Mt. Rainier Expedition

Elizabeth first approached me with the idea of a trip to summit Rainier back in March of this year.  Her father, Mark, was planning to lead a couple friends up and suggested she bring herself and a friend to join the group.  I'm thankful she decided I should be that friend.  She said, "Rainier should be on everyone's bucket list."  I agreed, but I was a little apprehensive considering I've never done the full-on, roped-up, ice axe and crampons mountaineering thing.  I was a little concerned I was getting into something that was over my head.  She continually told me that given my fitness level from running, I should have no problem climbing Rainier.

However, I then proceeded to tear up my hip flexor at the Horsetooth Half-Marathon at the end of April, and spent the next month cross-training while being unable to do much uphill work.  At the time, hiking, more than anything, really aggravated my hip, so through May and into June, I did next to no hiking or climbing.  I would have really liked to get more mountain work in, especially getting a couple of Colorado's 14ers under my belt, but that didn't happen.  I was going into it hoping my general fitness would be enough.  

Rainier is nothing if not impressive.  Just in its scope and prominence, it is a unique and formidable presence.  With a summit of 4,392m and a prominence of just over 4,000m, this stratovolcano stands alone as the most topographically prominent mountain in the contiguous United States.  While Colorado boasts over 50 peaks at or over 14,000 feet, none of them compare to Rainier.  It is simply a different kind of animal.  An awe-inspiring rise from sea-level that dominates the view on a clear day.  It seems as though it goes up forever.

As July 21 drew near, my excitement grew.  More than anything, I was looking forward to getting back up to the Pacific Northwest.  I've been once in my life; a two-week road trip with my buddies Brian and Chris that was my college graduation present from my parents six years ago.  On that trip, we left Seattle for a day on Rainier's northwest flank, hiking around Carbon Glacier.  It was nice and overcast that day, so we never did see the peak.  Therefore, I had no real idea what the damn thing looked like.  That would change.

Elizabeth and I hopped in the Bonneville and traveled north and stayed with her friends Erin and Rob in Helena, MT.  We got there around dinner time, so we grabbed a couple of pints and some burritos before heading to the Symphony Under the Stars at Carroll College.  The whole town comes out, sits on the grass, enjoys adult beverages, and watches and listens to the Helena Symphony Orchestra do their thing until about 10pm.  Then they unleashed some pretty impressive fireworks, which, since southeast Wyoming has been under a fire ban for most of the summer, were the first fireworks we've enjoyed this summer.

Symphony Under the Stars.  Helena, MT.

Erin bought us these awesome trucker hats!  Thanks!

The next day (Sunday), we drove from Helena to Rainier.  With Van Morrison blasting and Elizabeth hopped-up on energy drinks, we entered the park via the Stevens Canyon entrance and made our way to Cougar Rock campground to meet Elizabeth's family.  We set up camp, had some dinner (and pie!) and went to bed drained from two long days in the car.

Camp at Cougar Rock.

We spent the next day (Monday) bumming around a bit.  We slept in, went up to Paradise and checked out the visitor center, went down to Ashford to rent boots and crampons, had a burger and a Rainier Beer (yup!), and then hung out a little more.  It was a cool and overcast day, which had me a little concerned about maybe getting a view of the mountain.  The weather would cooperate in the coming days.

On Tuesday, Mark, Lisa, and I got up early (4am) to get up to Paradise for some "mountaineering school."  Mark spent the morning teaching me the basics.  The fun part was throwing myself down a slope and learning how to self-arrest, which is something I got a crash course in last summer in the Wind River Mountains.  It was nice to learn how to correctly do it with the proper equipment (instead of improvising on technique with a broken ski pole).

Mount Rainier.  

I love the clouds in the valley.

Tatoosh Range.

We slept in again Wednesday, wanting to squeeze in all the sleep we could since our plan was to begin the ascent to the top in the middle of the night.  We packed up and got to Paradise (5,400 ft.) around noon.  From there, we hiked the Muir Snowfield.  The sky was clear and the sun was bright; the reflective snow and the 40 pounds on my back made it a very toasty climb.  I arrived at Camp Muir (10,188 ft.) around five that evening.  We set up a tent, melted snow to fill our water bottles for the climb, ate dinner, and tried to get a couple of hours of sleep.  Given the warm temperatures that day, Mark decided we should get going as early as possible.  Therefore, Elizabeth and I rolled out of the tent at 10:30pm to get ready to go.

