We shouldered light packs and climbed up through lush meadows overloaded with a dizzying display of wild flowers and cut through with sparkling streams; seven neophyte climbers and two guides to play in the snow 1000 feet and two miles above Paradise Inn.
The mountain itself, Tahoma or "The Big One" stayed beside us all the way up, never getting any smaller even as we climbed. August 2nd was learning to walk and to breathe in a new environment. We also fell, rolled, kicked, and slid down the steep snowy slopes. Shouting, "falling" we collapsed on the snow learning to arrest with an ice ax and hold onto our new friends. We went out on the rope, at intervals of 30 feet so that if one of us fell into a crevasse, the others would have time to self-arrest before the rope became taut and pulled us in as well. Nice touch I thought! Off the snow, on rocky climbs, we would "rope up" with intervals of only a few feet so that the rope wouldn't get snagged on the rocks.
Mostly it was taking in the bright sunshine, the incredible blue sky and watching the Mountain with its cap of cotton candy swirling around it's top. The Tatoosh range stood jagged and tall to the south with its spiky tops and an endless line of clouds marched across the blue sky. My blistered toes didn't get any worse, my ankle got better and the Lasagna at Ashford tasted like caviar.
For bedtime reading I started on Jim Whittaker's Memoirs. Totally uneducated, I didn't know that I had the wrong Whittaker for being on a Rainier Mountain Inc. trip. RMI is the premier guide service on Mt. Rainier and one of the tops in North America. It was founded and is still run by Lou Whittaker a tall, tanned, and incredibly fit 72 year old dedicated to the outdoors in general and mountains in particular. Lou made the first American ascent of the North Col on Everest and has climbed K2 and Kangchenjunga as well. He has been climbing since he was 10 and isn't stopping yet.
Lou's brother, Jim, was the first American to summit Everest (in 1963) and I had the good luck to meet Sherpa Nawang Gombu, who summitted with him (hand in hand). Gombu comes to Rainier with RMI most summers. Gombu was born in 1936 at 12,000. He was sent to a monastery in Tibet, on a mountainside facing Everest, when he was 13 (their version of "being sent away to military school"?) and ran away a year later, walking across an 18,000 pass to get home. His first expedition was with his Uncle, Tenzing Norgay on Hilary's climb in 1953. When Gombu arrives at the top of Mt Rainier, his resting heart rate is only 38 beats per minute. They say that when he breathes in, there is vacuum for several feet around him. Gombu is five feet tall and has a smile a mile wide.
August 3rd. Sixty pound packs, and a trail that starts up at 9 or 10 degrees right from the start at the Paradise Parking lot. The first mile or so of trails are paved, but that doesn't make them any easier! Judy wondered if this was where they "paved Paradise and put in a parking lot"?
Mountaineering is a solitary sport. Even in a group, slow, measured; step, breathe, rest, step, breathe, rest step. In a line, across the snow, there is only one set of footprints winding up the mountain. The tracks getting deeper and deeper as the line moves upwards. No strolling, side-by-side, chatting or laughing; silence, the crunch of snow, listening to the sounds of the Mountain. Today the landscape is gray and silent. Bright unexpected openings in the cloud we are in allowing a glimpse of the Mountaintop; look up too slowly and it would be gone.
Four rest stops on the way to 8600 feet on Paradise Glacier. Drop the pack, throw on a down parka to conserve heat, grab water and food, and get ready to move on. We learned to always conserve energy. Don't stand when you can sit, don't sit when you can lie down. The mountains continually rob us of heat and energy.
We crossed the Muir Snowfields in a gray cloud. Fixed on the boots in front of me, I glanced to the side and saw, for an instant, another line of black, red, and yellow figures moving along beside us. They appeared and disappeared as the clouds swept in and out.
At our first camp on Paradise Glacier, our guides, JJ, Rob and Adam demonstrated "setting up tents in the wind". Divided into three groups we set about duplicating their flawless show, very quickly learning "one hand on the tent at all times". Soon there were three tents blowing crazily in the wind and a fourth looking on disdainfully.
Steve and Anders, father and son team from Chicago with friend Bobby were in one tent, Tim and Molly, San Francisco and UCLA, respectively in the second and Ward, New York by way of Atlanta, and I were in the third. By age we were:
| Over 50 | 1 |
| 40 - 50 | 1 |
| 30-40 | 2 |
| 20-30 | 4 |
| 15 | 2 |
The wonderful thing about camping on the snow is that one can build things. After we made tent platforms we soon had a kitchen with shelves and countertops, a storage cupboard and a toilet. RMI is a first class operation and soon we had "gourmet" boiling water for hot drinks, water for drinking and washing and our dinner. It is amazing what can be done with powder! Only three things are needed for all meals, a bowl, a spoon and a cup. The dinning room, standing room only, was certainly large enough for our party to all eat at once.
