A Father-Daughter Journey Into Mountaineering

A Father-Daughter Journey into Mountaineering

Article by Kirsten Auble. Photos by Scott and Kirsten Auble.

My journey to loving the mountains began, not on rock, but on rock-and-roll. You see, by age 17, my

dad and I had already spent years pursuing three life quests together, one leading to the next. And it all started with Herman’s Hermits.

Yeah, that mop-topped 60s British pop group. I came home one day from middle school at age 10, and told my dad I’d heard this funny song “Henry VIII, I Am”, and asked what he knew about this band.That led to many hours of “School of Rock”-type whiteboard sessions that became a virtual masters course on the history of classic rock. I was hooked deep, and over the next few years, we flung ourselves around the world together to see our favorite bands on their native ground — the Rolling Stones in London, The Pretenders in Akron, Tom Petty in one of his final California performances, AC/DC in their last Australian concert, and scores of others. This quest may only end when the great rockers aren’t with us any more, but the music will always fuel me.

Parents try most kids out in various team sports to test talent, and I was no exception. But I was lousy on teams because I never liked to bump and get physically intimate. So at 12, when my dad suggested I hit a tennis ball around on a neighborhood court, I didn’t have much to lose. Now 6 years later, as an NCAA college tennis player, the years of hard training, millions of balls hit and countless hours travelling to tournaments are the second adventure my dad and I have shared every step of.

By 15, Dad and I were deep in music and tennis quest modes when he called me to his computer to watch a video of Peter Whittaker of RMI taking his 15-year-old daughter Gabriella up Kilimanjaro with a few father-daughter teams. I knew my dad

10 MAZAMAS

did some sort of “climbing,” but my teenage brain equated this to a bunch of old guys hiking, maybe using some weird clips and tools out there. Then seeing a girl exactly my age share all the preparation, the extreme effort and exotic experiences that went into the Whittaker father-daughter expedition, I started to realize why someone would willingly work so hard in the altitude and cold for what had previously seemed to be a short-lived reward. When the video was over we just looked at each other thinking the same thing — we need to do this.

Within a few months, Dad had hooked up with a team of climbing friends who had also dreamed of conquering Kilimanjaro—including a few Mazamas—signed on with a Tanzanian guiding service, and we had the “roof of Africa” clearly in our sights a few months out.

I can admit now that I had no clue what I was signing up for, so I dug into our plan to understand the climb, train and prepare. Fitting and learning how to use my gear, training hikes, researching the mountain and route, and frequent workouts in the Evolution altitude chamber formed our weeks. The hardest part though was convincing mom to let me skip three weeks of high school to go to Africa and answering the constant questioning of friends—“You’re doing what now!?” With the collaboration of my teachers, I completed weeks of advance homework and was finally ready for the big climb.

As it turned out, I was going to an even better classroom. While we were there to climb a mountain, the people and culture of Tanzania were a revelation to an American teenager. I got to dance with Masai herdsmen, sample the rich tastes and smells of the Arusha markets, hang out with the Boda Boda taxi men, and meet technicolor wildlife up close and personal. One reality that struck me about Tanzania was that despite the material gap between our lifestyles, Tanzanians seemed immensely happy, and generous with spirit and whatever they had to share.

After several days of acclimatizing, dialing in our gear, and becoming acquainted with our guides, we found ourselves at the Rongai Route trailhead, with the mass of Kilimanjaro above us, too big to take in. We set off through the jungle zone where blue monkeys howled in vines above the well-kept trail. Midway through our first night at Simba Camp, I had to leave the tent to answer nature’s call, only to see pairs of reflective eyes shining from that same jungle at the edge of camp. I made it back quick. Each of 5 days of higher treks upward brought a new set of mountain discoveries—giant groundsel plants 30 feet tall that look like life from another planet, more stars than I thought possible above our glowing tents at Mawenzie Tarn, and hiking hours through a bone-chilling sleet storm on the way to high camp.

At midnight on summit day, I rolled out of our tent for my first ever alpine start. For hours upon hours we slogged and scrambled up volcanic cinder trails, peeking at the lights of a couple teams ahead of us. Near sunrise, we saw these lamps disappear over the crater rim and knew we were close. A final push, and a long gentle ascent around the crater rim, and we reached the iconic Uhuru peak, 19,341 ft. The summit was all dreamy elation, but the better feeling was the satisfying hike back down the rim, where I could take in the scope of it all, ice cliffs above the clouds, with the plains of East Africa stretching out for hundreds of miles below. Oh, and we carried Portland Trail Blazers jerseys to the top for a special home town summit photo.

Returning from Tanzania with the first of the “seven summits,” I had caught the mountain bug. I knew that this sport was meant for me, but I needed deeper skills to take on tougher mountains. I needed training.

I had seen my dad busy every spring helping to teach a class called BCEP, although I didn’t know too much about it. I asked him if I could sign up, pleading that if I didn’t take it as a high school senior, it would be another four years before I would have the opportunity. Before you could say “on belay” I was a Snake Dog (Rico MicaIlef ’s team). I ate up every BCEP activity—Horsethief, snow skills at Timberline and every training hike, with a fantastic team of newbie mountaineers, who are now all friends and sometimes climbing mates. Experiencing rock concerts and the tennis court with my dad was one thing, but seeing him teach our group how to emergency rappel or build a snow anchor was on another level—the mountains had become the greatest of our shared passions.

Even before BCEP graduation, we were already

plotting how to put my new skills to the test, and get up on my first big Northwest mountain. Rico came through right way with an opportunity to climb Mt. Hood via the Pearly Gates. In addition to earning another father-daughter summit, our group also carried the ashes of a former Mazama climb leader and her son to a memorial on top, making this climb even more meaningful. Watching the sunrise from the highest point in Oregon gave me a new perspective on just how lucky I am. How many seventeen-year-olds can say they summitted Mt. Hood with their dad?

So what’s my latest quest?—more mountains of course! I’ve now summited Mt. Adams with Steve Warner, and completed the Guardian Peaks on St. Helens this March. Then on to more of the Mazamas 16 alongside finishing college and starting a career.

And with my dad? Aconcagua is on our schedule for next Christmas, because, after all, “It’s a Long Way to the Top, If You Want to Rock and Roll.”

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