Pilgrimage Tales From Mt. Shasta
Climbing the Shamanic Ladder
by Tomás Pinkson

"I usually think of the mountains I've climbed as 'tests'...Tests of my resolve. Tests of my physical conditioning. Tests of my spirit. And there's usually been a test of my morality and integrity and depth of friendship that pops up on every outing. These are all things that deserve periodic testing, and climbing is a great way to do that. One doesn't pass any of the above tests without keeping his or her ego reined in pretty tight."
-- Gary Snyder

Mt. Shasta rises dramatically into the Northern California sky to a height over six times higher than Mt. Tamalpais. Called Akoo-Yet by the Pit River People who have worshipped on her flanks for ten thousand years or more, it is a mountain known and revered through out the world as a sacred site.

The Pit River People believe Akoo-Yet contains a "tiny, but powerful spirit", called Mis Misa, whose job it is to balance the Earth with the Universe and the Universe with the Earth, thus making it "the most necessary of all the mountains upon earth." They believe one must ascend it with a pure heart and a real purpose. "The People will continue to live," it is said, "for as long as the instructions from the Spirit of the Universe are honestly obeyed." Most important, "be so quiet in your being that you constantly hear the soft singing of Mis Misa." To not listen is to allow the song to fade, and should it cease, Mis Misa will depart throwing the earth and all societies out of balance and thus vulnerable to extinction.

Once a year I have the good fortune to make a pilgrimage there with others who have prepared themselves during the course of a twelve months work together focused on developing our listening ability. This year I had a golden opportunity of climbing into the upper sanctuary not once, but twice, with two different groups of pilgrims.

Both groups were able to hike in to a Base Camp from the road's end at 7,800 feet elevation. This route had not been available the past few years due to heavy winter snows blocking the road through the summer months. Thus we had the advantage of starting higher with a shorter distance to go than had been the case with previously recent groups. It took between three and four hours for members of group one to make it up to Base Camp at 9,200 feet elevation. Tough going.

Full backpacks, blasting heat close to 100 degrees intensified by amplified sunlight bouncing off snow fields we had to cross, plus the debilitating effects of altitude as we climbed higher and higher, exacted a heavy toll on our party. Nausea, headaches, spacyness, fatigue, and difficulty breathing effected us all.

After reaching basecamp we melted water from the nearby snowfields, set up camp, ate and rested. Several hours later we hiked up a steep snowfield behind base to learn and practice the skills of glissading and ice ax arrest. These techniques are necessary to descend safely from heights we reach, and to stop a slip on the steep ice from becoming a potentially disastrous fall. After an early dinner, group counsel about our summit plan, some drumming and prayers of thanksgiving and protection, we went into our tents for a few hours of sleep before the one a.m. wake up call.

Our plan was to arise, eat a quick breakfast, put on our gear and head out by 2 a.m. Our early start would get us through Avalanche Gulch and the Red Banks before the sun hits it, melts snow and sends rocks hurtling down the 2,500 foot chute like bowling balls seeking pins to knock into oblivion. People die on this mountain. One climber disappeared over a month ago and who not yet been found. Rock falling is one cause of death. Another is falling, not being able to execute a successful ice ax arrest.

Early morning begins the climb up Mt. Shasta

At 2:05 the next morning eight of us set out under a star filled sky and unusually calm weather--no wind at all. With headlights illuminating our paths, we crunched over snowfields to gain a nearby ridge which necessitated careful footing over loose scree--one slip over the moving rocks beneath our feet could mean a broken ankle or worse; a tumble down the steep slopes of the ridge breaking more than an ankle.

Up Avalanch Gulch into the Red Banks

We made it safely over the ridge and traversed its flank down in to the lower section of the infamous Avalanche Gulch where we strapped on our crampons, readied our ice axes, and began to slowly make our way up the steep immensity that was our pathway up towards the Red Banks over two thousand feet above us. Our plan was to make it through the Banks, a treacherous, steep icy climb between narrow columns of volcanic rock-- what I call the entrance way into the Upper World, for it leads to a plateau at 13,000 feet elevation the size of several football fields, before melting snow became a factor, so we could take a safe break before trudging up Misery Hill to the Summit Plateau. The mountain had its own ideas.

