Being Prepared Is Overrated — Until It Isn’t
I once thought preparation was a waste of time. Then a mountain showed me it isn’t.
I looked across the face of St. Helen’s to see a team of climbers pushing upwards through the snow in single file fashion. Dawning crampons, ice axes and vibrant balaclavas, the group resembled a Navy SEAL task force executing a mission with calculated precision. When the leader took a step, they all did; when a trekking pole punched through the snow, so too did the others.
My heart was racing in the dwindling atmosphere as I struggled to catch a single breath. Hands on my knees, I looked back at James to check on his progress. He was striking the same exhausted pose. Beads of sweat collected on his furrowed brow before they made a dash down his face.
We were battling a stomach-churning pitch as we followed an exposed strip of scree up the side of the mountain. Neither of us were prepared like our comrades on the other side of the peak. Between us were a single pair of trekking poles that I packed at the very last minute. I left the ice axe in the car when we pulled into the lot earlier that morning, assuming it would end up as nothing more than dead weight tied to my pack. Meanwhile James was hiking in a pair of crusted Vans.
It wasn’t unusual to find myself in such a precarious position if I’m being honest. The thought of actually preparing for a summit you could hit in a single day sounded far more stressful and time-consuming than did the idea of winging it. I secured the climbing permit, consulted a map of the terrain and route, and called it a day.
Clearly I was regretting the decision not to prepare as the sun climbed higher into the sky. Looking back across the mountain I noticed more climbers walking the very same route to the top that others had taken before. Connecting the dots, it soon became clear that we were not only unprepared, but climbing an imaginary route as well. I assumed this route would be easier given our lack of crampons, but my burning legs told me this wasn’t the case. Another hundred yards of loose rock and gravel lay above, followed by a patch of snow that worried me far more than the scree.
Every few steps were met by a moment of stillness to catch our breath. Soon we reached the end of the gravel run and I turned to consult with James about our next move. The snow was unstable and the slope was enough to cast you down the mountain if you lost your balance. He urged us to continue upward to the rim and so I began to pound my feet into the snow with each step, making use of the trekking poles as best I could. Once I’d made it halfway through the snow, James took lead and did the same before we finally reached the top.
But the sketchy ascent wasn’t yet over. It was clear from our position that in order to safely descend we’d first have to walk around the rim and join the others at the true summit. The mountain’s edge was accented with a well-known cornice, but our current location lacked the safety markers that identified where the overhanging snow ended and the cliff began.
Again James took the lead and walked hesitantly, treading where other faint prints had treaded before. At times my leg sank into the powder and I wondered if that would be the end of it all; I pictured falling through the snow and colliding with air on the other side until I made contact with the ground far below.
Eventually, however, we made it to the larger group as faint whispers caused my ears to perk. Climbers were discussing our trek across the rim with one another in secrecy, wondering if we were pros or instead a couple of fools.
I cracked a celebratory beer and took a seat in the snow, trying to forget the sheer idiocy that had just ensued. In time we packed our bags and glacaded down the peak with others; my pants were soaked by the time I reached the valley below because I failed to pack a pair of rain pants. When we returned to the car it was clear through both sight and sense that my exposed skin was torched by the sun when we sat atop the mountain. Tired, hungry, and likely dehydrated, we made our way home with a few exciting memories.
This lesson in unprepared-ness was nothing more than a silly situation when compared to the haunting stories that often make the news. So many succumb to the elements because they enter the fold unprepared for one reason or another. But we were lucky. The conditions we climbed in were ideal; the peak we bagged was rather small in comparison to other peaks along the range; I had enough common sense and knowledge to get us out of the jam we got ourselves into.
Yet I still look back on that summit attempt with a matured frame of mind. While I champion and preach the lessons taught by Mark Manson in his award-winning novel The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck throughout everyday life, my methods as they pertain to adventuresome preparation have drastically changed. Below you’ll find the primary checklist I now utilize to ensure I’m prepared for the next adventure, whatever and wherever that may be.
- Analyze Your Abilities: Before you spend any time preparing for an exploration — be it up a mountain or across the country — start by analyzing what you’re capable of. Ask yourself if summiting a 12,000-foot mountain is within your abilities. Can you spend days or weeks in isolation on that thru-hike? Understanding where you stand in terms of ability will help dictate if you’re ready for whatever comes next.
- Consult the Experts: My original plan was to summit Mt. Hood and bag Oregon’s tallest peak. That is until I talked with a few expert climbers about my plans and they highly encouraged me to start with a smaller glacial peak first. Talk out your plans with experts to gain a better understanding of what you’re doing, and whether or not you’re making the right choices.
- Get Online: Using technology to better understand your outdoor pursuits may seem like a paradox, but the online world is filled with valuable information. Ask questions in forums, downloads PDFs, announce your plans on social media, and make public your explorative intentions. The world and all the information it holds is at your fingertips.
- Train Train Train: Some of us enjoy training and others don’t. But even if you’re not a fan, find ways to make training work for you. It could easily mean life or death depending on the situation at hand, and you’ll thank yourself later when you’re not panting on the side of a mountain like I was.
- Don’t Go It Alone: I was far more grateful to have James by my side for countless reasons. He was an outlet through which I could discuss strategy, a dude with muscle to carry the load, and a cheerful spirit when moments grew stressful. Don’t get so macho that you find yourself alone in the middle of the backcountry. We all enjoy a bit of solitude from time to time, but bring some company along for the ride if you’re even remotely hesitant to go it alone.
- Play It Safe: There were times on St. Helen’s when I considered turning back, and someone with a bit more brains than I would have probably done just that. Again, don’t be the macho hero Sylvester Stallone Rambo type. If the situation seems risky, it probably is — and you should probably find a way to back out of it.
Perhaps the moral of this story is essentially this: don’t be an idiot like me. Preparation may be inconvenient at times, but it’s also necessary and the one thing that could make your experience more enjoyable, or even save your life. Find your next adventure, prepare prepare prepare, and be ready for whatever the world is bound to throw at you.
