Mt. Rainier - July 26-27, 2011

In the pantheon of Cascade giants, Mt. Rainier is king. At 14, 411 feet, Rainier towers over the other Cascadian volcanoes. Only Mt. Shasta at 14, 179 feet comes close, but is an overall much less massive peak and contains a fraction of the ice. Rainier's 26 major glaciers cover 36 square miles, making it the most ice-bound mountain in the U.S. outside of Alaska.

I first climbed Rainier in August 2009 up the Disappointment Cleaver route as part of the inaugural Pentaquest, immediately following the deaths of both of my grandfathers - they bizarrely passed within a week of each other. Since the climb had been scheduled many months before, I saw no reason to postpone. The experience proved emotional, with my grief helping me get through the fatigue and pain. When I reached the summit, I broke down and wept for several minutes in a catharsis I hadn't been able to find since their deaths.

Now, with the passage of two years, I felt the need to climb the mountain again up a different route, unburdened by the sense of loss I felt in 2009. After conversations with my experienced climbing friend Geoff, I decided to try the Emmons Glacier route via Camp Schurman. After the Disappointment Cleaver, Emmons is the second most popular route on the mountain. So with that as the backdrop, I made preparations to climb with Geoff in late July.

The journey began at Geoff's in north Portland at 5:00 a.m. on Tuesday, July 26th. We loaded our gear into his truck and headed up I-5 toward Mt. Rainier National Park. Earlier in the week we decided to delay our departure by a day because of inclement weather. This proved wise - the front that passed through Washington and Oregon ended up producing thunderstorms throughout the region. Cloud cover persisted on Tuesday into our drive, but every indication was that it would burn off. We exited I-5 south of Chehalis and drove east on US 12 through the tiny communities dotting the Cowlitz River Valley. As we passed through Packwood, a small herd of elk grazed in a field outside a church.

After entering the national park and picking up our climbing permits at a ranger station, we parked the truck at the White River Campground. Before hitting the trail, we divided up the team gear between the two of us. I ended up with the bulk of a three-person tent, a gas canister and some food. And then we began a journey that would take us up and down 10,000 vertical feet in less than 36 hours.

The plan called for us to hike up to Camp Schurman on day one, summit on day two and, if necessary, return to the trailhead on day three. But if we felt up for it, returning on day two remained a possibility. The route to Camp Schurman begins with a well-established 3.1 mile trail to the Glacier Basin Campground. Severe storms several years ago destroyed large swaths of the path, but crews from the Washington Trails Association since then had chiseled out a new and improved route through the forest. The path initially wound along the forested edge of the White River at an impressively steady incline, offering glimpses of Rainier, Little Tahoma and glaciers up ahead. I wish the same treatment could be given to some of the hikes in the Columbia Gorge. Other than stepping over a healthy mound of black bear dookie, the opening act was uneventful. I think the "leave no trace" principle should apply to bruins, not just climbers.

After more than an hour, we started hitting sizable patches of snow and emerged from the woods at the end of the maintained trail. The meadow that awaited us I can only describe as bucolic. A marmot with blond fur munched on hillside foliage several hundred feet away in blissful ignorance of our presence. If a loftier goal didn't await us, I would have been content setting up a bivouac and halting the journey in this beautiful place. After plodding upward to the end of the rocky path, we reached the base of the Inter Glacier. With few exceptions, from this point forward we traveled on snow. Here's a video of the meadow:

Before climbing up the Inter Glacier, Geoff and I put on our snow gaiters, but refrained from roping together or using our crampons. With trekking poles in either hand, we found a decent boot path carved by previous climbers and gradually progressed upward. Each step added to the elevation and brought us closer to Camp Schurman. Our conversation meandered into politics for the first and only time on the climb. I think we solved healthcare, education and the debt ceiling crisis on the Inter Glacier - too bad neither one of us has standing to vote as a member of Congress. Here's a video from one of our rest breaks:

As the hours started to pass, we climbed higher and higher on the glacier. Looking back down the valley, the trail and meadow we had passed earlier in the day seemed a distant memory. Eventually we reached the top of a ridge and could see the full might of Rainier for the first time, including the massive Emmons Glacier. In terms of total area, it's the largest glacier on Rainier (although the Carbon Glacier contains more total ice volume). This shot shows our first glimpse of the Emmons:

Before proceeding on the final stretch to Camp Schurman, Geoff and I roped up because of the increased crevasse hazard on the upcoming route. We climbed up to the end of the Inter Glacier and then down for a few hundred feet along a patch of exposed dirt and rock before stepping on to the Emmons Glacier. The remaining bit before camp took us back up the mountain near a few open crevasses. This footage shows us traversing down the slope just before the Emmons:

Arriving at Camp Schurman around 5:00 p.m., we checked in with the ranger on duty and found a clear spot in the snow to set up camp. Perhaps 20 other climbers had already established their camp sites. At this point I was feeling pretty tired from climbing all day, and experiencing the effects of rapidly going from sea level to 9,460 feet. As if on cue, Geoff introduced a game-changing small bottle of red wine. After making short work of this magical red elixir, we both felt fortified with enough energy to pitch the tent and make dinner. Here's a clip of the camp area:

