I've spent the last two weeks nursing my sore feet and slowly internalizing my trip to the top of Mt. Rainier and back. I had hoped that if I thought about things long enough I'd be able to conjure up a concise and cogent tale of my summit climb. Sadly, that's not going to happen. Climbing Mt. Rainier is a huge emotional and physical investment; I certainly don't have the literary skills required to adequately document the endeavor. But, as with everything else in life, I'll give it my best try. This post will be long, meandering, and quite possibly incoherent. Just don't say I didn't warn you.
Our journey to the summit begins on the (quickly melting) snowy slopes of Rainier, on Wednesday, September 5th. Our first day on Mt. Rainier was awesome. I haven't been to Rainier in a long, long time and was shocked to rediscover how breathtakingly beautiful the mountain is. Late August and September are especially spectacular as the snow has finally melted off the lower slopes, allowing the vibrant wildflowers to bloom. But we're not here to admire the flowers, we've got serious training to do!
We spent the day learning the essential mountaineering skills: hiking in crampons, performing self-arrests with our ice axes, and walking as team, roped up to the rest of the group. What this basically boils down to is a spending the day playing in the snow. Sliding around to practice self-arrests, kicking our feet around to practice walking with crampons, and all that good stuff. It's been nearly five months since I've seen the snow and, quite honestly, I've been missing it. Walking around in the slush reawakened my inner snow child who was very happy to see the white stuff again. I managed to resist the temptation to start a snowball fight but I may have snuck in a quick taste while no one was looking (and yes, I realize that the snow has been sitting there for the better part of 8 months, but I dug down a couple inches first where it's still clean!).
Aside from learning the mountaineering basics, this was also our first chance to size up the rest of the group. Teamed up with James and I are Phil from Chicago and (my personal favorite) the New Jersey boys: Bill, Nick and Joe. Naturally, Bill, Nick and Joe refer to each other as Billy, Nicky, and Joey. So far things look good. James and I are the youngest, but Phil competes in triathlons and the New Jersey crew has been training all summer. Our group is led by Alaina, a twenty-something mountaineer who has been leading groups on Rainier for three years. She also spent two years in the Indian Himalayas and five years on the US national rock climbing team! Needless to say, we're in capable hands.
After a few hours on the mountain we're deemed "ready to climb" and head back to our bunk house for one more night of fitful sleep. Do I feel like a dependable mountaineer yet? Decidedly not. But could I stop myself if I slipped and fell? Eventually, yes. Besides, there's really on one way to learn: doing it when it matters. :)
Thursday morning finds us up early and ready to get started. Our goal for the day is camp Muir: 4.5 miles and 4500 vertical feet away. It's certainly not a debilitating hike, but with a 40 pound backpack, crampons, and extremely rigid mountaineering boots on it's no stroll through the park either.
(Aside: I just realized that I haven't talked about mountaineering boots yet. Mountaineering boots are NOT regular hiking boots. They need to be completely waterproof (obviously) and very, very rigid. The stiff boot allows crampons to be more effective. We ended up renting boots, which almost look like ski boots. We're also told to tie up the boots extremely loosely. Like loose enough that you can fit your entire hand between your shin and the front of the boot. If tied too tight the boots will slap into rub against your shin, resulting in the ultra painful phenomenon known as shin-bang. If wearing loose fitting ski boots to go hiking sounds strange to you, good! I'm glad I'm not alone. But aside from the extra weight, they were surprisingly comfortable on the way up. And back to the story!)
We left Paradise (the parking lot) at 10:00am, arriving at camp Muir a little after 4:00pm. The hike up was great. We got above the cloud level at around 8000 feet and I ended up hiking in shorts and a t-shirt. But once we hit camp Muir, I quickly realized that the rest of the trip wouldn't be quite as relaxing. It was announced that lights would be at the improbably-early hour of 6pm! And in the next two hours we needed to unpack for the night, prepare and eat dinner, change and then jump into bed. I sadly put my deck of cards back into my backpack; there would be no leisurely games on this trip.
