Crossing the Ice

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
–Julian of Norwich

View from our camp on the Muir Snowfield with Mt. Adams in the distance.

An image of rugged glaciers is now seared into my mind’s eye. Our route passed through an other-worldly landscape of crevasses, immense ice canyons, and frozen sculptures of all imaginable shapes and impossible sizes.

We traversed Mt. Rainier’s steep slopes of snow and ice under the light of the full moon. I was transfixed by the magical, mesmerizing beauty of the stark terrain. And I was keenly aware of the dangers it offered on every side. Yet I did not feel especially afraid. When the way forward demands all of your mental and physical strength, it leaves little room for fear.

The ice is constantly moving and changing as it slowly marches down the mountain. It melts and refreezes. It forms steep pressure ridges. It breaks and shatters. It rebounds by building massive towers and swirling spires amid the craggy walls of icicled cliffs.

Gibraltar Rock towers above the Ingraham Glacier.

This world of ice is transient and temporary. The glaciers of Mt. Rainier are slowly but with surety approaching their own deaths. They could be gone in my lifetime or shortly after. Yet, even as they recede, their allure is dramatic and powerful. They are beautiful. They seem alive.

Most of the mountains I hiked this past year were shaped by glaciers. Long after they melted, the world still holds their footprints. And some day, who knows, maybe the glaciers will return. They have advanced and retreated many times before.

Climbers descending the Emmons Glacier above Disappointment Cleaver.

The ice is a paradox, temporary yet permanent, ever-changing even while frozen and still. It reflects our own existence–a reminder too that our entire planet, our universe, the living and the non-living, are threaded with this tension. All that we know, see, and touch is but a blink in the eyes of the infinite, while also timeless and profound.

Aren’t we so goddamned lucky to be aware of this blink? To feel, to love, to be alive, to grieve, to die, to suffer, to be born again… To take our perch on the mountain when it is our turn, and then to melt quietly into a new form, working our way back to the cosmic ocean from whence we came, when our moment has passed.

My rope-mates beginning their descent from the summit.

I risked losing myself–with Aubrey, with her cancer, and then finally, on these glaciers. I have felt deep pain and sorrow. I have agonized over the injustice of Aubrey’s suffering and lost years. At times, I have wanted to stop. But I have also watched the sun rise over the ice while looking out across hundreds of miles of mountains and forests. And I have shared a deep love with a good person.

The tragedy of an untimely death does not negate the beauty of a life well-lived. The pain we carry and the risks we take are but the price for each breath, for each heart beat.

When I could see the crater rim a few hundred yards away and I realized we were truly going to make the summit, I began to cry. I felt completely overwhelmed–my chest swelled with mourning and with joy, with yearning and with pride. I had crossed the glaciers.

Sitting on the summit after scattering the last of Aubrey’s ashes.