This is a rewrite of a letter I wrote on a recent nine-day high country mountaineering trip. Good reading and Bon Route.

Dear Grandpa,

And so we're in deep now. And so it has begun. Eric, who carries the heaviest pack, has just sprained his ankle. We are four full days into the mountains and he cannot walk, let alone climb. We have shuttled his pack and nursed him up to the glacier lake that centers the McMillan cirque head. It is the headwaters of McMillan Creek and one of the most spectacular and rugged cirques in the Picket Range — in the lower 48 states for that matter.

It is breathtakingly beautiful terrain. I count 20 waterfalls just surrounding this lake; many are over one thousand feet high. The glacial lake water, which surrounds the small moraine that makes my perch, glows with a unique light blue hue from the glacial silt. There are small sparrow sized birds that I only see up here which swim in the icy lake and fast stream. It is paradise.

It's dinnertime now. The peaks that surround our cirque glow red in the sunset light. An icy wind blows off the Crescent Creek Spires and Mt Terror. I'm wearing all my clothes now and writing this with gloves on. Small icebergs are blowing across the lake to us, a gift from the mountain. We may use one of them to keep our perishable food cold. It's been blisteringly hot lately.

The heat has taken its toll on us too. By day two, Kam, the smallest member of our party of four began to fade under the weight of his pack. He is not a weak man and carries nearly as much as any of us. On this day however, I found myself taking over ten pounds from him. We hiked and climbed with snow tucked under our hats and in our shirts. Still, by the end of the day we both had some trouble with dehydration and salt depletion. A bit of instant soup worked wonders for me. That stuff is always so incredibly salty.

Steve has just finished washing his socks in the stream. An icy adventure it is, and not a nice thing to do to anyone or anything down stream. Tomorrow we plan to climb Mt. Terror — just Steve and I. Kam will stay behind with Eric for a day of rest and ankle care. Then, depending on Eric's ankle, we will choose our route back out of the mountains and back to work on Monday morning.

Dear Grandpa,

You didn't wish us luck.

Mt. Terror's north face is one of the longest faces in the North Cascades. It's about 4000 feet of rock and ice, seldom climbed and poorly described. We were doing well in fair weather just cresting the crux pitch (the most difficult section) when I was hit by falling rock. From my stance in a hanging belay on a verticle wall, I had little room to duck or dodge. I covered as best I could. It struck me hard in the left shoulder blade. I remember screaming with the blow. I remember it all quite clearly.

After the incident I did an immediate body check: my neck works, my hand works, no blood, my arm is numb, I'm in pain and I feel sick feeling. I called to Steve, "I'm OK, finish the pitch and anchor in." He seemed slow to make the next move. His foot held another larger rock. He secured it, topped out onto a generous ledge and anchored in. That 10 or 15 minutes truly seemed to take hours. I was impatient and wanted flat ground in case I lost consciousness. I climbed to meet him with one hand as he watched me closely with the rope. We had lunch, laughed about our predicament, and let the shock wear off. We planned our next move.

It took 13 double rope length rappels to return to snow. Steve hauled all the line and did most of the work. We made it back by dark for dinner. Mt Terror proved to live up to its name.

The next two days were spent executing our well thought out and discussed contingency plan. In this group, decisions are made by consensus. Climbing parties work like all groups with a task — they all work differently depending on the personalities and structures present. Some groups work better than others do. Our group did a pretty good job.

Rather than continue our planned rout of a high traverse we opted, in light of our injuries, for a lower risk and probably more difficult exit. We chose to beat our way down the seven miles of the McMillan Creek drainage to cross the Big Beaver River and find the trail on the other side. Our guidebook says, "Not recommended." The best description of travel this way is to put on a heavy pack and walk through a thick hedge lengthwise. Keep this up for twenty to thirty hours. We are now most of the way through with only a mile and a quarter to go to the river. It's the morning of our third day at it. We're in high spirits. It looks as if we'll make it.

Steve and Eric are discussing once again how much weight Eric can take; I've taped his ankle well and improvised an air cast out of a water bottle and sleeping pad. We've been ferrying his pack over the difficult sections or just taking most of the weight in the brush. He's moving pretty well now with a light pack.

"Ok Hall, (Eric Hall) let's have some weight." Steve's a workhorse. He's has been breaking trail and carrying a heavy pack almost the whole way. I've been doing my share with about 85 pounds despite a badly bruised shoulder. It's difficult and painful, especially when I fall, but everything works fine. There is no serious injury.

Time to go. Karen might meet us at Luna Camp, a regular campground on a maintained trail about nine miles from where we catch the boat back to civilization. With luck, she'll have come in with friends and beer and other fine luxuries. Time to go.

Were safe and sound in Luna Camp. No Karen yet. It's evening. She probably didn't come. We're now sitting around the fire enjoying the last of our food and burning off our extra fuel. We made it!

Our last day out was the most pleasant of bush travel. The steep sloped forest, slide alder, vine maple, and other nastiness gave way to fantastic old growth forest. Today we walked through the giants of a forest born before Europeans stepped foot on this continent. We walked over downed trees more than twice my height. We navigated straight and well, despite me carrying the compass with my pack full of metal. Ok, so we veered a little until I figured that one out, but we did make it to the Big Beaver nearly exactly where we thought we should. Then just to make matters more perfect, I found a tree crossing the river. We were elated. Our whole bush travel today took less than four hours. The trail to Luna Camp seemed effortless. We made it!

The obvious question from people who don't go into the mountains is, "Why?" Why would we choose to leave our comfortable, safe lives in the city to come out here where it is often less than comfortable, occasionally downright painful and sometimes rather hazardous? Why would we risk our very lives for absolutely no gain except for the experience of having done it? Why not just stay home and read about it, watch it on TV, or see it in a movie?

Sir Edmond Hillary said it quite simply, "Because it is there." For me this is only a small part of the answer. Brad Pitt in the film Seven Years In Tibet said that while climbing he was truly focused, 100% present, truly alive. For me this is also only part of the answer.

Climbing and mountaineering deepens my experience of life. It fills the senses and carves deep memories into one's soul. It is fulfilling in a way that few activities can be. It is intense. Most of the time things go quite well. There are no injuries, little risk, and few difficult decisions to be made. Most of the times there are more pleasantries than pain. There is always beauty. It is always intense. Like life, this is not always the case and we must always be prepared for when things go amiss.

The wilderness is an amazing teacher. It boils everything down to the most basic elements of survival. At the same time it teaches me about nature, people, relationships, and myself. It is life in its most simple form. Most importantly, how else can you make freeze-dried rice taste good.

Let's ask my friends the same question.

Steve: "It's 50% being with my friends, 30% the incredible beauty, and 20% the physical, mental and emotional challenges. It's living at the base level."

Eric: "It gives you a fuller appreciation for life."

Eric and Steve: "We could appreciate all things around us, things we might take for granted now make us happy."

Kam: " The need to experience the challenge, the more you put into it the more you appreciate it."

All: "Very few people come here and do this. Very few people can or will."

Kam:" Because we love the experience of nettles on our skin...we're stupid.

Everyone laughs and conversation digresses. We all greatly enjoy our last whole cookie.

Karen is sleeping. Time to go to bed myself. I have another big workday tomorrow.

My arm is recovering slowly but steadily. I hope you enjoy the letter and all is well for you. Please give Phyllis a hug for me. And smile often and much.

Love, Dave

—Dave Leffmann, Living the Life with MountainZone.com