This blog post is capsule of stories from my Mt. Shasta experience. In it you'll read about why/how I decided to attempt Mt. Shasta, some fun stories about my meal plans, and of course a vivid description of conquering this 14,000 ft beast! (especially the "chimney, more on that later)
If you are looking for the technical information, or to properly prepare yourself to summit Mt. Shasta successfully, I recommend watching this video or this seminar.
My intention is that I write a story that entertains you, captivates my experience, and leaves you with some type of valuable perspective. Enjoy!
Flashback To June 3, 2018, roughly 6pm PST.
We (Elite24Athletes and I), are at the bottom of Mt. Whitney. We just finished a grueling 2-day, 20+ mile hike, up and down this 14,508 foot mountain. Exhausted, but relieved that the misery of Mt. Whitney is over, I start taking my hiking boots off at the rate of a snail. I'm hurting. The last thing I want to do is think about doing THAT again.
That's when Randy says, "NEXT UP IS MT. SHASTA, BABY!"
On the inside, I cry and whine. On the outside, I sarcastically groan and moan. "...When is it?" I ask. I not amused - I'm in pain.
Randy responds: IN A MONTH.
Don't get me wrong, my experience hiking Mt. Whitney was life changing and a top 3 life experience for sure. But...it's not your walk in the park, and I'm not a gung-ho mountaineer. Meaning, it took some serious "get out of my comfort zone" big b0$$ type attitude to even say YES, let alone do the damn thing. The "small" side of me wanted AT LEAST a day...or 17 days, to chill and be a lazy bum before I had to step up and do big things again - aka Mt. Shasta.
But alas, being the wiser, I committed to hiking Mt. Shasta eventually, despite some hums and hos.
All I know is that hiking these stupid, dumb long hikes has never failed me in terms of growth and valuable experience. And, as long as that holds true, I'll likely continue to say yes as the opportunities come my way.
To read where my hiking/mountaineering journey began, I highly recommend you read these posts I created:
Blog Post: "MT. WHITNEY"
And to see where my physical training began with Elite24, start HERE and work you way to HERE.
"Oh, I'll have MORE than enough food this f**kin time"
We start our Mt. Shasta experience with the pre-hike preparation. Namely the FOOD.
If you're familiar with my Mt. Whitney experience, you're aware that my rookie ass brought 2 packs of Lunchables, 6 Cliff Bars, 2 Pro Bars, and 1 Quick-Oatmeal packet as my meal plan. I can be so smart sometimes, and yet so the opposite of smart on other times, lmao. Long story short, I made DAMN sure that I was going to be well fed during Mt. Shasta.
I OVER bought on the food. So much so that when I consulted my more experienced teammates on my lot, their initial reaction was "ohhhh..that's waaay too much." Lmao. I laugh because literally the PAIN and SUFFERING of having to ration 6 things of crackers and sliced ham last time, led me to buy too much food this time.
It's stuff like this that makes me love this hiking journey I'm on - learning through experience.
There's something about learning through real life suffering and pain that anchors deeper than reading about it through someone else's experience. I value both types of learning very much, but I'm top heavy on the "leveraging others' experiences" type and deficient in the "learn through my own pain and discomfort" type.
The Mt. Shasta Meal Plan?
- 2 Servings of Dehydrated Chicken Fajita
- 3 Servings of Mac and Cheese
- Leftover Black Bear Diner Food (eggs, potatos, bacon, bread)
- 6 Cliff Bars
- 2 Pro Bars
- 20+ Energy Gels
- Gummy Bears
- AND MORE
Lesson: My life is on the line on these hikes AND I'm asking the most from my body and mind during this time - OVER PACK ON THE FOOD AND WATER.
Thankful To Be An Athlete On A Team Again
There's something about team sports that brings me joy and fulfillment that other things can't. More specifically, being an athlete on an organized team allows me to be the Professional MLB Baseball Player I never became. Let me explain.
I grew up playing organized Baseball and Roller Hockey from the ages of 4-16. That's 12 years of my life. In that time, spending time developing my athletic potential, and being around other kids who do the same, became part of who I am. When my organized sports life officially ended after being cut from the high school baseball team back in 2008, it left a huge gap in my life that I'd never dealt with before.
I didn't realize how much I missed being a part of a team until I had finally found one again in Elite24Athletes. Not just ANY team either. A team of winners. I love them and am thankful as fuck to train and conquer together.
Unlike sports where you face human opponents, the sport we play is the game of actualizing our athletic potential and conquering the elements (mountaineering, sky diving, rock climbing, etc.) It's awesome.
If you are an athlete that shoulda, coulda, woulda made it to the Pros but never did, and now find yourself empty and yearning for that athlete lifestyle again, I highly recommend checking out https://www.instagram.com/elite24athletes/ !
Shasta Is Only ~7 Miles One-Way, But She'll Still Kick Your Ass - TRUST ME
Yes, it's still 14,000+ ft of elevation at the top, but the journey to get there is way shorter than that of Mt. Whitney. Unlike the 11 mile hike to base camp in Mt. Whitney, Shasta's base camp hike was less than 4 miles! Then, after that, it's only 3 miles to the summit. EASY PEASY, RIGHT BEEZY?
WRONG.
What makes Mt. Shasta a "big deal" is the never-ending snow chute, multiple false peaks, and a section called Misery Hill. Oh, this wasn't mentioned in the game plan, but there ended up being an iced over, SUPER STEEP section called a "chimney" that had a couple of us shaking with the fear of DEATH.
Other than all that is was chill though, or a "walk-up", as our team leader Randy likes to describe anything that isn't Mt. Everest.
LMAO.
The Summit Route
1AM we rise. It's pitch black. We use our headlamps as modern day torches to see in the dark. The plan was to be on the summit trail by 2am.
You'd be surprised just how awake you can be when the reason you get up is to overcome a big ass mountain. It's a moment the seven of us had been anticipating for weeks now, some of us years.
It took a while, but the team was finally ready to go around 3am (or was it 4?). In either case, we started late, but we were on our way.
For just a moment, Randy was pissed. You see, for someone like Randy, it's in his DNA to win. There's pride in being the first group at the top. So, to be the second, even third group to start the day was upsetting. Especially since Randy had taken much time to plan every detail in order to be the first ones to summit.
He let it go within seconds. There's no time or purpose in being negative.
The group split into two units. Unit 1 is Madeline, Dennis, Jazlyn, and Andre. Unit 2 is Kay, Gabe, and Randy. We use hand-held radios to communicate between units.
The first mile was pure slush and in the dark. Apparently, the ideal condition is packed snow, which is technically easier to trek. But, personally, I enjoyed the slush. The slush meant each step sank deeper into the snow than it would had it been packed snow or ice. Although that translated to more energy spent per step, it also meant more secure footholds. I wasn't complaining.
The plan is to go at a pace that allows us to keep moving forward, but not burn out. It's going to be a long day. It may only be 3 miles to the top, but due to steepness, altitude, and terrain, it's going to take us all morning to complete.
We trek on.
The Summit Sections
I forgot to mention, the summit hike is split into three sections.
First is the chute, which is at least a mile if not 1.5 miles to the top. It starts off gradually, but eventually gets as steep as a 40 degree incline (probably less). Then, right before the chute ends, there's an even steeper part called the chimney. It's iced over and so steep you're climbing on all fours. It's called a chimney because the path narrows in between two walls of rock. It's the most technical part of the hike by far, and for some, the most frightening.
After the chute is Misery Hill. To be honest, it's not the path itself that sucks, cause it's easy to deal with. You don't need crampons or even your hiking poles really. What makes it miserable is the fact that having just completed 4 hours of hiking up the chute, including the chimney, you're still a ways a way from the summit. And, not to mention, you still can't see the summit yet.
So, the misery in Misery Hill is in in the emotional and mental suffering. It's quite a challenge not knowing exactly where you're going. It creates the illusion of the hike never ending. Thus, your misery never ending.
Finally, after all that mess is over, you get your first glimpse of where the summit is. It's at that moment when the misery is replaced with relief. "THERE IS AN END POINT TO THIS FUCKIN THING AFTER ALL."
It's still another solid .25-.4 mile hike before you actually get there, but it's all but over at this point.
Back to the story. We pick things back up on the chute, now less than 1,000 meters from chimney (section 1).
Units 1 and 2 had made some switches. Due to minor leg injuries the previous day, as well as inadequate preparation and training, Dennis moved at a slower pace. To work around this, Randy and Dennis comprised the new Unit 2, while the rest of the group was now Unit 1. For the remainder of the Summit Journey, Unit 1 would move about one hour faster than Unit 2.
This is just one example of how unknown variables make planning the "perfect" hike impossible. That said, as long as we focus on solving each problem that comes our way, we'll almost always accomplish our goal.
I was part of Unit 1 now, the number meaning nothing other denotation.
Despite the top of the chute being in sight, it takes us forever to get there. It's a giant tease.
Less than 1,000 meters from the top, the angle of the chute gets significantly steeper. The group decides to switch hiking styles from straight forward to side-to-side (aka switchback style).
We did this switchback style for some time, and although it created a more comfortable walking angle, it also meant we took way more steps and time in order to get up the chute. It made sense for a while.
As the five of us were safely going side-to-side, inching our way up the mountain, there's a solo mountaineer getting closer and closer to us. It was an older woman going STRAIGHT up the trail, like an absolute beast.
The woman beast says, "This is the longest I've ever taken to go a mile." She hikes right through the side-to-side tracks our group left behind. She passes us with a "hello!" She approaches the chimney, blasts right through that, cause duh, and she disappears over the false peak at the top of the chimney.
"That woman is a fucking beast, dude", Andre says with awe. "I don't even think I could keep up with her." Now THAT'S saying something. Andre is a physical condition king. He's in the top 1% of the world, easily. He completed his first Ironman off of three days of training. Metaphorically, he's one of those students that can get an A on a test without studying. He can run a marathon without training. And he's saying he couldn't keep up with this 50, 60+ year old woman. Andre is a beast. This woman is a god. I digress.
CHIMNEY TIME
Now less than a 50 meters from the chimney, the chute is as steep as it's going to get. Let me rephrase that, the chute is now steep as a mother effer.
The group breaks formation. Every member is now responsible for the route they wish to take to the top. Why? At this point, orthodox hiking is not possible. Each member has their limitations in terms of mobility and strength. Not to mention threshold for risk.
Some of us decide to go slower and side-to-side. Others decide to move in quick bursts, but straight up. Either way, we're all within 5 meters of one another, and nobody is really going anywhere fast, lol.
We finally face the chimney. It's a relief to finally feel a sense of completion, but it's overpowered by the forthcoming, arduous task of conquering this chimney thing.
From afar, we didn't really know what we were dealing with. We knew the chimney would be steeper, but only now did we realize how challenging this was going to be.
To put it in perspective for you, if you've ever been on a big roller coaster, the steepness of the chimney was close to that of big coaster drop. Point being, it's steep, and you'd rather not be on there without some sense of safety and security.
With just our crampons to secure our footing, and our ice axe to grip as a type of hand hold, the chimney was no longer a hike, it was officially an ice-climb.
Each member started their way up the chimney. And with each step, noticeable pieces of snow and ice flew down the mountain, clipping those of us at the back of the group.
Not to mention, there is a light snow/rain/hail now falling on us. We're unofficially in a deleted scene of a mountaineer movie at this point.
Three members of our Unit have successfully reached the end of the chimney. Madeline and I can see them smiling, chatting with one another, presumably over how trippy the chimney they had just completed was and how relieved they are it's over. Not amused, Madeline and I continue to figure out each step up this fucking thing.
I'm anchoring the group. Meaning, I'm at the back. Madeline is currently stagnant, midway through the chimney of hell. I decide to wait my turn while she works her way through it, both physically and emotionally.
She yells at her long-time boyfriend, "ANDRE! STOP CHATTING! I NEED YOU!!!!!!" Don't be confused, this was not anger at Andre, this was fear for life. I'm positive Madeline would tell you in hindsight she knew she'd make it up the chimney just fine. In that moment though, it really does feel like the possibility of death, or at least serious injury, is on the cusp. One slip, one wrong move, and fear could become reality.
Eventually, she finds the sense of safety she's looking for. That's my assumption at least. Either way, she's moving forward again. I decide to start my way up the chimney now.
Observing the path, and getting a sense of what's to come based off Madeline's experience, I know it's not going to be easy, but I'm ready and confident. The trembles of terror I had on the face of Mt. Whitney seem like a lifetime ago. I've emerged as a mini-beast since then.
I take my first step, expecting my crampons to dig nicely into the chimney ice.
*CLANK*
The spikes of my crampons barely hold. "holy fuck" I probably thought at that moment.
I wasn't panicking, I was caught off guard. The ice was way harder than I anticipated.
I try another step, this time with more force.
*CLANK*
Even with more force, I'm still an uneasy amount of crampon spike in the ground. I make a judgment call. I choose to trust my equipment.
With literally the tips of my crampon spikes in the ground, and at times just the front toe portion, I move up the chimney with powerful energy. I'm shocked at how comfortable I am with the situation.
At this point, I'm hitting the ice with my axe as if I were using it as a murder weapon. Despite the power into each hammering blow, less than 2 inches of the axe's sharp point stuck into the ice. "Trust the equipment", was now my chimney mantra.
With faith, and now inspiration, I find a rhythm and blast through the second half of the chimney. For a split second, I feel like mountaineering god. I had just reached a new level, no doubt - literally and figuratively. I can hardly recognize this version of me, yet, it's exactly who I've always known myself to be.
"We just completed the chimney!" Andre radio's to Randy.
Randy: "Well done! You guys are on fire. Don't wait up, keep going."
Unit 1 takes a moment to recover and reflect on what just transpired. Our headlamps are off now. The sun has been up for an hour now.
"How many false peaks are there, J?" I asked Jazlyn, Randy's teenage daughter who's completed this hike once before. I've consulted with her about Mt. Shasta countless times, both before our hike and during. She's been helpful and humorous with my questions. "I'll just let you find out", she tells me.
Chimney, check.
Chute, check.
Next: Misery Hill.
It's just a hill...that I so happened to be miserable on as I hike it.
As I explained earlier, the misery of Misery Hill has less to do with the difficulty of its path and more to do with the order it is on the summit hike. If it was the first section of the summit hike, rather than the chute, it'd just be called The Hill. And instead, the chute would be "Misery Chute" or maybe even "Death Chute" haha. But yea, you get the point now.
Now at about 12,500 ft of elevation, and having just done that crazy chute/chimney, we're all moving slower. I'm tasked with leading the group through Misery Hill. I'm now filled with purpose and determination.
Following some coaching I received earlier, I choose a pace that suits the needs of the group and the nature of the hike. The plan is to move about 100 feet, at a slow pace, and take a standing break to catch our breath and drink some water. We can really feel the altitude now.
With time, the group is finally at the top of Misery Hill, our second false peak of the day. We're used to dealing with feeling of not yet being done, despite loads of work to get where we are.
However, this time is different. We can see the REAL peak. At least...I think it's the real peak.
I turn to Jazlyn, "that's it right? that's the peak?" She grins and shrugs, "maybe", as she says sarcastically like she has no clue. She's toying with me now. I'm desperately hoping it is the real peak, but I'm almost certain it is. Eventually, I realize that it in fact is the real peak. Thank God.
It's almost..fucking..over.
Mountain Emotions & Mentality
What makes long hikes particularly challenging, at least in my experience, is the mental and emotional management of things. Meaning, knowing you have a long ways to go before the summit, one must garner a level of composure that will allow him/her to complete the hike and enjoy it as much as possible. That's my goal at least, to enjoy the hike and not let the summit determine my emotional state.
Cause here's the thing, you can either enjoy it, or you can really hate it. And trust me, there's a lot to complain about. But, complaining will lower your energy and will to move forward, and it will likely do the same to the group. So, in order to make this work, it's pivotal to keep a positive attitude and mindset despite the aches, pains, and false peaks.
Going back to Misery Hill for a second, it was there that I started to feel deprived of positivity. It had to do with not knowing how much longer the hike was. It's kind of like how if you decided to sit quietly for 10 minutes, but didn't know how much longer 10 minutes was, each second felt like forever.
Whereas, if you clearly know how much closer you are to being done, you know how much longer you have to stay composed.
I was drawing thin on Misery Hill. For a decent stretch, I was just moving forward despite being a little irritated. The irritation was not much, but it was there. In those times, what gets me through is the knowing that the only way I'll be done is to keep walking. I may not have positivity, but I can still move my legs.
Once we saw the real peak, my feelings of irritation were replaced with relief. THERE IT IS.
Altitude Alcohol
With the summit in sight, we were at, or close to, 14,000 feet of elevation. At this point, people are subject to forms of altitude sickness due to thinner air (aka less oxygen).
For me, I consistently experience feeling a little buzzed at this altitude. It happened around 10,000 feet up Mt. San Jacinto, and again at around 13,000 feet up Mt. Whitney.
The feeling is like being just slightly drunk. My head feels a little lighter. I can feel the blood rushing in my face. And I'm just a little sillier, even sillier than I usually am at sea level. Loopy is probably a better word. Very "twiddly-diddly-dee" if you will.
In any case, I'm still very much in touch with my faculties, and have no problem continuing our final summit push. At this point, I've chosen to hike even slower. There's no rush anymore, the peak is just right there.
By "right there", I mean still a solid .2 miles in the snow, with a short uphill walk to the top. It's not yet over, but I feel like it is.
I snail my way forward, buzzed off of altitude alcohol.
*slush*
*slush*
*slush*
Sweet Victory by David Eisley & Bob Kulick
"You push with a fever
For your time keeps tolling on
Against all the odds, against all your pain
Your back's on the wall with no one to blame
Wild hearts won't be tamed
And it's sweet, sweet, sweet victory... yeah"
LOL, I didn't actually hear this song in my head as I got to the summit, but it very much depicts the emotion as I got there.
I was the last of Unit 1 to get there, mostly cause I took a pee break right at the bottom of the final push up. It was Jazlyn and I, zombie-walking together to the top.
As we arrived, J immediately found a napping rock and passed out for the next hour.
I regrouped with the rest of our Unit. There were several other groups up there before us, with small groups of people going to and from as we enjoyed our summit rest.
Although my first impulse is to rest and eat something, I had to get my summit pictures done before anything else. Mind you, at this point, we're all exhausted and needing to rest. As such, it's easy to feel like the effort of taking pictures is not worth the energy and focus required to take them. I know it sounds silly, but I learned on previous hikes that the pain of not taking pictures is way more than the pain of having to do the sometimes tedious work of taking them while hiking.
As I usually do, I offer to take pictures of another group in exchange for them taking mine. It's a win-win situation. I get some really dope solo shots. After asking my photographer to re-take a couple, I thank him and break away to eat and rest. Fuckin finally.
I pull out a gallon sized zip-lock bag filled with mushy egg, bacon, and sourdough bread leftovers from Black Bear Diner the afternoon before. It's lasted me 3-4 refueling breaks, a worthy investment.
As I eat, Andre and I share our joy and amazement in what we had just done, as well as the view we can see. "Crazy" and "unbelievable" is the undertone of our conversation. After talking, we take some time to be quiet and nap (or at least try to).
"There he is!" Randy appears. Dennis does not. Apparently, once they completed Misery Hill together, it was safe enough for them to split, which allowed Randy to summit at his own pace while Dennis nursed his legs and moved slower.
I don't remember exactly what time it was, but we were beyond our scheduled summit time, including our turn-around time. Turn-around time is a set time, that when reached, one must turn around and go back down the mountain, whether or not they summit. The purpose of a turn-around time is safety. Whether it's harsh weather conditions or lack of day light, you typically obey the turn-around time. We were at least an hour past ours.
The clouds started forming an overcast. Randy was not excited about it. "We need to get off the mountain." We take 30 seconds to decide if Dennis will summit before we MUST leave. It's a tough call, but a fairly easy one - safety over summit.
Randy radios Dennis, "Hey, the clouds are looking real bad. We're going to head down. We'll group up with you as we go." With disbelief and let down, Dennis replies, "Fuck. Well, alright I guess."
Despite the sense of urgency to get off the mountain, the group at the summit is still slow to get going. Then, all of a sudden, a man from another group starts gesturing to us. Apparently, someone on the other side of the man's location is trying to communicate with us.
IT'S DENNIS.
Within seconds, Dennis, bum legs and all, appears. The rest of us in shock, but also extremely happy that he made it, cheer him on.
Turns out there are two paths to the summit from Misery Hill. The path we took, and most people take, is a breezy walk-up. The other path, apparently, is a steeper incline and includes some actual rock climbing on it.
None of us saw him do it, but surely, Dennis took the more difficult route. It kind of encapsulated Dennis' entire experience up Mt. Shasta - more challenging than the rest of us.
Quickly, Dennis took his summit pictures. Within 5-6 minutes, as a complete group, we made began our journey back down Mt. Shasta.
You know what that means, right?
It's funny how fear turns into fun with a little experience. The first time I glissaded I was terrified. It's the fear of the unknown that had me. But, after glissading down Mt. Whitney, I was looking forward to it with Mt. Shasta. It's not longer a death drop of doom. It's a rewarding snow slide!
Long story short, we find a suitable glissading route back to our Base Camp. One by one we slide our way down. It's probably a solid .5 miles of sliding, maybe longer.
Within minutes, we're all back at camp. And THAT'S why we glissade. Not only is it fun, but it's fast.
Accomplished and exhausted, the team takes their time to rest and break down camp. There's still a 3-4 mile hike from Base Camp back to the parking lot.
You didn't forget about that, did you?
Back at the cars, we're all feeling GREAT despite physical aches and hunger pains. It's hard not to smile after completing a journey such as this one. We did it, yet again - conquered another big ass mountain safely and in full health.
Post-Hike Reflection: What's Your Summit?
These monster hikes have become some of my most valuable life experiences. Much of what I go through on each hike can be translated into what I go through back in "real life."
One such lesson I learned on Mt. Shasta was realizing the power of narrowed focus, and utilizing all energy, time, and resources to serve that focus.
For example, for 2.5 days, my entire life was Mt. Shasta. The food I ate, the gear I had with me, the thoughts I had, how my time was scheduled, and everything I did in between, it was all dedicated towards reaching the peak of Mt. Shasta and returning safely to the car.
I didn't open Instagram, I didn't worry about the state of my many friendships, didn't worry about cleaning my room or that messy desk drawer. None of that.
Didn't worry about my credit card debt. Didn't worry about my future, other than the next 2 days. It was...way easier. It was in my best interest, and the best interest of the goal at hand, for me to make my entire life about Mt. Shasta.
This had me wondering about the many different goals (aka summits) I have back home. Then it hit me, I have too many fucking things going on at once. So much so that I hardly ever get to see the peak of any of them!
Anyways, what I want to leave you with is this: go hiking, lmao. You'll be surprised what you'll learn about yourself and your life just by carrying a 50lb bag for 10-20 miles.
