark on my soul. As a young adult, I attended Eastern Oregon University in La Grande and had the privilege of exploring the backcountry of the Blue and Wallowa Mountains during archaeological surveys and geological field trips, as well as on my own.

Fast forward to Summer 2014. I was hiking McNeil Point on Mt. Hood with some friends. We continued past the shelter and up the path that runs along the ridgeline. It was a lovely clear day, we were at about 7,100 feet, and we were looking at the top of Mt. Hood. I turned to my friend, Eric Crowley, and said, “You know, I would love to climb to the top of that someday.” 

He smiled slyly and replied, “I have,” and proceeded to mesmerize me with his stories of climbing Mt. Baker and Mt. Shuksan.

BCEP team enjoying a fire after a day
at Horsethief Butte. Photo: Kathleen Sciestl

Eric must have remembered our conversation from that summer because I received a text message from him the following New Year’s Eve that read, “Howdy—wanted to see if you are at all interested in taking a basic mountaineering course. I am going to sign up for the Mazama basic course.” I began to barrage him with questions and he gave me the link to the Mazama Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP). I read everything on that link and began exploring everything else on the Mazama website. Saying that I was interested would be an understatement. Eric advised me to go to the BCEP Information Night to learn more.

So I did. I was enthralled by the people I saw climbing the rock walls in the auditorium. I had never been rock climbing, never been in a harness, and knew next to nothing about the sport. Yet, something about the spectacle I witnessed called to me. I heard a quiet voice inside me, saying “do this, now is the time, you will grow and discover things about yourself that hitherto were unknown.” I listened to the presentation and watched the slides, becoming more certain that BCEP was the right choice for me. I went straight home and signed up online. I knew that there was no guarantee of being admitted into the program. I was told that demand for BCEP often exceeds the spots available–a fact that was reflected by the standing-room-only crowd at Information Night.

The team prepping to climb at Horsethief Butte.
Photo: Kathleen Sciestl

I received an email in early February informing me that I had been accepted. I was delighted, but also a little apprehensive. After all, other than hiking, I’d never done any “mountaineering” sports. Also, I tend to have a lot of social anxiety when meeting new people, especially in large groups. Fortunately, my friend Eric was accepted, too, and we were placed on the same BCEP team: Team 21, led by Amy Graham and Patrice Cook. Patrice organized an introductory potluck at her house before the first class, allowing us to get to know one another.

There we each received about six feet of climbing rope with which we could begin to learn our knots. Some of the knots were easy to master; others, not so much. We were being “shown the ropes,” so to speak. It was both gratifying and humbling to learn a new skill. A properly tied and dressed knot is a thing of beauty! At home later that evening, my knot-tying practice seemed to take on a meditative quality—a Zen and The Art of Knot Tying, if you will.

At the first BCEP class, I learned that we were going to be rock climbing at the Mazama Mountaineering Center (MMC) that very weekend. I was as excited as a freshman on the first day of high school. Later that week, I dutifully went to the Mountain Shop in Northeast Portland to buy all the gear I would need to try rock climbing for the first time. Fortunately, there were BCEP assistants at the shop to help me get what I needed and ease me into the world of rock climbing.

When our MMC rock session came, I had a beast of a time getting my two prusik slings the correct lengths. Patience and determination came through, though. When it was my turn to climb the wall, I felt an exhilaration like none other. Getting to the top of the wall, I thought to myself, “Hmm, I think I may have found my sport.” Strangely, I didn’t have much fear of falling. Also, I discovered that climbing has a meditative quality. My chattering mind became silent and focused on the task at hand. There was something paradoxically relaxing about it. The biggest fear I had that day was belaying my classmates. I wanted to make certain I was doing everything correct, lest they fall.

Our camping and outdoor rock session weekend at Horsethief Butte was the last weekend of March. The weather was excellent and the experience magical, confirming that I had indeed found my sport after 45 years on this beautiful planet. I eagerly went from station to station, climbing again and again. I also discovered another activity I adore—rappelling! And I discovered that while indoor rock climbing is fun, outdoor rock climbing is a blast.

