by Maya Sugarman

On May 1, 2024, my mom and I watched on as a busy trail crew worked to install a new bench at the summit of West Tiger 3. It was the first anniversary of the death of my father, Jonathan Sugarman, who passed away due to altitude-related illness at Camp 2 while on an expedition to climb Mount Everest.

Tiger Mountain served as my dad’s training grounds for his impressive climbing achievements for over a decade. A celebrated physician leader who had dedicated his life to the wellbeing of others, he had rediscovered a passion of mountaineering after a 2010 Kilimanjaro trek. His accomplishments included successful summits of Denali, Aconcagua, several peaks in Nepal, Rainier many times over, and more.

In preparation for his climbs, he trudged up to the West Tiger 3 summit regularly, most often via Cable Line, weighed down with a heavy backpack and racing against himself on his Garmin watch. I occasionally accompanied him and tried to keep up.

For all the times I tagged along, the summit was frustratingly anticlimactic, socked in more often than not, tall trees blocking any hint of a view on clearer days. Dad would pull out a lovingly made PB&J, a Snickers bar, or handful of peanut M&Ms for me to nibble on while perched on a rock before we’d head back down. I’m glad he got to see the soaring vista that now reveals itself in good weather after the 2023 timber sale, but it was still often a muddy and rainy slog.

In the last weeks before he left for Nepal, he went up and down five times over two days, capturing each lap with a video message. “Can’t say I’m unhappy that I don’t have to do any more,” he says on the last one. To be honest, Tiger was often just a chore for him, another box checked off on his scribbled to-do lists, an expedient place to get a workout done rather than a beloved destination.

But despite its plainness, it’s the perfect place to remember him, a testament to the discipline and diligence that underpinned his success. In everything he did, Jonathan Sugarman understood that greatness is predicated on the mundane, that humble hills lead to majestic mountains. Modest, practical, and just rigorous enough, West Tiger 3 immediately came to mind as the right place to honor my dad.

Thanks to the compassion, helpfulness, and teamwork of the Issaquah Alps Trail Club, Washington Department of Natural Resources, and Weyerheuser, we got the go ahead to start looking at chainsaw artists to match the benches already in place at other Tiger Mountain summits. An internet search led me to the talented artist Tomas Vrba, who leverages his classical European training to imbue his sculptures with a lifelike quality.

In the days after his death, my mom and I were comforted by the unusual, incessant hooting of an owl outside the house. It felt like a message, but even if it was a mere coincidence, the owl remains a perfect representation of my dad – wise, precise, quietly in control.

And so, by virtue of the remarkable thoughtfulness and grace of Ben and Jenny from the DNR and some lucky clearing of late-season snow, my mom and I hitched a ride up a logging road and walked a short distance to the summit to watch as the bench was cemented in its new home on the anniversary of my dad’s death. Daniel, Nick, Gunnar, Claudia, and Annika from the Washington Conservation Corps cheerfully and industriously brought to life what I had been dreaming of the past year. We posed with a printout of a picture of my dad, just as he had done with a picture of my mom at every summit.

*Photo: Jonathan holding a picture of Terese at the Rainier summit in 2015*

A steady stream of curious hikers and runners came by to admire the new fixture on the mountain, a reminder of the wide range of people that pay a visit to West Tiger 3. For some, it’s a convenient and quick weekly workout. For others, it’s a challenging introduction to hiking or a special family outing, a chance to get out in nature.

Whichever category you fit into, I hope that, on your next visit, you’ll sit on the bench and take a minute to look out at the misty clouds, or, if you’re lucky, at the hills and lakes and skylines in the distance. At the side of the bench, you’ll see a plaque.

Atop every mountain

pause

to remember those you love

and those who love you.

for Jonathan Sugarman

Tiger 3 Memorial Bench - in honor of Jonathan Sugarman

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