People have died on Mt. Thompson. That much I knew. Several years ago a woman worked herself too far onto the south face and got stuck. She couldn't go forward and couldn't go backward. Her scrambling partner watched helplessly as she began to sob and wail, "I don't want to die." And then she peeled off the mountain and bounced down the rock toward the meadow below. A guy on the recovery team told me that the impacts of the blows were so fierce that they literally had to pick up body parts strewn across the base of the mountain.

Stories like this have a way of sticking with you. Especially when you are hiking up the mountain with your kids.

Mt. Thompson is a bell-shaped hunk of rock that dominates a portion of the northern skyline as you drive over Snoqualmie Pass. Alex, Tesha, and I joined Eric, Emiko, and Emiko's sister Yoko for the approach to Thompson. Our leader was Comet, the Superdog.
It takes a few miles of walking on the Pacific Crest Trail to get to Thompson, so many people attempt the summit as part of a two-day trip. Eric, however, had discovered a shortcut the previous weekend when he helped rescue a climber who took a fall on the mountain. So we drove the bumpy miles up a road that is not on my maps, and bushwhacked a short distance to pop out on -- the PCT! As things turn out, this does not save much time or distance, but we still felt like we had gotten away with something.

The section north of Snoqualmie Pass has got to be one of the prettiest on the whole PCT. We slipped over a northern shoulder of Kendall Peak and eased away from the traffic noise on I-90 below. And then we rediscovered why this is called the Alpine Lakes wilderness. We passed Ridge Lake and Gravel Lake, and looked down on Alaska Lake and Edds Lake and Joe Lake. Later in the day we spotted a jewel hanging high on the side of a huge mountain only one valley away. A ribbon of white water cut straight down the cliff below the lake, at once calling us to visit it someday but warning us of the difficulty in getting to the spot.

Eventually we left the PCT and scrambled over a short rocket ride of a slope with the misleadingly pastoral name of "Bumblebee Pass." At the top of the pass Mt. Thompson showed off its imposing granite display. The mountain filled the sky. As intimidating as the hulk of rock was, however, the meadow below the mountain beckoned us to come and visit. We headed down through heather and huckleberry bushes tinged with the orange and red of impending autumn.

The original plan was for Tesha and me to join Eric and Emiko on a 5.6 rock climb up the west ridge. Looking at the mountain from the meadow, however, we changed plans. Eric and Emiko would go up the west ridge, and Tesha, Alex, and I would try an easier scramble route up the east ridge. Yoko and Comet, the sane ones among us, decided to lollygag around in the meadow.
While the east ridge is just a scramble, it isn't too easy. We shivered in the mountain's shadow, which shielded us from the warm sun but not from the cold wind that rose up from below. I dealt with the stories of death rattling around in my head by hauling a rope along. We pulled it out a couple of times when we wandered too far out toward the massive south face of the mountain - the place where the woman had died.

I chose not tell Alex and Tesha the story of this woman, at least on the way up. Things were dicey enough as it was. Alex kept bounding ahead, but always pulling us left toward that scary south face. A boot tread appeared at times. But it was clear that others before us also had gone too far left, so the boot tread offered little reassurance. I kept calling for Alex to wait up, and at one point found her perched on a high point surrounded by mid-fifth class rock. All the time, more and more cliff bands separated us from the meadows below, although they promised a quick ride down for anyone unfortunate enough to start sliding.

So my limbic system was working overtime, and sweat poured in that cold shadow of the mountain. Thankfully, Tesha accepted an offer to belay her. So I had at least one kid tethered to the mountain. Humor that now seems simply grim brought forth occasional chuckles as if from nowhere: "Diversification - that's one reason to have multiple kids, right?"
Eventually both Alex and Tesha used the rope on a steep pitch. While I belayed Tesha up it, Alex scrambled down from above to tell me that she had been to the top! More amazing, both Eric and Emiko, coming up the other side, were nearly there also! Tesha poked up over the last rock and we all scampered up to watch Eric and Emiko just as they simul-climbed their last pitch from the other side.

The timing was incredible, and the emotions even more so. We snapped a few pictures knowing that they could never adequately capture the vistas before us or the feelings simmering around us. Suddenly I was famished and wolfed down some food. But I was the only one having problems relaxing. In the time-honored tradition of all climbers, Alex, Tesha, Eric, and Emiko made bad jokes about each other's clothes, climbing skills, and bodily noises. Alex had a hole in her butt (duh), and Tesha's day-glo red hair was enough to set the rocks on fire.

So I knew we were ok, but we still had to get down. The sun was starting to sink low over Red Mountain to the west, and the climb down would require a short rappel.

But then an amazing thing happened. Alex and Tesha, both strong enough on the way up, suddenly became Super Climbers. They led the way down, sure-handedly finding the route (when I was unsure), and sure-footedly handling sections that required a rope on the way up. To be sure, this was not high-class climbing, but there were those serious cliff bands right below us.

Riding our new-found zip, we made it back to the meadow just as dusk fell. We met up with Yoko and Comet, who had waited patiently for us, and headed toward Bumblebee Pass. The night sky overtook us and stars poked through the dark fabric until a gargantuan moon rose in the east. This was as good as a headlamp, so I turned mine off. We walked in the dark for more than three hours, much of the time in silence, and stopped to watch the gods paint blues and purples and blacks across the night sky. When we buskwhacked off the trail we came within a few hundred feet of the car on the first attempt. We had made it.

I haven't spoken much about Mt. Thompson with Alex and Tesha. Perhaps sometime soon. And I look forward to reflecting on it with Eric and Emiko. But this was a big event for me. I scrambled a challenging mountain with my girls. They faced discomfort and a few difficult spots with composure and growing confidence in their own abilities. And I stared in the face not only my own mortality, but that of my kids. I may or may not be any wiser for the experience. But I am that much more alive.