Winter Initiation, or
Nobody Said It Would Be Easy
by El Rojohombre, Scree 6/82

The other three plodded on, seemingly oblivious to the distinct lack of temperature and the overabundance of wind.  Rich screamed that he was freezing but a frost-encrusted apparition slowly turned only to say "But nobody said it would be easy" and trudged on.

Who were these guys?  They'd invited Rich to climb the north ridge of Mt. Hayes with them then dumped him on the Hayes Glacier where the thermometer said 30 degrees below zero and the sun lit the camp for only an hour and a half a day.  It was mid-February and Rich found himself alone with three of those legendary Winter Mountaineers.

It didn't seem to bother those other three that the way to the first camp at 8200' feet lay through minus 20 to 30 degree air and up thinly snow-covered scree. . . Or that temperatures inside the 8200 foot igloo usually consisted of only 5 or 6 degrees.  One was so tough that he'd left his polarguard booties at base camp.  Rich's camera froze and he thought he would do likewise.

And those three Winter Mountaineers unconcernedly hiked up the ridge to establish the Col camp at 9700 feet paying little heed to the -20 degrees and 70 mph winds that inhabited the dome of hill 9900. Rich worried about full-body frostbite.

Those three did spend one day in the 8200' igloo, though, when the snow plume off the North Shoulder stretched over a mile long, saying something about feeling like a good game of cribbage.

The day after moving into the Col camp those three announced a great desire for some serious cribbage playing and spurned all else to huddle about the game board.  Rich's complaints about the 5¡ cave, his freezing feet and that strange roaring sound outside the cave brought only one response, "But nobody said it would be easy."

A day of fixing rope in fog followed by a push for the summit.  The three grizzled Winter Mountaineers led Rich up the great ridge, leaping gaping crevasses, poking pickets and stopping for nothing as minor as frozen feet and hands.

The summit of the North Shoulder, 12,700, was attained in early afternoon.  Those three stood muttering words such as "too late", "cornices", "lotsa belays", "bivy".  Rich just enjoyed the sunlit view of Denali, Deborah and Sanford while trying to ignore the idea of sub zero bivies.  But suddenly the three announced "cribbage" and stormed off down the slope.

Cribbage pegs marched that whole next day, too, even though food was low.  Rich worried about the puny food pile and that strange, ever louder roaring outside but his worries were received with a glare and the words "But nobody. . ."

A day to descend with backbreaking packs and a day to consume the standard Winter Mountaineer base camp food-steaks, corn-on-the-cob and cheese cake.

Another day while two of those others wandered up the north ridge of Skarland to bask in the sunlit radiance of blowing snow on its 10315' peak.

The same two abandoned Rich and their rapidly degenerating third so as to ski to the road, a