In The Shadow of Longs Peak
Mt. Rainier
04 July 1998 – 12 July 1998
So this is it – Rainier – the trip I have been longing for but at the same time running from.
I did not sleep well for most of last night. Questioning myself: Should I go; Should I not go; should I or should I not leave Kari on her own. This makes me wonder if I should have worked on having closer relationships with people she could call in case something goes wrong.
For me though, the bigger issue revolves around letting go of this very cushy life I have and opening my eyes to all that life could be.
But is it selfish of me to leave behind my daughter who is nearly 17 and quite able to fend for herself even if she does not realize that? But then, what of me and my desires? When would it be ok? I think there would always be a reason to not do this.
Woke up finally at about 5:20 and did all the final tasks… I have decided to go forward despite how I feel.
The day was warm and sunny but I tucked in my sweatshirt anyway. Lay with Kari some before leaving. Steve and Sandy arrived at 6:10. One final kiss and hug for my daughter and we are off to the airport, arriving safely, checking in, getting our boarding passes and met up with Sharon and Bryn. Where are Jim and Shelly? They will turn up for sure, and they do, having been slowed up while parking.
The plane takes off. It is quite something to see the quilting of the plains below. And then we are up in the clouds.
Breakfast is at 30,000 feet: French toast, fruit, juice, coffee. I think of the many doors still to open and places yet to see.
And still, in my heart, I know I need to draw…I see the land below in a picture-frame.
The remaining was written on 10 Jul 1998…and not the daily log as I had hoped.
We arrived in Seattle with our luggage intact. The first order of business is to get the rentals. Bryn, Sharon and I waited with the baggage. Everyone is cheerful. It’s nice to be on vacation, far, far away from everyday issues, with a group of acquaintances bound by a common goal.
There are a couple of tasks to attend to: Getting fuel (since you cannot bring this on the airplane) at REIs main store with its climbing wall.
As we drive into town, I am overcome by the trees, the clouds, the water, everything green and muggy, though not with the heat and humidity of the East Coast.
Then we head down to the pier for lunch at The Crabpot – real fish and seafood. I settle on an order of fish ‘n’ chips which is very good and take in the view out over the bay.
We then headed to Rainier National Park. Our plans are to spend the night at ‘The Gateway Inn’ right outside the gate of Rainier National Park. The landscape reminds me of the East – trees and hills, open fields, fences and the overgrown grasses of summer. Ponds and Creeks abound. In no time at all we are at The Gateway, a group of cabins in the tall dark pines of the Northwest.
We start packing: Opening bags and spilling their contents; filling fuel bottles along with much discussion as to how much fuel we need; packing everything in the order it might be used: harnesses up toward the top, sleeping bags at the bottom; ice screws (provided by Shelly and Bryn) tucked away. Food, so much food! Fuel bottles on the side, pee bottle on the outside. Various things like sunscreen, advil, and tomorrow’s trail food in the front pocket of my bibs. Clothes for tomorrow are set out and everything else is packed in one big duffel bag.
Next, who sleeps where? Sharon and I share a bed. Jim is on the floor. Then we are off to supper at the attached restaurant - slow service but reasonably good food.
We are up early but not as early as our training climbs. All the time I am fretful and worried and frightened: For me, this is the unknown, a stretch…a big stretch…can I do this? Do I even want to do this? Part of me does and has always wanted to…the dark part warns of an unknown future. Will I survive? Will I see my daughter again?
Reading an account of the 1996 Everest Tragedy, I recall a quote about mountaineering: ‘Wherever you go, there you are…’. This seems incredibly true of me on this climb: scared, unsure, dependent.
People queue up for a quick morning shower; things get packed, room is checked and we are off. The entrance to Rainier is just beyond the inn (thus the name ‘Gateway Inn’). We drive thru the entrance station (there is no one there) and drive the winding road of Rainier National Park. The trees here are tall, taller than any I have ever seen, and the forest is deep and dark. We drive over bridges that span deep gorges, crossing creeks with the names of glaciers, with beds of rock where the water is a mere cleft in the center. Up and up we go, until finally we are at Paradise and the trailhead.
All the time driving up, the mountain top is in view….I feel that, yes, I can climb this and yes I have no clue as to what I am getting myself into.
At the trailhead, first things first: The first thing is breakfast which is quite good, a bit fancy, a bit pricy, with undersized muffins - a bit like having breakfast at Chautauqua. I am finding I do not want to leave the familiarity of civilization and sit savoring the taste of my coffee.
But leave we do. We sign in at the Climbing Ranger’s office and pay our fee. We put on boots - double plastics -and bibs. Everything is in the pack and we are off, climbing upwards over the paved paths of Paradise. There are patches of snow as we head upward. I am fearful and cannot seem to let go of my fears and at the same time I am elated that I am even attempting this.
Up and up we go, still on the trails. There is some discussion as to which way. We come to an overlook then drop down and cross a snow field where Bryn turns his ankle and we wonder if he can continue. Steve brings his pack across. Things are ominous but he is willing to press on.
We are now at the edge of the Nisqually Glacier…the first glacier and the reason behind all our training. We follow the path of previous parties. It is mild to start out and is not ice as I expected but more like compacted snow, like a snowfield except for cracks and fissures.
