Tag Archives: Dee Molenaar

Hike to the Pinnacle Peak Saddle

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We went up to Rainier yesterday to join family on a hike to the Pinnacle Peak Saddle. Along the way we met way cool people from all over the world; reminisced about other times we’ve hiked on this trail; saw butterflies flitting in the wildflowers, and came upon marmots, picas, and chipmunks.

We met Robert and Kathi, originally from Panama, and now living in Seattle. They told me they’d seen an animal that looked sort of like a badger. “Was it about this big?” I asked, and they nodded their heads. “You saw a marmot!” I told them. “Aren’t they cool?” They smiled and agreed and we talked for a bit about the hike and Rainier and… yeah, I brought Pop into the conversation, and told my new friends that Dad had guided me to the top of Rainier when I was younger.

A little later I met Tery, who works as a traveling nurse. We agreed that hikes in the mountains are a most wonderful escape from the stresses of “down below.”

We’d just about reached the point where the switchbacks begin, when a ranger volunteer came up the path from behind. It didn’t take me long to bring “Dee Molenaar” into the conversation. Stewart’s face lit up when he heard Dad’s name. He said Dad’s book, *The Challenge of Rainier* was his favorite climbing book, and he’d pretty much read them all. I love the connection Dad still brings me to mountain people, and I’m not going to apologize for using his name to meet cool new friends. I learned Stewart was originally from London, but he came to the States in 1979 and decided to make it his home.

We met a trio from the Philippines; a cheery family originally from Thailand, who now live in D.C.; and, at the top, we met a family from Provo, Utah – the patriarch originally grew up in the tri-cities area and likes to bring his family back periodically to share in the glories of Mount Rainier.

I talked with my brother and niece about my first climb of Pinnacle Peak when I was four-years-old. I remember being pretty tired on the hike part, but I also remember feeling energized when Dad and I reached the last climbing-scramble up to the top of the peak. I remember loving the climbing part. Later, when my brothers and I were teenagers, Dad took us all up together to the top of Pinnacle Peak. And when my oldest son was four, Dad guided Andrew and me up the peak. There are a lot of good memories in these hills.

I could feel Mom and Dad with me yesterday, and my sons. And Scotty actually WAS with me – we have a lot of memories together on this mountain. It was good to be making another one with him.

Check Out My Photo of Rainier in Mother Earth News

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Check it out! Another one of my photos made it to the back page of Mother Earth News! This photo is especially meaningful to me because it is of the mountain that my father, Dee Molenaar, called “home.” It’s the mountain he climbed fifty times – one of them with me. It’s the mountain he wrote a book about – The Challenge of Rainier. He met my mom on this mountain – if not for this mountain, I, literally, wouldn’t be here! I worked on Mount Rainier during the summers between university. I met wonderful friends up there, hiked on its slopes every day after work, and made beautiful memories.

So I was beyond tickled when Mother Earth News contacted me to ask if my photo of Mount Rainier could be used on the “Photos from the Field” page. (I said yes.)

Thinking of Pop on His Birthday

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Pop was born on June 21, 1918, and lived 101 years after that. He died the day before the first case of the pandemic was reported in this country. He had impeccable timing.

Pop was a well-known mountaineer. You can find him here in wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dee_Molenaar

But more important to me, personally, than his mountaineering achievements, was who he was as my dad. In the last years of his life, he lived near me, and we were able to spend a lot of time together – going on drives, and exploring the highways and byways of this part of the state.

I wrote a couple books about our adventures together in his later years. Here’s an excerpt from the first one, *Are You Taking Me Home Now?: Adventures with Dad*:

“I Don’t Want to Run Errands”

May 29, 2017

Dad: Let’s head out into the open countryside, head towards the coast.
Karen: Let’s do it!
Dad: I don’t want to go into the city. I don’t want to run errands with you.
(I nod my head in understanding.)
Dad: (His voice cracking.) I love you.
Karen: I love you, too.
Dad: It’s nice that we have each other to love.
Karen: Yes, it is!
Dad: Thank you for including me when you take these drives.
(I smile – I take these drives FOR Dad.)

