Last Hurrah

Before encountering the madness of the short trails around Paradise ("Seriously, does anyone understand 'Don't walk on the fragile meadows'?") we descended the about 7,000 feet of snowfields.

This was not without a certain amount of entertainment. Enter the second and arguably more important function of the snowshovels:

Deception Cleaver and below

Probably my two favorite shots from the whole trip: a breathtaking view from the top of Deception Cleaver.

Brian, you are a good mountaineer and a great man. Without you, I would have never made it to the top of my first fourteener.

Here's a view of high camp from the top of Deception Cleaver.

You want me to walk across that ladder?!?!

At one point, the trail we were following encountered a crevass about 8 feet wide--too wide to simply step across. The highly competent guides at Rainier Mountaineering Institute had put a metal stepladder across it and secured it with four snow pikes. It seems to have been a few days since that event and only two of the ladder's four ends are now resting on solid snow. The other two hover in the air a foot or so above the snow.

Understandably, this is less than secure, which becomes problematic when looking down at the 50' drop beneath the shaky ladder.

Fortunately, when we crossed the ladder in the morning on our way to the top, it was too dark to see down to the bottom of the crevass. On the way back, however, both the bottom of the crevasse and another, safer way around were visible.

Cevasses

Many open crevasses greet climbers in the summer on the Mountain. Fortunately, visibility was good, and a trail led the way around the wider crevasses and over those that have yet to become impassible.

The way down

Reluctant to leave a scene of such immense grandeur, we consoled ourselves with the impressive views on the way back to high camp (and the prospect of a nap in our tent, still set up there).

Here you can see, a distant Little Tahoma peak (about 3 miles laterally from the summit) with its glaciers and the headwaters of the White River.

The crater

For those unfamiliar with Rainier's topography, the top is composed of two overlapping craters. Upon arriving at the higher of the two (the east crater), all that was left was a short hike across the snow field to Columbia Crest, the true summit of Mount Rainier.

The crater rim remains exposed in the summer due to geothermal heat from the volcano, and in the west crater, under 100 feet of solid ice, lies the continent's highest lake, about 130' x 30' in area, 16' deep, and 14,200 feet in elevation. This lake is accessible via a series of ice caves (the world's largest network of volcanic ice caves), but spelunking wasn't in the plans for us, even if we could have found the entrance.

In the second photo, Brian and I, delirious from the grueling climb, the elevation, our dizzying sense of accomplishment, and the intemporality of it all, seek shelter from the wind before heading back down to the real world.

Moon Rocks

The conditions are so severe at the summit that the frozen snow takes on an eerie, otherworldly, stalagmite shape.

It really seemed, at times, that we were on some alien planet or the moon.

Sun at the top

It was cold at the top. (You can see the lime snow on our jackets.)

I had lost my thick, waterproof mittens during the ski season and so was left with only thin liner gloves for my hands. Fortunately, however, I had with me an extra pair of socks (given to me by my special lady--thank you Kira!) and a pair of hand warmers that fit nicely into the end of them to stave off frostbite. (Not to mention the fashion statement!)

By the time we had finished screwing around on the summit and congratulating each other on our improbable achievement, the sun had come out to congratulate us as well.

Summit!

We made it!

At 6:52 am, in the howling wind and snow, Brian and I stood on Columbia Crest, 14,410 feet (4,392 m) above sea level.

As you see in the picture, there almost no visibility from the top.

The ascent begins!

We slept in the relative warmth of the afternoon until about midnight, when we got up, put on lots of layers for the ascent and strapped headlamps to our climbing helmets.

Here, the sun sets at High Camp over the Ingrahm glacier and the bottom of Deception Cleaver around 9:00 pm. I had gotten up to relieve myself and was treated to this glowing hue on the north horizon.

Bedtime at High Camp

After setting up camp again, we loaded our ascent packs for the following day, melted more snow to fill water bottles, and hit the sack around 3:00 pm to prepare for our summit attempt the next day.

In the second photo, you can see the gnarly, craggy top of the Ingraham glacier

Little Tahoma Peak

Little Tahoma Peak, seen in the distance from our high camp, is actually a remnant of the early days of the life of the mountain. At one time, what is now Little Tahoma Peak formed the eastern side of the Mountain before geologic activity and millenia of erosion separated them into two distinct peaks.

Despite the name, Little Tahoma Peak, elevation 11,138 feet, is actually the third highest peak in the state of Washington.

High Camp

After a delicious freeze-dried meal and rehydrating ourselves, we bedded down at Camp Muir around 9:00 pm. We woke up the next morning and hiked a short distance to the Ingraham Flats, on the east flank of the mountain. Though only a few hundred feet higher than Camp Muir, a cold wind rushed over glaciers and through our camp, so it was significantly colder. The clouds made furtive appearances, at times obscuring the view of Little Tahoma Peak, directly in front of us.

Brian at Muir

Logan was happy to set down his 60 lb. pack when we reached base camp. After a day on a boat without sunscreen, carrying a backpack was not the least painful of activities for him.

Note the view from our tent of the Muir Guide Station and Mount Adams in the background.

Camp Muir

At just after 4:00 pm on Thursday, July 23, after nine hours of hiking (ahem, please don't compare this figure with other people who have climbed to Camp Muir...), we reached our destination for day one--Camp Muir, 10,080 feet.

Camp Muir sleeps almost 100 climbers at capacity, and we weren't the only ones who had this for a destination that day.

Muir Snowfield

By around 1:00pm, we had reached the Muir Snowfield, and a hard rock trail gave way to a softening snow trail. By now the clouds were far below us, so we applied liberal amounts of sunscreen and trudged for a few hours, switching back up a 20-30% grade to our first day's destination.

Waterfall

Here's a waterfall we saw across the Nisqually Glacier and valley. Less impressive in photographs, it's probably close to 100 feet tall.

If you look closely, you can see it to the right in the first photo.

Cascades above the clouds

As we climbed higher and higher, so the Cascades to the south of us rose above the clouds. Here you can see some mountains just opposite Rainier and, farther away, Mount Adams.

Posers

Soon, we were above the tree line and thusly afforded boundless opportunities to pose, looking goofy, with our stately friend and adversary the Mountain serving as backdrop.

Wildflowers

Here we, er, I mean... Brian stopped to take photos of the wildflowers in bloom all along the lower part of the Pebble Creek Trail. Meanwhile, I was ready for avalanches, and crevasses, and other mountain hazards, like fighting off bears with my ice ax.

Above the clouds

We started the climb from the Paradise Visitors' Center, elevation 5420 ft. For the first hour or so, the air was thick with fog and the top of the mountain was invisible. Then around 8:30, it came out to taunt us with its bulk and distance.

We were duly impressed.