Mt Baker - Day 76-75 (A Soul's Comfort on the Cold Day's Journey)

Walking away from friends and family for the relative solitude of the mountain gives me pause. I search for the words.

The nights will be cold, the weather uncertain
The risks well known, no lessons forgotten
But, alas, no bliss from the gentle touch of love
The ready warmth from only a glove
No cell phone, no desk top, no telephone
The cold night's sound, the mountain's groan
No words of comfort from those who care
When doubt breaks through the icy glare

It made me wonder where it is that I would find the comfort, something to keep me on tract when all else fails. I knew I had to look hard for it. And believe it or not, I found the answer - a link through Alpine Ascents Inc. It seems that other climbers also fear a painful journey.

The true comfort I found which will remain with me for, hopefully, a long time came from a man named Frank. I found him in Middletown NY, a town in the Southern Catskills. I had to drive 3 hours in the rain on a Saturday morning just to meet him. Surely, that time could be more liesurely spent drinking my coffee and reading the Saturday NY Times in the quiet of our Pound Ridge home. Frank met me at the door. We were alone for the duration. He immediately put me at ease with his gentle but penetrating eyes. I felt like he knew me instantly, my past not a mystery, my future soon for him to foretell. In only a moment and without hesitation, he reassured me of all that I was seeking, my biggest concerns put to rest. You see, Frank had a unique talent and not one that is obviously considered. No he was not a psychiatrist, nor a soothsayer or a priest. No, he was not possessed with supernatural powers from which I could draw in time of need. He was not any of those.

To me, as a would-be mountain climber, he was something more important. Frank was a pedorthist, a certified boot fitter; the place of our first encounter, Frank's Custom Shoe-Fitting. The comfort I was looking for were in the boots I came to buy. Think about it. The treck will be long, through, temporate rain forests, crossing cold streams, and spent for many hours on snow and ice. No place to be saddled with boots meant for feet other than mine. A blister, a sore toe, a painful fallen arch would be a disaster. I had to be sure of the comfort of the boot and Frank was definitely the right man for the challenge.

Prior to my visit I had done some fairly extensive research on the subject of mountain boots. I new from previous experience that lack of due diligence can wreak havoc on an otherwise exciting journey. My last trip, for instance, was ice climbing in the Catskills with a pair of rented plastic boots. What a disaster. I didn't think I would make it back to the rendezvous spot, the return trip spent in silent misery as my fellow climbers laughed with the joy of their shared accomplishments. I decided for my upcoming trip that the six hour approach to the mountain and then up to base camp would be better served with a softer alternative, one not left to a quick rental. I settled on a pair of leather boots, top of the line stuff. Forsake no expense. The manufacturer was Lowa. The boot called Mountaineering GTX would well handle the required crampons. Frank would order it for me but first, the proper fit. He brought out all the measuring tools. The first problem I learned from this man of artistry was my left foot was longer than my right. The right exceeded in width. I had always fitted my shoes with the right foot, a big mistake. We agreed on a size nearly one size larger than previously ever considered. He then put my foot in this strange machine and concocted a custom made foot bed. By this time, I was ready to buy anything else I could get my hands on: running shoes, rock climbing shoes, dance shoes, loafers, anything. I settled for another pair of sneakers. He taught me new ways to lace the shoes, the so-called Sherpa's lace. He told me of the importance of keeping the heel in place. He brought several other inserts for assemblage inside my new purchase.

I trusted Frank. He is a man of conviction. For instance, Frank is also a long distance runner - very long. You see, Frank ran from San Francisco to New York several years back.; not once, but twice. Not only did he accomplish this feat, but he is also listed in the Guiness Book of records as having completed the crossing in the fastest time, averaging nearly 70 miles per day. I knew that anyone who achieved with his feet like Frank would be a true "sole" mate; one that I could count on. I left Frank having paid my bill and wearing my new sneakers, feeling almost reborn, my soul (or should I say sole) comforted and ready to meet any challenge, even the cold rainy drive home.