I turn onto Samish Island Road, thinking maybe I’ll go to Bayview State Park.
Dad: Have you ever been to that little island that’s connected to the land?
Karen: Samish Island? Do you want to go there?
(Dad nods his head, and I head out to do the loop around Samish Island.)
Dad: Is Mom alive?
(I shake my head no.)
Dad: I had a dream that she’d died. (He starts tearing up.) I think I’ve already mourned her.
(Dad’s quiet for a bit. We’ve almost finished the Samish Island loop now.)
Dad: Can we see Mount Rainier from here?
Karen: I think it’s hidden behind those hills.
Dad: Let’s go someplace where we can walk on a beach.
(I head for Bayview State Park.)

After parking, Dad and I make our way to a bench near the beach. When I’m getting Dad’s walker out of the back of the car, I see the cans of root beer I put in there months ago – I’d bought them for Dad, and had forgotten about them. Now I grab one, join Dad on the bench, and hand the root beer to him. His face lights up and he smiles and takes it from me.
Dad: Do you ever dream about Mom?
Karen: Yes. I had a dream that she was sitting on the top bed of a bunk bed, dangling her feet over the edge. She had a happy, mischievous smile on her face. There was an open casket on the bed behind her. She said, “I’m done with this!” and hopped down. I felt like she was done with the whole dead-thing, and was happy. Have you had a dream about Mom?
Dad: Yes. I dreamed she died.
Karen: She loved you, and loves you very much.
Dad: She was such a wonderful person.
Karen: Yes, she is!
(Dad and I are quiet for a while, just enjoying the sunshine.)
Dad: This is nice here. I’m glad we made this stop. That’s a nice, gentle breeze. It smells like saltwater. (He belches and laughs at his own belch.)

When we get back in the car, Dad says he had a dream where he had to fart once, but there was no place to fart. He starts laughing – cracking himself up. I’m laughing, too. Then Dad asks, “Do you and Mom have a lot of nice conversations?” And I tell him that we do.

As we’re heading back to Dad’s home, he turns his head and points, “That would make a happy picture! That house all covered in flowers! But I don’t have my camera with me…” I turn the car around and head back to the flower-bedecked house, and get out my camera for Dad to snap a photo.

We get back to his home, and Dad doesn’t recognize it at first – he has moved three times in the last year, and it’s all a little confusing. I explain that their last home couldn’t take Mom and him back when Mom got sick. And then when Mom passed, we had to find another home for Dad. I tell Dad that I felt that Mom had directed us to this place – a place with hummingbird feeders and cats and dogs. Dad asks, “So Mom knows these people then?” And I think about this, and then nod my head yes. (I believe Mom does know these people, even if they never actually met in the person.)

Dad gets back in the house and doesn’t recognize anything. I ask him if he wants to go to his room – and he asks, “I have a room here?” I point the way, and once he enters he says, “Oh! I remember this place now!” He sees his paintings on the walls, and pictures of his friends and family. He realizes he’s home. He starts grinning at himself and says, “I’ve been thanking these people for allowing me to stay here.”

Dad points to a book by Leif Whittaker about Leif’s father, Jim. “I think I got that book for Christmas.” I tell him that I think Jim Whittaker gave him that book when he came to visit him here. “Jim visited me here?!” Yes, I tell him, also his friends Rick and Cindy, and Tom Hornbein, and Mary from the Mountaineers. Dad is shaking his head in amazement now. He says, “The things I’ve forgotten would fill a book!”

Karen: Are you going to take a nap now?
Dad: Yes, I want to make that transition into the dream.
Karen: What dream is that?
Dad: (Tearing up.) The dream about the real world. (And I know he’s thinking about the world where Mom is still with him.)
Karen: I love you, Dad.
Dad: I love you, Karen.

Children of the Belay

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(Originally published in Newsweek on November 2, 2006.)

In 1953, my father, Dee Molenaar, went on an expedition created in hopes of making the first successful ascent of the world’s second highest mountain, K-2. The leaders of the expedition, Charles Houston and Robert Bates, chose their teammates not only for their climbing skills, but their ability to get along with others. When the team was finally assembled it consisted of Bates, an English instructor at the University of Pennsylvania and Phillips Exeter Academy; Houston, a medical doctor and graduate of Harvard and Columbia University; Art Gilkey, a doctoral geology student from Columbia University; George Bell, a 6’5″ physicist from Cornell; Bob Craig, a ski instructor from Aspen; Tony Streather, a British officer; Pete Schoening, a chemist from Seattle; and my dad, a Seattle geologist and artist. Most of the men on the expedition were strangers to each other when they met for the first time, but it didn’t take long for them to become friends. They all shared a love of the mountains and the desire to do whatever they could to help the team reach the summit.