After dinner we learned anchoring techniques for crevasse rescue or rappelling. While there are a number of anchors, they all have to comply with ERNEST: Equal, Redundant, No Extension, Safety and Timely. I particularly thought the last one was good if I was to be 30 feet down in a crevasse. Together ERNEST insured a safe and speedy rescue.
August 4th. The day ended with a measure of serenity all the more surprising for the fierceness with which it had begun. Before dawn the wind howled down the glacier making the tent pitch and roll like a ship. Fastened to the ice with four light lines and four ski poles jammed in the snow it held, but for most of the night, as I listened to the wind howl and the tent flap, I didn't think it would.
Dawn brought quiet and some sun. Starting up the Muir Snowfields to Camp Muir at 10,000 feet, it was clear to the top of the Mountain. Standing at Camp Muir, the view made the toil of the last 90 minutes worthwhile. A layer of clouds below us made it look like we were floating on a sea of meringue. Looking south we could see Mt Adams and Mt St Helens as they must have looked when the ice covered all of this land 10,000 years ago. We left Camp Muir on ropes. We were traveling on glaciers until we got back to here and that meant "glacier gear". Ropes, crampons, ice ax, very dark glasses, gloves, and snow pants. We were spaced 40 feet apart and slowly made our way across the Cowlitz Glacier, riddled with crevasses, glistening in the sun, totally above the clouds. Forty-five minutes out we climbed up a rocky ridge, - step, breathe, rest, step, breathe, rest. Finally in a steady rhythm, forcing oxygen to my legs with each pressure breath. Up and up, looking down at the path, while hoping the top was near, up to the knife-edge top of the ridge.
Below us was Ingraham Glacier to the front and left, a jumble of ice at the top, 1000 feet up. Ahead, set against a deep blue sky, Little Tahoma, stark, majestic, rising out of the cloud layer, totally clear in the front, totally obscured by clouds behind.
Little Tahoma was once the outer slope of Rainier. It became a separate peak when Mt Rainier "blew" about 15,000 years ago and became a 14,410 peak instead of one over 17,000 feet. Today it serves as a reminder of the power contained in the mountain we are standing on.
We traveled down the side of the ridge onto the glacier and up about 30 minutes to Ingraham Flats, a broad flat section of the glacier, bounded on the southwest by Cathedral Gap and on the northeast by a long crevasse running from the bottom of Disappointment Cleaver from the north and along the side of Little Tahoma to the south.
I spent only 10 minutes with Lou Whittaker the day after the seminar finished, but that was enough to realize that he not only had a deep love of the mountains but a strong caring attitude towards guiding, his guides, and his clients. I am sure our three guides were typical of all of RMI's guides. They were not only experts on the mountain, but strong leaders as well. Teaching and guiding reasonable strong but generally inexperienced people took a combination of sympathy and toughness. For the most part, it is unsafe to linger anywhere on a glacier. The safest way to climb is to keep moving steadily; to get across any areas where there is a danger of avalanches or ice falls as quickly as possible. This often meant that the guides have to keep their charges moving no matter how tired, sore or cranky they become. Sometimes it means turning back with one or two, or bundling them up in a sleeping bag anchored to the mountain, and picking them up on the way down.
At each rest stop on the day before I generally tried to get my camera out of my pack, get a few pictures and then pack up again, as well as drink eat and rest. Not a good idea when the rest stops are only 7 to 10 minutes. As a result, and as I left putting on gaiters and snow pants to the last stop (most of the rest of the group had them on from the beginning) I was last to get my pack on and last in line leaving the rest stops. I think that this, plus my being the only one in the "over 50 group", caused me to be ranked the slowest. So starting out from Camp Muir I was placed on the rope behind Rob with Tim behind me. The other ropes were: JJ leading Ward and Molly and Adam leading Steve, Anders, and Bobby. Anders and Bobby were probably the strongest. Fifteen-year-old legs and bodies and some serious conditioning for several months before will make short work of the mountains. Ward had hiked a good part of the Appalachian Trail and Molly was a discus thrower for Stanford. Tim was lean and fit, Steve as the next in line to be senior citizen on the trip, was also in good shape from hiking. As a group we seemed to be well able to spend the 5 days carrying 55-60 pound packs around the mountain.