We scurried around camp and two hours later I was stretched out in my sleeping bag. This leads to the next problem. Sure, getting in bed by 6pm is nice, but... how are we actually supposed to fall asleep? Not only is it just 6pm, but it's impossible not to be pumped up and simultaneously terrified of what the next day holds. Our guides just spent 15 minutes explaining (in great detail) what the next day would bring and it sounds... well terrifying. My mind is racing and my heart is pounding already. Fortunately, I have a secret weapon.
As we were going through our last minute preparations on training day we asked out guide for any tips about things to bring that wouldn't be mentioned on our checklist. She glanced around for a second and, seeing that no one was nearby, said, "I'm probably not supposed to encourage this, but if you go to the corner market they sell small, plastic, single servings of wine. One glass of wine will do wonders for you when you're at 10,000 feet." James and I, needing no further encouragement, both found a little extra room in our packs.
I'm happy to report the the wine helped settle my mind and heart. However, it was no defense against problem #2: spending the night in a wooden shack with 12 strangers. You would think that it wouldn't be that hard for people to relax and lay down, but there was a constant bustle. And not just sleeping bag noises! Between people getting up to go to the bathroom and the occasionally gassy outburst (yes, really!) it sounded like a zoo at night or something. I had ear plugs, but they were no match for the mass of humanity inside our shack.
After lying in my sleeping bag for what feels like hours I finally drift off a couple times. Which can mean only one thing: it must be time to get up! We're jolted awake at 11:30pm! We have exactly one hour to dress, pack, and eat. That is definitely not enough time when it's 11:30pm and you're operating on about one to two hours of sleep. The shack is a hive of activity, though and everyone manages to stumble out the door by 12:30. We're cold and tired, it's windy and dark out, but it's time to climb Rainier!
Aside from a little breeze it's a beautiful night. There are stars everywhere! We group up into teams of four (a guide plus three climbers) and move out. I start hiking with my head on a swivel, taking in the stars and the headlamps of the groups ahead of us on the trail. About 20 seconds outside of camp Muir I happen to take a look down and am greeted by the frightening sight of nothingness. Just in front of my foot is a small (say 6 inch wide) crevasse. Certainly not big enough fall into, but certainly big enough to step into. I point this out because from this point on I spent at least 95% of the time staring at my feet. I'm sure there are millions of things to see on Rainier, but I did not see most of them. From 12:30am until 1:00pm my universe consisted of my feet and the two feet in front of me.
Hiking by headlamp is an odd feeling. To me it felt like walking a dream. The world seemed to be in black and white. Well, mostly black. There is absolutely no light, save for the 20 or so headlamps emanating from the train of climbers. But the light from the headlamps doesn't do much to pierce the darkness, I can't see more than 15 feet in front of me. In fact, everyone on our rope team is about 20 feet apart and I can't see James, who's roped in just ahead of me.
But we trudge on, slowly, through the darkness. The plan is to hike for an hour then rest for 10 minutes. We'll repeat this for 7 hours, arriving on the summit around 8:00am. The first two hours are fairly uneventful. We have lost two of the three Jersey boys and Phil from Chicago, though. They decided that they were not ready for Mt. Rainier and elected to turn back. And it's hard to blame them. Hiking in the darkness is not for everyone. It's easy to look around and get scared. If you trip and fall you have no idea what you'll end up in. Again, another reason to keep your eyes on your feet. Also, I've heard that dying isn't fun either. And that's actually a possibility in the next section.
Hour three is where things get very interesting. We enter a section that the guides have dubbed the "no fall zone." What does that mean exactly? Don't fall. If you do you will probably die. Oh, and if someone else on you rope trips and falls you'll probably die too. There isn't enough time to react (and probably not enough room to perform a self-arrest on the trail anyway). We'll be climbing a 60 degree slope (steep!) on rock solid ice. The only silver-lining right now is that my rope team is now just me and our lead guide. So if I go down I've got no one to blame but myself.
Hour three lived up to hype. My heart would have been pounding, but it was absolutely paralyzed with fear. This section is firmly entrenched in the top 5 scariest moments of my life. I've made this comparison before, but this is infinitely more scary than bunjy jumping or sky diving. Those events take just a split second of insanity when you will yourself to jump off a bridge or plane. This, however, is a solid hour of heart-stopping fear. And once again, I survive by staring intently at my feet (noticing a theme yet?). Each step I take I have to kick the ice repeatedly, ensure I have strong purchase against the ice. This may have been one of the longest hours of my life.
