Mount Rainier Climb - The Blog
When Garret stepped off the well trodden snow trail in the crater, I knew we were going to get to put our packs down. As I walked towards him, he slowly and deliberately coiled the rope that had joined him, Steve, and me together for the last 3,400 feet. I unlocked the carbineer and slipped the loop of rope out of its secure grasp. “Well done, welcome to the crater” said Garret. “Now eat something, drink something, and put sunscreen on.” To be honest, I was not even listening; I was fiddling with the buckles that held my backpack in place and then letting it drop unceremoniously to the snow. Unwisely I sat down on it! It was 6 am and we had been climbing since 1.30 am.
There were a few things that worked to our advantage for the last 3,400 ft push to the summit from the High Camp on Mount Rainier. The first was that it was dark when we set out, and all I saw for the first 5 hours of the climb was a snaking red rope in the bluish circular glow of my headlamp. The second thing was that I had no idea what the last part of the climb was going to be like, because of the beautifully vague description of the climb from Garret “Well, we will go up, then take a hard right; it is a little steep up the cleaver, but then we kind of head east and then swing back towards the summit.” Only one small mention of the word ‘steep,’ but then the guy talking was only one week back from climbing Everest and this was his second summit of Rainier this week!
Back in the crater I could not eat; I looked over at Steve sitting on his pack and his face already said what I was going to say, so I saved my short breath. Then Garret stood up and said “Ok, let’s go to the summit and see if we can find the register.” Go to the summit? This is the summit! However, we were clearly in a shallow crater, and that meant that we still had to walk across the snow to the tallest edge. After a short mental battle with my now independently thinking legs, we came to the agreement that if we had come this far, we should make the effort to get all the way to the highest point.
To be honest my lungs, legs, and brain had all become separate entities that I had spent the last two hours of our five hour push to the summit arguing, cajoling and pleading with – sometimes in my head and sometimes out loud. Apparently Lungs and Legs were not happy that Brain had gotten us into this and then did nothing to carry the load. Nobody likes the hard-ass coach who is shouting from the sidelines telling you that you are a pussy when you are playing your heart out – that was how Legs and Lungs perceived Brain at this moment. But, for the sake of internal peace, all my body parts pulled together and we made it across the crater, past the steaming vents, over the warm dirt of the crater, and up to the highest point of the mountain at 14.411 feet.
We (Steve, me, my brain, legs, and lungs) posed for pictures on the highest point in Washington. We stood there smiling; well, I thought we were smiling until I looked at the pictures later, and it was definitely a grimace and not a smile. I know that I was trying to smile, but Lips and Cheeks were siding with Legs and Lungs to paint the real picture on my cold face of the last part of the climb.
The view from the top was breathtaking (in more ways than one), a panoramic view of Washington State in the early morning sun, clouds, and small mountain ranges below us; Mount Hood, Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens all standing tall above their billowing white skirts, pure white against the blue of the sky, just a tinge of that orangey, pinkish color that you get as the early morning sun climbs higher in the sky.
“Ok, time to go.” WTF?! We just got here; I am tired; I want to sit here and get to the point that I can enjoy the summit. Legs and Lungs are still in revolt; Brain is trying to muster support for some sort of a ‘woo hoo,’ but now we are plunged into thought of going back down that steep, snow and ice covered trail! When I was a kid I preferred riding my bike uphill, because I felt out of control going downhill – I was getting those same feelings about the walk back down. But there I stood before Garret, putting the loop of rope into the carabineer along with the tether line for my ice axe, locking it shut, adjusting my backpack, and getting ready to walk again. With slumped shoulders I watched the rope snake away and just before it pulled up tight on my harness, I stepped forward, back on the chain gang!
But just how did Steve and I get here? How was the climb? Would I do it again? Well, those are all good questions that I will try to answer in the next few pages.
The gear check
Having arrived in Seattle Steve and I made our way to the Alpine Ascents office, a little north of downtown Seattle. It was Tuesday, June 14, 2011, and we had a gear check to complete at 2 pm. The office was bright, clean, tidy, and had an unhurried but professional feel about it. In a well-windowed room on wooden benches that surrounded all the walls were large blue plastic totes with rental gear in them. Beside each tote was an Alpine Ascents T-shirt with a yellow sticky note with a name on it. There were eight totes for the eight ‘guests.’
The first thing that struck both Steve and me was the fact that our totes had more stuff in them than any of the other guys, and that clearly meant that they had their own gear, which meant that they were climbers – the first chink in the armor of my confidence! In fact I had to go over and look down into a couple of the totes just to see if there was anything in them before turning back to inspect the contents of my overflowing tote. To make matters worse, I had a large duffel bag that was also overflowing with stuff.
As 2 pm approached, people started to arrive; Lester and Ike from Florida, Ryan and Brian who were dentists from Indiana, John from just north of NY who owns and operates a medical training operation, and finally Robert, a grad student from Boulder, CO with an infectious smile and copious dreadlocks. It certainly looked like an interesting and eclectic group of people who ranged in age from 29 to 60. We worked our way through the introductions and then methodically through the equipment list (one pair of long underpants – check), boot fitting (Can I get an 11.5 in this?) and instruction on putting the harness on (No, Andy, you put your leg through there!). We ended up with stuffed bags and a pile of other equipment to carry – 40 lb pack – certainly.
We had agreed to meet with Lester, Ike, and John for dinner that night, and we decided to walk 1.5 miles to a pizza place. During the course of dinner and as we learned more about each other, my mental armor of confidence that was based on all my training looked more like a car that had been through a big Texas hailstorm, i.e. like a golf ball! Ike and Lester were both marathon runners that were just back from hiking the Appalachian Trail AND had hiked up Mount Hood a few days before for a warm up! John is also a marathon runner who hunts big wild animals for fun. The last big wild animal he hunted was an elephant and after bagging it and getting the head mounted, he had to build a new room in his house to display it!
With the memory of trying to hike up the Black Cloud Trail after a couple too many beers in the Tennessee Pass in Leadville still burned into my consciousness, I sipped on a Coke and ate my pizza. Steve and I walked slowly and quietly back through the drizzling rain, deep in thought – I did not ask him, he did not ask me, but I know that the specters of failure was looming in my mind. Feeling a little out of my league, even thinking that I was out of breath walking up a short hill before the hotel and that my legs were tired climbing the stairs to the room on the second floor – of course, we picked the only hotel in Seattle that did not have an elevator.
Fear of failure is the worst kind of mental agitator, because it grabs your ego and then they go dancing together, arm in arm through the darkest closets of your mind, tipping over cups of adrenaline and opening drawers of embarrassment, keeping you up at night listening to your heart beat in your ears and takes you back to your childhood in snatched dreams in fits of sleep. Such a worthless waste of good angst! But, it knows that it is stronger than you, and it giggles at you in weak moments. However, it is also the base of the focus and drive that eventually makes us succeed – if you can control it and channel it right.
