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"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” -MLK

The measure of an alpinist is not in what they can climb but in what style a climb is done. This is not an original idea and is the driving force of what climbing in alpine environments means to me. Style is everything, it is the art that makes alpinism so beautiful and inspires me to consistently approach mountains in the way I do. 

On the seventh of August me and my climbing partner James Nash set out on an ambitious goal of biking from Ashford Washington to the paradise parking lot below Tahoma, climb the Kautz in a fast and light style up and over taking the D.C down to then bike back to Ashford in one continuous push. The biking alone called for 25 miles and 4,500’ of elevation gain. We got crushed in a beautiful and insightful way.

At 2230 we departed the IMG parking lot, quickly entering the bubble world of our headlamps and the cool air whizzing by our heads as we set pace on our bikes. As the grade picked up entering the park we entered a low hanging cloud layer, the experience of the empty park at this time was perfect for the ride but the near white out conditions lead to a nauseating 2.5 hours of biking to get to paradise. Although I did not feel much physical fatigue on the ride, the soul crushing nature of the lack of visibility already chipped away at a weak mental game for me at the tail end of a long guiding season. Our minds work like a bank when it comes to digging deep, the committing lines must be balanced with low risk and recovery activities to keep funds available for withdrawal, early in this quest I was already hitting overdraft fees with my withdrawals. At paradise we transitioned slowly and talked about what we would already do differently, not using frame bags had bruised the living hell out of my ass bones and left me depleted. Overall the nutrition component had been good but the energy/caloric deficient I am fighting against was too great. We departed the parking lot and began to make our way up towards the nisqually glacier.

As the trail spit us off of the muir path and heading down to the remnants of what was once a proud glacier, now no more than complex moraine with loose scree and wobbly boulders we made our first navigational error that ate precious time. We dropped too low, becoming very apparent after our eventual bail when we took a much higher line across the nisqually. The condition of this entry point is not in ideal condition this time of year and overall our next attempt for this project will be in early to mid July 2026. We continued up varying terrain eventually starting up the steep snow and scrambling through a steep insecure rock step to gain the ridge. Although fun staying on the snow would have saved time and mental capacity compared to the demanding low fifth class high consequence rock we ended up on. At this point our pace, mine especially, had slowed to a crawl, but the wild sights around us made up for the beat down we were taking. A blood moon began to set to our west almost looking like a sunrise. Its light lit up our surroundings dancing off of the chossy rock and thin layer of freeze from the previous day's storms. Across the valley a cloud layer laid framing the tatosh range in its jagged beauty, Mount Adams jutting out definitely from the cloud layer off in the distance. Defeat was clear in our unspoken communications and also in our conversations, although we were deep in our respective caves we had each other in this mutual feat of repentance in the mountains early that morning, I saw James for where he was and he saw me in my entirety. We continued up a ways climbing over some steeper snow that had formed a slight ice layer on it before I called it. Leading into our push a lot of questions of descent route had risen due to part of the upper mountain having large crevasses open. The thought of later in the day descending all of this and crossing the choss pile of the nisqually was about as appealing as this attempt had been in general. 

We sat, perched high above the valley below, cars begging to break through the cloud layer on the road as the sun rose and the always present procession of tourists made their pilgrimage up to paradise. We ate snacks, laughed about the fact e-bikes would have made this a lot nicer or driving up to paradise for that fact. Yet we had made a conscious effort to hold ourselves to an ethic we believed in, a style in which it felt pure, and adventurous, a bar to measure ourselves against. On our descent we admired a mountain goat as it agilely hopped across the moraine, dancing like a spirit in the mountains. We got back on our bikes and zoomed back to IMG enjoying the views and the feelings of having tried something big and failed big. 

The Slog will have to wait till next year, many reflections on our tactics will lead to a successful attempt of this. Stats;

-59.3 miles human powered

-8,700' of elevation gain

-11 hours 33 minutes

We don’t go to the mountains for it to be easy.

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  As clients gathered and we moved to start our classes on putting on a back pack in the forever busy paradise parking lot I heard a distinct language spoken over the murmur of all the tourists. A Dutch family was taking in the views of Tahoma and I was beyond excited to speak my native touge. We made small talk, spoke about the beauty of Tahoma and as the family walked away the son asked his dad a question I couldn't make out, the response was " he's dutch but not really he may as well be a foreigner with the way he sounds." The same day a client let me know how I am American but not really. A inbetween state of existence never culturally one always closer to a fringe. My identity has become less tied to nation and more to experience based on existence as a first generation in the United States. I am often asked which I identify closer with but it is neither. The largest identifying part I see is my experience of sobriety and being first generation in the United States.