But a series of catastrophes kept the team from reaching that goal. During a storm, Art became ill with blood clots in his lungs and as the others tried to maneuver him down a treacherously steep and icy slope to a lower camp, one of the climbers slipped, three ropes tangled, and five men – my dad amongst them – found themselves hurtling down the mountain with no way to stop themselves. Fortunately Pete, the youngest and strongest man on the team, was anchored above them and performed a rope belay – a technique climbers use to stop another climber from falling by winding the rope around a secure object, in this case, an ice axe. The daring maneuver has come to be known as “The Belay” in mountaineering lore, stopping the five falling men from plummeting to their deaths.

As I was born more than three years after “The Belay” I’ve always been personally grateful to Pete for his remarkable feat. And through the years I’ve sometimes thought about the other descendants of the K2 expedition – all of them impacted as I had been by that moment when our fathers had been pulled back from the brink of death. I wondered if the other climbers’ kids felt the same gratitude to Pete that I did. Would we feel the same instant bonds of friendship that our fathers had felt if we ever met?

In 2004 Pete died at 77 after a brave battle with cancer, leaving behind five remaining survivors of the expedition – Bob and Charles, both in their nineties by then, Tony, Bob, and my dad. George had died several years before from complications after surgery, and Art had been swept away by an avalanche on K2 during the expedition. As the men of the 1953 K2 expedition began to pass on, the urge for me to meet their descendants grew.

In 2005, at Pete’s memorial service, I found that his children shared my desire to meet our fellow “Children of the Belay” (or “COB” as I’d dubbed the K2 climbers’ descendants). Soon e-mails were flying from one COB to the next and the idea of a COB get-together began to become a reality.

In August, 28 descendants of the expedition members – coming from Germany, New York, Colorado, New Mexico, and Washington State – along with spouses and partners, my dad, and the widows of George and Pete converged on the small town of Leavenworth, Washington.

As my family pulled into Leavenworth, we saw the husband of Kim Schoening, Pete’s daughter, standing on the sidewalk outside the Forest Service Station and he waved us into the parking lot. The lot was bursting with lively, laughing COB. There was George’s daughter, Carolyn, and his son, George, Jr. And there were Pete’s children: Kim, Kristiann, Mark, Lisa, and Eric. I’d never met the Bell offspring until now, but without hesitation I found myself getting out of the car and introducing myself to them, shaking Carolyn’s hand and giving George a hug. It was like we were old friends meeting again after a long separation.

On a hike through the woods to Icicle Creek, we chatted and learned the basics about one another: Jobs, hometowns, educations. Afterwards we ate lunch and then splashed and swam around in the Wenatchee River. There was a young lad there with a wakeboard and we took turns trying to stay upright on the thing. Later we celebrated one of the grand-COB’s birthdays, singing happy birthday to her in honor of her nineteenth year.

But for me the standout experience came that night as we watched videos on the K2 Expedition that had been shown on the BBC. When Pete’s face appeared on the screen a little voice excitedly piped up, “There’s Grandpa!” And it hit me that for the first time in my life I was in a roomful of people who could relate to the story of the expedition in the same way that I relate to it. Here were other spawn of those adventurers, as familiar with the personalities and events of the expedition as I was. As we watched the videos, we all laughed in the same places, and shared the same respect for the courage and camaraderie shown by the climbers. Even the littlest children listened quietly.

The next day, as we prepared to leave Leavenworth, the adieus were bittersweet – although we’d only been together for two days it felt as if I was saying good-bye to family. The members of our fathers’ expedition had gone into the mountains as strangers and had come out as friends. Maybe it’s not surprising that the same was true for their children.

– Karen Molenaar Terrell

These Links to Other People, Places, and Adventures

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Scott and I gathered with family in Olympia on Saturday. After lunch we headed down to Capitol Lake for a walk around the loop. The reflections were amazing down there, and we met some way cool dogs and humans, too!