First of all , the snow conditions for climbing were terrible and made the work twice as hard. The warm weather had created a pock-marked terrain of two foot deep buckets down into the snow which had to be carefully stepped over, around or through, slowing us down considerably. It made for tricky footing. Un-roped, but walking in close proximity to one another, each person was on their own finding their route. After an hour or more of arduous climbing, one of our party's crampons missed its grip, his foot slipped out from under him and he began sliding down the Gulch at increasing speed! His headlamp and hat were knocked loose and he was rapidly shooting down and away from us. There was nothing we could do. I yelled out in desperation, "Ice ax arrest!!Ó and to my relief, a moment later he was able to catch himself with a successful arrest. Whew! A close call for us all. How glad I was for taking the time yesterday when we were all tired to practice this life-saving technique.

Two of our party decided they had gone as far as their reserves would carry them and returned to base camp. The rest of us moved up higher into Upper Avalanche Gulch where the angle gets even steeper, the breathing more difficult, and every two steps requires a rest stop to catch your breath. By now the first light of the new day was coming from the eastern horizon and we could actually see the immensity of what we were climbing. Its enormous shadow began to spread out beneath us moving stealthily through forest and countryside far below us in the lowlands. With this light we could now see the dirt and ugliness of the melting process. The snow was not just hard to climb, it was loathsome to look at as well.

Nevertheless, the way to go was up. I remembered my guidance from the previous night's drum journey, "Tune in to the power of the mountain. Blend with it. Do not try and make this climb on your own power. You do not have enough The mountain does. Open to it and receive. " I focused my attention on synchronizing my breathing and my pace with a chant that I kept singing to myself. I would do 20 verses of the chant, then I would look up to see what progress I had made. This seemed to work to keep me going, as well as to keep me alert, open, and as much as possible, successfully "catchingÓ the mountain's power to help me keep progressing upwards. It was a mindfulness walk, a meditative process in which each step took me deeper in to my listening process. In the midst of this vertical dance, just as I was climbing through the area known as the Heart, while pausing to catch my breath and taking a break in the chanting sequence, I heard a very soft sound. I cocked my ear in its direction and listened.

Heading Up Avalanch Gulch

The sound was a trickling one, like little pieces of metal bouncing and jostling one another producing a melodious song. Mis Misa singing?? I cocked my ear and carefully stepped towards the location of the sound, then with a start, realized it was the passage of water under the snow that was moving down the Mountain in a slow motion waterfall right beneath my feet! The mountain was alive and breathing, its life force flowing in song below the ugly looking surface of dirty snow. Beauty and the beast. Immediately my mind "grokked" the metaphor that just as this movement of water was taking place beneath my feet and my awareness under a surface of dirt and struggle, so too did the Great Mystery flow, and sing beneath all surface appearances of the dance of life. It is always there, with its power and wisdom, offering its gifts to those who are open to its presence.

This realization gave me renewed inspiration and five of us successfully made it up through the Red Banks and into the Upper World of the Summit Plateau at 14,000 feet elevation. We tearfully embraced one another and offered our prayers to the magnificent powers that created such a place of beauty and wonder, and that gave us the gift of grace by which to visit its lofty cathedrals. I saw very clearly that our being on top was the result of united teamwork by each member of our party. Each person was a vital link in a chain, a rung in a ladder whose support had enabled us to succeed in our venture. It was as if we were standing on the top of a human pyramid and our success was all of our success, going all the way back to the water we had drunk on the way up that had given us strength--water that had been melted down below at basecamp by the whole team working together to produce it for the benefit of all.

I was touched by the selflessness, the hard work and sacrifice of everyone. I felt so close to each person, as if we were all there together at the top enjoying the view. It wasn't important about who made it the highest. It wasn't a competition, a race, a comparison about who did better or was better. This was about people working cooperatively as a team, one organism using different parts of itself to produce the needed results. To compare or judge those who were physically higher on the mountain than those who were lower, would be as silly as saying the heart is better than the lungs, the ears better than the feet. It was one joined effort, and that was the real beauty of it all. That was the real medicine. For those few magical moments there was no separation. Hearts and minds joined as one. We were ecstatic. We could feel the prayers of love, energy and support of our basecamp relatives pouring up the mountain and we sent down our love and appreciation back to them.

Mt. Shasta summit is only for "Great Spirit"

We stopped short of going to the very top out of respect for the Indigenous People who believe that it is disrespectful to go to the summit, for only the Great Spirit goes there. Most indigenous people do not even go above tree line. Only the shamans and medicine people, when called by dreams, venture up into the higher realms. One of our party dubbed the area upon which we stood as "The Shaman's PlateauÓ. We stayed there about twenty minutes, then turned and started back down to beat the time of dangerous rockfall from the heating-up Red Banks.