Setting off
So, morning came fast, and we walked quietly to the Alpine Ascents office to get our gear and jump in the van that would take us first to Ashford, WA and then to the Paradise car park at the bottom of Mount Rainier. It was overcast and still drizzling; drizzling in the way that only the Pacific Northwest can drizzle in June! Why do places have inappropriate and almost oxymoronic names? Paradise Car Park? ‘Start of a long hike’ car park would be more appropriate. ‘Walk of shame and wait for the bus’ car park – SHUT UP fear of failure! You are like a dang shoulder devil. I am also reminded of Lake Pleasant in AZ where I used to teach diving; far from ‘pleasant.’
The café in Ashford was decorated with everything that was alpine climbing, O2 bottles from Everest expeditions, various bits of climbing paraphernalia, and pictures of climbing teams with 1970’s beards and raccoon eyes. Note to self – I never want to be the face that is in the little inset in the picture right next to the ones that actually made it down. One of two things happened – that person died in the attempt or was waiting in the ‘walk of shame and wait for the others’ base camp. I considered both….hmmm DEATH OR GLORY! Maybe not so much! I don’t want to be an inset on someone else’s summit picture on Facebook.
We loaded back into the van and headed up the increasingly more narrow and windy road that lead to Paradise Carp Park and the start of our adventure. As we sat quietly watching the scenery outside we were all suddenly shocked by a rush of air that knocked the van sideways and the road of an engine right as the drivers lifts his foot off the gas and right before the engine break kicks in. We were on a bend and the log truck was overtaking us. Cab, wheels, logs seemingly suspended in the air and then another set of wheels. “Log truck”, I stated in a matter of fact way. Having lived in Oregon for 5 years I was very well aware of the reputation of log trucks on mountain roads, the speed, the wild overtaking – “never get in the way of a log truck, they get paid by the load, they will push you off the road and often crash” I commented, in a matter of fact and knowledgeable way. I don’t think anybody was interested but I did hear a couple of grunts of acknowledgment.
With the log truck gone, the ride up there was very quiet. Everybody was absorbed in their own thoughts, most thinking about the climb; those with experience of this sort of climbing would be using that experience to mentally prepare for the climb; those without experience were trying to stuff the Shame Shaman back into its corner in our brains and stop the nervous feelings. The van continued to climb, quietly up through the stunning mountain scenery. Towering pines, dripping with moss, stood tall over the rocks and ferns of the damp forest floor. It could almost have been a scene from a million years ago. Up and up the road twisted and turned, snow starting to show up, huddled under the trees, then getting braver and moving out towards the road until it was piled up on either side, dirty and black from the road.
Paradise car park
On arrival at the car park, we vomited ourselves out of the van, collected our stuff from the trailer, and went to a small tunnel next to the toilets to get dressed and shelter from the steadily falling snow. For those that have read any of my blogs, you will know that I am an obsessive fiddler, so I was nervously messing with my stuff. It does not help when a little thing goes wrong – I could not find my boots! I know that I put them in the trailer, but now I cannot find them – The Shaman of Shame bounced up on my shoulder again. However, it was quickly knocked from its perch when John handed me my boots!
And now for an issue that I knew was going to plague me all trip – my choice of underpants and the fear of nappy rash. As I have said before, maybe it is an odd join between my legs and my butt, but I worry about the worry of a sweat rash. I had learned about Merino wool and base layers, but we were told not to put our long wool underwear on under our soft shell pants. Nowhere in the equipment list did it say ‘Bring additional suitable underwear for a 4,000 ft climb on the first day.’ So I had to set out in my entirely unsuitable Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts – cotton – no mountain man worth his salt wears cotton next to his skin on a mountain. What was worse was that the elasticity of this pair left a lot to be desired so they were lacking a certain level of lift and support, and that added to my angst as we formed a line and started to march out of the tunnel, like a team heading out onto the playing field for a big match.
Our referees for this match were Rich Meyer, Sam, and Matt. Rich took up the challenge of motivating us, chatting and laughing. Sam and Matt were quieter, but also full of information about the mountain and the way that we should walk and breathe on the mountain.
Setting off for Muir Camp
Both Steve and I were most concerned about the pace that would be set; we had both assumed that everybody would take off fast and stride rapidly over hill and dale. However, we were both pleasantly surprised to find that the pace that is set for climbing is slow and steady. Someone said that it was necessary to ‘go slow to go fast’ on a mountain. This suddenly made huge sense to me - strong, slow and steady. It also put into perspective the way that I hike, fast, out of breath and erratic. Note to self – rethink how you hike.
The snow and clouds sucked in around us snuffing out any view that we might have had. Rich said that it was like ‘walking inside a ping pong ball’ and it really was! We could see little more than 15 feet forward, back and side to side. I do know that the up kept going up. We trudged step over step in an obedient line for the first 1,000 feet and then took a break, sat on our packs, and drank a little water. I actually felt pretty good and smiled to myself at the fact that this was ok. Steve and I had agreed that we would stay at the back of the line so that we could control our speed, but I have a terrible weakness and that is the desire to always try and bust my ass, so when we got up from the first break, I stepped in directly behind Sam who was leading and there I stayed through three breaks to the top!
The slope seemed to go endlessly upwards, marked with short bamboo sticks with little reflective orange tape flags on the top. Oh how I learned to hate them! When you reached one, another appeared, higher up than the last, like they were falling from the sky. But the pace was good, and I was actually starting to enjoy myself – the view of Matt’s or Sam’s or Rich’s ass was not so good, like being the last sled dog in the pack, but at least it did hide me from the orange flags. As it happened, the bad weather was our savior. If we had actually been able to see the climb that we had to make (as we would have done on a clear day), my attitude about it would have been very different!
I spent the climb worrying about my underpants. I would occasionally take a wider step, just to let things air out and un-stick themselves from surrounding limbs. There was definitely a different ecosystem developing down there, rather hot and steamy, in comparison with the outside world, but wide steps, an open stance when sitting at breaks, and constant mental concern seemed to be working, and there was no sign of any chaffing at all. These were all good omens! Just to be sure I opened my fly and walked with the snowy breeze blowing through my pants!
Between the second and third break a mountain ranger came skiing out of the gloom and stopped to talk with Matt, Sam, and Ryan. He told the guys that he had given up on the SAR (Search and Recovery) and that it was now a recovery and not a rescue. He said that he had spent three days on the mountain and in a tremendously manly way said that he needed to head down for a change of underpants. I could have hugged him – I AM NOT ALONE!
However, the rest of the message was of a much grimmer nature. A reasonably experienced climber had gotten tired during a summit attempt. His buddies left him to go and get help, and that was the last that was seen of him. It is assumed that he became hypothermic, disoriented, walked off a ledge and fell to his death.
Life (and death) has a way of reminding you that the things that you do with a twist of bravado and a small amount of knowledge can be dangerous and should be taken seriously. Things can go wrong quickly, be it a health issue, weather, or change in the nature of the nature that you are dealing with.
Back in ‘93, a friend and I set out on what turned out to be the first of three Atlantic crossings in a small boat. A day out of the island of Tenerife I was on the helm watching a boat running down wind across our stern, under spinnaker about half a mile away from us. Suddenly she rounded up to the wind and the sails started banging; I could see crew members moving on deck. A few minutes later we heard the VHF crackle into life with a ‘PAN PAN MEDICO’, a medical distress call.