We had our snow weekend in mid April, learning about avalanches, self-arrest, crampon use, roped teams, and pickets. Mountaineering is the perfect team sport because the only one you are competing against is yourself and the climb team is only as strong as its weakest member. Thus it behooves you to help your teammates succeed in any way possible.

When it came time for the final exam, I was amazed at how much knowledge and activity had been packed into such a short timeframe. I am now comfortable with the skills that were taught and my BCEP experience has ignited in me a passion to learn as much as I can about mountaineering. I have already taken the Crevasse Rescue Skillbuilder and intend to take additional skillbuilder classes. I see Intermediate Climbing School in my future, as well. 

I learned a whole lot more from BCEP than just mountaineering skills. I learned more about who I am. I’ve learned to trust others more—life is one big climb and everyone you meet is belaying you in some way. I’ve learned the wisdom of the fool—that is, having a beginner’s mind in learning a new skill can bring so much wonder and joy into my life. I’ve learned patience—what really matters is the process, not the product. Sometimes you will be able to summit a mountain, sometimes not. 

Mazama membership requires reaching the summit of a glaciated peak. I summited my first glaciated peak by climbing Mount St. Helens on Mother’s Day. I’ve seen pictures of the summit many times, but nothing compares to being there. The gods of the ancients always lived on a mountaintop; perhaps they were onto something. It is a spiritual experience to be on a summit. I applied for Mazama membership after the Mount St. Helens climb and received my acceptance letter dated May 18, 2015—35 years to the day when I saw it erupt. What strikes me as astonishing is that I didn’t take up this sport much sooner.


I would like to thank my BCEP teachers—Amy Graham and Patrice Cook—and all the assistants from the bottom of my heart for having the patience, enthusiasm, knowledge, and judgment needed to get this kid-goat started in mountaineering. 

To you, I say, “Climb on!” I guarantee you will find yourself at the summit.

 
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Emotional Atrophy Amid the Revelations

The Revelation Mountains are a small, rugged subrange of the Alaska Range located about 140 miles northwest of Anchorage and about 130 miles southwest of Denali. The principal peaks are granite spires that rise out of relatively low-elevation glacial valleys. The high vertical relief of the Revelations creates a dramatic backdrop for some very challenging climbing conditions. They remain mostly unexplored because the weather is notoriously heinous and the flight to get there is long and expensive.

None of this has deterred alpinist Clint Helander, who made his eighth trip to the Revelations with help of a $1,000 grant from the Mazama Expedition Committee. 

The objective for his eighth trip? The tallest unnamed peak in the range, known simply as “9,304.” 
“Words cannot describe the beauty of this peak,” Helander said in his grant application. Helander planned to climb the Southwest Buttress of Peak 9304, a 3,500-foot route, in a single push of 24 hours. 

What follows is his account of the ascent.

by Clint Helander (all photos are courtesy of the author)

There would be no sleeping on this night. Last evening’s -25 degrees Fahrenheit freeze had given way to warmer temperatures, blown in with a ferocious storm. I knew my climbing partner, Tad McCrea, was also awake, but we said nothing. We just laid there in silent fear and listened. The wind moaned a slow, agonizing cry among the summits and lenticular clouds. Then, like an army of charging demons, it screamed down the valley, gaining momentum and strength as the surrounding walls tightened. 

Like counting the growing waves on a shoreline, we began to determine when the biggest of the gusts would hit. Despite our snow walls, they seemed to blow right through us. Our four-season tent would flatten, the fabric stretching and poles creaking. “We’re not going to make it through the night,” I thought. Like a captain talking to his battered ship amidst a tempest, I begged the tent to survive. “Hold strong,” I quietly pleaded.

