The One Where I Climb Rainier, Part III

This is Part 3 of a 4 part series.  Parts I and II can be found here and here.

Saturday, August 17, 2013
 

Although we'd been worried about a dubious weather forecast showing lots of wind and possible precipitation, when I poked my head out of the tent at 2:30 I found a dazzlingly clear sky full of brilliant stars and only a slight breeze blowing. It was one of those rare visions of the Milky Way in all its radiance filling the vast expanse above our heads and seeming to swallow up our little mountain.
 

Rising and. . .Shining

 

We made preparations, secured our gear, and started hiking in the black of night with only our headlamps to light our way. It was about 4:00 am.

The first hour after setting out from camp was one of the most difficult stretches of the trip for me. I am not used to hiking in the dark and I had a hard time warming up after a difficult night's sleep. At that point I had only slept for about 5 hours during the previous two nights and I was starting to really feel the fatigue. On top of that, the visual distances really started to play tricks on my mind that morning. The boot track had been clearly visible the night before and it only looked like a pretty short distance to cover before completing the traverse of the Cowlitz glacier and emerging onto the scree field that would take us up and over the ridge onto Ingraham Glacier. But it seemed to take forever to cross. About one hour after leaving camp, we had not yet crested the ridge (~10,600 feet) we were heading toward.

 

Some miserable hiking through this stretch

 

Finally we made it up and over, and what a sight we saw! Moments before making the ridge I had noticed that the first weak blue light of the dawn was just starting to show off to the east (over the ridge). As we crested, we were met with the deep red and orange glow of an early sunrise. We were over the clouds, and their pale white tops were just visible in the early light. The stars and the Milky Way were still out in all their glory and silhouetted against this brilliant canvas was Little Tahoma - a rugged pyramid of a peak rising to almost 11,200 feet - directly in front of us.

This was for me one of those breathtaking moments - impossible to really capture with a camera - that causes one to forget all of one's current labors and burdens. I felt like I could have stayed right there, in that moment, forever. But even as this vision opened before me, the light was growing and the stars were fading quickly. Fifteen minutes later all but the brightest stars had gone to sleep and the world had changed. We began our foray onto the Ingraham Glacier.

The Ingraham Glacier was one of the more sobering stretches of the climb for me. In 1981 it was the site of the deadliest single mountaineering accident in United States history. On June 21st of that year 10 climbers and their RMI climbing guide were killed in a freak icefall accident as they were swept into a crevasse not far from Ingraham Flats. Their bodies remain entombed in the glacier to this day. I could not help but dwell a bit on this sobering fact as we made our way alongside the towering Cathedral Rock headwall where evidence of snow and icefall was littered all around us.

All things considered it is one of the safest stretches of the entire climb and it proved to be a good spot for our first break. It was here that everyone in the group put their crampons on and got roped up together. From this point forward the crevasse danger would be more pronounced. Everybody took in a bit of food and water and we watched the sun slip up over the horizon and slide through a layer of forest fire haze off to the east. In that land of ice and snow it was immediately time to apply sunscreen and to don our sunglasses.

We split into two rope teams: Mike led Aaron and Dallyn on his rope and Brent led me, Lara, and John on ours.

As we left Ingraham Flats the trail got a bit steeper. From this point we began our long traverse of the glacier, during which we would step or hop over several crevasses. Some of them less than a foot in width, others pushing 3 feet wide. The wider ones appeared to be well over 100 feet deep and gave us all a bit of a pause before crossing.

It was during this traverse that the terrain started to appear particularly inhospitable. As the sun inched higher and we got a better view of our surroundings, it became clear that we were in a place almost altogether devoid of life and that certainly would not sustain our lives if we spent too much time there. The terrain was brutally rugged, with evidence of avalanches and rockfall all around us. It appeared like we were navigating a choppy sea with endless impenetrable waves of crevasses punctuating the landscape.
 

An overview of Ingraham Flats

Ingraham Glacier - Heavily Crevassed

In roughly an hour's time from Ingraham Flats we made it to Disappointment Cleaver. The DC, as everyone calls it, is a prominent rock outcropping - the last significant rock exposure on the way to the summit (via this route). Climbers typically leave their crampons on as they traverse this ridge of crumbly loose rock. It's a pretty miserable stretch of trail. There were lots of slips and wobbles through this section as I found myself frequently reaching out to brace or catch myself by grabbing onto some jagged piece of rock. Finally though we approached the top of the cleaver.

The rock on the right is DC

Shortly before we made the top a couple of guides were hustling in the opposite direction with a look of urgency about them. They warned us that a helicopter would soon be arriving at the top of the cleaver to extract a member of their party who had been injured. This piqued our interest and reminded us all once again what a dangerous environment we were operating in.

