As I sit here recovering from shoulder surgery, I decided to read through my climbing journal and came across one of my craziest entries, which I honestly haven't read since I wrote it in 2018.
I thought it would be fun to “flash back” to my three-day expedition on Mt. Rainier in September 2018, as it provides a unique perspective on what goes through one’s mind when climbing these technical mountains.
I rarely write about the actual thoughts and fears that run through my mind for a couple of reasons. First, during the climb, I push those thoughts so deep that I don’t always recall the moments afterward, as they are a distraction and potential detriment to me and my climbing partners while climbing. Second, after a number of crazy climbs, these fears and situations become the norm and therefore, my mind and body don’t react the same as they did in earlier climbs.
Regardless, while climbing, these feelings are compartmentalized so I can focus on the rehearsed mission of the climb. What was unique about Mt. Rainier is that it was a more technical climb, and the extreme conditions, due to 3 feet of fresh snow, made it wild enough to remain vivid and front of mind.
Monday, September 17, 2018
We hit the trail, single file a little after 9 a.m. on what was a cloudless, crisp 40-degree day. Before you knew it, we were rhythmically kicking in our steps up the Muir Snowfield, soaking in the amazing views of the glacier-covered beast. There wasn’t a better time to climb Mt. Rainier, as we had a perfect weather window for all three days on the mountain.
Five hours later, we found ourselves sitting at Camp Muir at 10,000 feet. From camp you had awesome views of Mt. Rainier and her massiveness, with her many glaciers and crevasses glowing with blue ice. It was the first time I gained a true understanding of what I was getting myself into as I stared across the Cowlitz Glacier at the 900-foot Cathedral Gap I’d be ascending the next day.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
After getting less than four hours of sleep due to the freezing cold hut, we headed across the glacier to the guide tent for breakfast where I chowed, snapping me out of my sleepless funk. After talking to everyone, I realized that I got more sleep than most. Suddenly feeling awesome, I knew that day two on the mountain was going to be even better.
We geared up and headed across the Cowlitz Glacier, up and over Cathedral Gap to the Ingraham Glacier to high camp. It was crazy. Barely out of Camp Muir, we were already jumping over and around crevasses and then zigzagging up the 900-foot ledge. Three-quarters of the way up Cathedral, right after we crossed a gully, a roar of rocks and ice cut loose, ripping right through where we just were standing, taking out the path and everything in its way. This was the first “Oh shit!” moment as I watched boulder-sized rocks and ice crash 500 feet below me onto the glacier we had just crossed.
The reality became even greater as we crested Cathedral Gap. Instantaneously we got up close and personal with what we were up against on summit day, as we got a glance of the massive Ingraham Glacier that we’d be climbing and navigating later that night.
The glacier flowed down the side of the mountain covering more than a 1,000 vertical feet, with 100-foot seracs and crevasses so big, they could swallow an entire bus into what looked like a black hole. It was a reminder that the toughest was yet to come. Yet, despite how massive and intimidating it was, it was also inexplicably beautiful. With 3 feet of fresh snow, the views didn’t even look real, as everything was pristine with smooth, white snow.
The dinner tent that evening brought yet another reality. Two of the eight climbers were already pulled off the summit bid, taking us down to three guides and six climbers. Most said and ate little as the 11,100-foot altitude and the exertion to get there had taken its toll, putting people in a hypnotic state of mind. You could also see on their faces that they were rattled, knowing what was to come on our summit day. Me?? I had seconds!
After dinner, the guides made it clear that no one had made it any further than Disappointment Cleaver since the storm, and that we’d be cutting a fresh path through 3-plus feet of snow, navigating snow cups and crevasses that had been snowed over, adding significant risk to the climb. Great!?!?
By 7 p.m., I was in my mummy bag trying to get some rest as my mind was racing a million miles an hour: Will I summit? What if I don’t? How much harder will it be having to break trail? What about the uncontrollable circumstances such as avalanches with all the new snow? The next thing I knew, it was 10:30 and I hadn't slept a wink and only had two hours before the wake-up call. I finally fell asleep for barely an hour, waking up shivering from the 15-degree temps, lying there, waiting for the wake-up call.
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
Now 12:30 a.m., I was gearing up, which was a relief, as it was a distraction from my thoughts and the hour of shitty sleep. Everyone looked cold and miserable from the illumination of our headlamps as we stood there for final gear check and instruction. That’s when I was told the news of being on the lead rope, which meant I was the strongest climber and had the best chance for the summit. Funny...now I was feeling more energized!