This wasn’t what Tad and I had planned on when we landed under perfect skies the previous day. But now, in the northern heart of Alaska’s Revelation Mountains, we felt alone and adrift. I braced my side of the tent through the most terrifying of the gusts and began stuffing all of my loose belongings in bags. “Should I put my boots on,” I wondered? “She’s going to break at any moment.”

March’s early morning twilight began to eek through the sagging tent walls. So far, she had weathered the storm. The winds began to ebb, now gusting to perhaps only 80 miles per hour. Our snow walls were gone, the glacier scoured into a shadowy white and gray wasteland. I emerged from the vestibule in full war regalia. We dug all day, excavating a snow cave under the flat glacier. We couldn’t survive another night of wind like that without it.

The brunt of the storm passed, but ceaseless wind followed for another five days. We resigned ourselves to passing the hours in our tent and snow cave, emerging now and then to snatch a few glimpses of our distant prize: the unclimbed monolith labeled “Peak 9,304” on our Lime Hills USGS topographic maps.

Tad was running out of time–the pilot would be there to pick him up in less than 24 hours–and the wind had yet to subside. We called for a weather update. It would be calm the next day. We awoke at 4 a.m., but the incessant wind persisted. We rolled over and tried to sleep, but the sound of our enemy outside refused to let us kill more hours in slumber.

At 11 a.m. the wind finally blew away. We skied out of camp in rapid procession. The south face of Peak 9,304, a mountain I had long referred to as “the Obelisk,” held its triangular form as we approached.

A snow-filled chimney held my picks, but threatened to spit me out. My protection far below felt suspect. Sixty meters above, a grainy crack offered a decent spot to anchor in. Tad led a long block of simul-climbing to the base of an ice-streaked headwall. A prow reared out past vertical and the hanging daggers looked almost impossible to climb. The summit was many thousands of feet above us still. We retreated.

Tad reluctantly flew out the next day, and in his place John Giraldo arrived, fresh and unbeaten by the storms. We quickly reached our highpoint on the Obelisk. I searched for courage as I confronted the looming ice above. A bad screw penetrated snow and aerated ice, then a few feet higher a good, small cam. “Watch me, John. This is really hard and scary,” I muttered. My tool shuddered and reverberated as it penetrated nominal ice and struck the granite slab underneath. A deep breath and I trusted myself to it. Another swing and a wide stem and I was still moving upward. I swung again, only this time the tool broke through the ice and into air. A two inch crack! Hanging there, teetering on my loose pick, I excavated the crack and placed a dreamy cam. The crack continued for another fifteen feet of salvation. Seventy meters of difficult climbing continued and I searched for an anchor as the rope came tight. Small cams shifted in odd-shaped cracks, and pins bottomed out in seems. John followed and I studied the anchor while I thought about him on the crux moves.

We continued upward for hours in long blocks of simul-climbing. The absent wind seemed strange on our sunburned faces. We approached the summit in the afternoon, high above most of the surrounding Revelation peaks. At the top, I thought back to the stress of the previous week of fighting the endless winds. I pushed the pain of a failing relationship from my mind. Two words came silently to the front of my mind: emotional atrophy.

On the summit though, it was a brief moment of long desired tranquility.

Clint Helander started climbing in 2003 and has climbed a variety of alpine routes in Alaska, including an integral ascent of the Moonflower on Mt. Hunter and the third ascent of Mt. Huntington’s Phantom Wall. Yet, he returns to the less explored Revelations every year to seek solitude and adventure. It is those experiences in the true wild that mean the most to him.