Before we begin crossing, there is much discussion as to our route…is it that ‘Y’ we see…or is it the ‘V’...or is it the ribbon of snow. We move forward to the bottom of the ‘Y’/’V’/ribbon. The slope is not unreasonably steep, maybe like the trough on Longs Peak.
At first, these crevasses are nothing more than a crack in the snow and easy to step over. We are moving across and slightly uphill. The cracks separate, become larger and longer which Jim negotiates…up…back…over. They are eerie to look into and my fear of heights muzzles my brain, and, as on rock, I feel unsafe, unbalanced. But I have no choice but to continue on.
At a snow bridge, we step down and back up. And I try and quell the fear. If I can only do this, I think, what doors might open.
Someone with an injured ankle is heading down. Bryn is in pain due to his ankle injury but he presses on. I press on despite my fear and lack of confidence. Will I see my daughter again? Is this worth it?
Up we go. Crossing the glacier, we used harnesses, ropes, axes, and crampons. Now we travel without ropes. The snow is good here and we kick step easily, like ascending a stairwell. I am still the slowest. We are climbing up to the Wilson Glacier. I look up…the route is endless.
We reach the top of the ‘Y’, having taken the right hand leg. There is a bench where people stop and rest. We continue on. This part is more snowfield than glacier and no apparent crevasses. But the route is steep, very steep and continuously uphill. We continue on, resting at each bench. And at each bench, there is yet another steep pitch ahead. We move slowly, trailing the end of the other group. We are generally keeping to the left, near an outcropping of rocks. At one place, where the Wilson Glacier becomes the Turtle Snowfield, there is a crevasse which forces us onto the rocks altogether. Now we reach a large bench where we stop. Jim’s thighs are cramping up. The three of us – Shelly, Jim, myself – attempt to contact the other group (Bryn, Sharon, Steve) by radio but to no avail. I pull out my whistle and blow but finally radio contact is made and a plan is formulated. The first group will continue up for a way’s more and establish a camp behind an outcropping of rock, at the Fuhrer Finger, Shelly’s camp of last year. Shelly and I try to take some of Jim’s group gear and we press on. Even in pain, Jim outpaces me. We cross the bench, and continue up yet another steep, relentlessly uphill climb, traversing just below an outcropping of rock. We traverse another small bench, then the final uphill for today. Shelly is back down, carrying up Jim’s pack for the final grade. Then we are there, none too soon, and avoiding a few last crevasses.
On the way up, another very large party is one it’s way down, glissading and glissading, down all these paths we are struggling to get up.
So far, the weather is great. Warm, not hot. No wind. No significant problems or injuries.
Yet, I am filled with fear. My foot hurts. I wonder if I will pull my back out and necessitate a rescue. In retrospect, I see how unreasonable these fears are: “Wherever I go, there I am”
We are setting up camp. I begin getting snow to melt water then fire up the stove. Shelly and Jim work on the tent. Bryn, Steve and Sharon are busy with theirs.
We are not at Camp Hazard, which was the original plan and there is much discussion as to our course of action. Should we do a summit bid from where we are? Should we hike up to Hazard tomorrow, set up camp, and immediately set out for the summit? Should we split the group?
Reasonableness prevails: We’ll set out for Hazard in the morning, and set up camp and rest. Then get up at midnight for our summit bid. I feel as though I could sleep for the remainder of the trip and still not feel rested.
I slept not badly for the first night then up and begin the process of melting snow for water, making breakfast then breaking down camp. My spirits sink lower and lower. I am now frustrated with myself for coming, for holding up the group. But there is no turning back.
Camp Hazard is above us with a couple of steep benches in between. Maybe we’ll be there in an hour or so.
Five hours later, we are finally at Camp Hazard. There were 4 steep sections and 4 benches. Camp Hazard is on a level area within an outcropping of rock, at the head of the Turtle Snowfield. There is running water so we will not need to melt snow.
Camp is set up. I lay down to rest, not believing I will sleep much between now an midnight though as it turns out, I sleep much more than expected. Then wake up to make supper and get ready for the morning, including getting more snow to melt later as the running water will most likely freeze overnight. I fall back asleep again.
Then it’s midnight. Everyone is up and tempers are short. It this lack of sleep or do we all have unspoken fears? In addition, Steve has a stomach ailment.
Finally, we are all ready to go. Ropes, harnesses, crampons, axes are on and then upward to the top of camp.
Camp Hazard is named for Joseph Hazard, an explorer / writer (Jeff Smoot, Guide to Mount Rainier). It is perched (and I do mean ‘perched’) below a series of ice seracs and cliffs, but upon closer inspection these ice cliffs are separated from the camp by a large gulley. We descend into this gully for a short distance then across a pile of debris to the bottom of the ‘ice shoot’ then another step uphill, where we do running belays although the angle feels moderate. I try and co-ordinate with Jim in front, Shelly behind: stop, unclip, clip, move on. We rest at the bench. I do not see crevasses. The moon is out and there is the glare of headlamps on the slope above me. Above the bench, the hill is steeper but shorter, not unlike Skywalker on South Arapahoe. At the top is a huge crevasse with a skinny (1 foot wide) snow bridge. Jim tells me not to pull on him but then I give him too much slack and he hollers. Oh well. In retrospect, this is a short coming of not practicing verbal communication.