Just then, David, the head guide, reminded me that we had the toughest job on the lead rope, having to break trail in the deep snow and still leaving enough in the tank to summit. However, with a grin, David said that we would also be the first to lay new tracks on the summit in over three days. Fucking right! Now I was pumped! I was Rainier ready!
At 2:30 a.m. sharp, all three rope teams set out, just as a thunderous sound to our left shook the entire glacier as an avalanche swept down Gibraltar Rock. We all said, “Ohh, shit, that’s close!…Too close!” as we got blasted with a dusting of snow and wind from the force of the avalanche.
We moved across the Ingraham Glacier in the clear, crisp night, with our headlamps illuminating the crevasses that still eerily illuminated their blue glow in the moonlit sky. In no time, we were walking across aluminum step ladders stretched across the larger crevasses and quickly working our way onto Disappointment Cleaver, a steep, rocky and icy ledge.
After reaching the top of the Cleaver, sitting on what seemed the edge of the world, we took our first break. Now at over 12,000 feet, the cold air cut right through you, causing back-breaking chills and driving one of the climbers to call it quits, now leaving two guides and five climbers. As we rolled out, David told me that this was where it gets dangerous, that I needed to listen to everything he said and manage the rope closely, as his safety was in my hands.
More dangerous than what we just did??
Then it began! We zig-zagged all over the steepest, most treacherous parts of the mountain, jumping over crevasses while working through waist-deep snow that felt like you were walking against pounding waves at the beach. David paused numerous times, trying to find the route, radioing to the rope team below to see if they could help. Negative! So David kept pushing in what he thought was the right direction.
An hour later, we were even further off course and on an even more dangerous part of the mountain. I was taxed mentally and physically and now freaking out. There were points that the snow was so steep and deep, you weren't even moving up the slope. Each step would just fall away beneath you, as if you were on a StairMaster, staying in one place. Just then, I crossed a snow bridge of a crevasse as my leg punched through to nothing but the darkness below. I instinctively slammed my ice axe into the glacier, stopping myself from falling in any further, eventually dragging my way out with my axe as David managed the rope above me.
Doing a quick self-check after pulling myself out, I was shaking with adrenaline. I realized I was all good except that when I fell through, my crampons ripped through my pants, cutting my leg. “Okay…,” I told myself, “that could’ve been a lot worse.” There was no time to worry, as David said we were in a really bad spot to stop and had to keep moving.
We pushed on for another hour, not knowing where we were. Every time I jumped over a crevasse or fell into a sun cup, I began to wonder: Is this it? I got lucky the first time. Will I be that lucky next time? Is this going to be my final resting place? Then the thoughts compounded. Will they even find my body, or will I be forever frozen a hundred feet below in a crevasse? What happens if we can’t get out of here? The thought of dying was wearing me out as much as the physical effort. It was real, and I couldn’t shake it. I truly felt like I was walking a fine line between life and death. What freaked me out even more was if we would have had to turn around. There was no way in hell I was going to go back through that deathly obstacle course!
Radioing multiple times down to the other rope team and now the other guide companies, David had them redirecting us based on the location of our headlamps on the side of the mountain and landmarks that were now becoming visible in the dawn glow.
Finally, as we continued to work our way up and left, David spotted a wand barely sticking out of the snow, getting us back on route after hours of being in the most dangerous territory of the mountain. Instantly, I felt a thousand times better, and the fear quickly dissipated. From there, we climbed to our second rest break, where everyone was visibly beaten down.
It was 6 a.m., which was weird because it felt like it should have been 6 p.m. The more difficult the climb became and the more fearful I got while being off route, the more time slowed down. I became so zoned in on every move to ensure it wasn’t my last that hours turned into an eternity.
Resting at 13,000 feet, it was so cold that my water was frozen and I was convulsing with uncontrollable chills. My energy was zapped, and the altitude made it unable to eat or drink. I started to debate: Should I continue? It may not have even been up to me, as the guides were now discussing who would make it, as there was a lot of climbing left to reach the 14,411-foot summit.
So the conversation began: ”Our goal is not to get you to the summit, but to get you home... alive. Given that, this will be the high point for some of you.” Two were now done, leaving three climbers plus the lead guide. David looked at us and said, “I can get you to the summit. The question is: Do you have enough left in the tank to get back down?”
