Belonging to Matterhorn Peak

A Story, Summit Culture, and Recommendations for the Eastern Sierras

I'm doing things I've always dreamed of. But, I'm having failures too.

When you put yourself out there, take risks, take paths less traveled (literally), it’s a numbers game: with success comes failure. We don’t tend to talk about the connection between the two, and instead, we treat life as this long winded accomplishment. We post pictures of the best version of ourselves, we sell ourselves at our jobs, and we tell acquaintances everything is great when it isn’t. Owning failure and being honest when you are down is hard.

This concept stuck out to me recently.

I write when I’m traveling and I recently reread my notes from my first mountaineer objective in the Sierras last spring. I was driving past the Eastern Sierras yesterday and every time I drive past Bridgeport there isn’t a moment where I don’t stare off into the mountains and fixate on one peak: The Matterhorn.

Yes, there’s a peak in California called The Matterhorn.

Last spring, I was reeling from a loss. Grief is physical, and I felt it. I booked a guided mountaineering trip (details at the bottom) in hope of reconnecting with the mountains and reminding myself of my strength.

But, the trip didn’t go according to plan.

At the time, I felt like a failure. The thought, “I'm not good enough,” echoed like a broken record. I was also confused by the sudden obsession with reaching the summit. I initially went on this trip with no expectations except for a learning experience, and an adventure. Why did the outcome suddenly matter so much? I started to dig into “summit culture”. It’s an incredibly complex concept, yet, it is universal to our everyday lives.

The outdoors offers a clear example. I watched recently an Everest documentary (Finding Michael) that highlights the criticism around how mountaineers must be crazy, and selfish to put their lives on the line to just summit a mountain. It’s not black and white.

Have you ever felt an uncontrollable motivation to do something?

The mountains offer an indescribable drive and connection to the world around us. There is a draw to the mountains that becomes magnetic. I’ve felt it. They make me feel truly alive, closer to God, forces me to be present, and humble. They provide a space for healing.

I feel like I come home and belong when I am in the mountains.

But, we cannot always summit. My guide said to me after I didn't summit, “Jenny, I have descended more mountains than I have summited”. I think about this almost daily because it was a message: nothing is more important than your health, well-being, and safety. Unfortunately, outside perception and summit culture can reduce the mountains to a single objective. That is where the true risk lies.

I went to Outdoor Magazine Festival in Denver last summer where an incredible mountaineer and mental health advocate, Cory Richards, spoke about the impact of trauma and the pitfalls of summit culture's focus on outcome. If we become too outcome-driven we lose sight of ourselves, struggle with anxiety, and amplify our feelings of failure. He calls it the, “unravelling of self”. Cory is an inspiration for me and I highly recommend his books (bottom of article).

I’ve realized that real failure is when we abandon ourselves.

And, we abandon ourselves every day. We live in a society that celebrates success, but often ignores the important role of trial and error and listening to our souls and bodies. We expect outcomes and always to summit. If we don’t do either of those, then the only other option is failure.

This pressure leads us to create positive facades. We rarely tell co-workers, "I messed up on a client call," or respond to a casual "How are you?" with the truth, like, "I feel shitty today”. I believe if we all were a little more open about our failures, setbacks, and struggles, we'd create space for more authentic connection, learning opportunities, and strength to overcome adversity. With all of that said:

I want to share the journal entries from that mountaineer trip.

To help transport you to the mountains, to dive into the emotional aspects of summiting, to have a connection towards mental health, and to inspire an adventure for you. No matter the outcome.

These are raw journal entries, please, excuse some of the grammar.

Journal Entries from the Sierras

June 2024, here is where I’m writing from.

The last two nights, I would sit in this little nook in the forest. I like to hide, find secret places, and watch the series of different lights hit the mountain until darkness. The colors, the smells, the feeling is indescribable happiness.

Writing grounds me and is also a way for me to share my authentic thoughts with you. I can be emotional, I want to write from an incredibly beautiful place, and I just want to be free in thinking.

How to even describe today.

I pushed the boundaries of my body and mental health. I’m currently sitting between two rocks staring at the peaks in awe that I’m here. Part of me was not sure I would make it.

The Sierras are some of the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen. I also feel at home with these mountains. There is something familiar, peaceful, humbling that is all encompassed at the same time when hiking through here.

Every moment is breathtaking.

The wind echos at this elevation. It’s a reminder of the vastness and beauty where you can sense the mountains with your eyes closed: their sharpness, height and sheer rock.

