Check this out. Now that's a good looking couple!

It was snowing as we set out from the parking lot. Not a good sign. But that was precisely why I had spent a half hour a couple nights before dousing my shell jacket in re-waterproofing solution. At the same time we were taking our first couple steps, attempting to get used to the 45 pounds on our backs, the Mount Rainier Nat'l Park "tourists" weren't even bothering to get out of their cars. They drove on toward Seattle or Portland or somewhere warmer than here. Although we hadn't actually seen the mountain yet due to the cloud cover, our sights were set on the top.


Mark, Jess, and I knew we had a long way to go. Our car was behind us at 5,600 ft and we intended to sleep that night at 10,100 ft at Camp Muir . . . with the summit awaiting at 14,410 ft. A couple months later in the season our path from the parking lot would wind its way steeply through flower laden meadows. However we trudged upwards through a landscape of snow with a sprinkling of evergreens - a few hardy ones pointing sideways having survived an avalanche or two. Before too long the trees fell behind us and were replaced by a stiff and unrelenting wind. The wind, the cold, and particularly the lack of visibility made everything take longer. On a clear day it might take a fit person four hours to reach Camp Muir; though we were fit, it took us over seven hours. Fortunately the route had been marked with wands every twenty-five yards or so. We typically couldn't even see from wand to wand.

Above 9,000ft we started to see glimpses of the mountain above us. We were climbing out of the clouds. The light was soft because the sun was setting on the other side of the mountain, however the whole landscape was aglow. It was as though the snowfields around us were playing hot potato as every remaining ray of light was reflected again and again. During the final push up to Camp Muir we marveled at the breathtaking views around us, and we laughed at the insane amounts of snow and ice encrusted on our packs. I was tired. We were soon nuzzled into our down sleeping bags inside the stone walls of the public shelter. Which basically means we're safe from the wind, but we fall prey to a cacophony of snoring. Thank goodness for ear plugs.


Day 2 of our trek up Mt. Rainier was our rest day, and rest we did. After sleeping for twelve hours I stepped outside under a clear blue sky that rivaled any other I'd seen. The view to the south was breathtaking. Mt. Adams and Mt. Saint Helens stood out prominently from our surroundings. And nearer the horizon one could make out the pointy peak of Mt. Hood, clear in a different state. I couldn't tell you how much time I spent that day taking it all in. In addition we watched as the Park Service shuttled gear up and down the mountain via helicopter drops. This was the first clear day in weeks, so they were making the most of it. We melted snow for drinking water. We set a few items off to the side that we would not need for our summit push. And most importantly we gleaned as much information from other climbers as possible. We were pleased to hear that the route was wanded all the way to the summit, and that the crevasses were navigable.

We laid down for some rest at 7:30pm and had an alarm set for 11:30pm. Whether because of the snoring or my nerves I did not get a wink of sleep. Needless to say I didn't need the alarm, I woke Mark and Jess and we started to gear up for our alpine ascent. We had a couple minor issues with our gear, so we didn't leave Muir until around 1am. As odd as it may seem, climbers typically leave high camp in the middle of the night when everything is frozen solid. The morning sun has a way of loosening things up and leads to rock fall, ice fall, and weaker crevasse openings. Each of which has the potential to end your climb and your life. We were roped up with ice axes in hand as we traversed the Cowlitz Glacier toward Cathedral Gap. We walked over a couple cracks in the glacier that we knew later in the season would present climbers with a real obstacle.


The day before our summit climb we had taken a crevasse rescue class with Rainier Mountain Inc. Which means that with the rope that connected us, a few carabiners, and some cord we were capable of hauling one another out from a crevasse fall. We wore crampons on our feet for traction on the frozen snow. We wore double-plastic climbing boots for maximum protection from the cold, wet conditions of the moutain. We wore knee-high gaiters to keep snow out of our boots. Our outer shell layer of pants and jacket were waterproof and breathable and covered up a couple more layers that we used for warmth and moisture management. My head was kept warm with a hat and kept safe from falling objects with a climbing helmet. And when the sun rises there is nothing quite as important as sunglasses and sunscreen.