As we approached the steep climb up the ridge before crossing over and on to the Ingraham, Tim had trouble getting enough oxygen and slowed down. Communication on the rope is managed by keeping a hand on the rope and recognizing when it goes tight or slack. Without turning around the leader can feel the speed of the line behind and can adjust accordingly. As Tim slowed down Rob told me to keep up, to not let us get too far behind the rest. At the foot of the rocky climb, we "roped up" reducing the interval between us to a few feet and started up. As the altitude got to Tim he stopped several times. Rob kept up a steady monologue urging, cajoling, gently threatening, but always trying to move forward. This can be an art form as I learned two days later on the way back down to Paradise Glacier. Never did he lose his temper or raise his voice, always keeping an encouraging and positive tone. The climb was difficult and the packs awkward because of the steepness, but suddenly we were on top of the ridge, and as Rob had promised, the view made the last 20 minutes worth it.
At Ingraham Flats, we made a platform for the tents, more neatly and stronger than the night before; and enjoyed the bright sunshine and spectacular views. After a rest we worked again on rescue techniques. Laying out lines we simulated all of the steps of a crevasse rescue, and, with the line dropping down into the kitchen, Rob did double duty as chef and victim at the same time!
August 5th. I was so exhausted at the end of this day that I couldn't think to write. So elated at the start. We were up at about 2 am and started up towards the Cleaver about 3. The rope teams were JJ, me and Ward (he was to spend the next several hours following my footsteps); Rob, Tim and Molly; and Adam, Steve, Anders, and Bobby. To the east we could see forever, city lights in the darkness - Yakima? - and drifting clouds moving about Little Tahoma. A full moon made the headlamps almost superfluous.
The trail from Ingraham Flats starts up to the left of the icefall and then crosses directly below it to the base of the Cleaver. We jumped across two or three small crevasses and then up a very steep and very narrow trail cut into the ice face; using our ice axes in the arrest position for balance. Then, across the snowy bottom of the Cleaver, up the rocky far side and then traversed up the broad snowy center. As we picked our way up the rocky slope, I looked back to see an endless line of small lights as parties of climbers came through the Flats and inched up behind us. After two hours of strenuous climbing, we reached the top of the Cleaver at just over 12,000 feet. Sitting on our packs for a quick drink and rest, the view was incredibly beautiful; the full moon, stars above and clouds swirling below. As we started up again, and looking up towards the top of the mountain, all I could see was white, stretching upwards to the sky. The slope was not as steep here as on the Cleaver and we traversed back and forth, silently in the early daylight. As we climbed I could steal quick glances up and out from the mountain. To our right was a gigantic serac, or large ice block, the size of an office building, perhaps 100 to 150 feet tall. It leaned out from the mountainside like a modern tower of Pisa. As we walked around it (at least 1000 yards away), I thought of the roaring sound I had heard in the middle of the night before. I thought it was a jet plane and I was surprised that it was the first I had heard in three days, and it seemed to be very slow in flying by. On the climb up, JJ asked me if I had heard the icefall during the night. It wasn't a jet plane! Just then, we heard another one, far down the glacier, lasting about 10 or 12 seconds. A loud and eerie sound in the twilight of dawn.
During one of the long traverses, I was so overwhelmed by the incredible vastness and beauty of the Mountain and the climb it self, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. The feeling was both breathtaking and fulfilling at the same time. At 13,000 feet, a spot called "High Break", we rested again. As we sat on our packs dawn broke to the east and each new moment seemed more special and more beautiful than the last.
As we made our way up the final stretch, the wind started up and the Mountaintop disappeared in a swirling cloud. After several more traverse turns and some steep sections, the rocks marking the old crater rim appeared out of the cloud and we were there. Almost running down the short slope into the crater we dropped our packs in exaltation, high fives for everyone, pictures and then on with the packs for the return trip. The conditions were worsening quickly and JJ wanted us off the top as soon as possible. He told us that he almost turned us around about 20 minutes out but thought that the weather would hold. It did for us, but several other groups did turn around.
As wonderful as the ascent was, the descent, was the opposite. Sore legs at the top of the Cleaver became jelly by the time we hit the rocky side towards the bottom. While I had not slowed down, I was in pain with each step down. I never did figure out why it was so difficult, since I had gone up and down slopes nearly as difficult (albeit, much shorter) and with a pack in training, but there it was. Picking our way through the rocks my crampons got caught in the rocks and I pitched forward at JJ's feet. Thanks to the helmet my pride was the only real injury. Soon, mercifully, we were using the ice axes for balance as we went down the steep narrow slope off the Cleaver. We moved across the bottom of the ice field quickly and, 7 hours after we started, collapsed back into our tents. I was too excited to sleep and watched the clouds dance across the valley to the east.
At 2 pm we broke camp, shouldered our full packs again and started down towards Camp Muir. Tired, I threw everything into my pack without thinking and ended up with a very unbalanced pack. That, combined with already sore "quads", it wasn't long before every step was agony. At Camp Muir we rested, but still had another 1500 feet down to Paradise Glacier before we could stop.
