Mt. Rainier--WARNING: Excessively long post!

Mt Rainier

July 13-16

Paradise (5,400 ft) to the Top of Cleaver (12,300 ft)

Any attempt on my part to describe or convey what it was like to climb Rainier will be a mere shadow of reality at best. Yet I must try.

First off, thank-you to all my supporters. Financial, emotional, training buddies. Couldn't have done this without you! 

It all started back on January 19th, 2011 at an REI informational meeting about a fundraising climb program I had seen advertised. It might seem excessive to start that far back, but all the training and preparation is a huge part of it (skip down a few paragraphs if you want to get to the actual climb). At the meeting I learned about the Climb for Clean Air program. What a great opportunity to do something I’ve dreamed of since childhood while also raising funds for a great organization. I e-mailed the event coordinator the next day to sign up. 

Six months filled up quickly with things like 16 weekend training hikes where I met many great people on the same journey; lots of time at REI and Next Adventure (“excuse me, do you work here? What’s the difference between a lightweight and heavyweight glove?); evenings of walking stairs with increasingly heavy pack (Nothing weird going on here, I'm just wandering stairs for an hour with mountaineering boots and a backpack). Slowly I found myself in better shape, and actually understanding how the gear worked (or even what it was!). I also discovered friendships growing during the training as we learned and conditioned together. Nothing like post-holing up a trail for hours to bring people together!

In the beginning July seemed so far away but the time moved quickly and all of a sudden the climb was looking me right in the face. The weeks before the climb the gear list was permanently attached to my hand as I checked and double-checked (and triple, and quadruple . . . ) to make sure my massive pile of gear was just right. And don’t get me started on food. At one point I actually was sitting in my kitchen with various piles of food around me calculating calories and percentage of protein/carbohydrate/fat and carefully packing up each meal for the climb. Eventually the car trunk held everything I would need (double actually, as I threw in a ton of stuff “just in case” I might need to bring it), and I was headed off to the Mountain with an excited-nervous feeling. 

Finally arriving in Ashford for orientation I was able to meet the team. To my immediate relief they were (and are) an easy group to jump into. Welcoming, and just as excited and nervous for the climb as I was.

What a fantastic climbing crew!

The next day we headed up to Paradise for rainy day climb school with the guides. Rest stepping and pressure breathing our way along the snow. Stopping on some hills to practice self-arrest techniques. It’s kind of fun to throw yourself down the slope and then dig into the Mountain with arm or ice axe to stop. My arms and pecs were a little sore later though! 

Friday morning. Finally, we’re ready to begin. On the drive up to Paradise the shy Mountain who had been hidden by clouds all week all of a sudden came into view, and I could see Rainier’s amazing mass and height. My smallness in comparison and the immensity of the task ahead was overwhelming. What were we in for?

Climbing is an interesting sport. You are part of a team for sure; but at the end of the day often you’re left trudging upward, following the boots of the person before, lost in your own thoughts. The unknown loomed as large as Rainier as we stepped up onto the trail. Was I strong enough for this climb? Did I have what it would take? Every step on the Mountain brought me higher than I had been before, further into the unknown. It is probably good that clouds once again veiled Rainier, or looking toward the summit could have been daunting. 

Climbing up to Muir

Once we were on the trail all the training and preparation took over and I fell into the rhythm of hiking and enjoying the beauty of the Mountain. The weather was pleasant to start, and several hours of hiking and a few rest stops found us at Camp Muir as the wind kicked up. 

Our Hut on the edge

First impression: delightful little mountain camp. Huts and tents scattered along the ridge. 

Then I turned around and looked back down the Mountain. Spectacular. I don’t think the view from 10,000+ feet will ever get old. Again I was struck with the vastness of the wilderness and how puny we are in relation. We were at our camp for the night, at the mercy of the Mountain. 

Getting more rest than I expected that evening, at midnight we woke and began getting ready to go for the summit. Outside a sense of fatigue and excitement swarmed around us as we donned crampons, harnesses, headlamps, and helmets. 

Finally at the ready we moved out onto the Cowlitz Glacier and clipped into our rope teams (three climbers and one guide on each team) and moved slowly across the glacier, the rope spreading several feet between each climber. Once again I was struck with the dichotomy of climbing as a team (we were literally connected to one another) and an individual (we each walked alone, barely close enough to see the next climber in the dark). Pitch black, the only light from our headlamps, I focused on the trail in front of me, staying in the footsteps of the climbers ahead. 

During the hour between Muir and our first rest stop I could feel my body start to relax and move into a rhythm. Step, step, move ice axe, breathe. Step, step, ice axe, breathe. The wind began to increase before we stopped, and we moved into the clouds full of moisture. On the steeper sections gusts of wind caused shots of adrenaline to course through my veins as I nearly stepped off the trail a few times. Wind roaring so loud for a moment, and then so silent and still I could almost hear my heart beating. Before I knew it we were at our first stop.

Resting up for the next section

Parka on, food and water out, sitting on my pack I watched the rest of our team pull into the rest stop as they wound the rope into coils between each climber. The weather was certainly worsening, wind increasing, and I was shivering in my many layers. I added another hat to the mix, and noticed that there were icicles in my hair from my sweat and the moisture in the air. Talk about brain freeze, no wonder my head was cold! (For your sake I won't get into the snot-sickles).