Over the next hour we listened to a medical drama playing out as boats relayed medical assistance and set up for a helicopter evacuation. A crew member had gone forward to adjust the spinnaker when the boat rocked and the pole that held the spinnaker dropped hitting him on the head. In a split second the man was unconscious with a serious head injury.
We listened in silence to the medical description and treatments being relayed to the boat from doctors in the US. We were a day into a 28 day voyage and if we had ever contemplated the seriousness of what we were doing, this incident drove it home. As I looked forward from my position on the helm, I could see that there was a canvas sheet across the top of the cabin with the boat’s name on it. The skipper was making sure that a helicopter could identify us if it needed to.
But, back on the mountain, we were still marching, ever onwards, ever upwards following the little orange flags and wondering when we would get to the Muir Camp. But with about 500 feet to go, the sky started to clear a little, and we got our first real glimpse of the mountain since we had started. I could see the trail and the stone building of the Muir Camp balanced, seemingly precariously, on the edge of the mountain. The sun, the blue sky, and the lack of chaffing made the last 500 feet rather enjoyable, but we were glad to get to the camp and….WHOA…what is that smell??? I guess that the sleeping accommodations are next to the toilets, wow….that is strong!
Settling in at Muir Camp
There is a very rudimentary bunk house known as the ‘gombu’ that Alpine Ascents shares with another guide group, and this was to be our sleeping spot for tonight. We dropped our packs and got out our sleeping pads and zero degree sleeping bags. Even with everything unpacked and sitting on our bunks, we were still a surprisingly quiet and reflective group; no real joking or messing about, everybody still seemed to be thinking their own thoughts.
With the bunks made up on the hard wooden surfaces of the bunks that looked like book shelves, Steve and I stepped out to look at the view. It was still pretty cloudy, but the views were spectacular and we both stood and looked out on the scene with a sense of relief that we had made it through the first test. As we fiddled with gear or looked out at the view, the guides were busy setting up the dinner tent and getting some food together for us. The guys were always doing something to make our trip easier, but it never seemed to be rushed, difficult, or inconveniencing to them.
As we ruminated in the gombu, we finally got to meet Garret, the lead guide. He was tall and very slim, just back from a successful summiting of Everest; he lost 35 lbs on the trip. But, he had only been back a week and had already done one summit of Rainier and came back down to take us back up! Can you spell F-I-T?! I have to say that I was a little in awe of that, and Steve made sure to tell me that we should not hitch our rope wagon to him for the ascent.
The dinner bell rang at 5 pm, and we trudged uphill to the dinner tent; I was ready for dinner. It is always fun to see how basic food is sooooo good when it is served in unusual surroundings, on a boat or a mountain. Very simple chicken burritos, but we simply inhaled them! Garret, Rich, Sam, and Matt explained to us that on this climb we would burn over 15,000 calories and that we simply could not eat enough to sustain ourselves, and that is why eating snacks on breaks in climbing is important. We were also told only to bring things to eat on the trail that we really like as the altitude will take away your appetite. I thought about all those sugary, sweet powerbars and nuts in my pack – not sure if I was going to be able to eat them. Water is also very important as the air at altitude is dry and dehydrating. We had already gotten used to the routine when the packs went down – “Drink some water, put some sun screen on, and eat something!”
Stepping out of the dinner tent, Steve and I looked up at the route for the next day’s climb; we could see the path climbing upwards, over a peak and disappear. Once again those nagging concerns about failure crept into my head as Steve and I walked back over to the bunk house. I reasoned that the climb up had been much better than I thought and that this was only 1,000 feet but it would be done with ice axe, crampons and ropes. Steve must have guessed my thoughts as he reminded me of our training mantra “less fit people than us have made it to the summit” – Thanks, Steve, that did make me feel better, but it is so hard to override unreasonable fear.
Trying to sleep in Muir Camp
It was 8 pm and we were being sent to bed with a 7 am get-up time. Like the obedient team that we were, we all filed off to the bunk house and climbed into our ‘mummy’ bags and waited for dawn. I was happy because this gave me the opportunity to take off the old Fruit of the Looms and put on my Merino wool, long underwear. I dispatched the old pair to the bottom of my pack and made the assumption that I would not need to extract them from the pack again.
I don’t know about you, but I normally sleep for about 5 hours if I am lucky, so while I may have dozed off for a while, I was wide awake by 12.30! Not much to do when you are in a mummy sleeping bag with 6.5 hours to kill with the shoulder Shaman of Shame tapping you on the forehead to get your attention with the annoying drip, drip, repetition of Chinese water torture. I did spend a few minutes messing with the ear plugs that I had in my ears to deaden the sound of other people’s snoring. Apparently my ears have strange shaped canals, because I cannot keep those foam plugs in them. I roll the little plugs until they are pointy and wire thin and then jam them into my ears and hold them in place with my fingers. I can feel and hear them popping and expanding, but pretty soon they just fall out again.
I cannot roll around much because Steve is on one side and John is on the other, and if I start to turn, for some reason the bag does not. I try to stick one arm out of the bag and roll into the rescue position, but that just results in my elbow in my face and fingers gripping my exposed ear to lessen the likelihood that my arm will fall on John; I cannot move my legs because they are in the bag – I look like an ugly moth that cannot escape its pod of pupation. I roll back onto my back and my left ear plug falls out, but I cannot reach it with my crooked and exposed right arm. I look at the bottom of the bunk above me, and it reminds me of being on my dad’s boat, low ceiling, white with strengthening stringers and that was comforting, for a few minutes, but I cannot sleep on my back!
Eventually I manage to get myself into a position that WILL result in T-Rex arms in about 20 minutes – T-Rex arms? You know when you sleep on an arm and when you wake in the morning but it does not, it acts like those useless arms on a T-Rex. The reason that they were so fierce is that they could never scratch their ass! Now that would make me mad too!!
Finally a comfortable position! And now what – I think I want to pee! Oh great. Actually I know that I do not want to pee, but I am now going to worry about it. Luckily I have my one liter, collapsible, wide mouth, Nalgene bottle marked with a bold black letter ‘P’. Now I have to extract an arm and find the bottle in the darkness. Finding the bottle was not the issue – convincing my body that it was ok to pee laying down was the huge issue. From the age of potty training through the extreme drinking of college, to the vague uncertainty of late middle-age plumbing – I have steadfastly told my body that it is NOT OK TO PEE WHILE LAYING DOWN. Apparently I have done such a good job of training my subconscious and conscious mind not to pee lying down that no amount of mental coaxing could bring me to dribble into the bottle. Here are the things that were going through my mind:
- I only brought one pair of Merino wool long underpants – do not soil at this stage of the trip!
- The bottle will not open up and the pee will not go in it – I popped the sides and kept pulling on it (the bottle) to make sure that it was both open and pointing down
- My personal part is not in the neck of the bottle – unlikely I think, the neck of the bottle has a 2 inch opening, no issue there!
So I tried, but I failed. I even left the bottle in place and removed my hands from the claustrophobic confines of the mummy bag. But it was all in vain and in the end I just hung on until the morning to pee!