Our route.

Elizabeth is excited to go!

Elizabeth and Mark getting ready in the Paradise parking lot.

Working up to Pebble Creek.  What a mountain!

Crevasses.

Tatoosh Range behind me.

Not that steep, eh?

A lot of folks on the Muir Snowfield.

Camp Muir.

View from our tent at Camp Muir.  Mt. Adams on on the far horizon.

We met up with Mark's friend Carl, who hiked up to Muir after work to meet us for the climb.  At midnight (Thursday), now with our fourth member, we roped up and began to trek around the Beehive, working our way up and over Cathedral Rocks.  From there, we trekked across Ingraham Glacier toward Disappointment Cleaver.  About an hour in, around 1am, we encountered a crevasse in the trail.  It was five or six feet wide, so Mark simply jumped over it.  Elizabeth, next in line on the rope, tried to do the same, but ended up not quite making it.  She got stuck straddling the hole, unable to push forward or back.  She called up to her dad, "Hey, I tried to jump it and I'm stuck."  Mark swung around and yelled, "You did WHAT?!"  He grabbed the slack out of the rope and yanked Elizabeth out of her stuck position.

I was third in line on the rope, and when I walked up and looked at the crevasse, I cursed to myself.  "No.  Fucking.  Way."  I tilted my headlamp downward in an attempt to gauge the depth of the hole.  That was futile; who knows how deep that thing was.  I shook my head, took a couple of fast, deep breaths, and counted, "three, two, one!" and jumped.  I barely made it, landing on my right knee on the other side.  I jumped with my axe out in an attempt to gain some purchase on the other side.  Thankfully, I made it.  Carl followed me and simply jumped.  I swear, the man was whistling while he did it.  No big deal.

After the crevasse was the worst part of the climb: Disappointment Cleaver.  I would spend the next two-and-a-half hours on edge, outside my comfort zone, again cursing to myself about being stupid and agreeing to this trip.  Normally, the Cleaver is an igneous rock ridge protruding between Ingraham and Emmons glaciers.  In normal snow years, the Cleaver is something one can simply (or as simply as possible) go up and over and be done with.  However, this past winter, Rainier received around 200 more inches of snow than normal.  This meant that even at the end of July, the Cleaver had snow on it.  This caused a route change that sucked.  Period.

We spent two hours switch-backing on the Cleaver.  We avoided the sections of snow, but had to negotiate crumbly, dusty volcanic rock with crampons.  The rope also continually got caught on rocks, making proper belaying almost impossible on this section.  We stopped for a short rest about half-way up the Cleaver, around 12,000 feet.  Things got pretty crappy from there.

Elizabeth has summited Rainier twice, and both times she had altitude sickness.  It's something that has always affected her.  She was excited this year because having lived at altitude for a year (Laramie is 7200 feet), and having been up in the 11-12,000 foot range with little to no issue on hikes this summer, she was hoping that perhaps she would not have much problem on Rainier this time.  However, the exact opposite began to happen.  When we stopped on the Cleaver, she started to get very sick.  She threw-up quite a bit.  It was very cold, windy, and dark, and she was not having a good time.  Shaking, she got back up and we continued, but her sickness was just beginning.

About an hour later, we finally got off the Cleaver.  I turned around and gave it a middle finger goodbye and looked forward to the next task: a very steep, switch-backing traverse up the snow to the crater on top.  We slogged on for what felt like a small forever, taking a few steps, stopping, taking a few more steps, stopping.  Every once in awhile, I could hear poor Elizabeth get sick.  I felt bad for her.  What a shitty feeling, especially on the side of a mountain.

I started to fall apart myself.  I was getting more and more tired with every switchback, my ankles screaming at me through the plastic boots, unhappy with being asked to work at such an angle for so long.  I was entering a pissed-off-inside-my-own-head phase that I'm very familiar with.  It happens on long runs or during races when I'm tired and just want it to be over.  I got intimately familiar with it during our Wind River crossing last summer.  I don't like that place, but it's unavoidable.  All you can do is try to ignore it and keep pushing on.  All things end, one way or another, so don't worry.  It'll come.