    I have reached a decade of sobriety in what feels like a blink of an eye. I don't feel that different from the 17 year old who was in withdrawals and a buck 30 soaking wet. The world continued to change and move around me and feelings of shame and guilt around my personal plight came and went in these last 10 years like waves of consciousness. In the last decade as I moved forward in my recovery the annual drug overdose deaths doubled annually. That's roughly 100,000 sons,daughters,husbands,wives,friends, people who no longer walk this plain of existence a year. The pharma bro's who opened Pandora's box through fda labels and execs who lined their pockets continue to walk around scot free. In a lot of ways, even though what we now understand around opioid addiction is ten-fold compared to then, nothing has changed. Insurance companies own beds in treatment facilities and promise cures. 1.2%-2.2% of opioid users see successful recovery. The addict is a second class citizen in today's world just like the drunk has been in different times of substance abuse epidemics, the symptoms become talking points of lawlessness and homelessness for capitalists to run fear mongering programs on tv and social media. Places such as Kensington in philly become click bait footage to be monetized on youtube as poverty and suffering porn. Where lies our humanity towards a person in need, in a nation of "gotta get mine" individualism. Is collective effort or harm reduction even possible under our current economic systems when NGO's make ten fold in their boards when all they do is hand out water? 

The Greeks placed coins in the mouth or on the eyes of the deceased for Charon to collect for safe passage onto the next realm. There is a transactional nature to the human existence.This nature paved the way for the opioid epidemic. It is a truth through many societies,history, and lore. I believe alpinism and recovery is similar in this sense with a caveat. The traditional sense of this equation is effort + time = outcome.  Sometimes it is practice + time= success. The definition of success becomes turned on its head in the mountains and in recovery. Being stuck in a cold damp tent for days at end will often teach you way more than the ease of romping up a mountain in perfect conditions. Stepping into the coliseum the rocky quote "It ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done.”  Rings true on a spiritual level. One must take copious amounts to gain the morsales of mountain sense to go for truly committing and beautiful lines in this world.  This is where the interconnection lies for me. The isolation was a hit, the experience of addiction and turmoil was a hit, the tear of not belonging in my settings or cultures and lack of place was a hit. Yet in the presence of adversity just like my parents did and the generations before them did during war we continue to put our foot in doors. 

In my reflection of this decade and the years that led to it I am drawn to Nietzsche's ideas of time being a circle of repetion. "Do You want this again, and then innumerable times again" the answer is yes. My snake eating its own tail is not only filled with suffering, I have loved, felt humanity, danced in the mountains, and seen a lot of the world. Although often at odds Schopenhauer's ideas of will I believe to connect well to this idea of innumerable recycling. If will is blind drive and a constant state of wanting leads to suffering there lies a redefinition of suffering. Suffering reminds us we are here and not passive in our existence, it reminds us what it means to have triumphed and to have failed, to look into the abyss and wonder if something will look back. The will to continue on my path is irrational and insatiable, it would be easier to go back to old habits and hide from my thoughts and the world. I have grinded my teeth and put my head down for ten years. I have continued to cycle through the same behaviors at a lower frequency as I did when I was using. I am unsure at times if the monster asked me if I would look away at horror in the eyes of the flat circle or if I would be joyous. Today I am joyous. Sobriety has taught me many life lessons and allowed me to have the ability to endure immense discomfort.” He who fights with monsters, should see to it that he does not become a monster himself. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you also" I have been the monster in my own path and became a monster at times to overcome aspects of this disease, the compartmentalization of cravings and a constant state of hyper vigilance is second nature to getting through the day to day of recovery. What does it mean after a decade to still be taking it day to day? To still have dreams of drinking and using my nights away and to hope for the quieting of the static in my mind? What does the next decade look like and will the shame or guilt ever change? Do I want this part again and again innumerable times?

At this point of my recovery I look down onto the cycle and see time moving the way it's described by dr manhattan in watchmen. Me finding career success and experiencing love are happening as I wither in the physical symptoms of withdrawal. Moments of bliss and exploration, in the woods by my childhood home running around with my brother happen as I get into drunken fights with strangers. All of these moments leave me perplexed and searching for meaning but meaning is not necessary. The desire to seek meaning does not match the lack thereof in this plane. My addiction happened just as my recovery did. It shaped me and broke me at times. I am left without a clear direction or feelings on the entire matter. I am constantly filled with hate towards the perpetrators of the large scale spread of the opioid crisis but no clear answers to how we as people heal from this. The cycle continues to rotate just as new pieces fall into place. I feel both triumphed and crushed by the weight of my journey. On this day looking down the same plights remain constant but hope lies in this cycle. I have lived fully to this point and will continue to live fully. My reflections on this decade are the importance of love and support and space to heal. It took me three years to feel like my brain worked again. It took me ten to realize I was stagnant in my growth and needed to demand more from myself and the world. The doors that have opened are beautiful and the ones that closed had their places. I am lucky to be here and will continue to tear down my walls to hope for a brighter tomorrow but looking towards the light I anticipate and accept with open arms the shadows that will accompany them. My insatiable will to exist is where my strength in recovery lies. I am hungry for more from this life and ready for the cycle to continue. To endure is to exist and to exist is to truly live. 

“What if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness, and say to you, "This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence" ... Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: "You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine."