“Don’t let go of the rope,” David yelled. 

That’s the only advice my climbing partner could come up with as I was hanging there, back to the rock, feet flailing for any purchase, and a drop of 20-plus feet staring at me from below. Joker! I could have come up with that advice myself. Needless to say, I followed it, and eventually navigated my way down the small cliff at the bottom of the saddle between Grand Teton and Middle Teton, without doing additional damage to my pride, and, more importantly, my middle-aged bones. 

“Just perfect,” I quietly muttered. What a perfect way to cap off a failed ascent of the Grand and, not to mention, a perfect way to illustrate to everyone around (thank the gods of the mountain that the only other person around was my partner) that I truly was a “novice” climber. 

My attempt to climb Grand Teton in August 2004 was my first time on a “real” mountain. Prior to that, my only experience in the mountains consisted of training climbs on Mount Si, a 4,167-foot peak in the Washington Cascades favored by beginners like myself. Which begs the question, “How does a novice climber decide that the Grand Teton is a good idea for a first climb?” The answer has plagued men (and some women) for centuries: testosterone! That is how I came to be hanging onto a rope, facing outwards, with my feet in the air, when I should have been home drinking light beer and watching preseason football. 

But, let me start at the beginning. It was late fall of 2003, when my boss, David, came into my office with a challenge. “John,” he said, “you’ve been talking about climbing for some time now and I challenge you to climb the Grand Teton with me this next August.” 

I should have run, that is what I should have done. Or at least walked speedily down the hall to preserve as much dignity as possible for a fleeing coward. But there it was: a challenge! Now, I am competitive by nature (like most litigation attorneys I suppose), but this was more than just friendly competition: it was a challenge to my hardiness. My testosterone immediately kicked in. 

“Oh yes, I accept your challenge,” I retorted. After all, I was younger than David. If he could do it, I could also (or so my testosterone brashly reasoned for me). Never mind the fact that David had been climbing since he was a kid. And I, on the other hand, rarely left the comfort of my recliner, and then only to walk to the local DQ for a blizzard. 

But I took up the challenge, and began training immediately. I started on the treadmill at the local health club. Training was “tough” at first — a half mile, in the first few months, was a huge triumph, and that only came with gasps and spasms. Side stitches and leg cramps were my constant companions. Even my shoulders began to give me pain, and all they did was hang on to my flailing arms. After years of neglect, I suppose I deserved this bodily rebellion. But I persevered, slowly working up to five miles a run. 

July gradually rolled around, and by then I had logged hundreds of miles on the treadmill. I had read several books on climbing also, including John Krakauer’s Into Thin Air. Like Krakauer, I would some day climb Everest, I smartly decided. I was a great climber — in my mind, if not on the mountains. I envisioned myself scaling the Grand Teton, standing on top with the great mountaineers of the world, holding a flag and proudly claiming the peak for…well, for me. It was time to hit the hills! 

My first foray was to Mount Si, at the foot of the Cascades. I pictured myself in the woods, hiking alone, braving nature and the elements. The “solitary woodsman!” Boy, did I get that wrong. All of Seattle, it seems, climbs Mount Si on July weekends. Every wannabe (including me) chose that particular day to scale Si’s lofty peak. But there I was, and off I went. It is impossible to get lost on Mount Si. Besides the hoards of people to follow, the paths are as wide as a county road and as clearly marked. So I grandly followed the crowd up the mountain.