Friday, January 1, 2010
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Please enjoy the photos!
The above picture is Mt. Foraker. It is over 17,000 feet tall!
The picture above shows the basecamp for climbers attempting to climb Denali. If you look closely, you can see tiny little dots. Those are the tents of the climbers. This is a HUGE place!
The above picture is looking at the summit of Denali from the southwest.
The above picture shows the incredible north face of Denali -- called Wickersham Wall. It is a sheer face of rock and ice that rises nearly 14,000 feet (nearly 3 miles!) above the surrounding mountains to the top of the 20,300 foot summit of Denali.
The picture above shows an ice fall, which is like a waterfall of ice. It is very difficult to climb through, so climbers usually find a way around it.
The picture above shows a wall of rock over a mile high. Though you can't see it in the picture, there is another one to our right side. We're surrounded by mile-high rock on both sides!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
After losing our third team member due to altitude sickness the first day out at 8,000 ft, Ian and I succesfully reached the true summit of Rainier on a beautiful, sunny Friday morning. We descended to Camp Muir in warm conditions with slushy snow. Ian was severely dehydrated and suffering from altitude sickness, but we were able to descend safely. Ian was not feeling well enough to descend all the way to Paradise on Friday afternoon, so we stayed at Muir that night. Unfortunately, conditions deteriorated overnight and we awoke 40 mph howling winds and blowing snow. We pushed through the wind and pelting snow Saturday morning to reach the car in the parking lot.
MOUNT RAINIER – REMOVE THE ASTERISK!
I met Ian through our common interest in bootfitting via participation in an online backpacking discussion forum. We had a few differences of opinion, but I knew immediately that Ian was an individual worthy of respect. After exchanging several ideas electronically, Ian and I had an opportunity to meet face-to-face when my wife Laura and I visited my brother in Ian’s home territory of Virginia.
We met for a day of top-roping at a local D.C. area crag. Since it was one of my first outdoor rock climbing experiences, I paid close attention to how Ian set anchors and was impressed by his rope handling skills. I felt comfortable with Ian. I trusted his experience and his judgment. And from that day forward he became a sort of virtual mentor in my pursuit of climbing experience.
After a few years of exchanging emails and phone calls (always with the idea in the back of my mind of climbing with Ian someday), I proposed a trip to climb Mount Rainier. I knew that Ian had attempted the mountain twice previously and had been forced to turn back both times before reaching the summit due to poor weather conditions among other factors. My own successful summit bid a year earlier had an asterisk associated with it, as we opted to turn back after reaching the crater rim but before reaching the highest point on the mountain due to poor visibility, 75+ mph winds, and an exhausted teammate.
It appeared that our initial plans to climb Rainier together were falling through. But then I received an email from Ian saying that he and one of his climbing buddies (James) had tickets booked to Seattle and needed a third partner for the rope team. Coincidentally, I was already looking for something to climb that weekend, as Laura would be traveling out of town. I joined the team with excitement – both at the prospect of finally climbing with Ian and the opportunity to visit the majestic mountain yet again.
Wednesday – Arrival and Departure
We exchanged several emails in the planning stages of the trip (including several references to cheesy mountaineering movies that prompted me to rent a VHS player just so I could watch “K2”). The anticipation for me was realized when I picked up Ian and James Wednesday afternoon from the Seattle airport and we drove to Paradise, which looked like anything but paradise on this particular day.
The spitting rain and cold wind served as a reminder of what the forecast predicted, but there was anticipated to be a break in the weather Thursday night and Friday as a ridge of high pressure moved in. We packed up and started hiking up into the uninviting, white atmosphere.
Having been extremely busy at work over the past several days/weeks/months, I was concerned that my fitness level would not be sufficient to keep up with my fit marathon-ready partners. But I had the advantage of having hiked some vertical terrain in preparation for the climb. On the inclines that Ian and James complained of “feeling the burn,” I was wondering when the climbing was going to start. In hindsight, I could have prevented two swift kicks in the butt had I not verbalized this sentiment to my partners.
We hiked up through the whiteness until it was obvious the sunlight was diminishing before we stopped to find a place suitable to make camp. We pitched the tent just above Pebble Creek, feeling healthy but tired. Except for James. He had been working long hours too, but with the early morning flight and the three-hour time change, he had been active for nearly twenty-four hours with only a couple hours of sleep the night before. He vomited after we reached camp and complained of a headache. Acute Mountain Sickness may show up as low as 5,000 feet in some people, but this was the lowest I’d seen anybody experience it. Unfortunately, there is no way to predict the who, when or where of altitude sickness. James had been higher several times previously without similar symptoms.