(I didn’t bring my big camera with me, so these were all taken with my cellphone and don’t have as much “pixel-power” as my Nikon might have given me.)

Little Boogey pup came by with his humans, and allowed me to give him a scratch behind the ears; we passed Joey the Corgi going the opposite direction – look at his sweet face! – how could I not take a picture? 🙂

We paused along the trail to look out across the lake towards downtown, and this is when I saw a man looking down into a marshy area of cattails and fallen logs. He looked to me to be grieving, and my heart reached out to him.

I saw a kind of stark beauty in the logs and cattails. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked the man. He nodded his head and agreed it was.

Then he pointed to the mud and cattails and said, “I saw the largest boreal toad I’ve ever seen down there.” He said the toad had been about eight inches long! He’d never seen anything like it.

I learned he’d seen the toad three years ago and hadn’t seen it since. He said non-indigeneous bullfrogs had come into the lake, and efforts had been made to get rid of them. Jim thought the toads might have died then, too.

I confessed to him, then, that when I’d seen him looking into the cattails it looked to me like he’d been in mourning. I understood now. He nodded his head.

Scott joined us then, and we all introduced ourselves – Karen, Scott, and Jim Livingstone. We learned Jim was related to the Scottish explorer and abolitionist, David Livingstone. We learned, too, that Jim had served as a volunteer for the late great Olympia activist, Margaret McKenny, who had advocated for preserving open spaces in Olympia and who had founded the Olympia Audubon Society.

I was beginning to understand why Jim knew so much about the environment of Olympia.

I told him my dad had worked for a time for the State as a geologist-hydrologist. Dad, I said, had been an outdoorsman – he’d guided me to the summits of Rainier, Baker, Adams, and Hood when I was younger – and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d known Margaret McKenney. I’d been born in the hospital up on the hill, I said, pointing to where the old Saint Peters Hospital had been on the west side of Bud Inlet. I’d spent the early part of my childhood in Olympia, I told him. We learned Jim had been born the same year as Scott, and had lived in Olympia most of his life.

When I asked Jim if I could take his photo and write a little about him, he agreed to this. I showed him my Facebook wall – where he might find his photo when I posted it. He saw my name and said, “Dee Molenaar.” Yup. He recognized my maiden name and knew, without asking, who my father had been. He said he’d climbed Mount Saint Helens with Dad. How cool is that?!

I love these connections Dad left me – these links to other people and places and adventures. What a gift!

Reassurances from Love (and I Am Such a Karen)

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Dentist appointment in Sedro today for a cleaning and a check.

I got there early and noticed that a couple people who came after me were getting ushered into their appointments. I also noted that my file seemed to be in the back. “Well, I probably should move my file to the front!” I thought, and went over to the files to do that. (I know. I am such a Karen.) But then I realized that the files weren’t just put there randomly – there were specific slots and mine was in the right one for me. So then I felt ashamed that I’d been all in a harrumph about this. (It’s so embarrassing being a Karen.)

Right after that my hygienist, Renee, came to fetch me. I apologized for my rudeness, but she hadn’t seen any of what I’d been up to, and told me not to worry about it. Renee is new there, and she was great – efficient, professional, talked to me about what she was doing while she did it. She said the best part of the job is meeting the people, hearing their stories, and sharing hers. (And she told me that my gums and teeth were beautiful, and I should keep up the good work. 🙂 )

Hansrolf, my dentist, came in then to look over my x-rays and check out my teeth. I told him about my earlier rudeness and he started laughing. “You gotta be careful about moving your file into other slots or you’ll find yourself getting a root canal!” he said.

I told him, “Don’t laugh, but I used Christian Science voodoo to heal my root canal problem a few weeks ago.” He laughed. (I’ve found that whenever I start a sentence with “don’t laugh” the funnest people always start laughing immediately.) He hadn’t checked the periodontist’s report, yet, but did then. He told me everything looked fine. And, regarding my “CS voodoo,” he said that if something works for someone, who is he to question it? He asked me if anything hurt. I said no. He said, “Well, if it’s not broken, we don’t need to fix it.”

When I left, I stopped off at the receptionist and apologized for messing with the files. She smiled and told me not to worry about this. I’d done nothing wrong. It was all good.

Whew!

