Rainier Summit Trip Report 2012

Rainier 2012

My July 2012 climb of Mt. Rainier was unique and complex, representing the best human spirit and a mountaineer’s courage. I know—that is quite the setup.

Rainier, located in Washington State just outside Seattle, is a jewel for US mountaineering. It has more glaciers, around 26 than any other US peak and one of the most significant vertical gains on earth, rising from near sea to 14,411 feet.

Over 10,000 people attempt the volcano yearly, about half reaching the summit. Poor weather is usually the reason for stopping a climb. From my experience, many US guides started their careers on Rainier, and some continue well after moving up to the big Himalayan peaks.

A History with Rainier

I had climbed Rainier in 2004 via the Disappointment Cleaver route with eight friends. We all reached the summit, a milestone in my climbing progression that I always look back on for inspiration and motivation. So when my climbing buddy, Jim Davidson, asked if I was interested in returning to attempt the other side of the mountain, the Emmons-Winthrop route, I was in – but not for pure climbing reasons.

Jim had climbed the very difficult Liberty Ridge route in 1992 with his close partner, Mike Price. As told in his book, The Ledge, Jim came home, but Mike did not. They both fell into a crevasse on the Emmons Glacier. Now, 20 years later, Jim wanted to return to the route with a group of close friends.

Glaciers and Crevasses

Glaciers and crevasses are not part of most people’s daily conversation. But if you climb high alpine climbs, they become part of your life. Glaciers eat climbers, they lie in wait disguised under fresh, soft snow waiting for that innocent step. Without warning, the deadly snow bridge collapses, and the climber falls.

My first encounter with a crevasse was in 2002 in the Western Cwm on Everest. I fell into a deep crevasse outside Camp 1 when a snow bridge collapsed under my feet. I was roped up between two teammates, and I would not have survived without that safety line. When I got out, I sat on my pack and heaved with tears, fear and emotion. It was all I could do to continue my climb after coming so close to death.

Each year, climbers fall into or are swept into these deep gaps in the moving ice – some survive, and many do not. Earlier this year, in 2012, four Japanese climbers on Mt. McKinley died after an avalanche swept them into a crevasse. Earlier in 2012, a friend of mine climbing the same route we planned on Rainier, the Emmons Glacier, suffered serious injuries when they fell into a crevasse. A Park Ranger, Nick Hall, was killed by a fall during the rescue effort.

Mike and Jim were doing everything right, but on an unseasonably warm late June day in 1992, Jim slipped in, and then Mike. They didn’t do anything wrong; it just happened. Once you fall in, hopefully, your teammates can pull you out; that is why you carry a rope, slings, pulleys and other devices to aid in extraction. With Mike and Jim, Mike died, leaving Jim alone 80 feet deep with only a few climbing tools. His solo climb out with minimal gear was termed impossible by almost every expert then and would be now.

The Team

Rodney Ley and Jim had climbed together for years, leading international expeditions to Alaska, Nepal and South America for Colorado State University students. Jim had also summited Cho Oyu, 26,907 feet, a few years ago. Rodney, like Jim, was an accomplished alpinist, rock and ice climber. Rodney also knew Mike well.

Stan Hoffman and Scott Yetman lived in the Seattle area and regularly climbed in the Cascades, going for week-long outings annually for over a decade. They had climbed Rainier over five times between them.

Even with all my experience of over 30 serious climbs, including Everest and the 7 Summits, deep down, I felt nervous climbing with this team as they epitomized skill and wisdom and had a long history of climbing together. Also, I had just turned 56 a few days earlier, and the thought of carrying a 60-pound pack up 10,000 feet was daunting.

The Plan

I was honored to fly out of Denver with Jim and Rodney. In Seattle, we met up with Scott and Stan. We planned to drive to the White River Ranger Station, hike to the InterGlacier, and then go to Camp Schurman. From there, we would climb the Emmons Glacier, pass where Jim and Mike fell into a hidden crevasse, and continue to the summit.

We were in no hurry and had an extra weather day built into a four-day schedule. This was designed to be an experience, not a race. We wanted to move safely and purposefully, with no need or desire to brag about times or records. Going in, I knew this would be the climb of a lifetime with such experienced teammates and a meaningful purpose.

The Lower Mountain

On July 29, we checked in at the Ranger Station at 4,300’ and secured an intermediate camp site at the lower Glacier Basin Campground at 6,300 feet. This allowed us to hike only about 3.5 miles before camping for the night—a welcome break given our heavy packs.

The trail was magnificent, winding through the dense Pacific Northwest pine forest. The weather had turned clear after several weeks of rain, snow and high winds. Seattle had been experiencing one of its coldest summers.

We found an open campsite and set up two tents, cooked dinner, swatted hundreds of pesky mosquitoes and went to bed. The following morning, we packed up and continued to the terminal of the InterGlacier, the first of three glaciers we expected to cross. The route started with a low to moderate angle (15-30 degrees) snow climb from 7,000’ to the top at 9,400’. We did not rope up during this section. At this point, we reached Camp Curtis, just a patch of loose gravel on the ridge line. But it offered the first full view of the Emmons and Winthrop Glaciers and the famous rock tower aptly named Little Tahoma.

A New Route

For the first time in 20 years, Jim could see the exact position of the fall. I stood quietly as Jim examined the route, described the precise spot and brought us all into his living memory. I continue to be inspired by this man’s strength and courage. I sincerely hope Jim will tell his return story in detail one day in another book or as part of a movie.

We descended a short rocky scree section to the edge of the Emmons Glacier, where we roped up and climbed back up to Camp Schurman at 9,460’. For the first time, we started to experience the crevasses of Rainier as we stepped over several on this short trip. But off to both sides, huge, wide-open gaps in the slow-moving ice caught our attention.