Over the years, Helander’s trips have culminated in six first ascents and two first ascent routes on mountains that had only seen one prior ascent:
  • 2008: First ascent of Exodus Peak (8,380 feet)
  • 2009: First ascent of Ice Pyramid (9,250 feet)
  • 2011: First ascent of Mt. Mausolus via Mausoleum (4,400 feet, WI5)
  • 2012: First ascent of Golgotha (8,940 feet)
  • 2012: First ascent on the South Ridge of the Angel (9,265 feet)
  • 2013: First ascent of Apocalypse via 4,200-foot West Face (WI5 M5)
  • 2014: First ascent of West Face of Titanic (3,800 feet, M6 5.8)
  • 2015: First ascent of the Obelisk (Peak 9,304’) via Emotional Atrophy (Grade 4 M6 WI5 A0 3,280’) on the South Face. Clint Helander and John Giraldo, March 22, 2015.
This article was initially published in the 2015 Mazama Annual. All rights reserved.
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A Brief History of Youth Achievement at the Mazamas

by Mathew Brock, Mazamas Library & Historical Collections Manager

 Ernie Goble on the approach to Mt. Hood, 1956.
Photo: Walter Goble.

In the summer of 1958, Ernest “Ernie” Goble was taking a well-deserved break on the saddle between North and Middle Sister. While admiring the majestic view of the Cascades, another climber took refuge on the opposite side of the room-sized rock. Suddenly, the huge rock shifted and started to roll. Ernie’s father, Walter, rushed to grab him and pull him out of danger. Although his father’s quick thinking saved him, the rock rolled by close enough to rip the shoulder on Ernie’s parka. In his six-year quest to climb all of the 16 major peaks in the Northwest, this was the only dangerous situation that young Ernie encountered. He was 13 years old at the time and already an accomplished climber. 

Ernie began climbing in an era when notable achievements were rarely written about or recognized. While it is possible that he may be one of the youngest, or earliest, to complete all the 16 peaks, it is hard to say with certainty. He started climbing in the mid-1950s and took part in one of the first Mazama classes offered by the then newly created climbing committee. Over the years, as the classes developed and evolved, generations of new climbers like Ernie were introduced to the sport and taught the skills needed to become successful mountaineers. 
Explorer Post #936 members after a first ascent
Canadian Coast Range,1997, Photo: Peter Green. 

By 1975, interest in engaging Mazama youth reached a new high. As part of the Boy Scouts of America’s Explorer Scouts program, the Mazamas established Explorer Post #901. The nationwide program aimed to get youth outdoors by teaching them skills in mountaineering, as well as water and winter activities. The Explorer Scout committee organized lectures on the philosophy of climbing, suitable outdoor clothing, and proper nutrition. Rope, snow, and rock skill building classes were offered to provide firsthand experience. In their first year, the Post climbed Mt. Hood, Mt. Adams, Mt. Washington, Three Fingered Jack, and Mount St Helens. 
Sahale Flanagan and Margaret Redman at the 1988
Annual Banquet. Photo: Unknown.

The Explorer Post program proved popular with the membership. The program expanded in 1978, and then again in 1981. It fell on hard times in the late 1980s before consolidating and reigniting as Post 936 in 1993. The end of the 1990s were good years for the Explorer Post; the program’s leadership was motivated, enrollment was high, and their adventures captivated the membership. A few of Post 936’s notable achievements included climbing in New Zealand in 1996, four first ascents in the Canadian Coast Range in 1997, and organizing the 20th Anniversary celebration for the American K2 Expedition in 1998.

Around the time of the Explorer Post’s low ebb, a young girl named Sahale Flanagan began her climbing career. Sahale climbed Mt. Hood in 1986 at the age of eight, accompanied by her parents Lath and Mary Jane Flanagan. She became a Mazama in 1987 at age nine. She earned the Guardian Peaks award in 1990, the Seven Oregon Peaks award in 1994, and the 16 Peaks in 1998 at the age of 20. She often climbed with her father and served as an assistant leader on three of their ascents together. The climb report for their three-day climb of Mt. Shasta notes that Sahale acted as climb leader on summit day and did a “great job leading the six other climbers to the summit.”