The mountains are alive and a force.

At sunset, the tips of the mountains glow and have the most perfect lighting. They look touched by a paintbrush as the light slowly begins to fade. There is a lake and meadow at the bottom of the peaks with crystal blue water and glacier ice floating on the top. My favorite feature is the blue water stream which almost feels too good to be true.

Actually, I lied.

My favorite feature is the smell of sage and pine. It smells like the purest form of earth. There is no money in the world or Bed, Bath and Beyond product that can replicate this smell. Each breath almost feels like savoring the last bite of dessert or a moment you wish would never end.

I am tired and I did not know this stamina was possible in my body.

Today was hard. We started at 6,000ft and ended at 10,500ft in 5 miles with 65-pound packs. There was so much gear to add to our packs to snow climb and also, bring food for everyone. There are 9 of us total.

I also did not eat the right breakfast and I ended up falling over and getting really sick on the way up. Another guy threw up because the sun off the snow was becoming so hot (we were overheating). At that point, I thought to myself how am I going to do this when I was only 30% of the way there.

But, I ate an electrolyte tablet and prayed.

We had a maintained trail for about 1.5 miles. It then turned into a mix of rock scrambling with our large packs, traversing and hiking up over 1,000 vertical in snow where I slid many times down the mountain. The sun from the snow was beating on our faces, and it was melting in real-time. You would suddenly be punching through knee-deep snow while climbing up. I feel so grateful for this group of people. I came by myself with no expectations, and everyone is wonderful.

Sometimes I feel like the outdoors brings the best out of people.

Here are the rules from our guides:

1. Listen to your body

2. We are going to have fun

3. We are going to leave as friends

I will have new friends, I feel so blessed that I had no injuries, and I’m in one of the most beautiful places in the world. We had a nice meal under the peaks tonight. Experiencing this incredible nature, together. It’s just us, and it’s wonderful.

As we were hiking up, a guy in the group said to me, “I can barely get up this rock because it’s too tall for me. It’s literally 3/4 your height. You are strong”.

I needed to hear that, honestly.

I was struggling physically and mentally. I am also feeling the emotions of going through loss. A month ago, I was struggling to do a push-up, and now I am here. I fell a handful of times, slipped, slid into a bush, and, leg went into a snow hole. This can be a typical day of hiking for me, but with the combination of emotional fragility, the elevation, being alone and a heavy pack, it was hard.

I have to laugh a little because Baba (my grandma) is in heaven watching me do all of these things and is probably like, “What are you doing, girl.” But, I am in my tent now, and all I can think about is that I had a great day.

I know she is proud of me.

Looking back, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for my health, and my life. I battled stomach problems for years, and it was so bad that at 17, I wrote in my diary that I didn't think I'd live to 30. I’m 32 now and I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been.

To be here, to have my body and health, and to learn from people and have people learn from me is a true gift. I sometimes sense myself living “day to day” because I think I still feel like I’m living in survival. When you are living out of survival for a long time, you don’t know where the “off button” is. You feel like life can be taken at any moment.

When I’m in the mountains I feel like I wake up from the survival cycle.

I’m reminded that I am strong and I know, I am not afraid of failing. I am more afraid of not living because life is meant to be lived.

Later that day.

This is my home for the next 3 days. I’m testing a new tent. It is a new purchase, dumb shape, but, hey it’s less than 2 pounds (the tadpole).

Everyone’s letters made my trip. I’m the only one, who is alone and I’m in my little tent, the wind is blowing 50mph and I feel so grateful for everyone supporting me in doing the things I love. When I travel or backpack alone I ask family and friends to write me a letter*

Goodnight, all. I love you all very much.

Also, I had a beautiful campsite yesterday in Bridgeport. It’s hard to think about how I was there yesterday (staring off into the mountains) and now, I am here. Every moment has been magic where I rode my bike along the empty highway staring off into the sunset, jumped into the lake, I made a fire, and sat outside at night.

Here are some pics.

I had to get up at 4am to pee.

Even though I was sleepy, stepping outside the tent, it was incredible. You can see every peak clearly with the stars and the air is perfect. It’s a beautiful morning and already warm! I’m pretty surprised by the heat up this high, but at night it drops down to 30s. We ate a nice breakfast and I’m just relaxing before snow school.

Tomorrow will be a push.

