Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

The Promise

By Mel Lees

I looked up from our base camp on Mt. Shasta and saw that the heavens

were

almost white, so filled with stars. Our party was alone except for a single

tent perched on the snow nearby. Its occupant was a young man about

twenty-two

years old.

Occasionally, I glanced over and saw him packing his daypack for the

next

morning's climb. First he put in a small box, then two bottles and a lunch.

He

saw me staring and waved. I returned the greeting and got busy with my own

preparations.

The next morning, the sun greeted the crisp dawn. After breakfast, my

companions and I eagerly started our ascent. I went into my slow, steady

trudge, trailing the others.

After a little while, the young man from base camp drew beside me and

asked

if it was okay to hike along. I hesitated. I really didn't want any

company.

Besides, I noticed that he limped; and I wasn't certain whether he could

reach

the top. I didn't want to abort my attempt at the summit to aid him.

" I'm glad for the company, " I replied, in spite of my misgivings.

His name was Walt, and he told me that it was his third attempt to

reach

the top.

" When I was about twelve, " he explained, " my father brought me here and

we

started up, but the weather got bad, and we were forced to turn back. "

Pausing, he smiled proudly. " Dad was a great outdoorsman and a

wonderful

climber. "

We traversed for a short way in silence before Walt continued.

" I was born with a problem with my left leg, so I've always had trouble

walking and running. But Dad refused to let that keep me back. When I was

just

a tiny kid, he used to take me into the Sierra to teach me to fish. I

remember

the first time I baited my own hook and hauled in a trout. He insisted that

I

clean it myself. It was the best fish I ever tasted. "

We stopped by the side of the trail to put on our crampons. As we

moved

higher, he carried on with his story.

" When I got to be about nine, Dad started taking me into the mountains.

Gradually, my leg became stronger, and eventually I could keep up with him.

Last summer he called and asked if I would like to try for the summit again.

We

hadn't seen much of each other since my parents' divorce, and I jumped at

the

chance to be with him. "

Walt looked down toward our base camp.

" We camped where you saw my tent. Neither of us was really in a hurry

to

climb. We just wanted to be together and catch up on the years we had

missed.

He told me that all he ever wanted was to live with his family and grow old

among his children and grandchildren. Dad had long silent spells, and there

was

a sad aura about him. "

I spoke little. I was trying to save my breath for the steeper

incline.

As we climbed higher, Walt kicked the steps, making my work easier. We came

to

a steep chute, narrow and icy, and it seemed to me that his limp was hardly

noticeable.

" Why don't you lead? " he asked. " I remember that rocks tend to break

away

here, and I'd hate to knock one loose and have it hit you. "

Ten minutes later, we stopped for a rest. By then I knew he was all of

twenty-one, married and had a three-month-old son.

" My father and I got this far last time when I became ill from the

altitude

and my leg buckled under me. The pain got so bad, I couldn't go on. Dad

hoisted me onto his back and, somehow, he brought us both into camp before

getting help. The search and rescue team carried me to the hospital. Dad

and I

promised each other that we would try again. "

Then Walt looked down and squeezed back a tear. " But we never got to

do

it. He died last month. "

After a solemn moment, we trekked onward, and just below the summit, we

rested again on a small rock outcropping. The sky blazed blue, and I could

see

at least 180 degrees to eternity. The sun was high, and its rays warmed me

as I

ate some trail food.

A few feet away, Walt sat on a boulder holding in both hands the box he

had

packed the night before. He whispered, " We're going to make it this time.

You

carried me last time, and now it's my turn to carry you. "

At that point, Walt rose abruptly, and with no further word he headed

to

the peak. I stared into his face as he strode past me. He seemed to be in

a

trance with an almost beatific smile lighting his face. I followed.

Finally, he reached the top. I was only a few steps behind.

Carefully, Walt knelt on the snow, reached into his pack and reverently

removed the box. Then, after digging a hole about fifteen inches deep and

attentively pouring some of his father's ashes into it, he covered the hole

and

built a small stone cairn over it.

When he stood up, he faced north, then east, south and west. Turning

his

body toward each direction once again, he reached into the box and gently

sprinkled some ashes to each compass point.

Walt's face was painted with joy and triumph behind a rush of tears.

He

flung the last of the remains into the wind and shouted, " We made it, Dad,

we

made it! Rest on our mountaintop. I promise I'll be back when your

grandson

can meet you here. "