You reach the crux, scrub away the myth of "what if" and find fragile footprints, a small voice pulling you up.

But I cannot forget how you made it down too by your own navigation of the night sky, or how we embraced in the dark there at the base.

Tomorrow, early, he would push with all his strength for the summit, but tonight he would sway under the stars by a thread and ignore the world below.

If I end up with another climbing partner who turns out to be a “people person” I’m going to rip their head off.

We'd both wanted to do it. We lay there on the ground, shivering in the night air as much from fear as the cold.

Instinct darkens my mind, must keep going...

Another morning. Another hangover. Another solo journey to second peak.

From the top you can watch the whole universe below...

After last night I didn’t think we would see the sun for days...

Maybe it was a passage in Siddhartha that made me start listening to rivers speak...

The jeep descended and ground to a halt on a dusty flat near the riverbed. It was not going well...

Approach The air - grey and misty. The mountain - glued together by dirt. This drives us closer to the edge. We are breathless, speechless and serious. This is Paradise?

The sun's glow is beginning to rise on the Eastern Cascades, and it's time to go climbing.

Is this something everyone does? Or is it reserved for the truly pathetic?

If I had known how intimidating I’d one day find my wife I’d never have asked her out that day at Carderock Cliff...