Anticipating that James would feel better after some rest at the current elevation, we ate, drank, and climbed into the tent under a starless canopy of clouds. After several hours of warm, peaceful sleep – broken only by occasional sleet pelting the tent – I awoke to the sun trying to burn off the thick layer of clouds. I peeked out of the tent and saw that the sun was doing a pretty good job of it. Unfortunately, James was not able to get the rest he needed as he spent a near sleepless night struggling with his discomfort.
Thursday – Splitting up
We slept in late on Thursday morning, allowing James to rest and recuperate. He felt physically better late in the morning, but still was not 100% and felt a bit anxious about the climb. He agreed to attempt the rest of the hike to Muir, but was pretty certain he would not be joining us on our summit attempt. After some hot soup for breakfast, we broke camp and started hiking up.
It soon became apparent that James needed to go back down. Ian and I were ready to stash our packs and hike back down with him to safety before returning to pick up our packs and finish the hike to Camp Muir. Fortunately, a descending hiker agreed to walk back down with James. (This hiker turned out to be Todd Burleson – an accomplished mountaineer with several successful Everest summits who happened to be on his way to catch a flight to lead a Denali expedition.)
Ian and I divided the remaining food and group gear that we’d need and sent James down with as much as we felt he could safely handle. The drawback here is that we packed food for up to four days for three people; we had a three-person tent, a three-person cookset, and fuel for three people. Among three people, the weight isn’t bad, but split amongst the two of us, my pack felt burdensome. It was easily the heaviest load I had ever carried up a hill.
We arrived at the 10,080 ft Camp Muir around 5:00 PM – later than we would have liked, but still early enough to allow us some rest before a summit attempt early the next morning. After hiking up through clouds, the skies finally opened to reveal sun and bright blue hues. It appeared as though the extended forecast was accurate, and our window of clear weather was arriving right on target. We cooked dinner, melted water, and prepared our gear for an early morning alpine start. We opted to stay in the public shelter to maximize our available time. We were in bed shortly after 9:00 PM.
Friday – The Ascent
We awoke just before 2:00 AM to groaning, clanking and hissing as other climbers woke up, prepared their gear and cooked their breakfast before starting the summit bid. After the initial activity, Ian and I rolled out of our bags, made some hot soup and packed up.
The night sky above was crystal clear as the snow crunched beneath our feet. The stars were spectacular as we watched the line of white headlamps slowly ascend the Cowlitz Glacier on the route out of Muir. We commenced our journey to the upper mountain shortly after 3:30 AM.
We crossed the unbroken Cowlitz and picked our way up the Cathedral Rocks, reaching the area of Ingraham Flats just as the sun was beginning to tease the horizon. We were treated to a spectacular sunrise over Little Tahoma, with a sea of clouds far below us. That is one of those views that you can’t easily experience anywhere except on the side of a mountain after an alpine start! Like the feeling of a perfect swing in golf, it’s one of the things that keeps me coming back for more!
We saw some climbers ascending the Ingraham Direct route, but having heard that crevasses on that route were opening up and with a freshly made boot trail on the Disappointment Cleaver route, we opted for the Cleaver. We crossed the Ingraham Glacier and clipped into the recently placed fixed lines to gain the Cleaver. Rockfall is a potential hazard during this part of the climb, but the rocks were content to lie still that morning. Looking at the steep cliffs just a bit farther down the slope, I was thankful for the security offered by the fixed lines that helped to prevent a minor misstep from turning into a major catastrophe on this exposed section of the route.
Once we had gained the cleaver, we ascended a steep snow slope protected by a few running belays left by other teams on the mountain. We scrambled up a couple steep rocky sections before hitting the snow field on the Cleaver. We ascended this to 12,400 feet, where we encountered our first crevasse crossing as the route left the Cleaver and joined the big Emmons Glacier. The snow bridge was protected by pickets. It was a little intimidating staring down into the gaping crevasse, but we crossed without issue.
We followed the boot path as it traversed farther to climber’s right on the Emmon’s Glacier before we started climbing again. This traverse avoids the large crevasses above the Cleaver.
