Driving around a turn on a road in Shasta, California, I almost jam on the brakes. Oh, my God, I say aloud as I look up into the clouds. I cannot believe the sheer size of Mt. Shasta. This behemoth rises 14,162 feet above sea level and the base of the mountain starts at 3000 feet. In other words, it's a monster.

It is late June, 1998, but the mountain, from about 6000 feet and up, is loaded with snow. After checking into a cheap motel, I drive on a rode that leads me about 6900 feet up the mountain to a parking lot called Vista View. I will eat lunch here and only stay for an hour or so, trying to acclimatize a bit to the altitude. I peer through my binoculars a few thousand feet up to where the snowboarders are doing some wild things. They appear as small dots at about 9000 feet. The sun is shining bright off the snow in Avalanch Gulch, the route I will begin ascending tomorrow. This is the south side of the mountain. The temperature is about 70 but has a nice cold wind blowing down from atop the gulch. I walk to the edge of the lot and step, for the first time onto the snow. The feeling is awesome, like entering another universe.

Monday, 6/22. Met guides and about 15 people who will attempt the climb. Packed up all gear at a place below the mountain called "The Fifth Season", a gear shop. We all drove up to the trailhead at Vista View. Then, we began the trek to base camp at about 7600 or 7700 feet, an easy hike of about an hour and fifteen minutes with a 45 lb pack. We get to base camp, unload, set up some tents, (some were already there from the previous climb), and gather round to get info from our Mt. Shasta guides. The remainder of the day is training, or snow school. We practice rope and ice axe skills, stepping techniques. We climb up to about 9000 feet to acclimatize. Then it's back down to base camp for an early dinner.

The next day was again a training day, only longer and harder. The guides were trying to feel out who was in shape and who would work well together on rope teams. That night we sat in camp eating dinner in the snow. The guides decided that tomorrow would be the summit day. By the way, I'm not a very good sleeper, especially in a tent on snow where nighttime temperaturs drop to freezing even in June. Also, my tent mate snored. He was a great guy, though. I went to bed very early, about 8:30 or 9 because we had to be ready at 2 am to begin. I went over in my head the essential gear I would need to bring with me. Relax, I told myself. Just try to rest. Don't even worry about sleep. At about 1 am we got up and had some tea, coffee, oatmeal, etc. At 2 am we were off!

We began in rope teams of 4 or 5 people. I was on Chris' rope, one of our guides. Soon, after an hour or two, I was switched to the strongest rope team, since Chris could see I was in serious shape. Now the rope leader was Jacques. I was next on the rope. At this point we were about twenty to thirty feet apart. Behind me was a guy named Jason, who was my age and in great shape from hiking and biking. Next was John, the oldest member by far at at about 50 years old. Leading up the rear was Chris (not the former guide), a good-humored geologist a few years my junior.

After a few hours of climbing, the sky begins to lighten and we switch off our headlamps. The brightening sky shows we are now above the clouds. This is my first experience on a mountain of this size, and my first time climbing above the clouds. I can see for a hundred miles. The weather looks good; clear and about 25 degrees.

After another couple of hours my hamstrings begin to cramp but I shake it off and keep moving. We reach 10,400 feet, a place called Helen Lake, only it's frozen and buried under many feet of ice. Next we head up towards the Red Banks. This is a very strenous and steep section. Our goal is to reach the summit and be back down below this area before the sun's rays have a chance to loosen any of the rocks.

Looking back down the mountain, I see that only one team is still climbing below us. The others have all turned back, too exhausted to continue. This is a long, hard climb.

Next we reach Thumb Rock at 12,800 feet. It is after 10am and now we are the only rope team still climbing. The weather below us is good but, looking above us the visibility is very poor. Our guide Jacques says: "Guys, you're all doing great. We can go for it if want to but are you prepared for some severe weather?" We all look at each other and give the thumbs up. We put on all the clothes we were carring. We were going. This was the summit push.

We rounded the outcrop we'd been sitting against and it hit us. A wind so powerful it threatened to blow us over. The clouds were very thick. It wasn't yet snowing but visibility was near zero. I thought for sure Jacques would abort the climb and turn us around. Damn, I thought. I still have energy. But he didn't turn us back. Instead, he began planting marker wands in the snow so we'd be able to find our way back.

John, the older team member, was rapidly losing energy. The rest of us were ok. We were now on Misery Hill. It was after 11 am and we all moved slowly, using the rest step, breathing in deeply and forcefully exhaling, trying to get as much oxygen into our lungs as possible.

In another half hour or so, Jacques told us we were close. We couldn't see anything. I looked down and could barely see my crampons biting into the frozen snow and ice. I could not see Jacques in front of me. The rope behind me became taught, unmoving. I yelled back: "don't give up, we're almost there". I leaned all my weight forward and heaved. The rope moved. We were going to do it! We had to scramble up a fairly steep and narrow section for a short period. Finally, Jacques stopped, turned around, and said:"Well, Here you are. What do you think?". Yes!!, I shouted and walked over to Jacques and gave him a high five. It was 12:30, and we'd been climbing for ten and a half hours. As the others came up the rope, we gathered in the dense fog. Jacques said: "You guys have got the hearts of lions".

We snapped a few photos and congratulated each other. Suddenly, it started snowing hard. We could not see anything. Jacques said with a serious tone in his voice: "Guys, we have got to get out of here right now". Now we had to try to rush down, the whole time trying to decipher the sky from the mountain. It was a whiteout. Jacques turned to me and said: "Follow my footsteps exactly!". The only problem was, I couldn't see my own feet. I raised my glacier glasses for a second to try to see better, only to be blasted by an intense brightness. This was the reflection off the ice and snow from the little sun that filtered through the clouds. Don't make any mistakes, I told myself.

By now, John was so hurting from altitude and exhaustion that he was falling down. He kept getting up. He was tough. Finally we reached our earlier launching point at 12,800 feet. The winds died down. The weather was warming. The ice turned to deep snow. We plodded downward, sinking up to our knees every few steps. It was exhausting but exhilarating. We tried to save time by sitting down and sliding, still roped up. This resulted in a mini avalance where we were sliding but so was the slope beneath us. Shit, I yelled. Snow and ice found their way up and over me, and down my gaitors into my boots. Now it began to lightly rain. We were spent. Whenever we stopped we shivered.

Finally, at 4:30 pm we appeared out of the mist at base camp, like ghosts long lost coming home. We walked into camp, still roped up, looking like soldiers returning from battle. We'd been gone 14 and-a-half hours. The others rushed over to us. "Did you guys make it?" they asked. Yes, we did. We made it. They stared at us in admiration. They could see that our faces looked different from the day before, that the climb had taken it's toll on us. We were showered with compliments. I smiled. We had done it.