Mount Rainier, Smith Rock & back again

This was it, what I had been training for.

When this is over, I told myself, I can be considered a novice mountaineer.

There were four of us: Andrew, Jimmy, Tim and me. Andrew and Jimmy were college friends, who, like me, were originally from Pennsylvania. Jim knew Tim from upstate New York, where they both lived. Tim, having previously summited Rainier, as well as Denali, Aconcagua and even Everest, was our expedition leader – in short, the Man. We were going to do whatever he said in our attempt to summit Mt. Rainier, the most dangerous volcano in the United States.

The day started early as my lovely Dorothy dropped me at the airport before her daily commute. She’d graciously done the same on several previous occasions when I was heading off for some other adventure. Saying good-bye was never fun. Carrying a heavy backpack and fully stuffed duffel bag was no picnic either, but those were my loads to bear, at least until a few minutes (and $40) later, when they were checked behind the US Air counter, hopefully on their way to Seattle’s Sea-Tac Airport. I myself was on my way to Phoenix for a two-hour layover before I rejoined my bags.

The weather in Seattle was perfect – drizzling, which is exactly how it ought to be. The four of us met at REI, picked up some fuel, a quick wrap (yes, the Seattle REI even sells food) and discussed our climbing route. The road on the northeast side of the mountain was closed, so Liberty Ridge was not possible. We decided on our southern backup, the Kautz Glacier Route, a Grade II to III climb with an elevation gain of 9,000 feet. A few hours’ drive later, we stopped at the Hobo Inn for our last meal before we began our ascent. Burgers were the grub of choice. We proceeded up the Nisqually-Longmire Road into Mount Rainier National Park, but a short time after we began driving the wind picked up and storm conditions were evident. Tim made the call to go back down to where it was more pleasant for our night’s slumber. We found a dead-end road, pitched our tents under some trees and, after a few final phone calls, turned in for the night.

 

Morning was cool and clear. A very good sign. We ate breakfast bars and hydrated as much as possible while packing for what might be three full nights in the snow. A short while after we set out, we arrived at Paradise, an area known for incredible views and wildflowers (although the latter were in short supply at the time) and the location of the park’s main visitor center. We registered our backcountry outing at the Guide House, paused for our final bathroom break and started up the main trail.

It wasn’t long before the snow got too deep to walk on and we had to don snowshoes to cross the Nisqually Glacier, which was basically a snowfield – it was so early in the season no crevasses had opened up. We had also roped up and I was getting a crash course in glacier travel, an exhausting but necessary way to proceed. When we reached the base of the Fan, a prominent chute on the other side, we removed our snowshoes due to the steep incline, unroped to reduce party-inflicted rockfall and turned on our avalanche beacons. Above us, we could hear the constant and unsettling sound of careening rocks, loosened from the snow and ice by the sun’s rays.

We traversed a steep, exposed slope and made it to solid ground, continued up a ridge to the top of the Wilson Glacier at 8,200 feet and dug our first camp. I was exhausted from six hours of climbing but after catching my breath I picked up a shovel and joined in, clearing and packing a flat area in the snow roomy enough for our two tents. The weather had remained pleasant and we enjoyed the clear skies while we melted snow for water to drink and cook our meals. After ingesting as much as possible, we took our final bathroom break and crawled into our sleeping bags for our first night’s sleep on the massive mountain.

Morning brought breakfast bars and oatmeal. We took our time because it was a beautiful day and our goal was the bivy spot below Camp Hazard, just up the ridge but another elevation gain of 3,000 feet. After filling our water bottles, packing our tents and installing our crampons, I actually broke trail over a rocky ice-coated cornice-type ridge until Jimmy took over. That’s my M.O. -- blow my energy early and lag the rest of the hike. I stayed true to form. As we hiked, we noticed a strange saucer-shaped cloud hovering over Mt. Adams to our south. Tim identified as a lenticular cloud (often mistaken for UFOs; I could see why) and said it was not good news.

