We meet the team at 6:00am at Alpine Ascents office in Seattle. The last check-list items were being tackled by our team guides, while the rest of the team if 8 sat in silence trying to wake up and wrap our head around what was in store for us for the following 3 days.
We got in the van and started heading to the 5th tallest mountain in the lower 48, at a staggering 14,400 feet above sea level.
While planning this trip in mid 2019, Covid-19 hit the world hard, shaking most of us to our core. With an estimated death toll of 6.5 million people around the world, the entire world stopped and hunkered down at home. After a few months of this, people started to venture outdoors and explore open spaces, away from the contagion.
The pandemic had been going on for a year at the time of our climb, and there was no end in sight, so extra precautions were required like face masks, smaller groups and carrying you individual dehydrated meals versus having hot meals prepared by the guides and gathering in the cook tent to have some social time.
After a 2.5 hour drive, we arrived to the base of the mountain, a spot called Paradise.
Paradise is nestled on the south slopes of the glacier-shrouded volcano at an elevation of 5,400 feet. This spot is among wildflower meadows, mixed with snowfields and groves fir trees; there are few locations within the entire national park system this stunning, hence the name.
We gathered our backpacks and divided between the 8 climbers the gear that we needed in high camp. This means that our already 40 lbs backpack became even heavier after the extra items were being distributed.
At approximately 9:00am, we began our hike at 5,400 feet of elevation towards the first camp, Camp Muir at an elevation of 10,188 feet.
Considering that many indoor activities were canceled until further notice due to the pandemic, it was very visible that more people were taking into outdoor activities like mountaineering. Because of it, our guide pointed out that the mountain was busier than normal and our team was slowed down initially. I have to say that in a way it made me feel safer to know I was not the only crazy person attempting such a challenge.
In the beginning of the hike we saw hundreds of visitors roaming the skirt of the mountain, but as we started gaining more elevation the hikers started becoming less and less. We passed the tree line fairly quickly and got into the foot of the glacier which made my heart beat faster. We then took a break to put on our crampons, take the ice ax out, and attach ourselves to the line in groups of 3 due to the beginning of crevasse territory.
At about the 6 hour mark, I started to feel the very familiar feeling, “Why am I here? Why am I doing this? I am always so tired as it is, the only thing I really need is a hotel room and to sleep for a week straight”. Then a sense of peace took over me when we started hiking again and all I could focus was on each step, each breath, each sound of my boots compacting the snow; it was a walking meditation! And there it was, my first lesson: When life becomes overwhelming, place your focus in the present moment. Magnify the joy in the simple things like a snowflake or a leaf. After a few moments, I looked up and I could see the towering mountain in front of me, and it was calling me by my name. It was breathtaking!
As we reached the respite of Camp Muir, the view of the Cowlitz Glacier, the towering Gibraltar Rock, Cathedral Rock, and Little Tahoma (which seems dwarfed by Mount Rainier), were worth every second. To the right of the camp, a small tent city populated the area of climbers headed to the summit the following day.
After arriving to Camp Muir we all collapsed and took a long deserved break. We were then ushered to our wooden shelter with wooden planks (only a few guiding companies have access to it) where we all set up our sleeping bags right next to each other like sardines. We wanted to make sure we were protected against the cold as best as we could. I was so relieved to know I was going to be protected from the stormy night with more than a nylon tent between me and the outside world. It was not nylon anymore, but a piece of wood. I felt like I was moving up in life.
At around 5:00pm we heated up our dehydrated meals with hot water, made ourselves a blistering hot tea and got inside our sleeping bags before the night got too cold. Maintaining body heat was going to be our priority from this that point forward.
John and Carol on my right, and Rachel and Steve on my left, I was happy with my bunkmates since we all had an unspoken pact of helping each other if anything went aerie. That feeling is magnified when you are in a place that is unfamiliar and dangerous. I often thought this was the reason why people in combat develop such a brotherhood. You have each others back in the moments that matter the most.
The night was in the single digits, the air was crisp and the stars where shining brighter than I ever remembered seeing them, in particular the North Star, like it was trying to act as a lighthouse to guide us to our destination.
When I was about to turn off my head lamp off to call it a night, the zipper on my sleeping bag broke, and naturally I had a moment of panic. I asked John for help by pointing to my zipper because of my inability to talk due to fear of what will happen next. In the few moments after, the thought of the possibility of freezing that evening AND (a big and) if I made it to the next morning alive, the thought of having to turn back the following morning was too paralyzing. In the mountains, if you have the smallest problem with your gear, it might mean costing you the summit, if not your life.
John was able to fix it after fiddling with it for a few minutes, which to me seemed like hours. After crisis was averted, we closed our eyes, but none of the 8 climbers got more than 2 hours of sleep between the altitude, cold and excitement.
We woke up to a hot cup of really strong coffee, while assessing the weather for the day ahead. The sun was shining and it seemed like the perfect summer day to make it to high camp. Before we moved up, we had a full day of snow school.
After breakfast, we met at a snowy and icy hill to practice ice climbing, crevasse rescue, rest steps, pressure breathing, temperature management, hydration, self-arrest, avalanche transceivers, rope techniques and mountain psychology. After a few hours of working on winter alpine techniques, we had a quick lunch and started the 3 hour ascent to Ingraham Flats, also known as high camp. High camp is a camp set up by Alpine Ascents and RMI exclusively for their clients, this gives them a better chance to make it to the summit by dividing the last stretch in two days and avoiding burn out.
The evening of day 2, September 4th, 2021 we made it to high camp and took a well deserved rest while overlooking the prominent sub-peak of Mt Rainier, Little Tahoma. That evening we gathered around the tents and we got assigned a tent for each of us. We did not have to share one that night, which I was glad about, but nervous I would get too cold on my own. In the mountains is preferable to share a tent to keep your body temperature from dropping.
After dinner our guides gave us the disappointing news that the crevasse connecting the Ingraham Glacier to the Disappointment Cleaver (also known as DC) was widening by the minute and even 3 laters tied to one another wasn’t sufficient to cross the gigantic crevasse. My peripheral view shrunk and zoomed into the words he was speaking as the news was being delivered to me.
A flashback of all the sacrifices I made to be there were all rushing through my brain in slow motion. Orchestrating the logistics of leaving my 4 kids, convincing my husband that this was a good idea, my arduous training, my mental preparation and my expectation of what the climb was going to look like came crushing down like a 100 foot wave. I retreated to an area full of penitentes (an odd formation in high altitude glaciers in very dry air), where I found some privacy to let my frustration out. Lesson number two was that everyone in my team had probably sacrificed more than I did to be here and were much more composed than I was. One man in particular taught me so much grace with the way he dealt with the disappointment after using most of his salary to pay for his trip at the age of 60+. He didn’t say much, but the way he handled himself taught me a valuable lesson.
Once I gathered myself, I went back to the team and we finished that day by ice climbing around high camp, while learning new techniques, do it with more grace and more agility.
Rainier taught me more about myself that I cared to learn then. I was there to bag the summit and came down with much more. Disappointment is a very hard concept to grasp, and when something is out of your control it is even harder to come to grips with it, until it is forced upon you and your ego deflates like a balloon with lessons of humility and surrender.
Life rarely happens as you plan it, and it is in the twists and turns of life that reveal the beauty of what a full bloom looks like.
Climbing a mountain has become the metaphor I now live by and trying to control a mountain is like trying to control life. It is something uncontrollable and we must master the action of hard work while surrendering to outcomes out of our control.