far we would have to climb. Going down, the footing was unstable. Either way was bad.
âI tested the sliding effect again with a careful step. The rocks gave way under my foot, and I watched them tumble down, down, down. This is how landslides are made, I thought. I was afraid. Someone had just turned up the voltage knob in my brain.
âWe turned and climbed on in silence, with slow and careful steps. I took account of our situation. As far as I could tell,we were the only people on this mountain. And to make it worse, nobody knew we were up here. Nobody was expecting us home for dinner.
âI imagined the newspaper headlines: âTwo Hitchhikers Found Stranded on Gros Morne.â Or worse: âTourists Ignore Posted Warnings and Meet Their Doom.â I considered our chances of survival if we became stranded on this slope. We were probably visible from the plateau belowâbut who would be coming up here at this point in the afternoon,when the park was closed?
âSpending the night on the peak without a tent or sleeping bags was not a great option. The idea of a rescue helicopter was embarrassing but comforting. I watched the smaller rocks roll down behind Juliaâs heels as she climbed and imagined the whole bed of rocks rolling downhill like a conveyor belt.
âThis was officially dangerous, but there was no other way out. Even sitting and waiting would be dangerous if it went on long enough.
âWe began to discuss the situation in a pretend casual tone.
ââAre you okay?â
ââYeah. You?â
ââThis way? What do you think?â
ââNot very good.â
ââLetâs just keep going then.â
ââOkay.â
âThe slope had changed from a half-pipe to a more convex, rounded surface. I felt like an ant climbing the side of an exercise ball. We finally reached a point when we couldnât find any footing secure enough to keep going up. I began to think about death. This wouldnât be a bad way to die, I thought, but it would be embarrassing.
âMaybe there would be a region of the afterworld for people who died doing stupid extreme things. We would be surrounded by base jumpers, rocketmen, and dirt-bikers. I didnât want to join this club for eternity.
âWe clung to the mountain and considered our situation. The only way out was up . We took our chances and made our way in a diagonal ascending line, splitting the difference between up and down. âThe world around me faded. Other hills didnât matter. The ocean didnât matter. Everything else was background music for the task of moving carefully from rock to rock. Look at Julia. Look at my feet. Take a step. Look up. Take a step.
âSuddenly,we reached a green patch of scrubby, rough bushes. Labrador Tea, perhaps. The incline remained steep but now we had some purchase. Thank god for plants. We reached the peak only to find that it wasnât the top of the mountain but rather a ledge below the actual summit. Not that the summit was of any interest at this point. We snuck along the ledge, anchoring our steps in the fragile alpine vegetation.
âA few traverses of the gully wall and we had made it to the snowâhome free. We began our descent. I looked down toward the bottom of the gully and saw our own tracks, clear dark lines in the snow.
âYes, from here, our route up the side of the gully did look a little questionable.
âWhen we reached the wooden lookout with the sign,we broke into the crackers and smoked oysters. The platform was so perfectly flat and level. I was very happy to be there.
âI looked back at the peak. Nothing about it had changed, but it looked different to me now. No longer benign. No longer round and friendly. I had to admit itâthis was a serious little mountain.â
In Banff, Alberta, there is a similarly modest summit that has claimed more lives than many of the glamorous peaks that
âI tested the sliding effect again with a careful step. The rocks gave way under my foot, and I watched them tumble down, down, down. This is how landslides are made, I thought. I was afraid. Someone had just turned up the voltage knob in my brain.
âWe turned and climbed on in silence, with slow and careful steps. I took account of our situation. As far as I could tell,we were the only people on this mountain. And to make it worse, nobody knew we were up here. Nobody was expecting us home for dinner.
âI imagined the newspaper headlines: âTwo Hitchhikers Found Stranded on Gros Morne.â Or worse: âTourists Ignore Posted Warnings and Meet Their Doom.â I considered our chances of survival if we became stranded on this slope. We were probably visible from the plateau belowâbut who would be coming up here at this point in the afternoon,when the park was closed?
âSpending the night on the peak without a tent or sleeping bags was not a great option. The idea of a rescue helicopter was embarrassing but comforting. I watched the smaller rocks roll down behind Juliaâs heels as she climbed and imagined the whole bed of rocks rolling downhill like a conveyor belt.
âThis was officially dangerous, but there was no other way out. Even sitting and waiting would be dangerous if it went on long enough.
âWe began to discuss the situation in a pretend casual tone.
ââAre you okay?â
ââYeah. You?â
ââThis way? What do you think?â
ââNot very good.â
ââLetâs just keep going then.â
ââOkay.â
âThe slope had changed from a half-pipe to a more convex, rounded surface. I felt like an ant climbing the side of an exercise ball. We finally reached a point when we couldnât find any footing secure enough to keep going up. I began to think about death. This wouldnât be a bad way to die, I thought, but it would be embarrassing.
âMaybe there would be a region of the afterworld for people who died doing stupid extreme things. We would be surrounded by base jumpers, rocketmen, and dirt-bikers. I didnât want to join this club for eternity.
âWe clung to the mountain and considered our situation. The only way out was up . We took our chances and made our way in a diagonal ascending line, splitting the difference between up and down. âThe world around me faded. Other hills didnât matter. The ocean didnât matter. Everything else was background music for the task of moving carefully from rock to rock. Look at Julia. Look at my feet. Take a step. Look up. Take a step.
âSuddenly,we reached a green patch of scrubby, rough bushes. Labrador Tea, perhaps. The incline remained steep but now we had some purchase. Thank god for plants. We reached the peak only to find that it wasnât the top of the mountain but rather a ledge below the actual summit. Not that the summit was of any interest at this point. We snuck along the ledge, anchoring our steps in the fragile alpine vegetation.
âA few traverses of the gully wall and we had made it to the snowâhome free. We began our descent. I looked down toward the bottom of the gully and saw our own tracks, clear dark lines in the snow.
âYes, from here, our route up the side of the gully did look a little questionable.
âWhen we reached the wooden lookout with the sign,we broke into the crackers and smoked oysters. The platform was so perfectly flat and level. I was very happy to be there.
âI looked back at the peak. Nothing about it had changed, but it looked different to me now. No longer benign. No longer round and friendly. I had to admit itâthis was a serious little mountain.â
In Banff, Alberta, there is a similarly modest summit that has claimed more lives than many of the glamorous peaks that
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