Sprinting down the steep slope as fast as my snowshoes would allow, I called out to a pair of fellow climbers, “Do you have any ibuprofen?” Suffering, scared, and with two aching knees, my brother-in-law, Turner, slowly made his way down to Colchuck Lake, head held high, tail between his legs.

For many of us living in the Seattle area, opportunities to hike and climb in the mountains abound. Being surrounded by spectacular landscapes, and Colchuck Peak proved challenging for a first-time mountain climber. interacting with wild spaces, becomes second nature. In my 10 years of living in Seattle, I’ve had the privilege of climbing all five Washington volcanoes, hiked on dozens of glaciers, and scaled hundreds of technical rock climbs. When my brother-in-law from Pennsylvania suggested he fly out to Washington for his first mountain climb, I didn’t hesitate to jump at the opportunity to be his guide.

The problem with climbing in Washington in springtime is that the stable weather patterns and endless blue sky that dominate our perfect summer months haven’t quite found their footing. Our original plan, to summit Mount Baker, one of the crown jewels for climbers in the region, was quickly ruled out as the weekend predicted several inches of late spring snow in the North Cascades, meaning visibility would be a challenge while navigating crevasses on massive glaciers. With our options limited, we headed to the Enchantments, a prized hiking and climbing destination in the center of the state, following a hint of sun.

The first mistake I made was biting off more than we could chew. After renting technical ice tools, winter mountaineering boots, and snowshoes for Turner, we set out to climb Colchuck Peak via the Northeast Couloir, an imposing steep snow climb with a short step of ice climbing. I figured since I had climbed the route before, Turner could simply follow me as I led us up, belaying him with a rope as we ascended. What I should have remembered is how many years it took me to become the confident climber that I am, and remembered that I was once a flatlander too. Going from never having ascended a snowy technical slope to climbing near vertical snow and ice would be like letting go of a child learning how to ride a peddle bike, without ever letting them practice with training wheels.

Turner’s anxiety started to build as we made our way closer to our camping destination. He was just getting used to snowshoeing, and his heavy back was digging into his shoulders. Yet, the beauty of the Cascades kept him going. Brief views of Mount Stuart, the tallest non-volcanic mountain in the state, poked in and out of the clouds as we ascended close to 2,000 vertical feet. As we crested the final slope, bringing us to the lake, Dragontail Peak, as intimidating and impressive as its name sounds, came into focus, a view that never gets old for me.

The alarm chimed early the next day, and we slowly made our way across frozen Colchuck Lake, with plan A, the Northeast Couloir, still in mind. We plodded up the first rise, a slope that I considered benign, yet I started to notice Turner slowing down. It was then that the doubts started creeping in. What was I doing leading a novice up a serious climb? I don’t belong here, Turner told me, emotionally drained and physically toiling. We quickly turned our objective to the Colchuck Glacier, a “walk up” by climbing standards, but still a climb that takes gumption and know how, but it was too late. Turner — frazzled, tired, and scared — was ready to turn around, and understandably so, for as his guide, I had led him astray by my ambition.

In the comforts of the car, as we sped back home across Stevens Pass, Turner and I had plenty of time to reflect on our climb. I remembered how lucky I am to live in such a wild and rugged state, and to have such quick access to world class mountain climbing. Turner realized how far he had come, from never having climbed on snow, to having attempted a technical climb in one of the most coveted mountaineering destinations in the state . He had done so with a smile on his face, and grit in his soul.

Not only do Seattleites have amazing mountains at our fingertips, but we don’t have to go far to reach them and get back for an amazing meal. The next day, having washed down several doses of ibuprofen with a healthy amount of electrolytes, Turner and I headed to Capitol Hill for ramen. Slurping down a bowl of oxtail bone broth, I couldn’t help but ask: “Would you come back for another climb?”