As we made the top of the cleaver we saw where the injured climber had been put inside a bivvy bag atop a litter. I overheard one of the rangers there on the radio reporting that the injured woman was alert and conscious (Mike had heard someone else say at a different point that she had not been conscious). The group huddled around the climber all urged us to leave the area so that the helicopter could operate without worrying about our group interfering. So we climbed on.

From the top of DC we had a clear view of the most formidable obstacle on our path to the summit. For weeks I had been reading about the precarious ice-step that had opened up on this route. This ice step was a series of significant, wide crevasses that were impossible to avoid and could only be crossed by going over a series of aluminum ladders that the guides had lain down and anchored into the snow.

From several hundred vertical feet below we saw groups coming down across these ladders - walking out on these tiny platforms above hundreds of feet of thin air.

Once we had made it a ways past the injured climber we took another 10-minute break. At this point the time was about 9:30 and it was becoming apparent that we were making pretty slow progress on our climb. A couple of members of the group expressed doubt and frustration about their abilities to endure all the way to the top. I was feeling well-fatigued myself (the lack of sleep was really catching up to us all, I think) but I took the opportunity to express confidence that everyone in the group was doing great and had the ability to reach our goal. I don't know whether anyone believed me or not, but no more doubts were expressed and we were soon on our way again.

 

Taking a break - gathering courage

 

A short time later we made it to the dreaded ice step. We were fortunate to arrive at a time when we had the crossings to ourselves. This section is a single-file section where only one party can navigate at a time. Having read about hours-long bottlenecks through this section, I was pretty grateful for our relatively late start and good timing. Mike led his rope team up and across first and our group followed.

At this point I should probably provide a description of the ice step. It really consisted of three sections. The first was a short vertical ice climb. A vertically placed (anchored) ladder provided clearance over a horizontal crevasse opening. From the top of the ~8 foot ladder climbers had to scramble up a nearly-vertical ice wall by relying on the toe-spikes of their crampons. After 15-20 feet of vertical climb the climber comes to the next section, a horizontally-placed ladder with two slats of wood lashed onto it. This ladder spanned an 8-10 foot wide crevasse that was hundreds of feet deep. The ladder had a loose rope running parallel to it for a bit of stability while crossing. The third section was the same as the second, and was another 30 feet beyond the first ladder-bridge. However, this final ladder had a broken rung on the end of it, which made the whole platform awfully unstable.

 

Step 1 - Nearly a vertical scramble

 

Step 2 - Little bridge, huge chasm

To safety - a narrow, steep perch

 

It's hard to describe the feeling of crossing over those bridges. Although I peeked over the edge before venturing out over the chasm, I didn't dare look down while I was walking across. I'm not especially afraid of heights or prone to bouts of vertigo, but then I'd never felt (or been) quite so precariously-placed in all my life. Everyone made it across without incident, although several of us had to summon some serious courage in order to find the will to take those steps (or to crawl) to the other side.

One funny thing about this crossing. As John - the last member of our party - was about to step out onto the last bridge we heard the first deep rumblings of an approaching helicopter. I doubt that I will ever forget hearing and feeling the whump whump of those twin rotors as the Chinook approached Disappointment Cleaver through the Cowlitz glacier valley. The Chinook helicopter is an enormous beast and seeing it approach that desolate, remote place was a sight to behold. I remember feeling strongly that with one of those machines on the way deliverance was at hand for the injured climber and anyone else who should ever have similar need.

 

Look closely - there's a huge helicopter there

But did I mention it was windy? The wind had been blowing steadily all day and started to get pretty serious at elevations above the DC. Consequently, that majestic, impressive helicopter made two passes over the injured climber and then retreated back the way it came. It was obviously too windy for it to attempt a rescue at that time. My heart went out to the injured and the rescue party at that moment. Watching the helicopter fade into the distance must have been a blow to their morale.

After collecting our wits on the far side, we continued our trek up and up and up. From this point the boot track took a long traverse across the upper Emmons Glacier. About a half hour after the helicopter came and went, a second, smaller helicopter came and performed the same exercise as the Chinook - circling twice before retreating back down the valley.

We continued uphill for another 2+ hours after the ice-step. There wasn't much remarkable about this stretch except for the mental toll it took on everyone. The terrain was fairly featureless. It was steep and was little more than an endless series of switchbacks. The wind picked up considerably as we passed 13,000 feet. From time to time strong gusts would blast us unexpectedly and stop us momentarily in our tracks.