Onward and upward we continued, purposefully switch-backing to ease the gain, zig-zagging between a ridge and the Turtle, (a deep glacier just below our route to the Kautz) in an attempt to remain on rock rather than post-hole through the deeper snow. I was lagging badly. My three companions would stop just long enough for me to catch up and then take off again, leaving me with words of wisdom like “drink” and “eat.” I took their advice but, glancing behind us, noticed that the weather seemed to be closing in. I wondered whether the increasing clouds were due to our elevation gain or whether there was a real storm blowing in from the Pacific. Either way, visibility was definitely decreasing. Ignorance might be bliss but as the fog grew thicker and landmarks became invisible, I found it more and more difficult to determine just how far forward I was moving, if at all. My exhausted brain searched for excuses to continue at my sluggish pace. I wished for an altimeter. Or a GPS.  Finally, I caught up to a conversation: We were going to ascend for another 30 minutes. I could do that.

The wind picked up steadily from the West and so did the snow. We came to a small ledge next to a rock wall just under the Kautz Ice Cliff below Camp Hazard. I was surprised that the group had broken out the shovels and started building up the single ledge into two ledges large enough for both two-man tents. Tim was grabbing large boulders and tossing them to Jimmy to stack; Andrew and I built up our platform till it looked like it could at least fit us on it – hopefully, our nylon accommodations as well. We set up the tents at 11,300 feet, anchoring them into the snow with ice axes, ski poles, snow shoes, ice screws and whatever else we could find while tying them to rocks, each other, and filling them with our gear. Tim directed us to look down the slope we had ascended and raised his voice over the increasing storm, “Imagine an avalanche, heavy winds or icefall hitting your tent... what would that do?” I thought about it while staring downward, from this perspective that slope might as well be frozen wet marble. Nobody answered Tim, the answer was obvious, it would turn our sleeping quarters into a large closed-in vinyl toboggan. Yikes!

The vision was terrifying and educational, a reminder of why it was a good idea to trek with an experienced climber. Still, we never did take his advice to fill bags with snow, tie them to the tents and bury them. It seemed like a great idea but at the time it also seemed like it would take too long and we were cold. I think we were all convinced that the storm was going to blow over. The forecast for the next day had indicated that it would be the best day to summit. Andrew and Tim, still not content, continued to excavate. I focused on inventory making sure everything that wasn’t holding down the tent was accounted for.

 

After fixing some ropes over the upper ledge, Jim & Tim retreated to their shelter while Andrew & I headed into ours for soup and tea. The wind was ridiculous, gusting at random intervals, maintaining a strength and consistency that Tim later admitted he’d never experienced. None of us got any peace, at least once an hour somebody would climb outside & dig the snow buildup off the top and sides of the tents. The wind howled at 70 to 80 mph, gusting at times to over 100 mph, while the temperature dropped to 14 degrees Fahrenheit. When we attempted to eat our dinner around 9 p.m. so much snow blew into the tent we realized we had lost control of the outer perimeter and it was time to move anything we cared about inside including the stove to heat our water. The resulting heat melted the snow that had accumulated inside and soon most everything in the tent was briefly wet, and quickly frozen. The tent walls had become covered with frost and every time the wind shook our shelter it literally snowed all over everything. By 1 a.m. the blizzard was constant & unzipping the tent to clear the buildup was no longer an option, we could only lean into the walls hoping to maintain the tents’ integrity.

We could hear our neighbors yelling to each other over the wind, it had become so intense that they were being slapped in their faces by flattened tent poles.  It was miserable but exhilarating. I kept thinking of all the books I’d read in which hikers found themselves in similar circumstances, thankful for our proximity to rescue and civilization. Beyond that, Tim had proven his experience and gained our trust so subtly that it was hard to conceive something could go fatally wrong. Regardless, we remained constantly vigilant and, around 8 a.m., Tim shouted over the still-crazy wind that we were breaking camp and leaving in one hour to go back down the mountain to Paradise.

For a brief moment I felt confused, since I wasn’t the guide on this trip trusting Tim was my only option, and until he let us know we were retreating I’d never felt in any danger. Now I realized that control is only perceived, our focus was now switching from achieving to surviving. The realization that we were turning back triggered an instinct I’d never experienced. It was the defining moment that quickly molded my confusion into determination... I would not be beaten by this mountain today.

Since we never really slept, that night seemed like a dream. But it wasn’t lack of sleep that slowed us down in breaking camp, it was the white-out conditions. Finally packed, I ran through our essentials. Water, check. Helmut, harness, beacon, crampons and axes, check. Secured backpack, check. Goggles, check. Visibility… none. 

