The Way She Was

Day 320: To look at me now, you might find it hard to believe that I was a climber in my younger days, and until this point, my proof has been locked up in a few fading prints and a large box of slides tucked away in a cupboard. A friend loaned me her brand-new, never-been-used, slide scanner (compatible only with Windows XP) and I spent the morning installing it on the semi-retired computer in the crafts room. I thought it would be appropriate to present my documentation by featuring another old gal who ain't what she used to be: Mt. St. Helens.

Getting fogged in on the Dog's Head was something Bruce and I experienced on many occasions, regardless of the season, but one of the most memorable was our very first climb of "The Lady" on the Fourth of July 1978. It was one of those ascents when you could barely see your partner at the other end of the rope, let alone tell where you were going (top left).

Bruce and I rarely climbed with anyone else, but on the day we did the Forsyth Ice Fall direct, another friend accompanied us. I led the climb, being the lightest and least likely to break through fragile snow bridges, belaying the men when it came turn for them to cross (lower left). After I had called "Belay on," the guys moved forward. On seeing the bridge, they looked at each other and said, "She's got to be kidding!" The two photos on the right were taken earlier that day.

In our opinion, the best time of the year to climb Mt. St. Helens was in the winter. The ice formations we saw on the upper mountain varied from crusts of bubbles to long, feathery plates so fragile that the slightest touch made them crumble. Although the center photo was taken on a climb in November 1978, I hold the distinction of being the last woman known to have climbed St. Helens before she blew her lid in 1980.