Around 13,000 feet, I noticed that Ian was slowing down. I asked if he was feeling okay, and he said that he had a bit of a headache, but nothing out of the ordinary. He said he would be fine. I was a bit concerned, but Ian was an experienced mountaineer and was completely lucid. It was obvious that he was working harder than he had been lower on the mountain, but so was I. That is a common experience at higher elevations. I trusted his judgment that he’d be okay, but I kept a close eye on him to watch for any further symptoms.
A bit higher, I noticed that Ian was struggling a bit to keep going. I asked him again how he was feeling. He responded that he would be fine. He seemed a bit agitated… not so much at me, but rather at his body’s unwillingness to cooperate with his intentions. He caught a bit of the flu from his young son before leaving for the trip, and that certainly wasn’t helping him high on the mountain.
After seeing Ian continue to fight against his body, I asked him again how he was feeling. When he assured me for the third time that he would be fine and would be able to make it up, I reminded him to keep some reserves for the descent, too. I expressed my concern at his condition, and I considered suggesting that we turn back to play it safe. Though I wanted to reach the summit, I was concerned about our ability to return safely to Muir. The sun was getting warm and the few snow bridges we crossed were only going to get weaker. I wondered what some of the steep sections would look like descending the Cleaver. I believe I would have turned back were it not for my respected partner’s resolve to continue pushing higher. Knowing that Ian prefers to climb conservatively and is not prone to summit fever, I once again trusted his judgment.
We continued to climb and passed a few cheerful descending parties who encouraged us, telling us that the summit was just around the corner. We wished them a safe descent. I scoffed a bit when they said the crater was just a few minutes away. I had been checking my altimeter on the way up, and it was now showing 13,500 feet – still nearly 1,000 vertical feet from the top. Only when we were looking down into the crater about ten minutes later did I realize that my altimeter was on ‘hold’ at 13,500. I reset it and saw it jump to over 14,000!
The crater was inviting and warm, with bright blue windless skies above. A few other parties were basking in the warm sun as they rested before their descent. We stopped to rest and chat briefly with a guide before crossing the crater to reach the true summit of Columbia Crest at 14,411 feet.
We were moving slowly, and I suggested removing our packs and unclipping from the rope in order to move more freely. Ian didn’t like that suggestion because the way he had the excess rope coiled and his prussiks attached made it difficult to unclip. Being tired myself and wanting to feel refreshed, I convinced him to do it anyway. Only afterward did I realize that it may have been easier for him to stay clipped in.
We clambered up the remaining five minutes to Columbia Crest and briefly enjoyed the 360 degree views. We could see peaks well into Oregon and beyond Mount Baker to the north – possibly as far north as Canada. The summit photos attest to how exhausted Ian was by this point, so we kept our visit at the top short. We exchanged a high-five and snapped a few shots. Then I silently thanked Rainier for allowing us to safely reach her summit (removing my asterisk) and we began our arduous descent.
Friday – The Descent
As we were leaving the crater, we chatted briefly with another party who had ascended the Ingraham Direct route. They were considering descending the Disappointment Cleaver route to avoid some of the sketchy snow bridges on the ID. Hearing this, I quietly asked them to keep an eye out for us on the descent, indicating that Ian wasn’t feeling 100%. They nodded their agreement.
It was already 11:00 AM by the time we left the crater. Ian mentioned that he was ready for a speedy descent, and I agreed, but indicated that I would prefer a safe descent over a speedy one. If we could have both – then great! As it turned out, we were moving quite slowly. I asked Ian to lead on the descent so that I could keep a watchful eye out and arrest any slips or falls. I still felt physically strong, but knew my muscles were getting tired. The anxiety I felt descending with only one partner – who was feeling less than ideal – didn’t allow me to relax.
I was slightly distracted as my mind played out several “what if” scenarios. Since I was momentarily not paying attention and moving faster than Ian, the rope became slack and interfered with Ian’s footwork. A couple stern reminders from Ian to watch the rope were all I needed to return my focus to the present and keep my eye on him and the rope.
I saw the party behind us descending. They were still far back, but I anticipated that they would quickly pass us at the rate we were moving. After an hour passed and they hadn’t gained much ground, I suspected they were holding back a bit in order to keep an eye on us from above. When they finally caught up at the snow bridge to the top of the Cleaver, it became apparent that the three of them were exhausted and in need of some rest. Because they were not familiar with the descent of the Cleaver, they asked if they could descend with us. Though we wanted to keep moving to get Ian to safety as quickly as possible, we agreed to hold up for a few minutes while they rested.
