Mt Baker - Day 61 (Storm Clouds Ahead -cont)

So there we were at the base of the mountain ready to return to base camp lodge. I felt like a mutiny was at hand, my role as driver of the car soon to be terminated by my disgruntled colleagues. Why were the computer-driven keys to my rental SUV not working? Why were we consequently out there in the minus 25 degree windblown location with the sun beginning to dip beneath the tops of snow-covered pine groves standing on the dark mountains to our west? Only in this frigid situation for less than 15 minutes, we were beginning to look more like the Blue Man Group than intrepid climbers. Except for the sound of my banging knees, there was only silence. Suddenly, one of my more impatient brutish colleagues sounded as if he had a thought. I scoffed silently to myself, "by the looks of this guy, a once in a lifetime event".

"Where did you keep your keys when we are on the mountain", the climber snarled through his face mask. Not quite understanding the significance of the question, I timidly replied "in the outside pocket of my hard shell jacket", pointing haltingly to my left chest. "Give me the keys" was his only response. I could see nothing of his face other than his razor sharp white teeth beneath a narrow slit of his "furry" head cover. He looked like a mama wolf guarding her pup from an unwelcome intruder. I knew then my days as the designated driver were over. Worse yet, they might just leave me here in the cold as a soon to be frigid rememberance to others not properly schooled in outdoor living. To my surprise, he pulled the front waist band of his Gortex hard shell pants forward in front of him looking like one of those success stories advertised by an annoying weight loss program. He followed with a similar move with the middle layer fleece pants, then again with the inner polyester layer, and finally his underwear (the latter not cotton, cotton is a no no, absorbs too much moisture, never wear cotton mountain climbing). The next move made me startle with disbelief. With determined swiftness, the somber climber simply dropped the keys into the abyss of all those layers. Was this some sort of mockery of my manhood? "Now we're just going to have to wait awhile", he replied totally without expression. He couldn't have been comfortable. You know what happens when skin meets frigid metal?

About five minutes later out comes the keys. The climber hands them to me forcefully and and abruptly states "now see if you can open the door and start the car". I noted the keys were no longer as cold as ice. Maybe that was the simple solution we were looking for. I carefully followed instructions and voila. Results were instantaneous. The door lock lifted and my impatient climbers scrambled quickly into the SUV for the long journey to base camp lodge; the circulation alas returning to our feet. Now relegated to the back with the luggage, I had time to consider what I had learned. The message was simple. Don't trust these modern computer driven gizmos when you are in the cold mountain air. One must search for real truths, whether its forecasting the weather or the means to open car doors; truth to be found by a common sense approach that uses the clues nature has provided. Certainly, reason to return to the relevant chapter in Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills on the understanding of the ever challenging mountain climate. Near the summit and looking for weather's soon to be immediate plans, I know now that I just can't count on The Weather Channel app on my iphone to be there when needed.

But was this the real message to be learned from the vision that day in the first car of the Metro North train travelling from Katonah to Grand Central? For that answer, I returned again to my first seat in the first car at 6:50 AM and waited. (Need to see patients now. I will have to finish later).