The dawn of a new day
The morning could not come soon enough for me; I was so fed up with laying there, unintentionally listening to the odd noises that people can make in their sleep, with the one ear that was missing an ear plug. So I hopped out of bed, pulled on my soft shell pants and jacket and headed out into the brilliant sunshine of a stunningly clear day at 10,000 feet. Actually I looked like an over dressed gnome crawling out from under a rock into the blazing sunlight, but I had a better image of myself than that as I followed my nose to the two story washroom building.
I am sooooooo tempted to describe my experience in the stone building with two seats over a couple of very full steel drums…..but I will not. I want to, but again, I will not. Suffice it to say that I limited my exposure to the nuclear pile, and I can tell you that the one pine-scented and pine-shaped, car air freshener that was hanging over the seats brought new meaning to the words ‘inadequate’ and ‘out-scented’. Let’s move on!
As we were gathering for the walk from the bunk house to the dinner tent, the first of the climbers that had left for the ascent from the Muir Camp that night were returning, just one or two teams, shoulders down, walking in silence looking at the rope slithering along before them. These were the people that had turned back and not made it to the summit. I felt empathy for them, I did not want to be one of them, and it was my worst nightmare. Well, in reality it was my ego’s worst nightmare. My actual worst nightmare should be injury or death, not a psychological bruise, but that is ego for you.
I plodded up the hill to the tent and was immediately struggling to get my breath – not a good sign, the shoulder Shaman of Shame slipped off his gas mask and hopped up to ridicule me again. However, the issue was simply that I had not learned my lesson from the day before and the fact that ‘slower is faster’ on the mountain, I should have taken my time and taken my steps more deliberately. But in the tent a wonderland of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee awaited us. HOG HEAVEN! We all ate well and even chatted about the work of the day.
Prior to leaving the tent, we were given our clothing recommendation for the day’s training and climbing. Soft shell pants, no long underwear, light shirt and soft shell jacket. NO LONG UNDERWEAR? Apparently it was too warm for long underwear – but I do not have anything else!! I am not putting those stretched Fruit of the Loom cotton boxers on again! Dang – another 1,200 feet of worrying about nappy rash and an overheated breeding station. I simply did not need to be worrying about that! I distinctly heard the shoulder Shaman of Shame giggle at me again!
It was time to throw away the hiking poles and to don our helmets, crampons, harnesses and ice axes for snow school! We practiced walking in the crampons; we threw ourselves down on the snow and practiced driving our ice axes into the snow to arrest a slide on a glacier. We even roped ourselves together and practiced walking and all of this with the sun blazing in a clear blue sky and a view that stretched, well, all the way to the horizon.
The school was fun; Rich was the head teacher and attacked the subject with the gusto of someone who was (a) Californian and (b) loved sharing his knowledge of the mountain and mountaineering with others. Matt and Sam watchfully and gently helped us correct errors in our technique as we practiced, and Garret was ever present, his experience and leadership could be felt without him saying a word. We had fun, we laughed, we slid, we walked and then we had to get ready to leave for High Camp.
I have to say that crampons are wonderful things in the snow, like four wheel drive but on steroids. It seemed to me like you could walk up a vertical slope with these things on. Surely we will not need them for anything that extreme!
Setting off for High Camp
I am not sure if it was consciously or subconsciously or because I was not quick enough to get another rope, but I ended up hooking myself into the line behind Garret; I think that I heard Steve shake his head or let out a slightly longer breath than normal – what were we not going to do? That is right - hitch our rope to Garret ‘Mr Everest’s’ wagon. Steve got to hook in behind me, and there we were the first team to leave the camp, Steve attached to me, me attached to Garret! I know that Steve rolled his eyes again!
The pace was slow and steady and the climb was gentle to begin with as we moved slowly and steadily across the blindingly white snow. Being able to see the line of the trail and the elevation involved required more mental fortitude than the hike the day before when we could not see anything of the trail that we were following. Step over step, foot over foot, up and up. As we climbed higher the view got better and better and now, sitting on the crest before the Ingraham Glacier, we could look out and see more mountain ranges and valleys and snowy peaks.
As we sat there, three teams of climbers came down the edge of the glacier and passed next to us on the trail. Garret knew all the guides, and he asked them how they got on. All had made it to the summit, but the guide said that it had been brutally cold and that the wind had been screaming up there. That was not what we wanted to hear, but there was only a short time to think about it before Garret packed up his bag of food, the rope started uncoiling in front of me, and we were walking again. One thing that I did notice as the other team walked past – blue bags hanging and dangling from their packs. I wonder why?
Being attached to the rope is amusing and I had a tendency to just look down and watch it. The goal was for the rope to be touching the snow ahead of you but not so slack as to catch up around your feet. The last thing that I wanted to do was go too slow and have the rope pull on Garret. So, I watched it snaking out and tried to keep in step with it, sort of mesmerized by the steady pace that it moved away from me, like a kitten chasing a piece of cotton that is being pulled slowly across a white carpet. I could see and hear Garret’s foot falls, so I tried to keep in step, not as easy as it sounds. Walking in crampons requires a wider gate than a normal step because you really do not want to step on your own foot or kick yourself in the calf – not good. However, the wider gate and open fly certainly eased my mind about my underwear issues!
As we climbed onto the glacier we could see the little yellow dots that were the tents in the snow at the high camp. As we approached the camp, it looked like a ‘real’ mountaineering scene, four small, two-man tents cut into a snow ledge on the glacier. I thought that they would get larger as we walked towards them, but they did not; they were really small tents! On arrival we slipped the ropes from our carbineers and sat down on our packs to take in the view. “Have a drink of water, put some sun screen on and get something to eat” – yes boss, we know. “Take your crampons off before you go near or in the tents” – that makes sense!
It was 2 pm and we had made it up another 1,200 feet and I felt good! My legs were tired, but I did not have any issues with breathing at that altitude but then, we were only at 11,200 feet and I had been hiking at this altitude less than two weeks ago. We unpacked our gear in our tents, and set up our sleeping pads and sleeping bags. The tents were warm and lying on my sleeping bag I could easily have fallen asleep, but I really wanted to sit outside and just take in the view.
Looking out from High Camp
Sitting on the snow mound outside the door of the tent, I could look out over the white of the snow to the view out and below, so many peaks and valleys, green of the trees against the grey of the rock against the blue of the sky. From our perch we looked out over the impossibly pointy Little Tahoma Mountain. The local Indians referred to Rainier as Tahoma, but Captain George Vancouver named it on the maps that his expedition drew in 1792 after his friend Peter Rainier. Little Tahoma still stands proudly next to Big Tahoma, and we were merely guests on the flank of Big Tahoma.
As I watched, the clouds started to roll in, filling the spaces between the peaks first, then rolling gently over the hill tops and smothering them. There is now a moving, morphing, rolling and boiling floor of clouds below us; nature is magnificent and unstoppable. However, the change in the vista, while beautiful to watch, held the veiled threat of a change in the weather. At this moment conditions could not be more perfect for a push to the summit, sunny, calm, and warm, but I am reminded that only a few hours ago a guide with 500 summits told Garret that their summit climb that morning had been brutally cold and made miserable by brutal winds. How quickly things can change on a mountain.
