Between a Rock and a High Place: How Joining Sportrock Climbing Guides’ 2025 Mt. Baker Expedition Changed My Life.
- Lauren Glenn Manfuso
- Dec 7, 2025
- 8 min read
Written by Lauren Glenn Manfuso
“We always may be what we might have been.” Adelaid Anne Proctor, The Ghost in the Picture Room
I’m so overdue writing this. For what it’s worth, I have a good reason—one that I’ll explain later. For now, let me just get the most important bit out of the way: Joining Sportrock Climbing Guides’ Mount Baker expedition last summer almost certainly changed the trajectory of my life. And so, this blog is for anyone who desperately wants that too, but who thinks the deadline for starting over is their 40th birthday.
And trust me: If you’ve ever felt that way—or wished for a giant do-over—you’re not alone. Apparently, 70% of working-age adults are considering a new job or career. An estimated 4 out of 5 wish they could redo their college experiences to learn more or pursue a different path. One study estimates that as many as 90% of adults have “deep existential regrets” about their life choices.
I know how they feel.
I’m a long-time binge watcher of mountaineering films. For years, I’ve admired people like Reinhold Messner and Yvon Chouinard, regarding them with the same reverence a young gymnast might have for Simone Biles—inspired by them but never truly believing I could be like them.
To be honest, their accomplishments always seemed more like giant metaphors for my own comparatively less impressive challenges. I could never actually do that, I thought. I’m a 45-year-old suburban mom. Climbing and mountaineering were for adrenaline-chasing bad asses (or, at least, people who could afford to pay them).
Here’s the thing: I wasn’t totally wrong. Climbing and mountaineering are for those people. But they’re also for me. They’re for everyone—including you.
It’s hard in every possible way, from the financial to the physical, emotional and mental. But for every dollar and every minute I spent preparing for Mount Baker, I got so much more in return.
I want that for you. And so, without any further ado, here are some of the most common barriers standing between people like me, you and the mountain and what it takes to overcome them.
One: The higher the summit, the higher the price tag. Be creative and committed.
Between the outfitter, gear and travel costs, you could probably put a down payment on a new Subaru. (Because let’s be real: Every fifth car in Sportrock’s parking lot is, in fact, a Subaru.) But here’s the thing: 1.) It’s fully worth it, and 2.) with some creative thinking and some small sacrifices of time and money, you can significantly lower your costs.
So what can you expect to spend?
Trip fee and guide service: $895–$1,300. Unless you’re some sort of outdoors Einstein—or just egregiously overconfident—you need to hire a guide service. Crevasses don’t announce themselves, nor do they spit you back out once you fall into them. An experienced guide not only brings critical gear to the mountain, but also training in everything from crevasse rescue and glacier travel to first aid, navigation, and more. Cost-wise, Sportrock Climbing Guides’ Mount Baker trip is a fantastic value, and we partner with a highly respected guide service that provides much of the necessary equipment, most of your meals, and a wealth of knowledge and experience.
Gear: $200–$2,000 (and up, depending on whether you rent or buy). There are lots of factors influencing gear costs, making this the area with the most opportunity for saving money. But don’t waste time: The less you hope to spend, the earlier you need to start shopping. Finding bargains on gear means spending time making thoughtful, well-researched purchases. Start by answering a few critical questions: What’s your budget? Are you buying new or used? Are you renting and, if so, for how many days? In many cases, renting might seem like your least expensive option, but the process comes with its own limitations. Are you sure you’ll be able to return the gear on time? How far is the shop from the trailhead? Figure out what you can spend, and then proceed accordingly.
Travel costs: Highly variable. Unless you live close to a glaciated mountain peak (or you’re up for one hell of a road trip), you’ll need to buy plane tickets. Once you arrive, how will you get from the airport to the trailhead and back? Will you need a hotel room at any point? Depending on your decisions, expect your travel costs to include, at minimum, airfare, at least one night in a hotel, and transportation.
Nothing about mountaineering is cheap. But if you think creatively, the costs can be manageable. For me, the solution is working in the outdoor industry, which gives me access to resources I wouldn’t otherwise have. But there are other ways to find deals and save on trip costs.
Sportrock members, for example, can use their 15% membership discount to buy or order gear from the gym’s retail shop (which, by the way, was recently renovated and now has a bigger gear selection than ever). Some membership groups, like the American Alpine Club, also offer a wide range of discounts on outdoors brands and equipment.
Or maybe you just forgo a year’s worth of Starbucks. If you want it badly enough, your desire for the summit will outweigh the sacrifices of time, money or fancy coffee it takes to get there.
Two: Mountaineering a summit like Mt. Baker requires technical knowledge. Hire a guide, or join a trip organized by a company like Sportrock Climbing Guides.
There’s no room on the mountain for people who are too proud to ask questions—even those with seemingly obvious answers.
Not sure whether you should have your ax in your left or right hand? Ask.
Uncertain about whether your crampons are attached correctly? Ask.
Wondering whether snow is white and the sky is blue? Ask, ask, ask.
