It has been 30 years since my best friend, climbing buddy and amazing outdoor leader extraordinaire died on a tragic winter climbing ascent in the North Cascades. I have carried Kathy Phibbs in my heart and through my work as an outdoor professional supporting women and girls in the outdoors in celebrating being spunky, brave and curious. Miss Dish Lives On!
For more information on Kathy and her legacy, click here: https://www.opb.org/news/article/mothers-day-climb-mount-st-helens-kathy-phibbs/
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Kathy Phibbs was a prolific and talented writer. Here’s a piece she wrote to me just before I left to climb Denali in 1985.
Moving Together, Unroped by Kathy Phibbs
My little buddy is leaving today for Alaska, for a hard climb on a big, cold mountain. I’m scared. If this is just a taste of what my parents go through each time I leave on a climb, then I am humbled by their bravery and calm.
She is leaving a in few hours. I have to get her something. When I was climbing in Bolivia, my mother sent me some of my favorite homemade cookies.
I want to give her talismans, magic pennies or lucky stones. Then I think of practical items: socks, mittens, an extra hat, warm soft things to wrap her up and keep her from frostbite. Or maybe, I can find her some new high-tech gadget that will keep her cold, befuddled fingers from making any mistakes.
At a bookstore, I get a book about women explorers. At an outdoor equipment store, I find a climbing magazine, film and mailers.(Without mailers, who knows if she would develop the film?) I copy a poem for cold bivouacs; I write her a funny card.
Why am I doing this, buying off my fear with trinkets? I want to tie her to me, to make sure she thinks of other the possibility of other climbs, of life beyond the immediate summit. I want her to feel me on the other end of the rope if there are hard decisions.
I sit at her house with my bag of treats. A note saying, she is running late, but please wait, she really wants to see me. After half an hour, I know the last-minute errands got out of hand and she has gone straight to the airport. I look at my watch frantically. It’s too late to catch her there.
That little shit. She can’t leave without my gifts. She’s got to have those mailers. I ‘ve got to be with her.
My buddy. I/m jealous of your partner, you know. And I ‘m nervous for your tiny little body. You don’t have an alpine belly to heat you and sustain you.
I know this trip means so much to you. I hope you climb your heart out. I know you can make it to the top. The mailers are waiting here for you.
Kathy