This was another day that was to end early. Dinner at 4 pm, bed at 5 pm, and up at midnight for the final 3,500 feet to the summit. The dinner tent was erected over a circular well carved out of the snow; we sat around the edge on our snow seat, there was a snow table for pots and pans in the middle and an area with a small gas stove. We were all hungry and ready for dinner when the call went out. I grabbed my bowl and spoon and headed for the tent with Steve and Robert.
Bowl envy
On arrival that the tent we sat down and watched the food and eyed each other, we were all hungry and it was just before the food was served that I suffered from ‘bowl envy’ I can tell you that bowl envy is no fun. I followed the instructions on the gear list to the tee:
- Eating gear: Cup: 12-16oz. plastic insulated mug with snap-on lid (retains heat well and is spill-resistant in the tent). Spoon: Good quality tough plastic (lexan). You do not need a plastic knife and fork. Bowl: Deep plastic with 2-3 cup capacity.
So, I had a plastic bowl with a snap top lid that had a 2-3 cup capacity. However, not everybody had read the same memo as me, and as I looked around I saw bowls THAT WERE BIGGER THAN 3 cups, and not plastic. Yes, I had seen them at dinner and breakfast, but tonight we were in a tent, sitting on a snow seat with pasta cooking in a pot, all waiting, and bowl in hand, and I am suddenly worried that I am not going to get my fair share!! We will burn 15,000 calories, I am burning 2,000 calories just sitting here, and Ike has a tin mug that must be at least 4-5 cups in size.
I am not sure if it was the altitude, my highly domesticated survival instincts, or some requirement to fulfill my hierarchical needs as described by Maslow – but I know that my shoulders came forward and my eyes narrowed as I watched Matt scooping food into Ike’s, then Lester’s, then Brian’s, then Ryan’s, then John’s bowl. I put mine forward like Oliver Twist “Please sir, I WANT MORE”! As it was we all had more than enough pasta, but I was kind of proud of my internal display of hard edged, hunter gatherer with the killer instinct.
The evening ended with Garret giving an interesting but strangely vague description of tomorrow’s climb. Garret stood in front of us, tall and willowy, gesticulating in the general direction of the mountain…..”we will go up for a little way, then take a hard right to the cleaver, up the cleaver, then go over to the right and across a bit then back up to the summit”. Well that sounds simple; I can live with that! Little did we know at the time that this generalized description was a subtle ploy on the part of Garret, and the silence of the remainder of the guides, was actually to disguise the true severity of the climb that we had ahead of us in the early hours of the next day!
Walking out of the tent I looked up at our route. I could see the path go up from the camp, cut to the right and then appear again above the rocky outcrop that is known as Disappointment Cleaver. I was vaguely aware that this rock got its name because that was the point that many people gave up and turned back. Given that Garret had made hardly any mention of it, I must assume that there is a nice meandering and gently ascending path the other side of that very steep looking section of the climb. “Yes, that is it” I said smiling to myself and rubbing my pasta filled belly, regardless of my woefully inadequate bowl!
It was getting on towards 5 pm on Thursday, and once again I sat for a moment outside the tent looking down at the moving white carpet that now covered the view below us, only the rocky point of Little Tahoma stood out like a rock in a swirling current. The other disconcerting thing was the wind. While we were eating, the wind had gotten up and was rattling the doors and various flaps of the tents. We do not want wind for the ascent; we want a clear, still night and a beautiful sunrise.
While sitting there I was also contemplating and mulling over two concepts; one was a fact of mountaineering and the other was a fact of life. The fact of mountaineering was that, like diving, there is a ‘leave no trace’ policy. So now combine that with the fact of life and that is that after a boy has had a big dinner, at some stage going to be the need to ‘drop the kids off in the pool’, ‘load up the hopper’ or in more simple terms ‘defecate’.
The area for going ‘Number 1’ was a clearly marked hole in the snow, it had been in use for some time so the hole looked very deep and I peed into it with the joy that I have when I am slightly drunk and trying to aim at the hole in that strange disinfecting soap bar that they used to put in urinals in the good old days.
If you really want to know how inefficient the shape of modern urinals are, all you need to do is go in there and take a pee with your flip flops on or a pair of shorts. Suddenly you can feel the spray that is bouncing out of the urinal and over you. However, the worst part is when, in a crowded public urinal, you stop peeing, but the little sprinkles on your feet and shins do not. Eeuugh – that send s a shiver down my spine just thinking about it!
So how does the ‘leave no trace’ policy get applied to ‘Number two’? The blue bag! After the use of the bag had been described in terms that reminded me of the safety talk on an airplane before it takes off, I was not left in doubt about the ‘why,’ but I have to admit I was a little more unsure of the’ how’. At that moment I had another concern and that was ‘where’. Not ‘where’ to use the blue bag, because that was a clearly marked area away from the tent; it was ‘where’ are the bags? Apparently I was messing with my underwear in the toilets when the bags were handed out in the tunnel while we were changing at the Paradise car park. I was, therefore, without the ‘Where’ withal to complete the process in the way described.
Buddy, can you spare a blue bag?
On the way back to the tent, I decided to broach the subject with Steve and to identify how many bags he had and whether he was prepared to share some of his empty bags. Luckily Steve had more than one, and he was prepared to share, also confiding in me that he would rather walk all the way down the mountain with his knees pressed together than go through the ‘blue bag process’. Having stashed the bag, I sat there for a few minutes on my snowy seat outside the tent, shifting from side to side and pondering. My pondering led me to the conclusion that I did not need to take advantage of the bag at that time. I lifted myself to my feet and took one more look at the mountain before throwing off my ice boots and crawling into the tent. It was 5.30 pm.
The tent was warm and cozy. I fiddled with my things, still nervous about the summit climb in the morning. I found my food, stashed my water bottles in my gloves to stop the water from freezing on the snow floor of the tent and found my, as yet unused, pee bottle and positioned it where I could find it. Last I turned on and tested my head lamp. It would have been just my luck to find that the batteries were flat or something awful like that. But no – the light worked perfectly and I was suitably blinded for the next 10 minutes – why do I always look into the bulb when I turn it on to test it?!
I slid deep into my sleeping bag, rolled myself into the rescue position and…….could not sleep. The wind started to rattle the tent; we did not want wind, not for the summit climb. We did not want wind in the tent either, but like the wind outside, there was apparently no stopping it. Unfortunately when it comes to farting, I am still a 13 year old school boy and cannot help but laugh. Why is that bodily function so funny to me?? It must be a ‘British thing’.
As I lay there I am still worried about failure. We have made it up two climbs to get here and each one has been easier than I thought and I should be more confident after all ‘less fit people than me have made it to the summit’ and according to Garret, it is just “up there, a hard right and some zig zaggy stuff” – Right? Right! It is so hard to convince the mind that everything will be ok, so I lay there trying to sleep. At least I do not have to worry about my underwear as we were told that we should be wearing our Merino wool long underwear. The good thing about the climb tomorrow would be a lighter pack because we could leave all the extra stuff and sleeping bag, pad, etc. at the high camp. What time is it? Only 8.30 pm. I wonder if they will call us at midnight or 1 am.