So, here we were… five of us… late on a hot afternoon, descending the Disappointment Cleaver. Ian was severely dehydrated and we were nearly out of water. He had a splitting headache and did not have much left in reserves. The other team was unsure of the route, dehydrated and entirely exhausted. At this point, I was the only one feeling strong physically and my reserves were beginning to be tapped, too. I felt confident that we would make it down safely at this point, but I still couldn’t help feeling some anxiety at the situation. I wondered why I ever enjoyed climbing in the first place. At that moment, it wasn’t much fun.
We set out a minute or two ahead of the other team to minimize risk of falling rocks or other objects from above. The descent of the snow field to the right of the rocky spine we had climbed proved to be the most physically demanding section of the entire climb. With both of us tired already, we plunged through soft, mashed potato snow up to our knees (and sometimes our waist) for about 1,000 vertical feet. Every single step required strained mental concentration and physical effort. It was a huge relief to finally reach the fixed ropes that led us off the Cleaver and onto the Ingraham Glacier. Knowing that the rest of the route posed minimal hazard, I finally was able to relax. I confirmed that the party above us was still doing okay, and we kept on pushing.
Near Ingraham Flats, I took one final drink of water and gave the rest to Ian, who obviously needed it more than I did. When passing the climbers camped there, I suggested to Ian that we ask for a cup or two of water for him, but he grunted a negative response and kept pushing.
By the time we reached Cathedral Gap, Ian was moving even more slowly. We removed our crampons and I stuffed his daypack and gear inside my pack to minimize his burden. We continued the last part of the descent to Camp Muir at a snail’s pace. Finally, after seven hours of climbing and nearly six hours descending, we arrived at Muir.
Ian immediately crashed on the wooden floor of the public shelter. I set out to find someone willing to share a liter of water for Ian right away to tide him over until I was able to melt some snow. The rangers proved to be extremely friendly and helpful in our hour of need.
After rehydrating some, but not able to keep down any food, Ian curled up in his sleeping bag. He drifted in and out of sleep/consciousness, groaning and snoring for the next several hours. Whenever he was awake, I reminded him to keep drinking, but could not get him to eat anything. I stored up enough water for both of us, cooked myself some dinner, then we both got some much needed rest for the night.
Saturday – Return to Paradise
We awoke on Saturday morning to howling 40+ mph winds and blowing snow. The expected front had moved in more quickly than anticipated. Ian still was not feeling well, and we knew we had to find a way to get him down soon.
I kept in touch with the rangers at Camp Muir, relaying Ian’s condition. Once again they were extremely helpful with information and offers of assistance. I learned from the rangers that the weather was only expected to worsen over the course of the next two or three days, but that currently the winds and snow would likely diminish just a thousand feet lower on the mountain. This was evidenced by the fact that we could actually see Paradise from above. There was a large group of novice climbers in the public shelter that was debating whether to descend or wait out the weather. After I relayed what I had learned from the rangers, we all agreed to descend through the white-out to Paradise. We certainly had no desire to stay on the mountain any longer.
Ian and I had stuffed all of our gear into our packs. Ian was obviously in pain, but had a steely resolve about him. He had taken some codeine to take the edge off. We discussed crafting a sled from a sleeping pad in order to haul his pack, but he was determined to carry it himself.
We were the first party to leave the shelter, and the others followed shortly after. The wind-driven snow/sleet pelted us. The gusts were schoolyard bullies, constantly shoving us and knocking us around. But as the rangers had anticipated, the wind and snow lessened as we descended.
Whether from the codeine or from the lower elevations, Ian began to regain some strength. In fact, there were sections that I started to fall behind his increasing pace. We were able to enjoy a few short glissades on the way down, which saved some energy and provided some much needed fun!
Though the weather was only marginally better than when we first arrived at the mountain a few days before, Paradise was much more inviting on the descent! By 10:00 Saturday morning, we had returned. We removed our packs and breathed a great sigh of relief. Then we began the adventure of locating James, who had our vehicle and was presumably somewhere in the state of Washington. Negotiating weak cell signals, broken payphones, a collect call to a sister-in-law with a request to call James for us, and unanswered text messages, we could do nothing else but wait. When James walked through the door, I never thought I’d be so happy to see someone I’d only known for three days!