Another patient left right before me, and when I followed her out she turned around and asked me if we knew each other. I felt like we did. We asked each other questions – workplaces, neighborhoods, etc. We decided that maybe we didn’t know each other after all, but acknowledged that it was nice to meet each other now. As I turned to leave, she yelled, “Wait! What’s your dad’s name?” I told her “Dee Molenaar.” She asked me if I’d posted stories about him on Facebook. I told her I had. She said she’d bought the book about the adventures I’d had with Dad in the last years of his life, and she said it had meant a lot to her. She started tearing up then. She said my stories had helped her as she navigated the last years of HER father’s life with him. She’d taken her dad on drives, too.

I asked her if I could have a hug, and we hugged, right there, on the corner of Metcalf and State. I told my new friend, Lisa, that her words had meant a lot to me. And they had. It was like Love had sent me this sweet message right when I needed a reminder that I’m okay.

I started back to my car. I peeked into The Mountain Shop as I went by and saw the owner of the shop – my friend, Craig, in there. Craig introduced me to Nima, a mountaineering sherpa, and told Nima a little about my mountaineering dad. It was lovely to see Craig again, and lovely to meet Nima.

There’s this alley on Metcalf, that has a canopy of rainbow-colored umbrellas strung across it. I stood there for a moment – just watching the umbrellas move in the breeze. It was peaceful there.

I’d been a little nervous about going to my dental appointment. I’d been tempted to cancel because I have so much else going on right now. But I’m glad I didn’t cancel. Look at all the reassurances from Love that awaited me!

A Letter to Dad, Dee Molenaar, on His 107th Birthday

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My dad’s birthday is today. He would have been 107. I’ve put other stuff on my wall about Pop – recycled stories and videos (and have I mentioned Dad is in Wikipedia?) 😃 But I thought I’d gift him with something new for his birthday. He’s not really gone, you see. I still feel his presence here with me – not as a ghost or anything – but I feel his smile with me, his humor and his love.

Daddy, I miss our drives together. I miss the conversations we managed to have, even though we were both hard-of-hearing. I remember you sitting in the passenger seat, your head going back and forth as you took in the landscape, telling me about the geologic history of whatever area we were traveling through, and often saying, “I made a field trip out here for the USGS,” or “I hiked that trail,” or “I climbed that,” or “This would make a good painting.”

One of the greatest gifts you passed on to me was a love for the outdoors, and an appreciation of the natural beauty around us. I followed you up to the summits of Hood and Rainier, Baker and Adams – and when I look at those peaks now I’m sort of in awe that I climbed them – who was I to think I could do that?!

I was Dee Molenaar’s daughter, that’s who.

You instilled a confidence in myself that’s gotten me through some really challenging years. Thank you for that gift, too.

Through your travels and connections you met some amazing, fearless people. Your community of fellow adventurers was filled with brave, heroic visionaries. You introduced me to people of all races and all major religions, and exampled for me what it means to love the world’s people without bigotry or discrimination. As a youngster, I hiked with Tenzing Norgay! As a twelve-year-old, I ran a mile down our country road with Doris Brown!! Governor Evans came to our house to borrow climbing equipment one time. And it wasn’t out-of-the-ordinary for me to pick up the phone and find myself talking to Edmund HIllary. You were comfortable moving among both the famous and the not, and always enjoyed meeting new “mountain people.”

You could be stubborn. You could be critical. You could be bossy. But I always knew you loved me. I always felt your support. You let me know you were proud of me. I’m glad I had you for my Pop.

Happy birthday, Daddy!

(Photos: My feet next to Dad’s – I think this was on our climb of Mount Hood when I was 15; a screenshot of what came up when I googled “Dee Molenaar”; Dad, my brother, Pete, and I on Mount Rainier.)

Ramblings on the Anniversary of Dad’s Death

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Ramblings on the anniversary of Dad’s death:

It’s been five and eight now –
five years since Dad
and eight years since Mom.
And I’m still here,
still moving along,
surviving without them near
to guide and advise and bolster.

And, for me, this seems remarkable
because I’m really still just a little kid
in spite of my gray hair,
and being a wife and a mom
and a grandma myself,
and a many-yeared career.
It amazes me that
I’ve made it this far
without Mom and Dad to guide me.