Ernie Goble on the summit to Mt. Stuart, 1960.
Photo: Walter Goble

The year before Sahale achieved her 16 peak goal, another young climber was just getting started. Quentin Carter climbed Old Snowy, his first mountain, when he was just four years old. Quentin’s father, Matthew Carter, got him started hiking early, at age two, and camping overnight by age four. By the time Quentin turned eight, he’d climbed Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood, and Mount St. Helens, earning him the Guardian Peaks award in 2003. His three summit attempts on Mt. Jefferson rate as some of his most memorable climbs. Bad weather and an accidental fall involving the climb leader turned back their first two attempts. Quentin finally summited in 2008, his third attempt in three years. 
The Families Mountaineering 101 program at Horsethief
Butte in 2015.

At age fourteen, Quentin had earned the Oregon Cascades award and by age 19 he had achieved the summits of all the 16 major peaks. Long time Mazama climb leader Dick Miller was instrumental in Quentin’s climbing career. Over his 12 year quest to get all 16 peaks, Miller was a teacher, mentor, and friend. One of Quentin’s most treasured mementos of his early climbing is the modified ice ax made for him by Dick. In modifying the full-size SMC axe, Miller cut down the shaft, dulled all the sharp edges, and stamped Quentin’s initials in the head. 

Quentin on his first  climb in the Goat Rocks.

The Mazamas interest in engaging young mountaineers has changed and expanded as the membership has grown. The Mazama Families Committee, begun in 2013, focuses on getting families outside together. Leaders in the group teach kids the joys of mountaineering in a way that instills a sense of joy and brings them back. They aim to build a community where children and parents learn from mentors and experienced climbers in the organization. The committee currently offers a Families Mountaineering 101 course that teaches kids and adults entry level rock and snow climbing skills. In the past year, Mazama Families members have put those skills to work hiking Dog Mountain, skiing Mt. Hood Meadows, and climbing at Smith Rocks, among other events. 

Quentin Carter on the summit of South Sister in 2004.

One of the legacies of getting youth involved with mountaineering is the formation of a lifelong affinity for the sport and the Mazamas. Many of the youngsters that started climbing with the Mazamas as part of the Explorer Post program have stuck with it. The odds are good that many of the young kids in the Mazama Families initiative will go on to be adult climbers. Now in his early 20s, Quentin has aspirations to one day become a climb leader like Dick Miller, his mentor and favorite climber. As for Ernie, after many years away from the sport, on his 68th birthday he climbed Mount St. Helens with his daughter, herself a third-generation Mazama.

Quentin Carter

Quentin Carter on the summit of Mt. Shuksan in 2014.

His final climb to complete the 16 major NW peaks.Matt Carter first took his son Quentin out hiking at age two, and by four, they were camping. Before starting his 16 peak quest, at age eight on Old Snowy, he’d already explored Yosemite and City of Rocks among others. Like many others, he’d planned on doing Mt. Hood as his first official Mazama climb, but a climbing accident and a helicopter crash on the mountain that season forced a change in plans. They ended up climbing Unicorn Peak instead. His second climb, Mt. Adams, in 2002 was almost his last. During a glissade on the descent, Quentin’s pants filled with snow, and he became hypothermic. Quick work by members of the climbing team got him out of his wet clothes and warmed up. For his fourth Mazama climb, Mt. Hood in 2003, Dick Miller presented Quentin with his custom modified ice ax and crampons. As his climbing career progressed, Quentin’s father insisted that he have advanced training. Besides taking part in Mazamas training, they also took 12 days of intense climbing education in the North Cascades as part of the American Alpine Institute’s Alpine Leadership class. Quentin went on to assist on several of his later summits, including Mt. Baker and Mt. Shuksan, his 16th peak.

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The Threat that Binds Mazama Volunteers: Inspiration

by Dan Schuster

The author on the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro.
Photo: Godlisten Christosa

Ask any longtime supporters why they give heart and soul to the Mazamas and you’re likely to get different answers. Contrary to popular myth, we aren’t all climbing sport enthusiasts. Yet to say we all love the mountains or mountaineering may exclude rock climbing buffs who’d rather hang out at Smith, or hikers who love the woodlands. It’s difficult to identify a common thread binding us together because our passions sometimes drive us apart. While we each may have a different vision of what the Mazamas should be, one thing we all share is inspiration. Mazama volunteers have inspired us and in turn, we volunteer to inspire others.