As we were driving down the road from Paradise, I looked back toward the mountain… obscured by clouds. I was already forgetting the suffering of the past few days and was wondering when I would return to this majestic place to climb again.
Ian's LONG version of the trip:
James arrived at the house (350 ft above sea level) at 5am for pickup. After throwing the mandatory large bulky duffles of climbing equipment in the back of his car we headed for BWI airport. A smooth curbside check-in and soon we were sitting inside the aircraft anxiously awaiting the rev of engines and the thrust that would launch us skyward towards Seattle. After we arrived in Seattle’s SEATAC airport, we picked up the aforementioned duffels, tossed them in the back of Christopher’s car and headed off to the hill.
After a two-hour drive, we pulled into the parking lot at Paradise (5,500 ft) around 3:30pm. The mountain was obscured by gray clouds. Opening the car doors yielded a different climate. The comfy 70f interior of Christopher’s car was now replaced with a misty, rainy, gray, windy, low-hanging, cloudy, 40f day. With more than a slight chill in the air we hurriedly carried our bags into the communal area where climbers pack and de-pack bags before and after climbs. As we sorted out our own gear and group gear questions were tossed around like has anyone seen a Gu flask? Do we need this, how about that? You’re not carrying THAT are you? Etc. etc. etc. By 5pm, we were dressed, registered, permit in hand, packs loaded with the required armory of short metal pointy-pokey things, and ready to move upward. The banter of movie quips and bad songs began.
Our plan was to climb for a few hours on Wednesday and move part way (maybe a third of the way) up to Muir, making Thursday’s climbing shorter and allowing for acclimatization. Then we would sleep in Thursday morning a little and climb the remaining way up to Camp Muir (10,000 ft), which would function as our high camp. At Muir we could wait several days for a solid weather window and further acclimatize. The rangers at Paradise informed us that a brief high-pressure system would push in on Thursday and stay through late Friday afternoon. This would mean making a shot at the summit on early Friday morning, probably around midnight. Not much time for acclimatization, but probably the only good window we were likely to get.
By 8pm on Wednesday we had climbed for a few hours in spitting rain and light snow and sleet and often white out conditions to a spot a little higher than Pebble Creek (7,000 ft). We found a really great hidden and protected campsite and dropped packs. We quickly went to work setting up the tent and sorting out personal gear. On the way up to Pebble Creek, James noted on a few occasions that he wasn’t feeling great. I think at the time we all just assumed he was tired from the travels and a week of long hours at work. At the campsite James puked. A sure sign of acute mountain sickness. After a quick dinner of sandwiches we carried up with us, (mental note- never carry a subway brand sub up the hill again) and melting some snow for water, it was about 9pm and time for bed. James didn’t eat much, if anything, and explained that he felt worse than just a little tired, and that he thought perhaps we should go down. Christopher and I encouraged James to sleep on it and see if he felt better in the morning.
Thursday morning the high-pressure system was starting to push though. We awoke to bright, but still partially obscured skies and very warm weather, probably approaching 40f. After a quick light breakfast of chicken noodle soup James discussed that he wasn’t really feeling any better and was in fact feeling worse and that he thought he’d probably like to go down. After 15 minutes of discussion James decided that he’d climb for an hour or so to see if he felt better before making a final determination. Most unfortunately, after an hour, he felt no better. Exhausted by recent work, travel, and sick with AMS, James came to the unfortunate decision that he would need to go down as going up would only make things worse, but graciously, that he wanted Christopher and I to continue and make a bid for the summit since we were both feeling really great and the conditions looked so promising. Christopher and I were planning to leave our packs and walk James back down to Paradise when we saw a climber descending and asked if he’d walk James down, which he offered to do. That climber, as it turned out, happened to be a pretty famous climber (Todd Burleson) with several Everest summits and a part owner of a guiding company (Alpine Ascents Int’l, I think), on his way down the hill to fly the next day to lead a group on Denali. So at 2pm he and James went down and we went up. Christopher and I arrived at Camp Muir around 5pm, both feeling very strong, acclimatized and fit, though noticing the now heavier packs. Now above the clouds, the sunset yeilded some amazing views of Mt. Adams, Mt. Saint Helens, Mt. Hood
To save time we decided to sleep in the stone climbers’ shelter rather than our tent. While not really true alpine style, we felt this would be the best option as it would easily save us an hour that day and the next morning. We spent the next few hours melting snow for drinks, cooking dinner and sorting and organizing climbing gear and summit packs. We were in bed at 9pm with a planned wake up time of 2am (the same time as most other groups in the shelter, most of whom were in bed by 6pm).