But they gave me tools
to survive without them –
Dad brought me into the mountains
and showed me how strong I am
and how brave.
Mom showed me how to use Love
to heal myself and the world.
And they both showed me
how to laugh when life gets absurd.
I’m so grateful to them
for these tools – these gifts.

Today when I think about them
and feel their love for me,
I will recognize my tears
for what they really are –
tears of gratitude;
tears of recognition
of Life that never ends.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

Autumn at Rainier

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Scotty and I went up to Paradise yesterday to walk around in the autumn colors. Last week the weather forecast had predicted sunshine up there, but… that changed. 😀 It was pretty wet up there, but it was still beautiful. I thought my camera was doing some sort of weird automatic “vignette” with my photos (fading my photos out at the corners), but then I realized my lens filter was actually all fogged-up on the rim. 😀

Highlights: On the drive up to Paradise from Longmire, I glanced over at a parking lot by the Nisqually Glacier (or where the glacier USED to be), and saw a familiar van – I was pretty sure this was the same van I’d seen at Mount Baker last week, and I was pretty sure it belonged to my new friends, Cecelia and Bob. Whoah. So I messaged them, and learned that they were at Rainier, too! That was kind of cosmic. (We passed them on the way back down, but I don’t think they saw us.)

We went into the Paradise gift shop at the Visitor Center and chatted with the pair of salesclerks behind the counter. I told them I’d worked in the old Visitor Center almost 50 years ago – back when the Visitor Center looked like an alien spacecraft. They laughed and said the old Visitor Center had flown back to the Mother Ship.

I found one of my Dad’s books in the giftshop – it’s always fun to come upon his books or maps in tourist hangouts. It helps me feel he’s still here with us.

At Myrtle Falls, we came upon a couple of National Park employees getting the trails ready for winter. I thanked them for their service and we chatted for a bit about climbing. Noah and Carter were pretty fun and graciously agreed to let me snap a photo.

Then, as we were coming back from the Falls, a little family of sooty grouse (I mistook them for ptarmigans at first) crossed our path (literally) and we snapped some quick pics.
***

We visited the Ashford Creek Pottery shop on the way up to Rainier yesterday to visit its proprietor, our old friend Rick Johnson, and to take pictures of the artwork of Dad’s that Rick has hanging on the walls. I also got Rick to pose with art by Todd Horton (who, coincidentally, lives in the same Skagit Valley communicty as us), and to pose with one of Dad’s books.

(I think the painting that most tickled me yesterday was one Dad had painted depicting mountains of Alaska – and in which he’d whimsically added the Matterhorn in the background. I was looking at the painting, and then thought, “Whoah. That’s the Matterhorn there. What’s THAT doing there?” 😀 It put a grin on my face. Dad. Hahhahhahahar!)
-Karen Molenaar Terrell

Dad Would Be 106 Today

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Dad (Dee Molenaar) would be 106 today. He lived an amazing life here. He was born at the end of WWI – born before “talking” pictures, televisions, interstate highways, cassette tapes, CDs, DVDs, computers, “streaming” and cellphones. Born before commercial airlines and born 51 years before man landed on the moon. HIs first car was a Model-T Ford. He served as a “Coastie” in the Pacific in WWII, climbed on some of the highest mountains in the world, published three books (including the award-winning Challenge of Rainier), created maps, painted the highest painting ever painted (at 25,000′ on K2), and traveled to six of the seven continents.

I don’t know how many times he appeared in National Geographic, but I remember randomly opening a National Geographic at a thrift store and seeing Dad dressed in a national park ranger uniform, checking a climber’s gear on Mount Rainier. I know he was also in National Geographic for the 1953 K2 climb and the Mount Saint Elias climb and the Mount Kennedy climb.

He led me up Pinnacle Peak when I was four, and got me to the summits of Hood, Baker, Rainier, and Adams. He taught me how to ride a bike and hit a baseball. He built a high jump for me in our backyard, and showed me how to scissor-leg over it, and, when I broke my arm high-jumping in our back yard, he passed out in the hospital when the doctor cracked my arm back together – this brave man who’d rescued climbers, retrieved bodies from the mountains, served in WWII, and faced death on K2, passed out when he saw his child in pain.

He was one of my favorite hiking buddies, one of my biggest advocates, and I miss him.