Mount Rainier: Story and Photos

This is my account of my Mount Rainier climb this June, written for GearJunkie.com this week:

Preparing to Leave "Paradise" for the climb.

"Ten minutes to the crater ridge!" That was the shout from behind, and it was just in time -- my legs were turning to rubber. We were above 14,000 feet on Mount Rainier's massive face. The voice -- a guide on the rope line in the rear of the group -- gave me a surge of energy as we neared the summit on what is arguably America's most iconic mountain peak.

It was late June, and I'd been invited to join an annual Mount Rainier climb sponsored by JanSport. About 55 miles southeast of Seattle, and rising to 14,410 feet, Rainier is the most glaciated peak in the continental U.S. Thousands of climbers attempt its summit every year, most by some variation of the "Disappointment Cleaver" route my team took in June.

Hiking through the clouds.

The climb, a multi-day feat for most parties, starts from the Paradise trailhead at 5,400 feet. To reach the top, a trek and climb of about nine miles plus a thigh-trashing gain of more than 9,000 feet of elevation is required. Though it was past summer solstice when my group arrived, there was still 14-foot-tall snow banks in the parking lot.

The Rainier seminar, an annual climb, echoes JanSport co-founder Skip Yowell's original goal of having fun in life -- not being stuck behind a desk wishing he was. Skip remains the face of his company, which was founded in 1967, and JanSport continues to be one of the most recognizable backpack companies in the world.

Our group on Rainier was a diverse one, including retail partners from as far away as Finland. There were outdoor-industry advocates and even a member of the U.S. Department of the Interior who came from Washington D.C. across the country to Washington state for the climb. Each of us shared an affection for the outdoors and arrived at Mount Rainier National Park pretty fired up for the climb.

Well above the clouds, almost to Camp Muir at 10,000 ft.

The first day of our seminar, led by International Mountain Guide instructors, was spent checking gear, acclimatizing and going through a snow-school course at Paradise. It was an introduction to the mountain environment above, where snowfields stretch thousands of feet and glaciers creak and move like living things. Unlike most 14ers in the U.S., Rainier requires a special skill set, including rope-team and glacier-rescue knowledge for treading onto the crevasse-laden slopes above 10,000 feet.

Camp Muir and the "plywood box" we would sleep in.

Day No. 2. Time to climb! We began the ascent toward the top with a 4.5-mile slog to Camp Muir. The "camp" is actually a small group of permanent structures, including primitive bathrooms. It sits at about 10,000 feet and is staffed by climbing rangers throughout the year.

The group began under low clouds out of Paradise, mingling with day-hikers and sightseers on the trail. Thick mist soaked my face and hair. I settled into the trudge toward Muir, a five-hour feat, somewhere high above. Camera at my side, I'd hike fast ahead to capture photos of the team as they inched upward against the white.

Sunrise at Camp Muir - one of m favorite times on the Mtn.

Bob Marley tunes played over Camp Muir while I settled into my new digs -- the digs being essentially a mobile-home-size plywood box that the guide services share. My group stayed at Muir one night. A breakfast of chocolate-chip pancakes, hashed potatoes and bacon would come in the morning. IMG guides know their way around a skillet as well as a mountain!

"Good morning Camp Muir, anybody copy?" A handheld radio screeched as we got ready on the morning of our third day. The group roped up, clipped into crampons, and prepared to tromp among Rainier's glacial crevasses and under icefalls for final a preparation day.

Chad pulls on crampons, getting ready to travel on the glacier.

Once climbers leave Camp Muir, they are officially traveling on a glacier.  For this reason, all teams are roped.  While routes have been probed for safety, teams are still likely to cross snow-covered crevasses. A fall either in a crevasse or down the mountain could be fatal.

A short but gorgeous trek from Camp Muir brought us to 11,200 feet and the tent camp of Ingram Flats. I pestered my guide into stopping several times for photos. This new alpine world was too beautiful to hurry through.  Along the way, I took in postcard views in every direction. In the distance, volcanic peaks of the Pacific Northwest popped from the land.

Ingram Flats was our jumping-off point for summit day.  A small lot was staked off for safety.  Now that our team was on the glacier, crevasse danger was a real threat.  Only areas that had been probed and marked with stakes were considered safe to travel on.

Me, "working", but actually chillin' at Camp Muir- 10,000 ft. 

Mark, a JanSport merchandise manager from Chicago and my rope partner for the climb, shared a tent with me.  We settled into our sleeping bags around 6:00pm to try to get a few hours of sleep before a 12:40am departure toward Rainier's crater rim.

All too soon: "Climbers, let's get up." Thus came the call to rise some time around midnight. I hurried and pulled on my clothing. Double checked my camera gear. Grabbed my ice axe, and joined the team for a fast midnight "breakfast" and some quick instructions.

The larger group broke up into roped teams. My small squad -- just Mark, our guide, and me -- moved slowly up the mountain and into the dark. Our beams shined on the snow. Looking back, a dotted line of headlamps zigzagged behind.

The leisurely pace of the previous day had left us with pretty fresh legs.  By now, though, getting near 12,000 feet most of the climbers were experiencing at least the small affects of the altitude.  A few minutes into the climb we crossed our first visible crevasse -- I held my breath as I stepped over. Though less than a foot wide, the crack ran 50 feet or more before its icy blue walls pinched together. Further up, there were crevasses large enough to swallow a house.

One of my guides, Jason.  The crater of Rainier and the sunrise behind him.

Weather intensified toward the top -- whipping winds lifted ice from beyond my headlamp beam and slung frozen chips in strong gusts. I bent into the wind and hid my face. Our guides, seeing potential for things to get worse as the day progressed, decided a fast summit and descent was the best option.

Breaks that most guided groups take were skipped. The pace was pushed. It felt good to suffer, to earn my first big alpine summit with some grit.

We climbed through the dark. My legs burned. At last, hours into the night, I heard the announcement that the summit was close. "Ten minutes to the crater ridge!" a guide shouted out.

At 4:40am, only four hours after we left Ingram Flats, I stepped onto the belly of Rainier's crater. Drunken legs and depleted thighs were well worth that moment. On the eastern horizon, the sunrise was a sliver of orange. No time to soak in the moment, though, as we had to drop our packs and stomp to the actual highest point on Mount Rainier.

14,410 feet! A few whoops and hollers from the summit perch, and then my group headed down.  Steaming cracks and exposed rocks, hot to the touch, gave reminder that I was walking on a volcano, live and brewing.

Most mountaineers will tell you that the summit is only half way.  While that is true, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment as we began the downhill section of the climb. However, more falls happen on tired, wobbly legs on the way down.  Mark struggled a bit. His eye, irritated from a piece of ice hitting his cornea during the climb, was injured and he was having trouble seeing. I gripped my ice axe more than once in anticipation of a fall.

Stepping out of the crater to descend meant that we still had nine miles of hiking left. Though headed downhill, I was tired and feeling clumsy. It was hard to believe I had climbed so far -- the parking lot of Paradise seemed a world away.  Shoulders and knees ached from the weight, but I was having too much fun to care.

Several hours of slushy, boot-sliding descent later, my weathered team stepped off the snowfields and safely onto a tarmac parking lot at Paradise. We were met by wide-eyed, photo-snapping hikers.

I'd seen the top of one of our country's greatest mountains. I was sad that the big adventure was over, but happy to have bagged my first true alpine ascent.

Comments

[Troy]

every shot beautiful!
what a great adventure man