At 1:55am we woke up to the noise of other climbers clamoring about. At 2:15 Christopher and I dragged ourselves out of our sleeping bags and started the process of getting dressed. By 3:30 we had had a cup of soup, were roped up, packs on, donning crampons and beginning the upward movement towards the summit, some 4,000 ft higher. We were the last party to leave the camp by about 45 minutes. From Camp Muir, under the light of headlamps we moved across a cirque and up through a steep snow and loose rock and scree to a gap in the rocks called Cathedral Gap (10,500). On climber’s left of the gap, the Cathedral rocks extend several hundred feet into the sky.
Once we cleared the gap, we moved upwards towards the Ingraham Glacier. We passed the Ingraham Flats (another high camp) at 11,000 and then after a few hundred yards made a 90degree right turn and crossed over the Ingram glacier to the base of a large spine of rock and snow several hundred feet tall called the Disappointment Cleaver. To our right as we traversed we paralleled huge crevasses, hundreds of feet long and who knows how deep. The views from this location, especially Little Tahoma, several thousand feet about the cloud layer were absolutely marvelous.
As we crossed over to the Cleaver the sun was rising and it was truly spectacular. Most parties see the sun rise from an altitude at least 1,000-1,500 ft higher than where we were. We traversed the bottom of the Cleaver and clipped into the first of three fixed ropes and moved with moderate speed as rockfall is a real danger here. As the sun freezes and thaws the snow and ice, rocks are loosened and dislodged from above. Climbers can also knock them off too and this place is notorious for rockfall. We moved across three sections of fixed ropes to the gain the bottom of the spine of the Cleaver. This was the first time it felt like real climbing. There was plenty of exposure and hazard and the angles were steep.
We ascended the very steep cleaver slowly and deliberately simul-climbing almost all of it, often clipping into fixed protection (pickets hammered into the snow) that other guides left for their return trip. They made our ascent quicker and safer. We moved up through several bands of snow and rock. The views down climber’s right (right side looking up hill) were scary at a few points. The route definitely forced concentration as we moved through the often loose rock.
Once on the cleaver at roughly 11,200 ft we moved along its spine through several sections of running belays and pickets, over snow and rock, until we reached the top of the cleaver at 12,000 ft. At this point the cleaver converges with another route called the Ingraham Direct. The cleaver runs parallel to the fall-line of the mountain. After reaching the top, we made a hard right and then traversed and crossed over a few moderately deep crevasses and snow bridges using a combination of in place fixed protection and belays. We traversed the Emmons glacier, slowly gaining altitude, zig-zagging our way up, and crossing a few more crevasses (some really deep ones) before finally getting to the bottom of the bergshrund connecting the top of the Ingraham glacier to the snow covered cap of the mountain. At the bergschrund we belayed each other up the vertical 15ft wall of snow which was protected by another fixed line (unfortunately, using ascenders or prussiks was tough because the setter knotted the rope for handholds). After successfully getting up the line we were at roughly 13,000 ft.
The last remaining 1,000 ft of snow climbing went very slowly. I was beginning to feel ill at this point and now, and it was showing. Even Christopher (who had not once slowed or been in difficulty) noticed that I was moving slowly and asked if I was maintaining enough in reserve for the descent. I assured him I was. In general I felt very strong, at this point, just the normal fatigue levels that comes from this type of activity…or so I thought.
Within an hour or so, we reached the summit crater and chatted with a guide. We unroped and then walked the last twenty minutes across the summit cone, to the true summit on the other side. A very quick congratulatory high-five was exchanged, the mandatory summit pictures snapped and then, with less than five minutes spent on the true summit, we headed down. It was already very late in the day at 9am. We grabbed our day packs and re-roped up.