Starting down the Muir Snowfields, leaning backwards to balance my top-heavy pack, I could barely walk. Rob stayed back with me as the group got further and further ahead. I felt like my legs would collapse any minute; Rob, patiently, encouraged, cajoled, and demanded I keep going. I had never been in such pain from exercise. When the pain gets so bad, the mind doesn't know whether the body can move. The trick is to somehow ignore the pain, which, after a while became impossible.
Finally, after one stretch of rocks, (which was adding insult to injury as far as I was concerned), Rob told me to drop the pack. Gratefully, but somewhat ashamed, I did and walked the remaining 150 yards down to where everyone else was resting. Rob was going to carry both his pack and mine, which still amazes me now, but mine was so badly packed that it was nearly impossible. Adam came back up to the rescue, not only carrying my pack down, but also helping me to pack it properly later. We still had about 15 minutes of walking down to where we were to camp. I managed to get my pack back on and struggle on. The last 100 yards were almost impossible I was totally spent.
During this time, I forgot to breathe properly, didn't drink and didn't eat enough. Thirsty and famished, I drank a quart of water and a quart of Tang, (thanks, Ward, for bringing that), ate the biggest dinner of the trip, and barely managed to walk out to the glacier 100 yards away for some more rescue lessons.
I was too tired and sore to sleep and the wind howled all night. Out of the tent at 1 am, it was a spectacular night. Just being there seemed to refresh me as I watched the clouds racing around the mountainside below, a full moon above. At 5:30 am, the clouds had totally sealed the valleys below, only Mt Adams to the south and Little Tahoma to the north, massive and stark against the stars.
August 6th. Still starving, I ate twice as much breakfast as any other day and another quart of Tang. I kept stepping in place so my legs wouldn't stiffen up. We spent the morning at and in the glacier. Down 30 feet, it was blue-white, quiet, and peaceful. I was standing on a snow "floor" of the glacier, but through a hole could see that the crevasse continued down without a bottom in sight.
We practiced self-rescue, prussic harness, rescue, belay and knots until lunch. Lunch. For the first time in 4 days we actually sat around and ate. Everyone seemed famished. Food kept coming out of backpacks to be passed around. We would have to carry down whatever was left the next morning. More Tang and Gatorade. I thought that perhaps before we made it to the summit we were going on nervous energy and excitement. Now, that had all dissipated and our bodies finally said, "feed me".
The afternoon was spent ice climbing - being lowered down into the crevasse so we could climb back up. I watched. Anders and Bobby loved it and were down and back a number of times. Adam was an expert ice and rock climber and Anders and Bobby attached themselves to him as he showed them techniques on the ice wall of the crevasse as well as on the rocks back by the campsite. They spent the remaining afternoon and the evening on the rock wall with Adam.
August 7th. I slept most of the night but got up before 6. It was so beautiful. Our camp was pitched beside a rock ridge about 25 feet high and I sat on top of it and watched the most wonderful sunrise. A total cloud layer 1000 feet below and the peaks of the Tatoosh Range, a few miles to the south, rising above. The glacier in the saddle on Pinnacle Peak made it look like an Orcas jumping out of a foamy sea.
High up on the mountain, I could see tiny specs as lines of roped climbers made their last few 100 yards to the summit. They had had a spectacular climb; it was the first really good morning (at 14,000 feet!) in a week. The only sound was the wind. I counted 27 peaks above the clouds. Nothing else in view. The wind had dropped to less than 5 miles an hour and brushing the tops of the clouds it made them look like cotton candy.
We packed out tents and saw that the warmth of the day before had melted the snow under all four sides of the tents resulting in nearly a foot less floor space all around inside that night. We were sleeping on pedestals! No wonder Ward seemed to take up so much space.
We still had to climb down 3000 feet of mountain. My legs were still sore. I resorted to drugs. One Percocet, and I shouldered my now, well balanced, pack. Five minutes later, walking in JJ's footsteps I was pain free. I had fooled my mind and my legs did the job. I didn't want to think about how sore I would be that afternoon, I was just grateful for modern science. I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. We came to several short very steep slopes and got to practice sliding down on our seats; much easier than walking!
Paradise - finally after our forced march down the mountain we were back where we started five days before. The Inn and the parking lot looked the same. I knew that I wasn't. With time I would want to go back. Now, I wanted to shower - and dig into the pizza JJ had ordered before we left.
Our guides, Jeff Justman, Rob Lindner, and Adam Knoff were terrific. They knew the mountain and their job. More importantly, they respected the mountain and each other and were great teachers.
The entire group of 10 had a wonderful sense of humor and a dedication to making sure the seminar worked for everyone. Anders and Bobby will probably be back on Rainier more than once and will probably climb Denali before too long. The rest of us?