Within a half hour, the tent was up, guy wires fastened in place (to keep the tent from blowing off the mountain) and water boiling. We ate a delicious dinner of pasta infused with tuna and a packet of Tasty Bite Indian food. As we ate, we could hear chunks of ice calving off of a glacier in the distance, echoing for many miles. This alpine artillery would have been much more ominous if we weren't confident it was nowhere near our route. After drinking a second small bottle of wine, we both laid out our gear and went to sleep with the sun still out (NOTE: I had a flask of Jameson's with me, but the wine was such a big hit that we only had a small swig of the Irish whiskey). Here's footage from just outside the tent:

Around 11:30 p.m., we both woke up in total darkness and gathered ourselves for the early morning ascent. The only problem was that I felt like absolute crap. The altitude and a lack of water (at least that's my theory and no, it was not the wine) conspired to hit me with a wicked case of lethargy. I sat in my sleeping bag while Geoff heated up some water. Thankfully I started to feel better after choking down a bagel, drinking a hot cup of instant coffee and making a run to the port-a-potty. I hate to admit it, but I came alarmingly close to bonking out on the climb before even leaving camp.

Sometime after 1:00 a.m. we departed and made our bid for the summit. Armed with crampons, headlamps, ice axes and trekking poles, we inched our way up the Emmons Glacier. Since we were the first climbers out of camp, we had the route to ourselves. To mitigate against the crevasse danger, we were tethered to each other by about 40 feet of rope. If one of us fell in, the hope was that the other would provide an anchor to prevent the fallen from slipping further into the glacial abyss. With each step out of camp, I started feeling better. It didn't hurt that conditions were amazing. The snow was almost perfectly crusted to gain easy purchase with the crampons and the sky was covered by an impressive blanket of constellations - from one end of the horizon to the other. The glow of lights from Yakima and Ellensburg to the east and the Puget Sound area to the north (buried under a blanket of clouds) reminded us we were removed, but not too removed, from civilization.

We kept a steady upward pace for the first two hours, rising close to 1,500 feet. A dark, dark red crescent of a moon rose to our backs on the edge of the horizon. And we could see the lights of planes stacking up on approach to Sea-Tac airport. This was night climbing at its best. The route stayed fairly straight, but in a few spots we had to weave around open crevasses. For this late in the season, we were reaping the benefits of an above average snowpack. Often the Emmons route in late July is covered with many more crevasses, making route finding on the glacier even more difficult.

After several hours of climbing, the first hint of light appeared on the horizon. It started as a whisper and soon turned into a faint red line. The self-titled track from U2's "No Line On The Horizon" album starting playing in my head. By the time the day was born, I had experienced one of the best sunrises of my life. Geoff and I discussed the higher peaks in the distance and reached unanimous agreement on the identities of Mt. Stuart and Glacier Peak. Here's a clip soon after sunrise:

And another sunrise video:

And one more of us traversing around a crevasse with light reflecting off the glacier below:

As we rose higher, I started to feel the altitude and my own cardiovascular shortcomings. The wind - seemingly always blowing in the background - increased, spraying painful blasts of icy spindrift into our eyes. More than once I had to stop and turn my helmet into the slope during a particularly intense gust. In a moment of sloppiness, I idiotically dropped my trekking pole and watched it slide down the slope toward a crevasse. Miraculously it stopped about fifty feet from me and I was able to recover from the blunder. Geoff justifiably chided me for my sloppy climbing. I promised to redouble my efforts and do my best to play through the fatigue. Check out video of the moment I dropped the pole:

The route continued to juke and jive around crevasses, but the snow bridges we crossed seemed in good repair and I felt confident about proceeding despite my fatigue. Geoff patiently slowed down his pace to match mine. With the sun fully in the air, we eventually crossed over 13,000 feet, then 14,000 and the home stretch. We traversed to the top of the Emmons Glacier and reached exposed rock below the summit crater.

And then, around 9:15 a.m., we topped out on the crater rim, strolled past some prayer flags and walked up to the summit at Columbia Crest. Despite having stood on the summit once before, the feeling was still epic. Geoff and I touched the rock tied to the summit marker at the exact same moment. The entire state of Washington was all around us. I could see from Mt. Baker in the north to Mt. Adams in the south. And I'm sure I could have spotted Mt. Hood from the right vantage point. Here's video of our final steps toward the summit:

I took out my Portland Timbers Army scarf to show my Rose City pride in the midst of Seattle Sounders Country. I had to fight the wind to make it work, but Geoff humored my sports fanaticism by shooting a few pictures of my scarf and a video clip. After getting our fill of the summit, we walked a few hundred feet away to a more sheltered spot on the edge of the crater. Steam from within the volcanic bowels of the mountain heated the land around us as we refueled our tired bodies for the descent. Here's a clip of me being a dork:

And here's panoramic footage of the summit:

I could have spent all day on top of Rainier, but the cold wind and fatigue soon reminded me it was time to turn for home. If we felt up for it, we were hoping to go all the way back to the trailhead rather than spend a second night at Camp Shurman. With me in the lead and Geoff on rope 40 feet behind, we began our descent. We were soon back on the Emmons Glacier and navigating around crevasses. Buoyed with the success of reaching the summit, I was able to ignore much of the pain I was feeling. We quickly dropped 1,000 feet, then another thousand. Each step brought us closer to Camp Schurman and into a thicker atmosphere. Rainier is a far cry from the thin air of Mt. McKinley or the Himalayas, but dropping several thousand feet - at least to me - can bring a noticeable improvement to one's energy level. Here's a video of us passing by a crevasse and clipping into an anchor left by a previous group:

After more than another hour of slogging down the Emmons and around crevasses, Geoff and I mercifully walked back into high camp. The remaining descent into Schurman was uneventful other than it seemed to go on and on and on and on. Each time we passed a crevasse or reached another wand placed in the snow by a ranger, another one would appear. Before descending to the trailhead, we decided to take a quick nap. Literally within seconds (no joke), Geoff was snoring. I followed soon thereafter. We both took a power nap with our boots on, and our legs sticking out of the open flap of the tent and into the snow. If not for the snoring, someone passing by would probably have checked our pulses.

We then cleaned up the campsite, packed our bags and headed off for home. We stayed roped together as we traversed the last bit of the Emmons Glacier with the full height of Rainier behind us. Despite the fatigue and my desire for a hot meal, I was sad to leave. There's something comforting to me about the mountain. Growing up in Redmond, Washington, I've always looked on Rainier in wonder. At the edge of the Emmons, we crossed over a ridgeline back to the Inter Glacier and unclipped from the rope for the last time. We downclimbed a few hundred feet and started a series of glissades. Within a half hour, we had reached the base of the Inter Glacier. There's nothing like descending a route in less than a quarter of the time it took you to climb it! Here's footage of the first glissade with Geoff in the lead:

And another glissade clip, except this one is at 4x normal speed. Check out how long it lasts:

Beyond the glacier, we hiked down the unimproved trail and soon reached the bucolic meadow and the 3.1 mile Glacier Basin trail. My earlier sentimentality and enthusiasm were gone at this point. I hadn't consumed enough food or liquid over the course of the day, and I was starting to pay for it. And my feet hurt bad (please insert a four letter expletive followed by "ing" between hurt and bad). And my pack was killing my shoulders. I started falling behind Geoff and I told him to go ahead to the truck. Through shear force of will, I pushed onward. Never has 3.1 miles of hiking seemed longer or been more painful. But like all things, it passed. About a mile from the trailhead a hiker congratulated me on successfully reaching the summit. I was so tired that I merely grunted something indecipherable and kept going without breaking my stride. I'm sure that guy thinks I'm a jackass. Here's my last video of the trip:

Finally, I made it to the White River Campground. When I reached Geoff's truck, I took off my pack and sat on the tailgate to assess the damage to my feet. The ensuing scene was gruesome. The blisters on my heals were disgusting with a sizable chunk of skin rubbed raw. I borrowed a few bandages from Geoff's first aid kit and walked to the bathroom to change. By this time, my body had shut down - I could hardly walk. I deserve a medal not for summiting, but for successfully hobbling into the bathroom, changing and making it back to the truck. I'm serious.

With the post-climb unpleasantness behind us, we drove for home with the promise of an ice-cold fountain beverage and a hot meal in our future. Beer was not on the agenda, unless we wanted to experience napping on the shoulder of the freeway. Several promising establishments in Packwood and Randle closed minutes prior to our arrival. But not the Plaza Jalisco Mexican Restaurant in Morton, Washington. We enjoyed a spectacularly adequate meal and then went back to Portland. Sometime after 10:00 p.m. we rolled into Geoff's.

This climb provided a lot for me to reflect on. In some ways it was the most difficult I've ever done, and in other ways the most rewarding. I may revise this list in the weeks ahead, but after a week, these are my three key lessons learned from the trip.

1. Pay attention to your body and your gear - I let fatigue get the better of me at one point on the Emmons Glacier and almost lost one of my trekking poles. It doesn't matter how tired you get, you can't lose focus.
2. Train your ass off - I was in good shape before this climb. But I could have been better. I'm determined not to let this happen again. Every extra mile run around the track or hiked in the hills with a heavy pack makes a big difference on game day.
3. Listen to your feet - if your feet hurt, take a look and make sure everything is fine. Had I put bandages on my feet at high camp, I doubt they would have suffered as bad.

I typically learn something about myself on each climb and this one was no exception. I had to find something deep within me to walk the final three miles back to the truck. More than once I almost stopped. But I knew that wasn't an option. I'm going to remember how it felt to dig that deep and try to apply it to other parts of my life.

That's it. Sorry for the length of this posting, but Rainier demands no less. The final climb of Pentaquest 2011 - Mt. Baker - is coming up in a few days...