However, the reward was sweet. Sunrise over Rainier is one of the most gorgeous things I've ever seen. Sadly we were still hiking just as the sun crashed over the eastern horizon, but watching as the snow around us slowly transformed into harsh redish hues was magnificent. We finally took a break as the sun continued to rise and I was able to take my favorite pictures of the trip.
The rest of the hike up is an exercise in mental and physical endurance. The technical sections are distant memories and you're left with endless switchbacks and nothing but your own mind to keep you company. Fortunately for me, I enjoy my own company. Physically speaking, Mt. Rainier is probably the hardest thing I've ever done. But -- thankfully -- my training regimen provided me with more than enough oompf to get to the top. The altitude made breathing a little more difficult as well, but didn't any other affect on me. So all I'm left to do is hike. Slowly. I try to keep a steady beat with my feet, counting off the beat in my head.
And suddenly, we're at the top! Well, the top is a bit of a misnomer. The top of Rainier is a crater, with the edges being higher than the rest of the peak (as you can tell from our picture). Which means that while you're on top of the mountain, you can't actually see anything. Also, our "gentle breezes" of the early morning have turned into a full on wind storm. So while the temperature isn't all that low (around 20 degrees), the wind chill is significant. Of the 12 clients on this hike, 6 make it to the top (including 3 of our 6 person group). Although this sounded low, it's fairly typical. Wikipedia notes that "about half of the attempts are successful, with weather and conditioning being the most common reasons for failure."
Sadly, there isn't much to do on top of Mt. Rainier. And, as much as I wanted to appreciate my accomplishment, we were still only half way done. Having just completed a 7 hour hike we still had 8 more hours to go. And my mind was already thinking about the "no fall zone." What would that look like now that the sun was out? Would the wind die down before we got there?
The answers are: even more terrifying and no, the wind did not die down at all. If anything, it picked up. Twice we were forced to stop and lay against mountain as the winds were dangerously close to blowing us off the mountain. I also discovered the only thing I dislike more than hiking up a sheet of ice: climbing back down it. To ensure that your crampons stick into the ice you need to stomp each step into the snow. By the time we reached the no fall zone we'd be hiking for nearly 10 hours. Do you know what my legs did not feel like doing? Stomping down as hard as I could on every. single. step. I literally had this conversation with myself as my legs were burning: "I absolutely cannot take another stomp step down, my legs don't have the strength. However, if I don't stomp the step, I will probably slip on the ice and die. Okay, stomp steps it is!" In case you can't tell, I didn't like this section any better on the way back down.
Thankfully we were able to get back down to camp Muir without any incident. We arrived shortly before noon, nearly 12 hours after leaving. Arriving at Muir I finally started to feel like, "YES I climbed Mt. Rainier!" No more crevasses, no more ice sections of death, just 3 more hours of hiking and I'd be home free. It turns out that the hike down from Muir was the most painful part of the trip.
The 4.5 miles back down are just "power through" mode. We're walking fast, taking few breaks, and just trying to get back to Paradise so that we can get off our feet. But remember those loose mountaineering boots I mentioned? Well they are not good for going downhill, especially if you're going fast. My foot slides forward and back a good inch on every step, rubbing my soaking wet sock against. By the time we reached Paradise the bottom of each foot felt like one giant blister (and, much to my dismay, each foot was in fact a giant blister...). We arrived at Paradise a little after 4:30pm. Everyone was tired, sore, and just generally drained. Mt. Rainier gave every one of us all we could handle.
Was climbing Mt. Rainier worth everything? The price, the pain, the terrifying no fall zone that I'm sure took a couple years off my life? Absolutely. In fact, the pain and anguish help enhance the experience. This was, without a doubt, one of the craziest things I've done in my life. Would I do it again? Possibly. No, I definitely would, if the opportunity arose. Never again in three days though. 16 hours of hiking is just too much.
Whew! I told you that'd be incoherent. It's now approaching 2:00am. I know I lost my literary drive somewhere in that story, but I told myself I'd finish it in one sitting. So there we have have it. I've already thought of lots of stories and details that I forgot to mention, I'll just have to save them for another day.
