I never intended on becoming an alpine climber. If you went back in time and told me this is what I’d be doing in my life I would have laughed at you. My intent in life was to raise a family, teach children at the elementary level and become an artist. I was a summer backpacker for years alongside my partner of 20 years. I loved the mountains and had thoughts of climbing Mount Rainier, but never intended to become a climber; I never saw myself as that kind of a person.
 
Shortly after my 36th birthday my world got flipped upside-down.  My 16-year marriage suddenly ended with a cheating husband and his co-worker.  This was coupled to supporting a child with disabilities and years of Children’s Hospital visits and establishing a career whilst managing our home. It left me completely crushed.
 
I went about my daily life, holding it together with this terrible pain inside. It felt like an immense pressure was constantly squeezing down on me. I felt isolated, alone, and worthless. I am not someone who gives up easily, so I had to do something to pull it together - this was not the kind of life I wanted for myself or my children. I had worked so hard, had a long list of accomplishments under my belt and a heap of ashes to sift through after my world was destroyed. Returning to the mountains saved my soul and completely changed me as a person.  I became the woman I am intended to be.  
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I gathered whatever gear I had left from my past and I went to the one place I knew more than any other, the Olympic Mountains. Setting out toward Tubal Cain Mine, alone; I cried the entire time. That year had low snowpack, so I hiked in the Olympics every other weekend when I didn’t have my boys; sometimes on both days.
 
During that year, I’d find myself staring at Mount Rainier, wondering if broken-me could climb that massive mountain. It brought forth old, nagging thoughts that I previously had of climbing it. So, I did everything I could to save money, acquire gear, take a course and work through insecurities and feelings of intimidation in the process.
 
My first glacier climb was not Rainier, instead it was something worse: Glacier Peak -  a glaciated stratovolcano nestled in the heart of the Cascades. Glacier Peak has a long, brutal approach, especially when carrying full packs of gear, rope, crampons, ice axes, and three-days worth of food and supplies. I was also a member of a team consisting of climbers getting ready to climb Denali… these were fast, solid young men. I kept up. Although it was not enjoyable, the company was good. We found a protected place to shelter, set up camp and planned on a 2:00AM start - my first alpine start.

​The alarm alerted me. Uncomfortably cold and wiped out, I rose and slid my feet into frozen boots. I prepared myself in the biting alpine air while hearing the faint whistling sound of camp stoves brewing coffee for sleepy climbers. We made our way through the night on hard ice, gripped in steel crampons, with headlamps lighting our way.  The terrain was steep. My cold breath billowed. I could barely see in front of me until dawn started to break. What a sight.

We were greeted by a stunning glacier, and it was time to rope up. I made it fifteen miles to the lip of the volcano’s crater, then, I gassed out. I did not summit knowing I had to reserve energy to get back. I was devastated, totally disappointed in myself. But that experience was the most important because it ate at me inside, asking me to work harder to “become” this other person I never knew existed inside of me. I heard her say, “be strong, both inside and out, become fit and unbreakable.”

I completed other climbs that summer: the summit of Mount Baker; some alpine trad routes; and finished an alpine climbing course. That September I had to asked myself, “Am I going to go after this and turn it into a lifestyle or simply complete a course with that failure on Glacier Peak eating me alive inside?”

​I did what I always do - followed my heart. I decided to winter-scramble, thinking that pushing up thousands of feet in fresh snow and snowshoes would surely make me “mountain fit” - a mixture of velvet and steel. It did. And, I took any opportunity presented to me to climb. It didn’t matter what it was.  With a growing confidence and desire to climb, I networked in the mountains, meeting other climbers who were training in the same way. Currently I am at 75 summits and counting to 100. And, I will keep going.

Something else has come out of this; I have transformed myself back into the artist that I am. I lost some of that along the way in marriage and family life, but that too has always been calling to me. I got inspired by what I was in the mountains. I experienced glaciers, ridges, colors, and cloud formations that look like stormy seas, so I started to paint them.

​One day a friend suggested, “Put a climber in there.” Reluctantly, I did. Drawing people is hard and something I have avoided for years, despite being pretty good at it in art school. Something clicked, though, and I added more and more climbers into my work.

When another relationship went south it put me over the edge emotionally. In response to that I drew a huge self-portrait in pencil - me sitting on top of Mount Rainier. It turned out to be the best piece I had ever drawn. Since that portrait, I’ve been drawing climbers like this - in pencil, larger scale, in their personal moments in the mountains. Eventually, I’d like to compile all of it into a book. 

And what about Rainier, the mountain that started all of this?   In three more attempts, including being kicked off because of weather and altitude sickness, I finally summited her. Another female mountaineer and I went this in the summer of 2019  We created a meticulous plan to avoid any reason that might hold us back from reaching our goal. We acquired permits early, giving us a big weather window to work with. Climbing Rainier with one other person is a bold move should anything go wrong, but it just seemed fitting to me - two women doing this, relying on each other and our skills.
 
We sat up on the glacier and waited. A small, unpredicted storm swooped in delaying our start. A lenticular capped the summit. We waited some more. Our tent was a bomb shelter, barely moving in 40mph gusts. The next morning the skies opened, promising better weather for the evening as the forecasts had originally predicted.
 

Mount Reinier, Public Domain, Link

Twelve AM arrived quickly and Caitlin and I tied in and set out. We had a plan in place for every tricky spot on that route. We stuck to the plan and summited faster than expected. At 5:30 AM, as the sun cracked the horizon with the most intense red I have ever laid my eyes on, we stepped onto the crater. I’d met my goal. I cried.
 
We came off of our ropes and made our way to the true summit, Columbia Crest, and took summit photos. We then made our way to the summit registry and took a seat, nestled in some warm steam from the volcano rising all around us. I just sat there and looked out into the blue sky, a rising sun and a sea of clouds below.
 
The experience left me wondering… "What’s next Christine? That mountain drove all of this and now you’ve done it. What are you going to do now? Does it end here?" The answer is NO. I will never forget that view and the thoughts of my future that entered my head in that moment.
  
As the summer climbing season comes to a close, I am excited by what I have ahead of me. I am learning to ice climb and will put those skills to use on more technical routes on Rainier and Baker, as well as some winter alpine ice up here in Washington State. Perhaps I’ll even make a run up to Canada and learn some tricks on ice from our neighbors to the north.  I hear they know a thing or two.
 
I am also planning climbing trips with friends: a road trip to California to climb Lassen, Whitney and Shasta Peaks; Making our way north to Grand Teton, then back west to hit Rainier. The Rainier 100 is also on our list which consists of the tallest 100 peaks in Mount Rainier National Park. Finally, leading on multi-pitch alpine trad is a my last goal.
 
Currently I make a great follower, but I am ready to take this next leap to tackle much more technical climbs in the North Cascades. Woven into all of this I also think about paths I have yet to cross with regard to people. For me it’s the people who make mountains great. That is honestly my biggest takeaway in climbing.
 
I have become a part of the most amazing network of friends who come from every background. And, I can’t wait to add more to the group. In the beginning I did what the world expected. Now in the middle I am simply being who I am while ignoring what the world “wants.”  I am enjoying what the Mountains give and thankful for new friendships. I would not want to be in any other place.  Climb on. ​

To see more of Christine Keubler's art please visit her Common Climber bio page. ​