They were tumultuous years. There were the additional assassinations of Malcom X, Megder Evers, Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy, an expanding war in Vietnam with corresponding protests. There was the civil rights movement, the moon landing, a music revolution and last but certainly not least, the second feminist movement (the first being women’s suffrage of the late 19th and early 20th century) or gender equality movement.

I had a front row seat for it all.

There’s a lot to digest from that decade, so I’ll focus on my experience with only a tiny piece of it — gender equality. In the summer of 1969, I got two letters from SUNY Cortland in the mail. The first was my acceptance letter. The second said, “You have been selected to be part of a co-educational living experiment and will be in Cortland’s first co-ed dormitory.”

In today’s world that means nothing, but in 1969 it was radical. Extremely radical, because there were no such thing as co-educational dormitories. Women had curfews. Cohabitation was about as common as a unicorn sighting on the summit of Dewey Mountain. I knew couples who lived together and whenever one of their parents visited, the other had to move out and hide all the evidence.

Peter Simer on Denali (Photo provided)

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Summer on the snow

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So, what’s that got to do with the summer of 1971, when with the National Outdoor Leadership School, I was preparing to climb Denali? Just this: I was flabbergasted when the expedition leaders chose one of two girls on the expedition to be my tent partner. That young men and women could tent together had never crossed my mind. I took it in stride and just thought it was cool, but the other guys thought I had paid off someone to have the privilege. They asked me question after question what it was like tenting with a woman. As the young sophisticate I said, “You know, it’s not that different. She puts her pants on one leg at a time just like the rest of us.”

Her name was Annski Williams, and she was a great gal and carried her share of the load and more from day one. We worked together as a team traveling up the glacier roped together, pitching the tent safe from avalanches, cooking meals, breaking camp, and breaking trail. Any stress in our relationship was only because everyone looked at us differently, like we each had six eyes and two noses.

Annski Williams on Denali (Photo provided)

About three weeks into the 44-day expedition we were offered the chance to switch tent partners. I think I surprised Annski when I suggested we switch. As much as I liked her, I was also interested in getting to know someone new.

Annski became the tent partner of one of the expedition leaders and I ended up tenting with Peter Simer. Peter wasn’t nearly as good looking. He was tall, lanky, sported a goatee and shoulder length dark hair, and was a cross between Che Guevara and Frank Zappa. Looks can be deceiving. He was smart, competent and super funny.

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Attempting the summit

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On day 35 we decided to try for the summit (20,320 feet), which was one-and-half miles and 3,000 feet in elevation from our camp. Nothing to it, right? Hold on cowboy, between the wind, cold, and elevation, nothing was easy in that part of the world. Nonetheless, 14 people headed for the summit.

We hiked the mile to Denali Pass without too much trouble. At this elevation the pace is incredibly slow. Step … inhale … exhale … inhale … exhale … step. Slow and steady. It is the only way we could keep moving without constantly stopping and gasping for breath.

Once we hit Denali Pass, it was like someone switched on the wind machine. It was a steady 25-30 mph, with a temperature of 0 degrees Fahrenheit, and wind chill of -25 Fahrenheit. Because of the cold and wind, seven people decided to turn back leaving seven of us to continue. Our leader, Ken Clanton, was in the front, along with Annski and two others. Peter and I were on the second rope team with George Hunker, the expedition organizer. As we continued up the ridge, we got out of the wind, but the temperature continued to drop.

It was slow going and Annski was struggling. About a quarter of a mile beyond Denali Pass, we stopped to rest. We were all feeling the effects of altitude. Labored breathing, lassitude and cloudy thinking. It seemed to take forever to change the film in my camera. After a frigid half hour, we started back up the ridge. Ken put Annski in the lead hoping that would allow her to set a pace she could maintain. She set a reasonable pace for a while but couldn’t sustain it.

Eight-tenths of a mile and 1,000 foot elevation from the summit, with Annski continuing to struggle, Ken decided we should rest again. He said, “We’ll dig a snow cave, rest for a couple of hours, and then make a summit attempt.” We took turns shoveling, but at 19,500 feet, doing any work was nearly impossible and after a half hour, we had a tiny snow cave. It was obvious if we stayed too much longer someone would get frostbite or hypothermia.

So Ken did what he had to do and made the decision to turn back. It was 8:30 p.m., but still light in The Land of the Midnight Sun. When Ken told us we were turning back, my goggles fogged with tears.

At the time I never questioned his decision. It was many years later that Peter and I played “Monday morning quarterback.”

What role did Ken and Annski’s tent partner relationship play?

Was there a “we’ll both make it up or no one will” attitude in play?

Was that attitude real or our imagination?

Could have sent one rope team back and still had enough people to safely have one rope team continue to the summit?

Could we have summited?

Do I regret not summiting? Sure.

Do I blame Annski? Definitely not.

While I don’t know the answers to those questions I know one thing: climbing Denali was gender equity at its finest.

Annski carried her 100-pound pack every day. She fought the cold, the altitude and the challenges just like the rest of us. She just had one very bad day, and so could have any one of us.