Down we went. Every 30 seconds a gust would pick up and knock me down. Tim instructed us to anchor ourselves when it got severe -- crouching near the ground and shoving our axes into the snow as deep as possible. It was nuts. Every step was against the wind. I took my time because I was still fairly new to crampons but I kept losing sight of my team and their tracks were filling up with snow. Soon we were wading through a waist-deep powder field, facing gale-force winds with 40-pound packs on our backs. I never imagined going down could be so draining. 

My partners were there for me at every turn, however, making sure I was okay before moving on. Nobody lost their temper and everyone was as helpful as possible when we could see and communicate with each other. I was the weakest link but I knew that a successful descent depended on continuing, for both getting down and for maintaining my core body temperature. One of my crampons came apart and I had to stop for repairs. The Velcro on my gaiters was no longer sticking so they kept falling apart. At one point a trekking pole split in two, although after a short break I was thankfully able to fix it. Nobody could see through their goggles due to frozen condensation and the storm, my own had turned into a face warmer. My hood was drawn so tight I could only see the ground in front of me. 

Seeing the goals didn’t require vision, once every system I’d hoped would prevent cold and wet had failed I just knew what to do.

We made it to our first night’s camp where I discovered that one of my water bottles was frozen solid and I started eating anything my freezing hands could open. The surroundings were familiar, however, and overall things were looking up. We just needed to get off the ridge and out of the insane weather. Tim lead us to a rocky outcrop and we started climbing down by walking backwards, kicking steps into the snow wall and relying on our axes to keep us upright. Once we got to the exposed area I remembered from two days prior, Tim started down again. I watched, awestruck, as his second kick started a snow slide that quickly turned into an actual avalanche. I froze – literally, this time -- as a stupendous and escalating wave of snow and ice hurtled down the Wilson Glacier below us. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and it wasn’t until I turned to Tim and saw a smile on his face that I realized the avalanche was the best thing that could have happened. Twenty inches of newly fallen soft snow had just slid down the mountain, exposing the snow beneath it that had frozen before the storm. We were on solid ground.

We continued down the slope to a sheltered spot beneath a cliff and sent Andrew to scout our final descent. It was still quite foggy and after some discussion, we decided to bring him back up and hope for the weather to clear a bit. When it did, we found our path, tied our two 200-foot ropes together and evenly spaced ourselves. I learned a lot in a very small amount of time about snow climbing in avalanche conditions. Pickets, bollards, boot-ax belays, prussics, screws and all possible forms of snow protection – all the tools I’d read about – were being utilized.

We lowered each other down the steep parts and moved in a line down the Fan until we reached the Nisqually Glacier and then kept on going. Tim was on a mission. The weather had lifted and the end was in sight so he broke trail till I cried for a water stop. Across the glacier, the route climbed 500 feet, pretty much straight up. We were still roped together and Tim was not letting up on the pace. When we finally crested a ridge and arrived in Paradise Valley, I thought I was going to throw up. But there it was – our initial path through the gap. Once Tim gave the go ahead, I broke trail for a good 15 minutes. Everyone passed me, however, and I eventually caught up with them on a hill overlooking the parking area. Noticing that ours were the only two cars in the lot, we realized that we had literally broken trail the entire way, because nobody else had descended the regular or any other route that day. Elated, we headed for our cars.

I was now a novice mountaineer and it was time to get off this mountain.

Published 2010, Outside Online, 127definingmoments.com

"Sight Doesn’t Always Require Visibility"

A defining moment during extreme conditions on the Kautz Glacier Route

Once partially disrobed the kicker was that both cars had been plowed in, but easily dislodged, it was time to get down off this mountain. We stopped at that same burrito place which now had quesadillas & beer, perfect.

We fed and decided to find a room to dry our gear and regroup, Andy knew this was his last night since getting back to work would make his trip to Nepal a ton easier and he would be leaving for Seattle before we got up. After a shower, hours of unloading, organizing and drying we got a great night sleep. (Mount Rainier Picasa Album)