The sun is now rising. I can see the crevasse and snowbridge and the crevasse is deep. All the crevasses are huge, ice crystal filled caverns. There are forces far within that move these masses of snow around…the volcano!
We reach a rock band. Daylight baths us as the wind and cold. I had opted not to put on fleece thinking it would be too warm and now I wish I had my wool shirt for a bit a additional warmth. I am increasingly apprehensive.
There is a wall of ice before us but Shelly and Jim find a way through. I am thinking I should not be here, I should turn around. But I have no option but to go on. It is cold and windy and I am cold. I hate mountains. I want to be sleeping. But at the same time I am enthralled by the raw stark beauty around me.
The angle is gentler now. I feel worse and worse. The fear has poisoned me. I wonder at the wisdom of continuing but I have no choice. Jim pulls on me, stops to take a photo and pulls on me again. I feel worse. Getting dragged up this mountain was definitely not what I had in mind. I swallow my pride and keep on. Tears well up and my own self-hatred appalls me and think that I should be putting this negative energy into climbing this mountain.
We are now on the ridge between Point Success and Colombia Crest. I see a flat area, a high point maybe only 300 feet higher. I do not believe it is the summit. It can’t be the summit. The summit must be beyond somewhere, way beyond, out of sight.
Shelly tells me it is the summit. A voice inside says I can make it that far. But I am cold. It takes me innumerable minutes to get my pack off, staked to my axes, pull my fleece out and put it on over my gortex. I am warmer now and feel better. And do not feel that I can disappoint my teammates.
Shelly takes the lead and slows to my pace. This is better. I feel as if I am getting myself up there instead of being dragged.
It’s cold and windy. We have another short uphill. We top out then run the ridge for 300 feet or so to the summit. We watch the people come up the other side. It’s about 8:30 AM. We set about to taking pictures. Jim sets his camera up for a group shot but the wind moves his camera around. He tries again but the same thing happens. I find this almost comical.
Everyone is edgy to start back down as we are only half-way. We begin. This feels better though I do not move too fast. We stop for a bit below Point Success. Jim loses a mitten that Shelly retrieves. Now it is me pulling on him as he stops to take pictures. I revel in the beauty of this raw world but wonder if I want to continue to pursue mountaineering. It is hard…and I don’t really like hard stuff.
The trip down is uneventful until the top of the ice fall. There is the crevasse with the not too wide ice bridge. And such slack in the rope. Shelly crosses. I advance. I cross but Shelly has too much slack so I wait. She turns and starts down. I wait then advance. I fell ill again, turn, and back down. It’s not as bad, now that I am doing this but of course I have Shelly’s steps to use.
We are at the next bench. One more steep section but I think here we are facing front. The snow is softening quickly and there is much waiting as there are a couple of other groups using the same route.
And then we are at the bottom, heading across then unrope before heading back up the gully to camp. Just as we top out on the rocks at the high point of camp, a serac comes down but no one is injured. I note the debris has landed very near the wall, not in the center of the gully where we were.
At camp, we have lunch and rest. We’ll spend the night here and hike out tomorrow. I want only to sleep. I am elated but exhausted. And again, I wonder if I want to do this stuff. And I fear the trip out as the return route is incredibly steep.
In the morning we break camp. My sleeping bag is in its stuff sack and begins to roll down the hill. But miraculously stops.
We are packed and ready. We head down, glissading and glissading. We come to a short steep section with a rock band at the bottom. I face in and go slowly, then walk over the rock to the next glissade. And then we walk for a bit, move up on some rocks to avoid a crevasse. All goes well. We reach an especially steep section and the snow is soft. I traverse, taking care, and not really sure of our route except to follow the others foot steps.
I step and suddenly my feet are not beneath me. The snow is soft and my axe just pulls thru it. Keep your hands on your axe I think. I press my feet in and try to lift up but feel like I will lose the axe. I am moving slowly but do not stop. I rest a minute then try to stop again but still do not. I feel slightly frantic and nothing is working.
But then I do stop though am unable to get up until I stake my ice axe and pull myself up on it. I signal that I am ok but cannot catch my breath.
Downward again and here the angle is not so steep. Downward again to a short glissade which I force myself to do. And then we are at the top of the gully that leads to the Nisqually Glacier. Steve and Bryn glissade. Sharon wants to plunge step. I make myself glissade, first in my own track and then in Steve’s. It is not so bad.
We rope up. Cross the Nisqually. We un-rope and head up the scree slope to the next snowfield and up one last time. I moderate my pace and fear begins to turn to elation as we approach the tourist path.
We now head back to the Paradise Trailhead. We get our pictures taken my unknown tourists. If they only knew my lack of bravery they would not be so impressed. Back at the car everyone calls home. I talk to Kari. We are both relieved.
Painfully I think I am glad I did this…but will I continue mountaineering? Maybe, maybe not though I have no choice but to continue to deal with being alive.