"Okay, we'll stop here and pull out our ice axes and crampons," announces Jeff, our guide for the afternoon. He slides off his backpack and dumps it in the snow at his feet. I shrug my pack off and marvel at how I can be so warm while standing at the foot of Whistler mountain's high alpine glacier. True, back at the Adventure Hut I had added a few layers of clothing after noticing the wisps of snowflakes drifting from the sky.
But now, an hour later and a brisk hike among the white-laced rocks, I was sweating. I ask my best-friend Amy if she'd like a swig of water. She nods and I dig the bottle out of our pack. I also pull out a couple energy bars to quell the rumbling in my stomach. I must have anticipated it would be a few hours and a few hundred feet until the next meal.
You can't find this quiet anywhere near civilization.
Amy and I munch loudly in the natural stillness. It's the silence that allows you to finally hear what every other animal must hear, every insect, as they go about their business in the absence of human activity. It feels as old as the earth and indifferent as the mountain itself.
Jeff instructs us on fitting our crampons; basically spiked metal shoes that are essential for glacier-walking. I'd never heard of them before this moment - before we'd decided to attempt Via Ferrata, "The Iron Way" - a tour offered by Whistler Alpine Guides Bureau. First developed by Italian soldiers during World War I, the activity consists of rock climbing via an engineered vertical pathway, utilizing permanently fixed cables and metal rungs for movement. (Or that's how it works in theory anyway).
All three of us tie each other together with elastic rope. "In the fresh snow, it's difficult to spot the crevasses in the glacier," says Jeff. I envision a moment of plunging into an icy abyss and make sure my the rope is tightly clamped to my waist before we head out. Our crampons dig into the ice with assuring crunches. Like a blind man with a cane, Jeff pokes his ice axe in the snow to detect any cracks.
Soon we are standing at the foot of the climbing path.
A lone ladder is tied to the rock, stretching upwards to the first ledge, followed by metal rungs continuing upwards as if staples left by a giant. We remove our crampons and secure our ice axes to our backpacks. Jeff graciously goes first, gliding up with ladder with only the barest use of hands. Amy goes next, a little slower. I wait at the bottom of the ladder, peering at the surrounding boulders for any glimpse of the hoary marmot, (for which Whistler Mountain was named), known for its distinctive high-pitched whistle.
The ladder quivers. I look up and Amy is perched at the top, one hand outstretched to the first metal rung. She's hesitating. "You okay?" I call up to her. "I'm not sure about this," she answers flatly. "I don't think I can do it."
Jeff is a few feet higher, hanging from the rock like a confident gibbon. "It's cool, just take your time," he says. I wonder how many times he is confronted with this exact predicament. "My heart is pounding..." Amy answers, her voice cracking. Jeff is reassuring. "It's quite safe, really. You'd be surprised at what you can do."
There's a defining moment in the air.
Amy must choose whether to attempt the shaky descent down the ladder, shrink from the pounding of her heart, and feel like she's ruining the experience. She's skimming over in her head how she'll walk back down the glacier in stinging defeat, head to the Adventure Lodge and wait for us to complete the climb.
Jeff and I will arrive, tired and elated, and we'll talk about how incredible it was to scale the peak, to feel the hard stone beneath our fingers, marvel at the tiny plants that make a home on these eternal peaks. I'll tell her how the vast view of the surrounding mountains was enough to silence any internal debate about the existence of an intelligent hand guiding the universe, or if not intelligent, than the incredible luck to emerge on a small beautiful ball drifting in a beautiful universe.
But Amy doesn't choose such a fate for herself. She quells her beating chest, strengthens her resolve. She firmly grips the first metal rung, that giant's staple lodged in the rock, and pulls herself over the lip, her feet dangling for a second before gaining a toehold. Fear and gravity are thwarted. She looks back down at me and smiles.
I climb the ladder and feel a bubble of adrenaline rise in my throat. But whether I'm aware of the true danger, or I possess a certain flare for attempting the unordinary (which happens less often then I'd like), I have little difficulty in crossing the threshold. All three of us begin our climb. The basics: always keep your belt ropes clamped on the safety line running parallel to the metal rungs, and only one person per increment of safety line. This prevents falls for more than 6 feet at once. A comforting thought.
Unhook, reach, lift, hook. Unhook, reach, lift, hook.
The steady rhythm takes on a momentum of its own, almost like meditation. I immediately understand why frequent climbers talk about being "in the moment" while scaling a sheer rocky face. There is little to think about when the mind must navigate an ever changing vertical terrain, constantly readjusting weight here, balancing a foothold there, like deciphering a rubix cube. The minutes drift away and the glacier below grows ever smaller.
Eventually, we arrive at the summit. The clouds part and the sun greets us warmly. We wander among the snow drifts as if emerging into another land, as if explorers entering the gates of Shangri-la. Only there are no gold tapestries, chests of jewels, or eternal youth here, only the satisfaction of conquering a thumbnail of earth on one Saturday morning in September.
~ Via Ferrata is offered in Whistler daily from June 24 through October. This thrilling activity is suitable for guests of all abilities and does not require any special skills or prior experience. All technical equipment is included. Your guide will give detailed instructions on use of equipment and technique for climbing.
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