Being roped up means that the three of us had to walk at a near identical pace. I was first in line which meant that if I walked too fast I would feel the tug of Jess' weight on my harness. If I slowed for some reason and she didn't notice then not only could her crampons step on and slice our rope, but there would be too much slack in the rope thus negating the safety of being on a rope in the first place. I will tell you firsthand that getting three people to climb at the same pace over steep, icy (occasionally rocky) terrain for hours is quite a chore. But that is exactly what glacier travel demands of you.


We traveled by headlamp through Cathedral Gap up to Ingraham Flats and onto the Ingraham Glacier. At points we could look over a few yards and see great caverns of darkness where the depths of a great crevasse were plunging over 100 feet below the surface. My heart pounded a bit as we crossed a sizeable snow bridge over one such crevasse. We traversed the Ingraham Glacier and found ourselves at the base of the Disappointment Cleaver, the namesake for our route to the summit. We negotiated about 300 yards of fixed line on a section of the route where a fall would have been particularly dicey. We switchbacked over snow and rock and gained elevation quickly on the cleaver. For being the "easy" route up Mt. Rainer, I was amazed how exposed our route was. The angles below us were steep and the snow was hardened, which can make for a long fall if one does not self-arrest properly. Fortunately we never had to put our ice axes or rope team partners to the test.

It was incredibly windy as we climbed the cleaver. A cleaver, by definition, is a ridge of rock that juts up above two or more glaciers. Thus the jet stream of cold air at 12,000+ ft was unencumbered as it tried to knock us off the mountain. Mark coined the phrase, "pick-you-up-wind" in order to describe the intensity. There were numerous points where we would go down to one knee just to keep from being knocked over by a particularly nasty gust.

There was a nice flat spot at the top of the cleaver, around 12,350 ft, where we set down our packs for a break. Whenever we stopped for more than a minute we would quickly put on our down parkas that we had rented. Even with several inches of insulation all around me I would still find myself shivering. At this break we snacked and drank. Mark snapped some pictures. We had turned off our headlamps because the eastern sky was kicking out some light. We could now see the cloud layer at about 8,000 ft. Little Tahoma was stunning as it spiked its way into the air. At one point I stepped to the side to take a pee. While trying to stand there I remember being almost knocked over by the wind. I heard some hollering behind me. As I looked back I saw my pack flying past me, which moments ago had been laying heavily on the snow. Without thinking I dove forward fully extended and just grabbed a shoulder strap of my pack. The problem was that the same 1,000 ft cliff I was saving my pack from continued to get closer. I remember digging the toe points of my crampons down hard. I came to a stop about four feet from the edge. My water bottle sailed over the edge into oblivion.

I have replayed that moment in my mind many, many times and even get goosebumps doing so now.


Even before my incident, we had begun talking about whether it was a good idea or not to go on because of the wind. Our next stretch was riddled with crevasses and we weren't so much worried about falling into a crevasse as getting blown into one. The incident kind of sealed our fate. We headed down despite the fact that it was shaping up to be a beautiful morning. We knew we could be turned back due to getting clouded in, we hadn't factored in the possiblity of "pick-you-up-wind". The summit would still be there for us another day.

Once down at Camp Muir we came to realize that we did not have the supplies to give it another summit push. We slept there that night and headed down to Paradise on a lovely Thursday morning.

Though we did not attain the summit, we could each say undoubtedly that we had a blast on Mt. Rainier. We learned heaps. We gained confidence in glacial terrain. We took in breathtaking vistas. We enjoyed one another. We pushed our limits. And yes, we'll be back.

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Our summit climb was June 11-14, 2007. We used our extra day on June 15 to sea kayak inbetween San Juan Island and Vancouver Island. Many thanks go to Mark and Jessica Schmerse for their wonderful friendship, thirst for adventure, and incredible bravery.

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