There was very little communication through this stretch. Nobody really had the energy or wherewithal to take any photos. At one point, some time after we'd seen the second helicopter fly away we saw it again with a litter (apparently) successfully attached and suspended below it. Although I have been unable to get any media information about this rescue effort (and my email to the NPS went unanswered), we assumed that the climber was taken away to safety.

We stopped frequently to take small breaks and to catch our breath. It sure felt like the trail was never going to end and that the summit was never going to get closer. As we neared the crater the clouds started doing strange things. The wind was blowing west-to-east (in our direction off the summit) and the thin cloud cover hanging over the summit was blowing rapidly off of the peak in thin tendrils hundreds of feet long over our heads. I have never seen anything quite like it.

 

The upper slopes were pretty featureless.  And steep.

To our enormous relief, we finally crested the summit crater shortly after 2:00. My rope team quickly dissolved into a slobbering mess of emotion. I was surprised at how quickly the tears came out for all of us as we continued on and achieved our goal. We shared hugs and smiles and tears and then we went and found some rocks to sit on.

 

John and Lara making the crater

Me.  Arrived.

Brent resting in the crater

 

Mike, Aaron, and Dallyn walking across the crater

 

Something strange happened at point. The temperature was cold (just a bit below freezing) and it was very windy (45mph?) and we were all a bit delirious. Everyone scattered just a bit to find a place to sit and try to get warm. I went and found John because I knew that he was planning on asking Lara a certain question at this point on the climb and I wanted to make sure he hadn't lost his nerve. I found him sitting alone and I asked him if we was going to "do it." Can I just say? It's a good thing I did. His very curt response was to ask, "do what?" So I gave him a look and I said, "you know what!"

He softened up a little bit at that point and confessed that leading up to that point he was thinking of bailing out because everyone was so cold and miserable. (I don't think it was quite the romantic mountaintop proposal environment he had envisioned.) I told him there was never a better time or place for a proposal and after sitting there for another moment, he grabbed his pack and ambled off to find Lara.

At that point Brent came over and sat down and he really wasn't doing very well. He complained that he had a really bad headache and that he was cold. In fact, shortly after sitting down he began shaking almost uncontrollably. At that moment I had just got Heather on the phone and was telling her that we had reached our destination and that everyone had made it up. Brent tried to leave a voicemail for his wife but was having a hard time speaking very coherently. It quickly became apparent that I needed to do something for Brent.

Thank goodness for hot chocolate. Not only does it cure so many problems here at sea-level, but it also comes in very handy to help cold climbers suffering from a touch of altitude sickness. Brent happily downed as much of the stuff as he could get.

John and Lara came over moments later and Lara took off her glove to reveal a shiny new piece of jewelry she had acquired. We took a moment to congratulate her with some hot chocolate as well.

 



Lara found a ring up there somewhere

 

We didn't want to linger, however. It was quickly becoming apparent that we needed to get off that summit. The temperature wasn't improving and we had a long descent before we would be able to find safety. We pulled the group together and I think we were all feeling a bit vulnerable in that moment. Exhaustion was a factor, the altitude, the temperature, and the demands of the trail waiting below us weighed heavily on our bodies and minds. After a quick prayer for safe travels, we began the long retracing of our steps.

The trip down was long. We left the crater rim behind at about 4:00. There's not much to report about the downward trip except a couple of memorable moments. At one point, while resting on a step section of glacier (which pretty much describes everything above Disappointment Cleaver), Lara lost her grip on a water bottle, which quickly slid right past our group and off down the ice into a crevasse. It was a small thing, but served as a stark reminder to our group of just how quickly one of us might follow the same route if something were to go wrong.

While going down over the ice step, there was one moment where deep beneath us something gave way in the bowels of the glacier and crashed down with a tremendous resounding boom that we both heard and felt. If we hadn't already been anxious to get out of that scary place, we were then even more motivated to do so.

 

Something waaay down there went crash

Aside from those couple of moments, the trek down was little more than long and tedious. Hiking down over the rock of DC was painful. My feet began to really suffer at that point and I began to walk more and more gingerly the farther we went. Night had fallen completely about the time we came back onto Ingraham Glacier. A day that had started out being illuminated by nothing more than headlamps was destined to end the same way. The last 90 minutes of the hike we were all shuffling along like zombies, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. The cumulative effort of the previous 48 hours had wrung us out completely. By the time we made it back to our tents at almost 11:00 Saturday night, we had enough energy to throw off our gear, climb into our sleeping bags, and fall dead asleep.

 

You cast a long shadow when you're 14,411 feet tall

Part IV to follow by the end of the weekend. . .