6am climb to peak. I’m looking at it now. And then pack up and climb down with our packs back to the car. Big day. There is a potential chance we won’t be able to summit because the snow is soft and melting fast where scrambling with this many people can cause shelling (too many rocks to the face). We are going to take the day as it comes.

Conditions are conditions and we’ll do the best we can.

Later that day.

End of the day by a happy granola girl.

Today, was super fun and I feel much more physically acclimated. We learned all of the basics of mountaineering gear, rope work, safety, and different conditions, to help prep for tomorrow’s climb.

We have 4 hours to summit up 3,000 vertical in snow and rock.

It’s going to be hard. Today, I got to practice some scrambling and it was super fun. The hardest part was rappelling down because the rocks are boulders and I’m used to the same consistency of rock wall. I slipped and rappelled into a gully. I also got to do some scaling at the bottom of the mountain with my ice axe and crampons to start getting used to the feel and technique. I want to do more.

I also made a new friend, and we hiked up closer to Horse Creek Tower after school was done. The views are unreal.

He said to me, “It’s crazy how well you know what you love.” I love this.

What I learned today:

• Risk management vs. safety. Safety is just a term. The reality is whenever we are outside, there is risk.

• A guide helped me overcome my fear of rappelling by explaining, "When you're on top of a building with a railing, you feel safe, right? It's the same with the ropes”. This helped me and a lot of our fears are hypothetical over realistic

• There is a lot of trust in the outdoors: trust yourself (your body, your mind, your prep work, your reaction in emergencies), God (prayer), your guides (that they will know what to do if something happens), your gear (what you use is important), the people around you

• Packing light is the solution to everything

• Check-in with yourself constantly and make preventive decisions. It’s not always about the summit (even though that feeling today of completing all of the climbing routes was incredible). It can become too late to turn around

• Don’t let go of your axe. I did that, whoops, won’t happen again

It’s 8pm and at 5:45am it’s crampons on for summit. Say a prayer for my body, and my knees. Big push day. It’s my favorite part of the day where the sun sets around 8, and the glow of the mountains begins.

I could sit and watch this forever. Goodnight.

4:50am. And, now here at 7:15am.

8:30am, I am strong and I feel amazing!

11,800ft, and I have to make a hard decision.

I got hit in the knee with a big rock, and I’m struggling mentally.

My knee is swelling. I have to turn down and not summit. It’s hard, I feel sad. But, also some relief.

Lots of emotions being back at the bottom.

I feel sad, frustrated, happy, relief. I’m going through a whirlwind. It’s not about summiting. This is my first time ever using crampons, ice axe, and this physically is intense. You are climbing 3000 vertical from camp up to 12,500 ft, up snow. The highest pitch today was 39 degrees.

I started strong. I was in front and I felt good.

It was confident, strong, and well-paced. The part that started to burn the most energy was when we had a mix of climbing between rock and snow. The shelling of rock was scary. Imagine consistent land slides of rock and sand to the face and then being tied in with four people pulling you up.

And then, boom*

Someone yelled, “Rock!” It first rolled onto my left hand and then hit my right knee. When my knee began to swell, I asked to slow down. I could tell the guide was frustrated, and making decisions in that moment. After, we had to unhook ropes because the shelling of rock was bad, and everyone’s pacing in the group became mixed.

We reached three-fourths up the couloir.

We were at 11,900ft with about 600ft-800ft left to the summit. I sat there staring down a steep narrow shoot of mountain. My brain was frozen and I was in pain. The guide whispered to another guide. And then the guide began to walk us through options: to go back or continue to the top of the couloir. Summiting was off the table.

I weighed all options. Descending was the safest option.

I’m sitting at base camp, and no one is back yet. We were pacing 50/50 for people to summit or not. I’ll know in about an hour or two. My lizard brain took over, sitting on top of the couloir. As the guide was being logical I needed a minute to compose myself after the rock hit me. Minutes don’t exist sometimes. It’s hard, you have to make choices, you have to risk manage and you have to listen to your body.

I kept asking myself, am I going to make it down?

Do I have enough energy to climb, and punch through waist deep snow? We always think of the summit, but not descending. Have you ever seen a climbing movie after a mountaineer summits and then it flashes to them saying, “alright, time to go down.” No, that doesn’t happen. Snow melted so fast where it was above my waist. It was hard. I know I made the right decision to descend. But, it’s tough.

There’s that part of me that feels like I didn’t complete something I set my mind to.