I was really feeling tired at this point and wanted to head down asap. By the time we reached the traverse across the Emmons, then back to the Ingraham and back to the top of the Disappointment Cleaver I was feeling very dehydrated and my splitting headache was not going away, which worried me. I knew I was going to run out of water long before reaching eyesight of Muir at Cathedral Gap. By the time we reached the top of the Cleaver I was in really bad shape and I knew it was going to get worse. We waited for another party behind us (at their request) that had ascended via the Ingraham Direct, but wanted to descend via the Cleaver. They were concerned and probably rightly so that given the sun, temps, and hour, that the snow bridges over the crevasses on that route would no longer be a wise choice. Since they didn’t know the Cleaver route they asked to follow us. This turned out to be our longest break coming close to 20mins because the other group was quite tired and asked for extra time. All our previous breaks to this point, while frequent, were probably two-five minutes. It was very hard to get going after sitting for 20 minutes and I don’t plan to break this long again. I don’t know how the larger groups do it. At this point I had exhausted the 2 and a half liters of water I carried. Fortunately Christopher who was still feeling very strong shared his dwindling supply with me.
So, at the top of the DC (12,000 ft), now about 1pm, we begin the most technical portion of the descent. We descended the climber’s left side (the right side looking down) which is on a snowfield rather than the snow and rock spine which we came up. There are only a few spots on the entire Muir-DC-Summit route that caused me any anxiety. The Cleaver snowfield is filled with it. A fall at any point on the snowfield will likely yield fatal results if you tumble. The snow was so soft and deep I don’t think an axe pick would do much either. On this day, thanks to the very warm weather, full bluebird skies and sun, and our late start, the result was a snowfield that was very heavy, and very, very slushy. We postholed up to our knees and sometimes thighs. In my exhausted state this was incredibly difficult. An axe plunge self belay and deep posthole were the only stability. The attention required to maintaining balance while postholing was high as it was the primary method of controlling speed and preventing a fall on the steep terrain. Christopher to his extreme credit kept a very very watchful eye on me and good tension on the rope as we descended this section. It took more than an hour to descend the cleaver and get to the fixed ropes.
By roughly 3pm we were back on the Ingraham glacier. This was the first point where I felt fully safe and some relief despite my dehydration and headache, which was still raging. As an almost comical point to my plight my voice went in and out on a regular basis. Christopher wisely suggested that we ask to borrow some water for me. However, in my over exuberance to be self-reliant in the hills, I didn’t want to ask for assistance. Lesson learned: get some help now or possibly need a lot later.
We continued to descend down past the Ingraham Flats campsite (11,000 ft) and down to the Cathedral Gap. At Cathedral Gap, we removed crampons and I asked Christopher to carry my daypack and explained that I was going to be in a bad way when we arrived at Muir and that I would need his help with the most basic of tasks/that I would be out of commission for a while. From there the final 45 mins down to Camp Muir (10,000 ft) seemed to last forever. We arrived at Muir at 4pm.
Summit Day was more than 12 hours and I’d only had 2.5 liters of water with an energy mix in really hot, hard arduous climbing conditions. I added to that a relatively fast ascent, mild AMS and some type of upper respiratory thing Ethan gave me a few days earlier. While I carried and ate 6 types of gel, powerbeans, sharkies, etc to keep my sugar up and electrolytes up, apparently that was not enough either as I went completely glycogen depleted. It was like the perfect storm. I paid attention to all three key things, but not enough. Each on their own would have been manageable. Piled together, they created quite a problem. At least I didn’t get a sunburn. By the way, it’s harder than you think to get zinc oxide out of your ears.
Once we reached the shelter we untied and I went inside to lie down on the wood bunk slab. Truth be told it was more of a coordinated collapse/crawl into the fetal position. Christopher really stepped up here and took care of me, because at this point I was very sick and could barely stay awake. He got some water and Gatorade from other climbers and tried to start rehydrating me. Having run 12-24 hour endurance races, marathons, etc, I’m well familiar with exhaustion. This went far far beyond that. I’m actually quite embarrassed I let it get this bad, though aside from carrying more water, I’m not sure what else I would have done differently.
Christopher spent the next several hours trying to get fluid and calories into me and giving me hot water bottles to keep me warm. As I was completely glycogen depleted, I was starting to shiver because there were no calories or energy left to keep me warm even though it was quite warm out. At this point I was definitely concerned that I was fully glycogen depleted, severely dehydrated and that the AMS was severe. I was concerned that the combination of severe dehydration and AMS might be causing cerebral edema to start. All of my symptoms could simply be severe deydration plus severe AMS, too. As I wasn’t dizzy or slurring my speech and the altitude was reasonable I imagined it to be very unlikely that it was HACE, but I still had trouble getting the possibility out of my mind and even the possibility of that made me very scared. If edema was developing the only thing I could do was descend, and I wasn’t physically capable of that at that point. I resigned myself (or rationalized) to the fact that it would be highly unlikely at this altitude. I spent the next six hours sleeping off and on and in really horrible pain. I had awful dehydration leg cramps and it felt like my head was in a vice. My coughing was still a painful dry hack that resulted in some things coming up that can only be described as un-natural.