Cold, dark, shivering, but excited to be on the Mountain I absorbed as many calories and water as my angry gut would take (elevation wasn't helping an already semi-ill stomach). I heard guides and climbers talking about how it didn’t look like we would summit today. A few climbers decided to head back to Muir with a guide. I sat, evaluating my status. Could I make it to the next stop? Tired? Yes. Cold? For sure. But I couldn’t turn around quite yet. Not if it was safe to move on. Hoping I wouldn’t regret the decision we moved out for the next stretch.

Climbing from The Flats to the Top of Cleaver was no joke, especially with strong gusts of wind that hit like a 2x4. Thankful for the ice axe as another point of contact with the Mountain, we moved along and held on tight. Several times I saw our guide sway in the wind as well, which both made me nervous and also feel better about my own unsteady feet. The narrow trail switch-backed up the mountain, several spots clear of snow and we were climbing on ice-covered rock. Not the most stable feeling beneath one’s feet. The sound of crampon on rock grated on my ears as well. Pressure breathing frequently and sounding like a locomotive, I heard in my head “one step at a time, you can do this” I suddenly felt like the Little Engine that Could. This image kept me distracted as we clambered up the rock and snow. I was so distracted that I almost didn’t notice that it was getting lighter out and shadowy landscape was visable. 

When we arrived at the Top of Cleaver we were higher than any other point in Washington besides the rest of Rainier. Tired and cold and ready for a break we bundled up and sat to nourish and hydrate, shivering in the steady wind. As I shivered and ate I wondered again if I could go on and still descend safely. Could I stay warm in this weather? Tired, but determined, I felt that my body could handle a bit more and decided that if the guides continued on that I would join them up the Mountain. Besides, climbing down was always the scariest part to me and I didn’t want to face that yet.

Shortly after deciding this within myself the guides huddled together. I saw some head shaking and sensed this would be my personal summit this time. When they turned back to us it had been decided. It was unsafe to continue. Slightly sad, but also relieved that we would be headed back to a warm hut with hot tea, I shouldered my pack and joined the team back down. 

         Down. 

                            Down. 

Thinking of the difficult trail we had just ascended I felt anxiety rising. Down has always been my weaker point. I can climb and climb and climb, up and up and up, as long as we go slow-ish and have food and water breaks. Down gets to me though. Physically it is tougher on the knees. Mentally I often start to freeze up and don't want to take the next step. Now I’m roped to two other people who are traveling at a good pace, daylight has fully arrived and I can see just how steep the trail is and how far the drop-offs are. Once again I’m saying at each step; “You can do it, take this step, ok, now one more.” Slowly we make our way down the slope, still combating wind and snow. I can feel how tense my shoulders and legs are and try to relax. Each time I do the wind gusts again and I fear slipping down and taking the team with me. 

To the rocks. I remember the rocks from the way up, and have been dreading them since we turned around. Struggling in my mind with each step we continue on. The rope becoming taut often as I slow. Our guide calls out “Take the step Toni. Trust your crampons, they will hold.” And I almost cry. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Trust? He had hit right on my weakness. Repeating to myself; “Trust your gear. Trust your guide. Trust your team. Trust your training. Trust yourself.” we continued on. Trust. Being scared and unsure and taking the next step anyway. Letting go. Taking a step, letting my foot slide a bit, and trust that it will stop. Still nervous, but becoming braver, we made our way down.

Knees shaking and heart beating we came to the rest point. 

Fully light by now I gazed at the tents on the flats as we sat, glad that I had a hut to return to. 

After a short break we moved onto the Cowlitz again. Now that the worst of the downhill was over, and it was light out, I could pay attention to the landscape. Crevasses visible throughout the glacier. One running parallel to the trail and only about a foot or two away. Beautiful and deadly at the same time. Large snow and ice formations in the distance. 

Before long we arrived back at Muir. Glad to be back, but disappointed to not make the summit. Rope, harness, crampons, helmet all removed. Walking back into the hut, being greeted warmly by the climbers who had turned back earlier. Relieved to be out of the wind. Satisfied that I had gone as far as I could. No regrets. We took some time to warm up and rest before finishing the descent. 

A few hours of rest and we were more than ready to get back to Paradise and a hot shower. Still having a little trouble with downhill, I slowly made my way down in the wind and rain. Walking and glissading down we made good time and were able to rest up a bit before the celebration dinner.

When I looked at the Mountain, after the celebration dinner, it was completely clear; not a cloud in sight. I had to laugh--what a tease! You can’t fight the Mountain, it will always win. Thankful to have been a part of it all for a while, I returned inside where we told and re-told stories of the climb. What a blessing to have the celebration time, to process and share. It’s funny. I only met this group of people 4 days ago and I feel like we know each other so well. I guess that’s what working together and overcoming obstacles will do. 

Back at home it all seems so surreal. I’m glad for the photographs I was able to get to help remember. And I felt compelled to write it all down here before the details faded. Before I discounted the meaning of it all. Before I got caught up in “normal” life again. 

So that's my story. What a fantastic experience. Hope to go and be a part of the Mountain and try again to see the world from on top sometime soon.