Rainier Summit Trip Report 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,
Rainier Summit Trip Report 2004
After two “non-summit” years on Everest, I was down and wanted a summit. I contacted new and old friends about a Rainier climb, and the Rainier 9 was born. We trained together and virtually for a year to prepare; for many of the team, this would be their first true snow climb. Since we signed up with RMI, we booked our non-climbing nights at Whittaker’s Bunkhouse in the small town of Ashford, Washington. A mix-up in the reservation made months earlier made for a poor start with RMI, as they said they could only accommodate five of our nine for our stay. Even a talk with Lou Whittaker himself couldn’t change anything, so we were evicted and relocated to the Gateway Inn outside the park boundary. Sarah Whittaker, daughter-in-law – married to Win, sought us out later to make amends. She restored our faith in the customer orientation of RMI with her personal touch. Our team arrived on Friday night, July 10, 2004, and rendezvoused at the Gateway Inn. We had a nice dinner at the Copper Creek restaurant, complete with blackberry dressing, blackberry sauce and blackberry pie for dessert. The next day was climbing school, and then we had an early evening for the two-day climb ahead. We returned to RMI Sunday to meet our guides: Jeff Justman (JJ), David Conlan, and Corey Raivio. This was JJ’s 96th summit, while Dave and Corey were first-year guides with less than seven summits under their belts. They were polite, professional, and humorous as they walked us through the routine. We loaded into a small bus with all our gear for the forty-minute ride to where the climb starts near the National Park Service lodge at Paradise, Washington, within the Mt. Rainier National Park boundaries. There are four legs to climb Rainier: Paradise to Camp Muir, Camp Muir to the summit, and back to Muir and Paradise. The first leg started by following an asphalt trail that helps non-climbers get a little closer to nice views Rainier (on a clear day!). We carefully got in a single file line to avoid overrunning the tourists. It had been rainy for the two previous days, and none of our team had seen the mountain, so when the clouds broke from the summit, we paused to take some pictures along with the Grand Ma’s and kids on the trail. After passing Pebble Creek at 7,200′, we stepped onto the Muir Snowfield. This large snow slope leads to Camp Muir at 10,040’—some relatively steep sections along the way and a few small (15′) walls. Everyone did fine as we enjoyed the views. Rainier became huge before us as the clouds cleared, and the sun shone bright and hot. We were dressed in light clothes, but shorts and T-shirts would have been more appropriate. I thought of carrying my double plastic boots in my pack, but it was too much, so I plodded along in my Koflach’s without crampons. Our packs were loaded with food for the next 24 hours, snacks, and water. We all had a full-down jacket for the rest stops on the high mountain, plus the requisite Gortex shells and pants. Three layers of gloves, crampons, an ice axe and a sleeping bag rounded out the load, which totaled about 40 lbs. After 4250′ and 5 hours 20 minutes later, including a couple of breaks, we arrived at Camp Muir. I must say that I was pretty surprised at just how primitive the sleeping hut was. This was rustic beyond imagination after spending time in New Zealand and Colorado Huts. I didn’t expect luxury, but the box was nothing more than a box. It had wooden shelves on both end walls on three levels, accommodating 35 people sleeping side by side. JJ gave us a clue to grab “one of the better spaces” quickly as the next RMI team approached the camp. We put our packs on a rock ledge above the Box and took our sleeping bags inside. RMI does provide sleeping pads, but they are old and thin. Their full-time “cook” brought down hot water and provided plenty of cold water to rehydrate. JJ informed everyone at a briefing inside the stinky box that all three RMI teams would leave for the summit climb as soon after the wake-up call as possible. And that “lights out” was at 6:00 PM, only three hours from now. We checked our gear and ensured we had our climbing clothes inside the Box as we drank plenty of water and made dinners. I was glad to have chosen a simple freeze-dried meal that involved eating directly from the bag – easy to make, easy to eat, easy to clean up! I crawled into my bag about six and put my MP3 earbuds in. This was my key to getting any sleep with 30 people moving around, talking, farting, snoring, groaning, laughing, well you get the idea. But still, midnight came none too soon! Once JJ announced it was time to “Rock and Roll,” everyone dressed quickly, including putting on the avalanche beacons required by RMI insurance. Helmets and harnesses were also provided at the hut. The Rainier 9 was to be the first up the mountain, so we gathered outside the box to attach our crampons and rope up. The sky was perfectly clear, with little wind and a temperature around freezing. I anchored the lead rope with JJ in front and two teammates in between. We started steadily at 1:20 AM, utilizing pressure breathing and the rest step. This was to be routine for the next nine hours. The route started as an easy traverse across the Cowlitz glacier from Camp Muir with little altitude gain. Once we hit the Cathedral Rocks, we left snow and hit a mix of dirt, rock and boulders, aka scree. This was the first hint of things to come. The trail was well-worn through the Cathedral Gap as we made our way up about 300′ to the Ingraham