Ok now it is 10.00 pm and I am cold, I put on another shirt and now I want to pee! Woohoo! Success with the bottle….now maybe I can sleep. “Ok guys, let’s get up; it is a beautiful night to make a summit climb”. But sir, I just got to sleep!
We emerged from our tents and headed to the dinner tent, oatmeal, bowl and powdered hot drink in hand, no bowl envy, just add the hot water! We are all ready to go, not much chatting over breakfast, as with each meal that we have had, there has always been a sense of people being 90% embroiled in their own thoughts and 10% engaged with their surroundings. We get another short briefing from Garret and a reminder about the blue bags. Up to that point I was fine. After that discussion, two sachets of oatmeal and a mug of hot chocolate, I knew that I was going to have to……..use the bag.
No point fussing about it? As I walk out there to the little space cut in the snow with the back rest I know that it is probably going to take me longer to write this up in my blog than it will to perform the act in the snow at 11,200 feet. If you have read anything that I have written in the past, you will know that this is just way to good of an opportunity for me to miss. If you are weak of stomach or you are eating ,I suggest that you skip forward two or three paragraphs.
So what are my blue bag options from a ‘position’ prospective?
- The ‘blind drop’ style. This is a dangerous maneuver and only to be tried by the very experienced hoverer with a degree in bomb deployment at altitude. Place the bag on the ground, opened as best you can, rest your back on the snow wall and hope that you score a direct hit on the open part of the bag. If you are unsuccessful in your targeting, there is going to be an issue at the bag closure stage.
- The ‘doggie’ style. Drop the deal on the snow and pick it up in the bag with your hand. This procedure only really works if you can guarantee the consistency of the deposit. It can bend, but it must not break! This procedure was also frowned upon because nobody wants poop on snow.
- The ‘blow up the bag’ style. This was the procedure that I opted for. Imagine that you are feeling sick on a plane and you open that sick bag, position it securely over your mouth, seal it with your hand so it is air tight and let it rip. Simple procedure, perfectly executed, air removed from the blue bag (note – squeeze the air out, don’t try and suck it out), tie it off, place it in the clear bag, tie that off and then hang it from your back pack. Don’t bother to stop and be amazed at how warm your internal body temperature is ….well, that is normal. Standing there using the bag to warm your cold hand is NOT NORMAL …..Don’t do it. Yes, there is some paper involved and that goes into the bag too, but I decided to spare you that part!
I was actually kind of proud of myself as I walked back to the tent and started putting my crampons on. I could tell that Steve was impressed that I got that job done, even though he said nothing….but I know! Crampons on, harness on, gloves, helmet, headlight on and we are set to go. I actually feel good and feel ready.
Setting out for the summit
We all gravitated back to the guide that we had roped up with on the previous day’s climb and that meant that I was hooked in behind Garret, Steve was hooked in behind me, and we were going to be the first to leave and the first to summit! Just what Steve has asked me not to do! Garret started off at that slow climbing pace, the rope in front of me snaked out of the circle of white light on the snow from my headlight and right before it tightened up I started to step.
We had already learned that how you step is important; the rest step. Step forward with your right foot and plant it hard in the snow to dig the crampons in, rock momentarily back onto your straight left leg and you’re your leg bones and skeleton take the weight, and then roll forward pushing the left leg into the next step and stamp it into the snow ahead of the right one. Rest step, rest step, rest step….repeat, repeat, repeat. However, staying in step is not as easy as it sounds, and I take my stepping rate by listening to Garret’s foot falls.
You need to add pressure breathing to this routine. Pressure breathing is a deep breath that is forcefully blown out of the lungs with a ‘PUHAA” sound. The goal is to blow the old air out of your lungs and let new oxygenated air into your lungs. Shallow breathing allows co2 to build up in your lungs; a buildup of carbon dioxide in the lungs (not a lack of oxygen) is what triggers the breathing response in the body. So, if you allow the co2 to build up, you start breathing faster and faster (and shallower and shallower) until, if unchecked, you will hyperventilate. At higher altitudes the air is ‘thinner’ (lower air pressure) so the % of oxygen per breath is slightly reduced, this in conjunction with the buildup of co2 causes you to get out of breath more rapidly and the pressure breathing helps to maximize the O2 while minimizing the co2. This is very similar to the principles in diving that require you to always ‘breathe slowly and deeply’ while underwater.
The altitude has been a concern to me from the very outset and the reason for me going to Leadville, CO for a weekend of hiking prior to this trip (See the ‘training for Mt Rainier’ tab at www.blackdogdivers .net). Altitude sickness can cause dizziness, loss of appetite, nausea – common symptoms of almost any ailment. I am pretty sure that I had suffered from all of them before reaching the summit, but it was more to do with exertion than altitude.
True to Garret’s word, we went up and made a hard right turn; I just watched the rope drift off to the right out of the range of my circle of light. The climbing was easy, just like Garret’s vague description the night before; maybe this was not going to be so bad. J Right about then the shoulder Shaman of Shame popped up out of nowhere and giggled in my ear…oh yes, Disappointment Cleaver was ahead!
The path got narrower and narrower and the slope literally slid away next to each foot fall….oh crampons, don’t fail me now. At the path narrowed a wall of ice and rock rose on our left side making it feel like we are slowly being tipped off the side of the glacier. Finally we had to snap into the safety line that was fixed on the side of the snow face. Suddenly there was a big rock sticking out into the path, black, cold and daunting. The path was under it and we had to swing, precariously around it to connect with the path the other side. Well that was a little scary in the dark!
I walked another 20 steps and then, almost without warning, the rope veered to the left and was suddenly moving directly upwards, like an Indian rope trick. It was actually ascending to the heavens. I watched in awe at this magic trick, and right before it went tight I stepped and looked up – bad mistake. Garret was almost directly overhead. The shaman burst into hysterical laughter and fell off my shoulder. For the next 40 minutes we walked directly up at a 50+ degree incline. I did not think that you could walk up a slope like that, but crampons are amazing things!
Foot over foot, foot after foot…upwards. I have never climbed anything that steep; rest step, pressure breath and all the time the sure footed and rhythmical plod, plod of Garret’s foot falls. I cannot see him, but I can see him in my mind, tall thin frame, shoulders hunched over, yellow ice boots, slowly, steadily and inexorably moving upwards. I really cannot adequately describe to you that part of the climb; it seemed to go on forever without a break, but then a turn to the right and maybe a rest. But no, we plodded on upwards.
The few times that I actually stopped to look around, I could see a wagon train of climbers way below starting their summit attempt. They had started at the Muir Camp, and it was then that I was really happy that Steve chose the 3 day climb and that we got the day to rest at High Camp. I can see why and how Disappointment Cleaver got its name. I think that we climbed for an hour and a half; I could not really tell you because for me it was just about taking steps, but then suddenly Garret’s yellow boots were in the white circle in front of my feet and I knew that we were taking a break!
