Pyramid Lake

by Magdalena Louise Escudero-Kane

Honorable Mention in Zinc’s 2022 College Essay Contest

As I hoisted up onto the refrigerator-sized granite boulder, the entire length of the Continental Divide came into view. Pyramid Lake appeared as a turquoise gem a thousand feet below with a neon dot-of-a-tent sitting at its side. Over four hours of route-finding and weeks of hiking had left me with Shel Silverstein’s “perfect high.”

“Can I help you?” I ask an out-of-towner as he eyes a Wind River Range map in the outdoors gear store where I work.

“No thanks.”

Minutes later, Out-of-Towner finds my colleague Trevor and asks, “Hey man, got any beta about Pyramid Lake?”

At Wild Iris Mountain Sports, I am constantly passed over by customers searching for backcountry advice, made invisible as people look through, past, or around me to zero in on my male colleagues. Simply put, it is sexism in motion.

To counter sexism, I have identified my options.

One: Counter with data. 400 nights under the stars. 20-some peaks over 10,000 feet scaled. Dozens of multi-pitch, technical climbs, including Gannett Peak, Dinwiddy Glacier, and the Grand Teton. Dozens of swift, ice-cold rivers—many over my waist—crossed.

Two: Ignore the slights. Silently fume. Yield my voice.

Three: Decide it’s not my problem. Who knows where this guy is coming from—it could be some strange Oedipus complex. Or, maybe he is like my Puerto Rican relatives who cannot imagine a girl going into the Winds, much less thriving on 12-plus hour days carrying a backpack tipping the scales at 50 percent of her weight.

Four: Define Me. Judge my skills and knowledge. Find my voice. Build personal connections. Ask questions. Listen hard. Experiment boldly. Gain expertise. Admit when wrong. Acknowledge intuition. Remove the noise. ID the kernel of truth.

Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Hey, where are you from? I have scoop on Pyramid Lake.”