Conditions were too icy and dangerous to glissade, so we carefully hiked back down through the Banks and down Avalanche Gulch with a bit of glissading near the bottom. Our return to basecamp was heralded by a beating drum and warm hugs from those who had been "holding the ladder steady" through their prayers of protection and love the whole time we were gone. Tears of relief and thanksgiving swept through the field. Over twelve hours of hard work for us all! Now we were all back, safe and secure, and we could celebrate.

After a good nights'sleep, we hiked back down from basecamp to our cars, drove down to the serene, peaceful setting of Aida Hinojosa's Gate House in Mt. Shasta City where our pilgrim groups traditionally come to rest and recoup after the vigors of the climb. Hot showers, a dinner in town and then into Aida's tipi with Grandfather Fire at the center for an evening's tearful and touching sharing on each person's medicine teachings from the pilgrimage.

Ceremonial Tipi at Aida Hinojosa's Gate House Retreat in Shasta City

The following morning we headed down to the headwaters of the Sacramento River for our final ceremony. This is a magical place to which the first pilgrimage, ten years ago, finished its year of work thanks to the suggestion of Jeanette Walsh--Sweet Light Spirit Woman, who guided us to it from her death bed. Jeanette knew of the spot from her childhood in the area and knew we would love it. She lay in a coma in a hospital in Santa Rosa, hanging on to her commitment in the group that held us all together until we were safely down the mountain and home once again. As soon as we got back, I called the hospital and spoke with Jeannette's daughter telling her all was well with the pilgrims. She walked back in to Jeanette's room, told her of my call, and five minutes later Jeanette left her body, her commitment complete. To this day, tears flow like the surging waters coming up from the bowels of the Earth every time I reach this sacred spot.

Gathering Sacred Water at Headwaters of the Sacramento River

Pilgrims walk out on to the rocks in the stream and open themselves to the flow of power pouring through this portal and on downstream to eventually empty out in to the San Francisco Bay and from there in to the Pacific Ocean. We offer our tobacco prayers for "all our relations", then watch them bounce down the waterfalls on their way back to the Great Mother Sea. Soon we too will follow the way of the river back downstream to our homes bringing, hopefully, the lessons and teachings we have received from the wisdom songs of Mis Misa.

Yet this time, I do not join the returning pilgrims as they collect in their cars to head home. Instead I gather supplies in town and that evening head back up to Panther Meadows to meet the second group to climb once again into the heights for whatever medicine Mis Misa holds for me this time. The following day the new group of pilgrims heads out to the same basecamp following a new and shorter route. This time there is less snow and due to the record heat, new creeks of meltwater pouring down in to the lowlands as we slowly make our way upwards.

One of our party hikes with a daypack part of the way, then due to a painful lower back condition, heads back to Panther Meadow to hold the base of the ladder for us from her camp at that spot. All the rest successfully make it up to base, and for some this is a major accomplishment. New to backpacking, to mountaineering, to cross country travel over scree and snowfield, to the debilitating effects of high altitude, the challenges are formidable and get stronger and more demanding with each step upward. Yet everyone hangs in there, finding their own pace and discovering strengths they didn't know they had., eventually arriving at our destination with whoops of welcome and congratulations from those who had arrived earlier.

The teamwork immediately springs into action with people coordinating tasks to produce drinking and cooking water necessary to replace what we have used up on the hot hike in to our destination. Some people gather snow in pots and pans, others start working the water purification pumps, others start up stoves to begin melting the snow. Soon the camp is abuzz as tents go up, food is prepared for lunch, and we become a small village living together. The huge massif of Akoo Yet right behind us reminding us of what lies ahead. After lunch and resting up, we practice our glissading and ice ax arrest techniques, motivated in our efforts by the news I share of the fall in the previous group.

Prayers to Mt. Shasta nature spirits and Mis Misa's reply

After an early dinner, a planning counsel to plot strategy for the climb, prayers to Mis Misa and some drumming to help open our hearts to attune with the heart of the mountain, we go in to our tents for three hours sleep before the 1 am wake up call. Five of our group have decided to go for it, the rest will hold the ladder at this basecamp keeping a prayer vigil the whole time we are gone. This prayer vigil, developed over the course of the year by a commitment to pray for each member of the group on a daily basis, serves as an energy line of protection surrounding us in a light of love, similar to a belay rope around a rock climbers waist keeping a slip from becoming a fall. This line becomes a tangible force up here on the steep cliffs of ice and snow. We will need it, depend upon it. Once again I head out over the ridge, this time with four other courageous climbers, dropping down into Avalanche Gulch beneath a spectacular sky of shooting stars and shimmering Milky Way. The night is calm and peaceful and we are the only ones moving on the mountain. Because of the steep incline, breathing is immediately difficult , even though we carry only day packs, not the full packs of our earlier hike to basecamp since we do not need all our gear for the attempt to reach the top. Each person is challenged to find their foot placements in the white glare of their headlamps, making sure the crampons bite in to secure snow.