“Get your fleece coats on, gloves, and stay warm; get a drink and something to eat”. Yes Boss. Steve sat down next to me – I don’t think that we said anything. The other guys caught up with us, and we looked out at the still dark world around us; we could tell that we were high up, and I was actually looking forward to the dawn to see out from our high perch. I could not eat - no appetite at all. I did drink a little water, but all too soon Garret was packing his bag and standing up.
So let me think back; this stage would be the ‘across to the right and then back towards the summit, some zig zaggy stuff and we will be there. That sounds easy enough after what we have been through. It turns out that it is generally more ‘up’ than originally described. However, at some point during this part of the climb, I hit my ‘second wind’. My rest stepping and pressure breathing was good, and I seemed to slip into the grind of the pace. The up’s were more manageable and, other than worrying about the fact that one boot was tighter than the other, and I am getting a blister on my right heel. However, I do not want to tighten the boot that is loose in case it gets worse, and I do not want to loosen the boot that is tight in case I get a blister on my left foot. I am reminded that in the gear check we were told that some people recommend loose boots and some tight boots. I guess that I am just indecisive as always! I actually like the pain and the persistence of a climb once I lose the anxiety; at this point I knew that I was going to make it to the summit and that the shoulder Shaman of Shame was hopping along behind Steve trying to keep up!
By the time we made the next rest stop, the sun was coming up and we could see the grey turning to purple, turning to orange as the world completed its turn and the sun was approaching the eastern horizon. “Sit down, stay warm, eat something, find your sunglasses and put your sun screen on”. Yes, mum.
As we set out again an old friend that had been lurking in the dark was back – the little stick with the orange flag. Dang! I hate you little stick with orange flag. You are my nemesis, but still I follow you and the yellow ice boots. During the dark we had stepped over what looked like holes in the ice; with the light we found that we were actually stepping over narrow ice crevasses that looked like they were hundreds of feet deep. But we plodded onward following the sticks with the orange flags. We could look around, and the views were breathtaking. However, looking around for me came with the same risk that it does when I look around on the tread mill – I can step on my own foot. That is all well and good in a pair of trainers when you are 6 inches from the floor, but it is a different matter wearing crampons on a narrow ‘goat’ trail on a 45 degree slope.
It was now fully daylight and I was still feeling good, still following the snaking rope and the yellow boots. My world was composed of decisions like – should I use the duck step or do a sideways foot over foot step? Do I like the loose boot or the tight boot? At which point before I zig, but after Garret has zigged, should I step over the rope and change the hand that my ice axe is in? Why is there always a 45 degree line of white set against a blue back drop in my vision? But I was actually feeling good, I was calm, my breathing was good and I was just stepping. I had taken to looking up the zig zagging path and picking one specific orange flag. Once chosen, that was my target, and when I got there I chose another and I guess that I spent the last hour of the climb pretty mindlessly asking the same questions and picking a new orange flag. Orange flags were now my friends!
We made it – almost!
Almost without knowing it, we made a last zig, took 20 more steps, stepped over a jagged edge of rock and there before us was the crater of the volcano. We had made it! WTF – WE HAD MADE IT!!!. We trudged down the gentle slope of the crater to its center, the rope stopped snaking out and Garret told us to drop the rope and “sit down, get a drink, get something to eat and put more sunscreen on.” I dropped my pack and sat down on it; Steve dropped his pack and sat down on it; we looked at each other – I don’t think we said anything, but the looks on our faces in the pictures say it all.
Before we really had much chance to take in anything, Garret stood up again. One word and a phrase came into my head, they were ‘why’ and ‘I am not getting up’. “Ok guys; let’s go to the summit, the highest point of the mountain.” First, there is no need to back up the word summit with the line ‘the highest point of the mountain’; I know what the summit is. But why is the summit not here, under my tired ass right now. Steve and I looked around, and yes, there was a higher point than the one that we were sitting on. Dang!
We left our packs where they were and both Steve and I trudged towards the opposite side of the crater. We must have looked like two guys that had been walking for days in the desert without water but could now see an oasis, and we were stumbling purposefully in that direction.
The crater was still hot, and we walked off the snow into mud and steam for the last part of the climb in the crater. It was a reminder of how active these volcanoes still are. There were Alpine Ascents guides on Mount Rainier when Mount St. Helens erupted, and my first thought was ‘wow, what a great view’. Their first thoughts were ‘shit, we had better get off this mountain as fast as possible in case it blows too. Now I see why. Also – note to reader, crampons do not work well in mud!
When we FINALLY made it to the top, the view was truly magnificent and while there are pictures on the web site, they cannot do justice to the real view, like trying to take pictures of a rough ocean from a boat – you just cannot do it. Steve and I had the obligatory pictures taken at the summit, but if you zoom in, you will see that the smiles are more like grimaces. Steve managed to raise his ice axe above his head, and I took a picture of him looking all tribal and warrior-like, but the whole thing still looks a little odd because the ice axe is tethered to his crotch, and the harness makes it looks like he is giving himself a frontal wedgie… that would explain the facial expression! It was a little after 6 am, and we had been climbing for 6 hours.
Everybody else joined us on the summit and the mood was happy and celebratory, but it was actually pretty short lived as within 30 minutes of climbing into the summit, we were roping ourselves to the yellow boots again and getting ready to head down again. One quick group picture and we were off. The only advice was “keep your knees bent and your nose over your boot tips”. Yes sir.
The long way back down
Little did Steve and I know at the time, but we were attached to the world record downhill climbing champion. The trek back downhill from the summit to High Camp was a cross between high speed marching and slalom water skiing – water skiing because we were still attached to that rope, and it seemed to be tight most of the time! We jumped across crevasses and dug our crampons in desperately on the steep slopes. However, pretty soon we realized that the crampons work really well on the downhill slope. Steve did not like the rush downhill!
We passed other groups of climbers still trudging uphill, their faces reflecting what ours would have looked like at the same point; the vacant stare, the pleading ‘are we nearly there yet’ look. Given that we had reached the summit, we were now victorious mountaineers on the way down, ready to offer encouragement – ‘Not far now,” “keep going,” “the view is great from the summit”. Well, as I was saying those things - I think Steve was less of an ass than me.
The first notable stop was above Disappointment Cleaver. We stopped and sat on our packs. “Drink something, eat something, and put on more sun screen”. Yes Master, but guess what Mr. ‘I just got back from climbing Mount Everest’ Garret, WE KNOW THAT, because WE JUST MADE IT TO THE SUMMIT OF MT RAINIER! However, it was at that point that I saw what Garret was eating – it was newborn baby wolves – no, sorry, not really. He had bagels and cold cuts. For the first time at any point in my active climbing hours, I felt a pang of hunger. In future, THAT is what I am going to bring for climbing food. No more expensive power bars that I cannot eat or energy gel tabs that taste horrible. It is baby wolves for me……I mean BAGELS for me in the future. They are perfect; cannot be crushed, do not freeze and can be eaten fresh or stale!