Fellow climber Joe chimed in without hesitation: “Fucking ready!! Let’s do this!” Another climber, Dan, responded that he was out, as he had hit his max and had serious concerns about making it down safely. Now I began second-guessing myself, as I thought about having to go back through what we just climbed.
David said if I called it, we are all heading back; otherwise, Joe and I would be on the summit in about two hours. I stated that I knew I could get down, but I was concerned about going back through the route we just took. David responded to not be concerned, as RMI was punching in a new route, the correct route, so going down would be fine. Not even giving me the option, David says, “Let’s go. We are summiting!”
And then there were three...me, Joe and the guide. Starting to feel a little bit better as the rising sun was now warming us up, we pushed for the summit, crossing crevasses so big that the ladders would sag and bounce as we crossed them. The mind games got bigger too, as the daylight allowed you to see what you’d fall into if you fucked up.
If that wasn’t bad enough, we hit fixed ropes that were screwed into the icy ledges to hold onto as you walked across an 8-inch lip for 10 to 20 feet. If you messed up on the fixed rope, you risked pulling your rope team off the wall to their death, as the only thing between you and the ground below was 3,000 feet of air. Of course, this was all happening as I continued to bonk, causing the mind games to manifest.
I was worn out with no reserves, and the altitude was messing with me as well. I’d take a few steps, then get a few deep breaths while resting on my ice axe, then repeat! David kept yelling, “Dig deep! Your body knows what to do! Just keep moving...165 more steps and we’ll be at the crater rim.” 165 more steps!...I can do that! I began counting my steps in sets of 10. Talking about mind games, David had his share, as 30 minutes and thousands of steps later, we hit the crater rim.
Working our way into the crater, I became overwhelmed with emotion, literally shedding tears of joy while hugging and high-fiving Joe and David. After getting some food and fluids, we made our way across the crater to Columbia Crest, the highest point on Mt. Rainier at 14,411 feet.
It took over six hours to reach the summit when it should have taken four, but we did it, placing the first tracks on the summit in over three days. As we prepared to descend, RMI came into the crater with their rope teams. The guides told us they saw our tracks and how crazy the route was that we took, and that they would never have made it through. David commented that it was his toughest climb of the year, but worth it to summit in such a legendary manner.
The descent back down to high camp was no picnic. Although we now had the right route to follow, which was safer and more direct, it was still treacherous, as it was getting warm and therefore dangerous, as the seracs were shedding car-sized blocks of ice, all while we all continued to bonk.
By the time we got to high camp, we had been on our feet for nearly 10 hours. I crashed into my tent with all of my gear still on, lying face down in my sleeping bag exhausted, unable to move. Amazingly, after some water and power gels, I came back to life as we roped up and moved out of high camp with our full 50-pound packs, back to Camp Muir.
At this point, all we wanted to do was get off the mountain, so we grabbed the last of our gear at Camp Muir and made our way down the Muir Snowfield. A few hours later, we hit the Skyline Trail and began celebrating with the rest of the team who was waiting for us. They started cheering and congratulating us, while other hikers and climbers passing by asked if we made it to the summit.
That was special for me, because when I was a kid, I was the one asking the climbers if they summited. It was my time to be that grizzly-looking, beat-down dude with a huge pack to say “Yes, I summited!” Now I know what those climbers saw and experienced and why they were always short on words. Some things, some experiences, are indescribable, and Mt. Rainier is one of those.
Fifteen hours after the start of our summit climb that morning, we made it back to Paradise, where we cleaned up and celebrated the successful summit with a cheeseburger and, of course, a Rainier beer! No better way to celebrate three perfect days on a magnificent mountain.
To date, Mt. Rainier is still the toughest thing I’ve done in my entire life, mentally and physically, even compared to racing the world’s best in track cycling. I had to dig deeper than ever before, to a whole new level, for hours on end, battling altitude, technical obstacles and fear, all on one hour of sleep. This climb taught me what I was made of. I’m glad David pushed me, as it again demonstrated what the body is truly capable of doing.
For 10 months, I busted my ass, training to do nothing other than stand on top of Mt. Rainier. The summit was payday for all of that hard work and sacrifice. What’s great is that the 10-month journey was an experience of its own, introducing me to a lot of great people and places as well as teaching me a lot about the sport of mountaineering and myself, setting the foundation for the many journeys and summits to follow.
Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu wrote, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” After my experience climbing Mt. Rainier, I have a different perspective on things, taking many new “first steps” since, both physical and metaphorical, that have allowed me to reach new heights.
Climb On!
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