For many of us, that inspiration started with our BCEP instructors, and I was no exception. My BCEP ‘88 instructor, Bo Nonn, is one of the unsung Mazama heroes. That’s not to say he didn’t receive all the awards that come from being a long-time climb leader, but he kept a low profile, focused instead on inspiring us to pass on the love of mountaineering. I followed his example through BCEP, ICS, and ASI for the 28 years since, and as a climb leader for the past 14. Over the years, I’ve given both personal time and money to the Mazamas and with so many other critical needs out there, you might ask, “Why the Mazamas?” It boils down to inspiration.

For example, you may have seen the movie “Meru,” and been inspired by the extremity of purpose and commitment that might seem absurd to some. Yet the adventure aspects of the movie inspire even non-climbers in a way that golf and baseball never can. The movie had particular significance to me because of my experience with another Mt. Meru, Kilimanjaro’s unassuming cousin. In 2007, I traveled to Tanzania to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. My daughter accompanied me as far as Moshi, and while I was on the mountain, she volunteered her nursing skills at a local hospital. Afterwards, she shared her dismay on discovering how little of the hospital’s medical equipment was in working order. We later learned through a WHO report that up to 80% of East African medical equipment was nonfunctional. Inspired partly by Greg Mortensen’s school construction project for Afghan girls and partly by my BCEP instructor’s Peace Corps experiences in Botswana, I set about to remedy the equipment situation. It occurred to me that the many engineers who travel to Africa on safari and to climb Kili were part of the answer. “Voluntourism,” historically dominated by medical staff, was in dire need of technologists. After struggling to find a cooperative venue, I returned to Tanzania in January 2010 as an instructor at Arusha Technical College (ATC). Nestled in the shadow of Mt. Meru, ATC was created to fill the demand for qualified technical personnel in Tanzania. Since that first visit, I’ve spent 18 months in Arusha training future biomedical technicians to repair medical equipment and established a nonprofit corporation, Biomedical Engineering Technology Aid International (BETA Int’l), to support that endeavor. BETA Int’l has subsequently facilitated a biomedical engineering technology program at ATC by training faculty, providing modern test equipment and parts, and providing stipends for student internships at area hospitals. With a comprehensive training program in place, ATC now supplies electrical and biomedical engineering graduates to hospitals throughout Tanzania.

I’m not sure any of this would have come about if not for the volunteers that inspired me and the inspiration that comes from my own volunteering. Climbing taught me many valuable lessons including this from scree and soft-snow slogs: slide back a step for every two forward, keep going, and you eventually make the summit. You definitely need this kind of tenacity to deal with bureaucracies and governments in developing nations. And inspiration has opened doors to new opportunities. Now BETA is teaming with GE Foundation to address medical technology issues in all low-resource countries. Haiti is next, although it is more like climbing Mt. Everest. We’ve been slogging there since 2011, without yet reaching the first base camp.

For some of you this may not resonate (unless you climb Kilimanjaro and have need of hospitalization). For me, it justifies my “Curmudgeon Challenge” to raise funds for the MMC, and the countless hours I’ve put into Mazama training, climbs, and committees. My Mazama training was a prelude to a much bigger life mission—one that has become world-transforming. I understood that in 2003 when I teamed with Monty Smith to rescue a family on the Eiger’s neighboring peak; our oft-repeated leadership training saved five lives. So mountaineering will never be just a sport to me—the inspiration goes far deeper, and it is a fundamental test of character. Yes, I do love the mountains and any excuse to be in them—anywhere in the world. What inspires you may be different, but do keep our volunteer tradition alive within the Mazamas, and pass along the inspiration to others. Inspiration is the most pervasive impact we can have in this world, and our only legacy.