Even if you think you know the answer, ask the question. And remember: Everyone on your rope team (and everyone who loves them) is relying on you to keep them safe. When personal safety and summits are at stake, the only stupid question is the one you don’t ask.
Three: Climbing a mountain is really hard. Surround yourself with support.
I thought the hardest part of summit day would be the ascent. I was so wrong.
In fact, I felt great from the moment we set out at 1 a.m. to the moment we summited, around eight hours later. I wasn’t lagging behind, I didn’t feel out of breath (or even tired), and my mood bordered on euphoric.
But once we reached the top, a switch flipped.
All the adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. My head hurt. I felt queasy and couldn’t stomach any of my food. I started shivering so aggressively that a guide had to help me put on a second layer.
It didn’t help that I had stabbed myself in the leg with my own crampon shortly after setting out that morning. While adrenaline allowed me to ignore it on ascent, by the time we began descending, my leg was throbbing (and, as it turned out, still bleeding quite a bit, which I only discovered several hours later when we arrived back to camp).
The trip up had been all stoke. On the trip down, I found myself thinking, “At least if I fell in a crevasse, I’d be able to lay down and rest for a while.”
What kept me going was the gently scolding voice of my friend, climbing partner and travel buddy Whitney, a school teacher, a fellow mom, and, above all, a badass. She runs marathons. She does adventure races. She lives by an “always training” mindset. She’s a freaking vegan.
And every single time I faltered, Whitney’s kind but no-nonsense teacher voice piped up behind me saying, “Get moving, Lauren. You can do this. You have to do this.”
In the moment, I wanted to throat-punch her. But in hindsight, her voice pushing me forward remains one of my fondest memories of that trip. Because if one of the fittest and strongest women I know believed in me like that, the least I could do was prove her right.
Spoiler alert: We made it. Before long, I was bandaging my leg, eating pasta, falling asleep before dark, and feeling like I was literally on top of the world.
Now, remember how I said Mount Baker changed my life?
Well, if you’re not one of the people I mentioned earlier in the article—the ones like me, haunted by thoughts of “what if” and “if only”—this is the point at which you can stop reading.
Moreover, if you read any of the above and want to experience it for yourself, then head straight to Sportrock’s website to sign up for next year’s Mount Baker expedition. (And then make a beeline to the cardio room, because the stair master is about to become your best friend and arch nemesis.)
But if you are, in fact, among the quiet majority of people who can’t help wondering if there’s something more out there for you, then settle in. This is the point at which the impact of the Mount Baker expedition on my life really made itself known.
For me, summits have often been followed the next day by a very anti-climactic mental thud.
Suddenly, the thing I’ve been working toward for months has run its course, and a very disconcerting thought begins running through my mind: “Is that it? What was the point? Now what?”
How you respond might be the most important choice you’ll make after signing up for the expedition that got you to this moment.
While it was my first alpine ascent, Mount Baker wasn’t my first big(ish) mountain, so I knew how to handle my post-summit blues. After a couple days of recovery, Whitney and I made a decision: We’d start preparing to tackle Mount Rainier. And just like that, post-summit blues averted.
But while my mountaineering pursuits were just getting started, something else was coming to an end. Shortly after returning from Mount Baker, my full-time job began to fall apart.
One moment I was standing on top of a glaciated volcano. The next, I was back home in Northern Virginia, drowning in work at a job that made me increasingly unhappy.
For more than two decades, I had obsessed over my career, without ever truly loving it. And suddenly, the thoughts once reserved for post-summit comedowns had taken hold: “After 20 years, is that it? What was the point? Now what?”
I had to choose.
Option A? I could keep slogging away in a career I no longer wanted, but safe on the path of least resistance. Or I could choose option B, and do the same things I did to get to Mount Baker: Find the resources, start acquiring the knowledge and skills I needed to make a change, and face a deeply unsettling (but potentially more rewarding) challenge: starting over and pursuing an entirely different career path at the age of 45.
Three months after returning from Washington State, I chose option B.
My experience on Mount Baker taught me, among other things, that I want to work in the outdoors industry. Today, in addition to Sportrock, I’m working for a bucket-list outdoor retailer. I’m doing volunteer consulting work with a nonprofit that helps women in Pakistan and Afghanistan pursue climbing and mountaineering. Eventually I hope to get my single pitch instructor certification so I can teach and guide outdoors.
I’m not exactly sure what’s on the horizon for me. But whatever it is, I believe it’s just as good and just as worth it as what I found during Sportrock Climbing Guides’ Mount Baker expedition.
I genuinely don’t know if I would have found the strength or courage to make that decision if I hadn’t signed up for that trip almost exactly one year ago. At
some point between training, summiting, and returning home, I became someone who—despite countless unknowns—saw possibility and a path forward.
More importantly, though, pursuing Mount Baker helped me see myself as someone who could actually walk that path.
You can be that person too. And if you have any doubts, come find me at the gym. Because everyone deserves to have that maddeningly upbeat voice pushing them from behind, saying, “Get moving, friend. You can do this. You have to do this.”