The sun began to rise around 5am, and the view of it from 13,000 feet on the side of Rainier is something else.  I've never seen a sunrise like that before.  It almost felt like we were in orbit around the earth, with the blue outline below us, the cold dark of space around us.  It was simply breathtaking.  I had to stop and just look for a second.  That image and feeling are ingrained in my mind.

A couple of hours later, Elizabeth had enough.  We stopped for a rest about 600 feet from the summit at around 7am.  I was whooped, but I knew that I could will myself to the top.  My concern was coming down.  Given my fatigue, the sun warming the snow, and the steepness of the grade, I was worried about slipping and falling on the way down.  Another hour or so to the top, some pictures and a rest was going to put us in a potentially bad situation.  However, I wouldn't have to worry about it because Elizabeth made our decision for us.  After hours of being sick, unable to keep down any water or calories, she was exhausted and miserable.  I looked at her and asked if she needed to head down and she said, "No, we have to get you to the top."  I told her that was the least of our concerns.  If she felt as bad as she looked then we needed to head down.  Mark asked her how she was.  "Dad, I'm so sick."  "Well, that's it, let's lose some altitude," Mark said and got us up to start down.  I don't regret it, in fact, I was relieved she made the call.  I was secretly wanting to turn around as well.  Taking care of people is the number one most important thing to do.  It was the absolute right call.  

View from 13,800ft.  Again, Mt. Adams in on the horizon.

Wow.

Little Tahoma is the point in the middle.

We started down, making decent progress until we were reacquainted with Disappointment Cleaver.  Same issues going down as going up, but at least this time it was light out and I could actually see what was going on topographically.  Another surprise was the glaciers, which we of course couldn't see in the dark.  Glaciers are amazing things, simultaneously gorgeous and foreboding.  The scope and size of their many crevasses strike awe and fear into you, and I gained a deep and humble respect for the mountain right there.  Do not ever underestimate it or assume you know it.  Arrogance is a very quick and easy way to end up injured or dead.   

Emmons Glacier from the top of Disappointment Cleaver.

Emmons Glacier.

Coming off the Cleaver, we were re-routed around a rock fall and the crevasse we had jumped over earlier that morning.  What was a five or six foot gap had opened to twice that in the matter of a few hours.  The rock fall also happened between us going up and coming down.  Mark gathered us together and told us to move as quickly as we could to get the hell off that section.  We did, moving quickly to get back to Ingraham flats and over Cathedral Rocks.  We encountered another rock fall there between Cathedral Rocks and Camp Muir.  That put things in perspective.  Another hour on top very well could have been a serious problem.

Coming off the Cleaver.  The crevasse in the middle is the one we jumped at 1am.  I took this photo around 10am.

Cathedral Rocks.

Disappointment Cleaver.  As Elizabeth put it, "The Cleaver can go to hell."

Lenticular clouds forming over Gibraltar Rock.

What took us seven hours to get up took us 4.5 hours to get down.  Back at Camp Muir, Elizabeth and I crawled into the tent for a quick nap before packing up and heading down the snowfield back to Paradise.  I used the trip down to practice my boot skiing, which, other than actually skiing, is the most efficient and quickest way down.  Once again, the weather was clear and beautiful, but also warm down off the flats.  The last couple of miles sucked, being that tired, hungry, thirsty, hot, and having feet that want nothing more than to be out of the plastic boots.  I made it back to the car around 4pm.  Taking my boots off was my first order of business.

We threw all our gear in the car and went back down to Cougar Rock.  From there, Elizabeth and I drove to Chehalis to spend two nights and a day at her mom's place.  The shower I took there that night was one of the greatest showers I've ever had.  I followed that with one of the tastiest beers I've ever had.

All told, we ascended over 8,000 feet (and descended over 8,000 feet) in somewhere around 14 miles round-trip.  That is the difference between this mountain and 14ers in Colorado.  This one is up.  Straight up.

It was an unbelievable trip.  I had an absolutely wonderful time on the mountain.  It was well worth four days in the car (~3100 miles!).  Elizabeth's family was fantastic, very generous and welcoming.  I really, truly appreciate that.  I am looking forward to doing it again.  Which leads me to the next adventure idea I'm planning for next summer: The Wonderland Trail.

93 miles.  23,000 feet of elevation change.  I think we break it up into three days.  Run ~50K each day, have a crew of two or three that meet us at pre-planned points within the park, set up camp, eat, sleep, and go again.  I think it would be incredible.