All are challenged to find their own pace, the one that works for them so they can keep going on as lungs cry out for oxygen and leg muscles strain to carry the load. Our rest stops become more frequent and last longer the higher we go. But still we are advancing. We are approaching the last stretch and most demanding section of Avalanche Gulch when altitude and lack of sleep takes its final toll on the new climbers. We huddle together for a counsel to look at our options. Three climbers are getting close to their last reserves and feel the safest decision is to head back to base camp, listening to my earlier guidance of leaving energy for the return since it is tricky and more climbers get hurt by accident on descent than on ascent. One of our party, Karen, an excellent climber who reached the summit plateau with me on the previous climb and who volunteered her services to help others, offered to accompany the returnees back to basecamp. Suddenly an unexpected gift is placed in my lap. Due to the generosity of the group I am given the opportunity to go forward by my self without having to maintain awareness regarding how each member of our party is doing. This is a rare gift for me and my heart soars. My eyes tear up and my heart is deeply touched. We exchange heartfelt goodbyes and they head down and I head up feeling so touched, excited and thankful for all that have made this gift possible. I can feel the strength of each rung on the ladder and upwards I go trying to make it through the Red Banks before the glare of the hot sun makes its appearance.

Chanting and praying I make my goal. I get through the icy, steep Banks and am making my way up Motorcyle Hill, the six hundred foot, back- breaking climb above the Banks heading towards the 13,000 foot plateau where I plan to rest. But halfway there my right leg goes into a severe cramp right in a steep section where I am using my ice ax to dig steps and to help me keep my footing so I don't go crashing down what I have just climbed. My mind freaks out at this sudden intrusion that threatens my precarious perch on the mountain. I forcefully straighten out my leg stretching it in to empty space while simultaneously jamming the pick of my ax in to the ice as hard as I can hoping it will hold me. Hold it does and keeping my leg tightly extended begins to short-circuit the blinding pain. Knowing I need to rest here, with one hand I massage my leg, then manage to get some food and drink out of my pack and throw it down my throat hoping this will fix my electrolyte imbalance which, along with the strain of the rapid pace I had been maintaining in my sense of urgency to get through the Red Banks before severe melting began, probably caused the leg cramp.

Sitting there hunched up on the cliff breathing down in to my leg, I could once again feel the prayers of my relatives below sending up their love and support which strengthened and inspired me to keep going. With each breath I surrendered deeper in to the power of the mountain, listened for the singing of Mis Misa, and gave thanks for the new strength flowing In to me. My leg felt better now, a bit tender but ok, so I stood up from my perch and began to ascend the final stretch to the plateau. A surge of energy lifted me upward and I crossed the plateau without stopping and headed up Misery Hill.

"Give me your strength Mis Misa" I prayed with each step. I got it, and kept going. The angle got steeper, exhaustion from the days rigors now starting to set in, I struggled onward and finally came over the crest and on to the summit plateau. To my complete shock, there sitting in the middle of the field of blinding white at what seemed like the top of the world, was an enormous raven! Stunned by its otherworldly presence looking straight at me. "A guardian" I thought to myself. I thanked Raven for its presence and asked its permission to enter the sacred sanctuary it appeared to be guarding. For a few moments we faced off in silence. I gave up proceeding any further and left it in the hands of the mystery. Then suddenly the raven lifted its wings and rose up in to the air, did a complete circle around the snow field and flew off in the direction of the massive stone cliffs at the base of the final climb to the summit.

The raven invited me to follow its passage in the direction of its flight. "Thank you Raven Spirit, for being here and for your Medicine", I called after it. Then I proceeded to traverse the quarter mile snow field towards the cliffs. I had never come this way before because the route goes off to the left, and this one was taking me to the right, out of the way of the main snow trail of previous climbers who had gone on to the summit. But now the entire area was completely empty of humanity. I had the whole place to myself. The sun was shinning in full force illuminating rainbow prisms in the melting ice particles on the surface of the snow, a strong steady wind was blowing from the west. I was in bliss. Exhausted physically, my spirit soared with each step in this temple of magnificence. As I approached the base of the cliffs where I felt drawn by the raven's flight path, I saw some boulders I thought might give me some respite from the howling winds and from where I could do my prayers.