Author’s note: If you are bound for Kilimanjaro, interested in voluntourism opportunities, and have a medical or engineering background, see BETA International’s website at www.bmet-aid.com.
Author’s bio: Dan Schuster is a Mazama climb leader (2001) and has taught climbing since 1989. A retired Caltech-educated engineer, he founded Biomedical Engineering Technology Aid International (www.bmet-aid.com), a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and is also a volunteer science museum educator in lasers and robotics at OMSI.

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How a Team of Volunteers Changed My Life

The author on the summit of Mt. Hood, July 7, 2012.
Photo: Steve Deardorff

by Kristie Perry


It started with seven little words.

“Take Beecept, Kreestee. You vill love eeT.”

So proclaimed Ania Wiktorowicz, a relentlessly cheerful co-worker and one of the many awesome ambassadors for mountaineering that make the Mazamas such a terrific organization.

I wasn’t so sure about this BCEP thing. At that point in my life, I was about 18 months away from my last cigarette and about four years away from my last bottle of red wine. I had, at least, quit committing slow-motion suicide. But I was, at most, a recreational hiker and car camper with a head full of “I can’t.” Should I really do this BCEP thing?

I was quite convinced the answer was No. But every Monday morning, there was Ania, egging me on. “Take Beecept, Kreestee. You vill love eeT.”

So with high hopes and even higher anxiety, I enrolled in BCEP.
It was a life-changing experience.

There came a moment during the eight-week class when I fully realized that the massive undertaking that is BCEP is run entirely by volunteers. A lot of them: volunteers who are recent college grads, moms and dads, and grandmothers and grandfathers; volunteers with full time jobs as social workers, accountants, physicians, lawyers, engineers, and sales reps; volunteers who seem to have been born wearing crampons; and volunteers who only recently learned how to tie a butterfly knot.

That light bulb moment about BCEP came at the conclusion of Jodie Adams’ presentation on strength training exercises for budding mountaineers. Jodie is a Mazama member and physical therapist. She’d just had a baby. It was still very tiny. And yet Jodie hauled herself down to Jackson Middle School on a rainy Tuesday night in March 2013 to talk to a bunch of wannabe mountaineers about the proper body position for deep squats.

I felt tremendous gratitude for Jodie’s willingness to share her expertise with us. She did it for free. She did it with cheer. She did it even though as a new mother she was extraordinarily sleep deprived.
I experienced many moments like that during BCEP. There was Colleen Sinsky, who rescued me from a meltdown during knot-tying practice. There was Sue Giordano, who coaxed me up my first climb of the MMC rock wall. There was Kyle Heddy, who hugged me after I stemmed up the chimney at Horsethief, and Brian Anderson who made sure I did my BARK check correctly before rappelling back down. This chorus of “You got this, Kristie!” was conducted by BCEP Team 7 Leader Kevin Clark, who patiently instructed me—again—on how to plunge step after accepting me on his Mt. McLoughlin climb.

Volunteers. Every single one of them. Teaching me the skills of mountaineering. Doing it for free. Doing it because they wanted to. Doing it with a magical mix of patience and encouragement. Amazing.

Every single one of those volunteers played an important part in evicting that rat’s nest of “I can’t” that had been so thoroughly ensconced in my head for so long.

So I did the only thing I was really qualified to do for the Mazamas right after taking BCEP: I joined the Publications Committee. I got to geek out with other grammar nerds on the finer points of the Oxford comma. I got to apply my administrative and organizational skills to some process improvement projects. Eventually, I got to be chair of the committee.

And with every article I proofed and every meeting agenda I put together, I got to say thank you. Thank you to each and every Mazama volunteer that has come before me and made this organization what it is today: a welcoming place where even timid, middle-aged chicks with a head full of “I can’t” can learn to glissade with the best of them.

About the author: Kristie Perry is a three-year Mazama member and Director of Donor Relations at Central City Concern.