When I Grow Up ...

In Love With a Japanese Man

A couple of weekends ago I climbed Mt. Shasta in northern California, then skied down it. It was a two day endeavor and we had to set up base camp at the foot of this super steep, long, grueling slope that lead up to a rocky cliff band, around and through some spires, then up a section called Misery Row or Misery Hill or something before hoisting us up onto the bony summit of a 14ooo-ft. peak. 

We set our alarm to 4am to get a good start from base camp on the second day. We were ready to hit it by 5am--packs on, skis on, gear all ready. There was a Japanese threesome of climbers standing around twiddling their thumbs as we were about to get moving, they said they were waiting for someone (presumably waiting for their partner so they could do the same thing we were about to do). Just as we began to leave, the Japanese guy left the two women he was standing with and started to climb into CJ's tent. 

"Hey, what are you doing?" asked CJ, shocked.

"I'm getting in this tent," the guy replied.

"That's my tent--where's yours?"

"Hey man, I'm just starting to get cold and I want to get inside of this tent."

CJ talked him out of it, then we left. A friend of ours stayed behind at base camp and told us later that once some other climbers had left camp, he went and got inside their tent. I've thought a lot about that guy since then, and can't get over how forward he was about occupying somebody else's tent. I've come to realize that I love that Japanese climber for what he did and who he is. And I can only hope that he feels the same way about me.