Communion, Prayer Arrows and 9 years of Shasta pilgrims

My pack held my Prayer Arrow along with one from a member of our group. Arrow was the medium through which the two groups, and all those who had come before us in the nine years, were now joined in a holy communion. As I approached the cliffs my gaze was drawn upwards to where the sun light shone brilliantly off their polished forms. Another shock shot through my bones. Towering sixty feet above was the weathered head of an ancient grandfather sculpted into the rock. I knew immediately this was a manifestation of the masculine presence of the mountain. This was Akoo Yet. Right next to it another sculptured monolith rose upwards towards the sky--only this one, feminine in form, held a big heart-shaped rock at its apex. This physical manifestation of Mis Misa, sent out her heart medicine to all those who opened their hearts and came to her in a humble, open and listening way.

I was stunned by the majesty and power of their presence. In an instant of blinding illumination that burst my heart with love, I saw and understood the pilgrimage in a way that I had never fully had before this numinous moment. I realized now why Native People never went to the top. This place here, where I was standing, was the Holy of Holies. This was the center of the sanctuary. I was standing before the altar!! I knelt down with tears streaming down my cheeks.

I saw with exquisite clarity the whole purpose of the pilgrimage: to train ourselves for the year in our listening skills, building our teamwork, trust and prayer power so we, the group as a unified organism, could come to this sacred mountain and put up a ladder. I understood how each of us was a rung selected by Mis Misa to be placed where she, in her great wisdom and love, saw that it was best for us to be, so that whoever she selected, could ascend and carry our prayers, and the prayers of all our loved ones, ancestors, family, friends and communities, to this holy energy vortex of Spirit.

I could also see all efforts of the entire team, and all those praying for us, working unitedly for the good of the whole, constructing and composing the ladder, carrying one or more of its members to the heights to deliver the offerings and to set up the last link of the prayer line with the source of power that lived here in this temple where earth and sky met and join as one. With the link now established, spirit power flowed up and down its length uniting us all in its loving embrace. It wasn't important who reached the heights, because the deeper truth was that we all reached it, together! Without one of the rungs the whole enterprise would have been failed. MY entire body radiated with the force of love pouring through my heart and in to the hearts of all the pilgrims. I could feel their love and prayers drumming up the ladder into me which in turn opened up the line even further so Mis Misa could use us all as a conduit for the love of the Great Spirit flowing in to us all strengthening our connection to the source of Life and the Songs of Life that lay within each one of us. This was the glory of Mis Misa singing through her Medicine for all those who come to her and listen in a humble way. Magnificent!

All notions of individuality totally dissolved in the power of the joining I experienced there on the snowy heights of Mt. Shasta. I was so touched by the beauty and wisdom of people working together for the common good, by the teamwork of us all, and how each person was an invaluable rung in the ladder contributing their gifts to complete the construction and enable the passage and delivery of this Medicine into the hearts of us all. I reached down in to my pack and took out the Prayer Arrows so they could get the full intensity of what was here to bless us all. I offered food and water to Akoo Yet and Mis Misa, along with purified tobacco. I realized I was Feeding the Gods and Goddesses, with overflowing appreciation for all their gifts of grace, wisdom teachings, protection and love, and I remembered my Huichol teachers who repeatedly stressed the need to do this feeding in places of power and if done in an honest and heartfelt way, how it would bring about the Feeding of the People by these very same Gods and Goddesses.

My heart overflowed in fulfillment of the Purpose of Pilgrimage. To really know our essential interconnectedness from direct experience awakens the inherent wisdom of how we are meant to live and love in cooperative teamwork with one another. Honoring life and heart songs we are all here to sing and share, fills me with renewed zest for life and its challenges. I left the Summit Plateau that morning flooded with happiness. Snow conditions were perfect for glissading. After carefully climbing down through the Red Banks, I sat down on my butt and with my ice ax as a brake and rudder, slid down through the 2,500 foot Gulch like a kid in a playground whooping as I went!

('the light' photo from a high Sierra mountains vision quest)

I returned to camp and the warm tearful hugs of my comrades. They had been praying and drumming nonstop since early in the morning when one of the "Ladder-holders" had a fearful dream about my safety on the mountain. Now we were all together again--safe, happy and buoyed by our shared adventure.

Each in our own way had been blessed by the singing spirit of Mis Misa. Her Song lives in our hearts now. It is a direct transmission from the Sacred Mountain known as Akoo Yet. Each climber touched this summit, the summit of heart. I pray we remember this grace heard on high, and use it's inspiration to find our path now that we are back down in the lowlands.

May it be so.