The next morning our Continental Breakfast was Belgium waffles & OJ – unlimited fruit & bagels, awesome. Once the car was packed and we had moved out we met in the lobby and utilized the computer and locals to come up with a plan, actually Tim figured it out & I think Jimmy was just as surprised as me when he said that, since the weather was not going to get better around here, we were going to where it’s always dry, Smith Rock, Central Oregon & a place I’ve only read about in magazines & seen in climbing films. OK then, with me in the backseat as navigator we headed out of the Rainier Nat’l Park into South Central Washington. We stopped in Yakima so Tim could buy some climbing shoes and we could gather some beta, thanks Jablow for your web skillz in directing us efficiently to the rock shop. Beyond that we crossed the Columbia River Gorge, a beautiful valley famous to me for the Oregon Trail & its windsurfing. A few more hours, a Burger King stop and we made it to Terrebonne, Oregon, just 20 minutes north of Bend and the closest town to Smith Rock. Once we picked up a few beers we found our campground and started unloading the car. Basically in the desert, no chance of icy or wet conditions, and snow shoes, plastic boots & ice axes are falling out of the trunk… hilarious. We made a nice camp past the outdoor bouldering wall, enjoyed the local brews & watched the moon come up. Even in darkness we could tell this was a great state park, we walked to a river overlook and practiced bouldering stoked to climb the enormous monoliths surrounding us. I slept well that night.

The next morning was easy, we had some breakfast and filled up for a full day of rock climbing. This place is amazing, an easy walk from the car and although it is the start of their climbing season it wasn’t too crowded, we got onto whatever climbs our recently purchased guidebook would direct us to usually with no wait. At the end of the afternoon after all of us had got some leading in while exploring this andicite jungle we made our way into town and decided, since Bend is close, that we were going to check out a brewery that Tim had visited on a prior trip. After trolling through what I’m considering a very nice town we found ourselves at the Deschutes Brewery, the maker of many fine micro-brews I’m familiar with after over a decade of sampling what the west coast has to offer. I indulged and eventually Tim got us back to camp for another very solid nights sleep.

Since the recent storm had dumped so much snow on the Cascades our tentative plan of climbing Mount Hood had gone away, avalanche conditions were as strong as ever and with the spring sun beating onto the southern routes we decided to have another day of climbing at Smith Rock. I was warmed up from the day before and found myself stronger since now I was used to the unique features of these rocks. After a few hours of hard climbing we called it a day. (Click Here for a Fun Slideshow) I needed to be at the airport in Seattle, six hours away, the following afternoon. We decided that getting some of that drive out of the way would be comfortable, Tim had some friends in Portland that were welcoming us into their home for the night so we made the two hour drive past the base of Mount Hood into the heart of Oregon suburbia. We acquainted ourselves while Tim caught up with his old friends and eventually went out to the Bridgeport Alehouse for a great dinner & some cask-conditioned ale. I made friends with Deb & Jeff’s five month old son Will while enjoying our meals, I recognized how pleasant children are when they’re this young since they don’t really cause any havoc. (Avery is 19 months, and getting more difficult to take out in public, c’est la vie) After the walk home I found a nice futon in the basement and passed out exhausted and excited to come home the next day. As much as I was enjoying this vacation I couldn’t help but feel I was running out of time to prepare for my month in India & Nepal.

Saturday morning we woke up, I repacked my bags, had a bagel, said our goodbyes and got on the road north towards Seattle. Big thanks to Tim & Deb for having us and enduring my crap all over the driveway while I arranged myself for flight. Along the way we took a break to check out the Mount Saint Helens visitor center which featured spectacular views of the 1980 explosion remains & a short documentary, it was very informative and I hope to explore that Nat’l Park someday as well. Back on the road I navigated us into the downtown district where we eventually had a nice seafood lunch and a short tour of the market area. I must admit after so long in seclusion all of these people were freaking me out so once our hour parking meter was up we took off towards the airport, they dropped me off and I caught my flight through Vegas to San Diego. Donia picked me up and we had an early Saturday Night.

Sunday was Mother’s Day, so we met the family for breakfast and made a plan to make dinner at Avery’s residence for her Mom & mine. It’s been a blur, currently it’s Tuesday morning; I’ve handled my pics, this blog, packing for India, returning gear, meeting with my Everest Base Camp partners, emailing to finalize, registering with the State Department, paying bills and most amazingly of all, fixing the broken LCD screen on our camera. (I’d broken it at the beginning of Day two at Smith Rock) – Dorothy had researched and found online instructions to fix, so after finding the replacement screen in Kearny Mesa she installed it and now I’m good to go, hopefully for the next month! I have some finalizing to do today and dinner with my Dad, but overall I’m ready to go.

My next post will be from Asia after I successfully navigate my way through the Indian-Nepalese border to Kathmandu.

How do you say "see you later" in Hindi? Cheers ;)