The promise on the mountain

As most long-time readers of Stoney Moss know, last September, I got lost hiking on Mt. St. Helens with my dog Harriet. Our ordeal lasted about 36 hours from first setting foot on the mountain for what we thought was an unremarkable day-hike (so were packed, regrettably, for such a hike), until we we were search & rescued by the Cowlitz county S&R team. I know this sounds over-inflated and hyperbolic, but when I started the hike early Saturday morning, I was an athiest. Sunday afternoon, I came off the mountain, at the very least, an agnostic with a promise in my pocket.

Although I started to get a bit nervous about the length of the hike (it seemed to be lasting much longer than the 7 miles I had anticipated, and I didn't have a GPS unit at the time to validate the map or the mileage), I teased myself into believing that I'd be off the mountain soon enough, so didn't begin to acknowledge the seriousness of our circumstances until about 7pm. Sunset that night was around 7:40. At around 7:15, I saw the sign that confirmed my fears: "You are hiking in a dangerous blast zone. You may not be here without protective gear. Restricted area." I had never intended to hike that day in the blast zone of the active volcano (you need a permit to do that)- I was supposed to be hiking in Sheeps canyon, along the Toutle River. The blast area was not in my plans at all.

Of course, my cell phone didn't work, so my SOS calls were in vain (although a neighbor did know where I was, which is ultimately what saved me, as they called 911 around midnight. Thank you, Brent and Yana.) I kept walking until dusk, and then realized that we had to stop for the night, although I didn't want to. I was certain that the parking lot was JUST OVER THERE, if I'd just keep walking...but sanity interrupted and reminded me that stupid people fall off mountains in the middle of the night. So I found a cliff with a rotten log, and made my camp for the night. It wasn't much of a camp, mind you, but I did saw down a little tiny sapling (I still don't know why I felt obliged to kill the tree- I thought I might use it as protection, I guess), and I used the tree to dig for rocks to make a fire pit. Of course, it had been raining all day (so me and my cotton clothes were soaked), and because my outdoor skills are essentially zero, I was never able to get much of a fire started.

I tried burning sticks and leaves (all soaked), and had a stack of compressed-wood firestarter in my pack that I used for fuel. I also had a pack of cards that I burned- it was getting cold and I struggled to stay warm in the early part of the night. I hear it got down to 29F that night, and I was wearing a wind-breaker and wet cotton clothes. Mentally, I break the story of that night into three distinct segments: the "planning" segment from 9-12, the "calm" segment from 12-3, and the "break-down" segment from 3-6. This story is about the planning segment, and what happened immediately upon setting out the next day around daybreak at 6:30. The stories of the other segments are best left to another time.

As I was nursing my sputtering fire, I knew that I would need to do something to keep my body and mind safe and sane in the coming night. I felt like I needed an anchor- something to attach myself to, so I wouldn't float away in the fit of terror that I thought would come from spending a night alone, lost on the mountain. I needed a mantra. Anything would have done- the ABC's, Mary had a little lamb- anything that was repetitive that I could attach myself to. But at that time, the only thing that came to my mind, (my mind was a blank, which is why I knew I needed to purposefully fill it with something harmless- the demons would occupy it otherwise), was the Serenity Prayer. Just 6 weeks prior, I had accidentally (and felicitously) been introduced to AA, by some strangers I met in Toronto and New York City. I certainly didn't consider myself an alcoholic, but for a variety of reasons, ended up attending about 6 meetings. So, perhaps because of the relative recency of being exposed to the prayer, the Serenity prayer was the only mantra I could come up. So, it became my mantra.

For most of the 3 hours of the planning segment, I repeated my mantra through my shivering teeth. I was freezing cold, scared, and intermittently crying (sometimes hard), but never gave up the mantra. Half-way through, I lost my concentration, and the prayer got jumbled- I was aware that I was missing whole lines, and using wrong words, but continued through the mantra. I never stopped saying it. At the same time I was saying the mantra, something strange occured to me. I decided, for what I think is the first time in my life, to make a promise to god. I had been screwing up lately- after a breakup of a very important relationship, and a lot of other life-changes, I was behaving irresponsibly in more than one way and was on the verge of getting into trouble (nothing serious, dad!). At that moment, while saying the prayer, I also uttered a promise, "please god, if you get me off this mountain, I will stop what I've been doing and I will grow up. I will make it worth it." That was it, a very simple (and rather cliche, I must admit) promise.

By midnight, the deep cold of the night had really set in, and I stopped sitting by the depressing and smoldering fire, and instead laid near the rotten log. Again, the story of those next six hours is a story for another day. By 6:15, the sun was rising, and as soon as I saw those first glints of sunshine, I had cleaned up my "camp site" (there were a few charred, but not burned, playing cards that I saved, for what I hoped was not another night of useless fire-burning), and I walked back out to the main trail over a ridge. Below me, lay an old lava flow, to my right and left were the decimated ridges (one of which I had stayed the night), with very little vegetation and trees, and directly ahead of me, was the mountain herself. I saw on her top that it had snowed that night, the first snow of the season.

(Please bear with me, I know this sounds like an over-acted bad movie).

I could hear birds, and the cold in the air actually felt GOOD on my face and hands. I took in a deep breath and breathed the cleanest air I have ever breathed. Spontaneously, I felt as though my entire body was filled with something good (perhaps it was the sunrise in my cells)- and I lifted my arms out like wings to my side, and I said, out loud, to no one, "Thank you god, for this day. If I had to go through all of that, just for this moment, it was worth it." For that one moment, I was profoundly grateful for my life and for that day. If I could have been anywhere on the planet at that moment, I wouldn't have chosen any other place. If I could have been anyone else, at that moment, I wouldn't have chosen to have been anyone but me. At that moment, my body was filled with a promise, far more serious than the one I had made the night before. For that one moment, god, or whatever was in the sunshine, filled my body and my lungs and promised me another chance.

I took it.

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This piece of writing is for the fabulous prompt for this week at Writer's Island of the Promise. Perhaps I'll write more about this experience another day. Check out your fellow islander's blogs and read about their own promises!