At this point I do have to confess that the ‘original’ peace Buddha went mysteriously missing. Those who have seen my dive and hiking pictures will be familiar with the smiling peace Buddha that appears in my pictures. He did appear in pictures at the High Camp. I really wanted a picture of him at the top of the cleaver with the view out over the rugged mountains and valleys far below. I chose a moment when Garret was not watching to crawl out towards the rocks that marked the edge of the precipitous drop to the valley floor thousands of feet below. I edged out and placed the peace Buddha on a rocky perch in a windless moment. I turned to crawl back a few feet to take the picture, grabbed the camera and looked back, but he was GONE! I hope that he found peace on his flight.
I am not one for minimizing life or for throwing away friends, but after a moment of questioning, then a moment of realization, my next thought was – where am I going to find another head shop to get another pink Buddha on a key chain? So, when you next see the smiling happy Buddha in a picture only you will know that it is actually ‘son or brother of original smiling Buddha’.
As we left the summit, it got progressively warmer and we shed the fleece, the hard shell, the hats, the soft shell jackets and were pretty soon in our Merino wool undershirts. It was a stunning day – no wind, blue sky, views stretching for miles, and people on their way up the mountain. How good does it feel to be on the way down after a successful climb and to watch those others on the way up? I swear that I had already forgotten the grind and numbness of the upward climb.
I have to say that both Steve and I were nervous about climbing down the cleaver after the steepness of the climb up, and I think that I had convinced myself that it would not look as bad in the daylight – I was wrong, it was steep as hell. At the start of the really steep downward climb, Garret did the sensible thing of putting Steve first, then me in front of him on the rope. We may have been led to believe that this would allow him to arrest our descent if we started to fall, but I have seen the speed that he can undo a carabineer and slip the rope out “climbers, what climbers?” Make no mistake about it, we would need all the skills of ‘arresting a fall’ that Rick had taught us at the Muir Camp if Steve decided to take a header down the cleaver. I had time to practice slipping the rope from my carabineer twice before we set off, and I estimated that with a little slack rope and enough adrenaline, both Garret and I could be out of that rope before Steve made his second bounce. I would be shouting “Remember Steve, roll toward the pick end of the ice axe and spread your feet to arrest your…..oh, well.” ‘Dear Vicky, It is with deep personal sorrow that I have to tell you that…..etc.’ you get the picture!
Once past the cleaver, we made the hard right back across the glacier, followed by the hard left and down into the camp. We were miles ahead of the others, because we were attached to the mountain gazelle with the yellow boots. No, that is not Steve who was actually still in the front of the three man rope train.
The yellow tents were welcoming, and I was glad to get out of my harness and crampons. I dropped my pack and then dropped onto it and lay there, not talking, eyes closed, and that was the moment that it sunk in that we had done it. I don’t mind telling you that was an emotional moment for me; all the training, all the worry, all the pestering from the shoulder Shaman of Shame, the nagging self doubt. All of that was not for nothing, it was a huge part of the experience and without it, that there would be an empty feeling of ‘well, I did that, what is next?’ I did wipe a tear from the side of my eye as I lay there, but my secret was safe behind the Cat 4 glacier glasses that I was wearing.
Steve and I lay in the sun and relaxed; we waited for the others to come down and join us, but I still do not really remember much conversation. We rolled up our sleeping bags and stuffed them into their stuff sacks, bled the air out of the sleeping pads and loaded them into our backpacks with all the other miscellaneous stuff that we had left in the tents. Suddenly the packs were back to 40 lbs, but we did not really care at that point. It was about 9 am.
The 1,200 feet from the High Camp back down to Muir Camp was quick and we walked, led by Steve, into the Muir Camp. As I walked into camp I could remember the faces and the postures of the people returning to the camp the first morning that we were there; the ‘early returners’, shoulders down, long faces, those that did not make the summit. Then, a little later the victors, shoulders up, smiling, blue bags swinging from their packs with gay abandon. As I approached the camp, I straightened my shoulders, looked up and smiled to myself; I even wiggled a little to get the blue bag swinging. Actually the wiggle was because of my underwear again. It was way too hot for long Merino wool underpants, but I had no desire to root about in my bag and try and find those Fruit of the Looms that were probably now actually physically stuck to the bottom of the pack. So, I was back to opening my fly to give some ventilation and walking with a wider gait to allow more air flow and less…’sticking.’
At the Muir Camp we collected our trekking poles and put away our harnesses, crampons, and ice axes to get ready for the final 4,000 foot descent to the Paradise Car Park and the waiting van that would take us back to Seattle. We only needed the harness, crampons, etc .when we were actually on the glacier and on the steep climbs. It was about 12 when we left that camp for the slushy, slippery, slidey hike to the car park.
This was actually the hardest part of the hike down! The footing was unsure; it was hot and we basically had to march. I know for a fact that Steve hated it, and it seemed to go on forever. On the way up we saw nothing of the climb; on the way down we had fabulous views of Rainier, Hood, Adams and St. Helens but could see the way down, and it was long and hard to believe that we made it all the way up there. It was a Friday, and we passed what seemed like hundreds of people going up. There were the organized groups marching in a line in step like we had been and then a wild assortment of young and old people, with backpacks, skis, and snowboards. As we progressed down the hill, we met more people but the most fun were the few glissades. These were shoots in the snow that you sat in and then pushed off like kids on a playground slide, but you could slide several hundred feet down the mountain on each one. We were all kids again, sliding and laughing.
The closer that we got to the bottom, the more inappropriate the clothing of the people became. The Asian tourists in jeans and sneakers, girls in sandals carrying purses, entire families with kids and only one water bottle between them. This was clearly an indication that we were close to the bottom and the car park and just when we had given up hope of ever actually making it to the bottom, there was the car park. Finally! It was 3 pm and we had descended over 10,000 feet from 6 am this morning and that was after climbing up 3,200 feet between 1 am and 6 am.
Back in Paradise Car Park
We were ready to find the van and recover normal shoes and a change of clothes. There were really two things of importance to me as I walked back into the tunnel and the changing area where the whole trip had started three days before: the desire to wash my armpits and to get into a fresh pair of underpants!! With that done – life was good!
We loaded everything into the van and took off for Ashford and a burger and beer. The group was still surprisingly quiet, but this time it was because we were exhausted and deep in thoughts of victory. As we wound our way back down through the stunning vista of pine forest and wild streams, black snow edging back away from the road and the lush green ferns that took over, I did stop to wonder how I would be feeling if I had not made it to the summit.
Suddenly there was a thump on the window, and in a last ditch bid to influence me, the shoulder Shaman of Shame had swung from a pine tree and thrown himself at the window of the van. I watched as he slid down the glass with his arms outstretched, face, nose and cheek pushed up, mouth open against the window; he mouthed something like ‘I will be back,’ but at that moment the suction between his face and the glass was lost and he was gone. I looked back, but like the happy Buddha, he was nowhere to be seen.
And that seems like a good place to leave our happy but tired group of people, all looking out the van window at a stunning view of Mount Rainier and thinking to ourselves “WE DID IT, WE CLIMBED THAT MOUNTAIN” and right before we got to the point where the road was closed because a log truck had rolled on a bridge on a bend in the road and shed its load of logs, taking out the power pole at the same time. Did I not tell the guys on the way up that those log trucks were dangerous!!