We had been told that the “normal” route from Camp Schurman to the summit was considered dangerous, and once there, we could see why. The section called the Corridor had massive ice walls looming above it and appeared ready to release at any moment. Other teams had stopped using that route, deeming it simply too dangerous.

At Camp Schurman, the Rangers had a seasonal presence in a large stone hut. They were friendly and open with information and pointed out the alternate route everyone was using, following the Winthrop Glacier on a straight line to the summit. However, it did require navigating through a labyrinth of broken ice, aka the Winthrop Icefall, with a few short sections of 60-degree ice. Taking pickets to protect the rope team on the exposed sections was also advised. Unlike the more traveled Disappointment Cleaver, this route was not marked.

A Short Night

We set up our tents, one on snow and one on dirt, just outside the ranger’s hut, cooked dinner and went to bed around 7:00 PM. Knowing it would be a long climb to the summit, estimated between 6 and 8 hours, we wanted to reach the top around sunrise, which meant a departure before midnight. Jim awoke us without alarm at 10:15, and we started our preparations.

The wind had picked up at sunrise, and a steady breeze with a few attention-getting gusts kept us fresh. We layered up but not too much as the air temperature was only in the 30s at this elevation, and we knew we would be moving soon, generating a reasonable amount of heat. Helmets and crampons on, with the rope flaked out, we attached the “figure of eight” knots to our harnesses. Jim led our team of five from camp at 11:30 PM on Monday, July 30, with ice axes.

Summit Push

It didn’t take long to reach the Winthrop Icefall. Jim placed several pickets along the boot path, and we made steady progress higher. In the glow of our headlamps, the route didn’t appear that bad, but upon the descent, we saw fresh avalanche debris nearby.

Leaving the Icefall area, the route moved onto the higher Emmons Glacier, where we began a seemingly never-ending slow climb at a steady 40-degree angle. The snow was firm, creating a pulsing crunch with every step, sometimes masked by the wind. Scott was now in the lead, setting a good pace higher.

It was good to be on the rope with this team, knowing we shared a common objective and trust. Our pace was coordinated, steady and productive. We had all agreed that our goal was to summit and return safely within a reasonable time limit. Our collective experience would guide us through the night and over the multiple crevasses.

Around 2:30 AM, Rodney was in the lead when he called out, “Stop.” The rope came to a halt. I could see his headlamp bobbing ahead as he started to inspect a crevasse crossing. It was unclear if it was a simple step across, a quick leap or something with soft edges – a waiting trap door. At some point, the rangers had warned us of a tricky crossing and advised us to cross low. But this advice was difficult to interpret in the dark with the wind blowing on a steep snow slope.

Rodney placed a picket and called for the rope to be pulled tight, but we fed enough slack as he made his move. We all positioned ourselves to protect our lead. In one move, he made the crossing, placed another picket for more protection, and soon, we followed. I remember this moment as an example of teamwork and trust—climbing in a pure team form.

Now Stan took the lead as we began to climb the upper mountain, Anxious to see what was really ahead, we welcomed the creeping sunrise, enjoying the morning alpineglow on the snow white slopes of the huge volcano. The wind picked up more.

However, as the sun rose, the summit seemed further away. But one step at a time, in a steady rhythm, we made progress, now following a series of switchbacks toward the skyline mirage. Finally, a line of dirt, yes dirt, appeared, and I knew we were approaching the edge of the summit crater. After all, Rainier is a volcano with steam vents in the crater, so the snow is often melted, revealing a dirt rim around a snow-covered crater bottom.

Our team of five arrived individually, with the previous climber pulling the rope in slowly. I think we were all stunned by the length of time it had taken us, our continuous climb from midnight, the lack of sleep the previous “night,” and the reason we were there.

We gathered on the dirt rim and then took the final several hundred-foot walk to the true summit of Columbia Crest. There, we took pictures and videos, and new and old memories were sealed.

The Down Climb

The wind had picked up considerably, causing the windchill to drop into the single digits. But we were in no hurry. I took the lead as we left, following the wide boot track steadily back down the Winthrop. Thankfully, the mountain provided some relief from the wind as we descended, and the sun shone brightly.

Jim took over the lead as we neared the Ice Fall, and after about four hours, we returned to Camp Schurman.

We had a lazy afternoon catching up on food, water and sleep, continuing throughout the night before roping up the last time to cross the Emmons back towards Camp Curtis. From there, some of us glissaded down the 2500’ InterGlacier while others, more sensibly, plodded down. My torn-up calf and arm indicated which group I was in!

Back at the ranger station, they informed us we were a day late, but then they found it was a computer entry error! We were glad they had not sent out a search party!

Epilog

As I flew back to Denver from Seattle, I looked out the window and was rewarded with another perfect view of Rainier and the face we had climbed. My eyes traced each step, the three distinct glaciers and the camps we had used. Without thought, my mind returned to the night’s darkness, watching the rope snake slowly at my feet and my ice axe steadying my gate as I pushed higher.

I thought of my friends – new and old – and the experience. While I thought of the summit, it was a fleeting thought as the large scale of what we had accomplished occupied my mind. No, Rainier is not K2 or Everest. No, we had not climbed in harsh winter conditions or taken the most challenging route.

But that is why mountaineering is so special. Often, it is not the magazine metrics that define a great climb. It is the company, the reason, the experience. And for that, I am grateful.

As the sight of Mt. Rainier dimmed with the fading sun from my airplane window seat, a smile crept across my face. Yes, it was done.

Climb On!
Alan
Memories are Everything


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