And at the same time, I did complete a lot. It’s not always about summiting. It’s about decision making, training, and learning. I had no idea what it felt like to climb that high of a pitch in crampons.

Now, I do, and I want to do more.

The mountains are alive. They are beings. With each step I’m learning and each fall I’m growing. The answer here is to be proud, and to continue chipping away at my goals. This is a step in the right direction.

On another note, this guy was in my sleeping bag. Not cool.

Later on….

I think I’m going through a flow of emotions.

Am I being frustrated or short-sided? I feel a narrow lens of summiting or not summiting. It’s a tough feeling to sit with. But, it isn’t about just summiting. Right now, it feels like it. Everyone’s back, and 2 of us didn’t summit. 7 did. The question for me: did I make the right decision?

I don’t know. I mean, yes. Summiting was off the table.

I did the best I could based on what was in front of me. I was close. I’m just going to need some time to process all of this. A guide walked by me as I was packing up my tent and he goes, “Jenny, I know this is hard for you”. I started to cry. Why was I crying?

Later that day* We made it down.

We woke up at 4:45 a.m., and we got to the base at 5 p.m. There was so much scrambling and snow traversing. I think the hardest part was maintaining physical energy while feeling defeated.

I still can’t get over the views.

But, I’m sad and I’m processing.

I think I played this through out my mind a 100 times: hiking the mountain, the guides, the conditions, everything. It’s hard to explain how all of these aspects start to take over your thinking. It becomes an obsession.

I am trying to be positive. I do feel super excited for this new passion.

I took two rocks from the mountain, and I want to put them back. Once I set my mind to something, it’s hard for me to give up. So the rocks need to go back eventually to where they belong: the Matterhorn.

So much learned, humbled, frustration, physical investment on this trip. I have new friends, new passions, new strength and mental stamina. I feel beyond grateful.

Until next time peaks. I’ll never lose spirit in everything that I do.

It’s a roller coaster of emotion. Here’s where I’m learning and leaning into:

• The mountains won’t cure emptiness or voids. Summiting isn’t the cure, everything needs to come from healing, and sense of self (versus outcomes)

• Leaning into the “not summiting” as a motivation point. I think I’m more motivated than ever. Life isn’t the summit. It’s the journey and I can lean in and share this. There are many moments of my life defined by the “valley” over the “peak”

• I am a mountain girl. I need to stop putting that aside, or allowing people already experienced to hold the passport to my identity. I am growing, and getting stronger.

• I showed up incredible with everything going on in my life. To go through grief, I am proud.

• I bring spirit in everything I do. I try hard, and sometimes I compare myself. Yesterday, I felt an emptiness of not being good enough. The narrative of not being enough to summit kept playing throughout my mind. Narratives are narratives. Everyone on the trip kept saying they could see my spirit. I bring that every day in my life, and I’ll never lose or give that up. That is my biggest takeaway.

The End.

Reading this back, wow. I encourage everyone to journal during their travels or challenging experiences. Rereading these entries can be surreal, but also enlightening and humbling. I hope this reflection offers you a deeper connection to the mountains, maybe with me as an author or checking in with your inner voice.

What struck me most on this trip was my own mental health battle. I was initially okay with the possibility of not summiting, but when it became a reality, I struggled and I created a narrative of “not being good enough”. I know I did what was right for me and the trip reinforced that I belong to my mental health, my body, and the Sierras. Nothing is more important.

I'm grateful for the adventure, and more mountaineering to come.

Recommendations:

• Matterhorn Peak trail map

• International Alpine Guides: This is a great guide company that offers a lot of different adventures. Ask for Miles and Chad. They are truly humble, and amazing mentors

• Cory Richard’s has an incredible book called, Bipolar highlights beautiful photography of summits, and stories about mental health

• My favorite place to stay in Bridgeport: Bridgeport Marina

• Nearby hot springs: Travertine and Buckeye

• Eastern Sierras: I can't give specific exploration recommendations – there are just too many amazing places where you could spend a lifetime here. I’ll share more on the Eastern Sierras, but here's a start: On the Mammoth chairlift this week, I met a guy (good ole Jim. Thanks, Jim) who recommended "The High Sierra: A Love Story." It's not a guidebook, but it captures the heart and soul of these mountains. It'll inspire you to explore, and I'm excited to read it myself.

Songs:

Apollo, Tourist

Love, Augan

Spark, Forester

The Belonging Project Playlist on Spotify