I woke up the next am feeling barely better. Christopher had been in regular contact with the climbing rangers apprising them of my condition. They informed him that we had a short weather window that morning and that the weather would only get worse over the next three to four days. Currently it was gray, and winds were blowing at 40mph, gusting a little higher. The word "blizzard" was tossed around. Not quite there in my book, but nasty nonetheless. Christopher and I tossed around the idea of rigging a pack sled via a thermarest, and one of the climbing rangers offered to guide the climbers (mostly total novices at Muir) down to 9,000 ft and even carry my pack. Wanting to maintain self-reliance, I wanted to carry my own gear. I took a strong pain killer (Tylenol-codine #3) that would help suppress the cough, and hopefully, the headache enough for me to descend. Given that we planned ahead and had a map and the compass bearings, I felt no need to have a ranger walk us down through the whiteout. Christopher and I descended through the strong winds and blowing snow, occasionally getting in a nice seated glissade in alpine slide style smoothed runs left by previous climbers with trash bags. At about 8,000 feet the wind abated. At about 6,500 feet the snow/sleet turned to rain. Three hours after we left Muir we arrived in the Paradise parking lot at 5,500 ft. While the headaches was still there in the background, it was without doubt a 10,000x improvement.
A few calls and text messages to James’s cell phone eventually yielded a positive result when he strolled into the changing/packing room.
After we changed, we packed the car and headed back to Christopher’s house for a shower, clean clothes and a nice dinner out.
Feeling about 90% better this day, but still with a moderate headache, we went for a day hike in a really beautiful section of forest about 40 miles from Seattle. We saw 3 huge waterfalls, and some spectacular green forests. It was a real treat. The very slow pace, short length, and relatively flat nature were a huge bonus.
Back on the plane for 8 hours of fun courtesy of American Airlines. Arrive home Tuesday at 2:30am, home shortly after 3am.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
The snow conditions, weather, and scenery were spectacular!
Sunday, December 10, 2006
It was a bit grey and misting when I started just before 9:00 AM, but the cover of the forest prevented moisture from falling on the trail. Within a mile, the clouds opened up a bit and the bright sun rays penetrated the thick canopy above. A few vistas revealed far-off snowy peaks and the Snoqualmie Valley below. I saw two people already on their way down, and near the half-way mark, two others passed me on the way up. Otherwise, I saw no one until my way down. The final quarter mile or so was mostly snow covered and was a bit slick in places. I was grateful I had brought my trekking poles with me, because they kept me from slipping on more than one occasion.
I opted not to climb to the true summit -- the top of the "Haystack" -- largely due to the fact that I was hiking alone. I've heard the scramble to the top described anywhere from class 2 to class 4 climbing, which is certainly within my realm of comfort. However... alone, with the route potentially icy or wet and slippery, I felt better leaving that for another time.The view from the top of the trail was remarkable in that the west face of the mountain drops off seemingly vertically for several thousand feet. It is almost as if you can step to the edge of the cliff and see the streets of North Bend directly below you as if looking at a map from above. The skyline of Seattle was visible some thirty miles away on the edge of Puget Sound. After several minutes soaking in the view, the cold wind prompted me to start my descent.
The momentum of the downhill slope kept me moving quickly on the way back to the car. I passed several people out for a weekend hike, but the trail was still far from being crowded. The most noteworthy incident on my descent was crossing paths with one of the individuals I saw jogging down when I was still climbing up. "Twice?" I queried, with a tone of astonishment. "Yeeaah..." was his exasperated drawn out reply that left me no doubt that he was training for something, but wishing that he wasn't at the moment.
All in all, a good hike. Car to car in 3:20, after spending a total of about 20 minutes at the top, re-tying boots, or stopping for a quick drink of water.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
We met up with our group Friday night intending to hike up to the peak on Saturday to take advantage of the good weather before the rain moved in. We all made it within an hour or two of the top when Laura’s knee that she had twisted on the way up was causing her too much pain to continue. Laura and I returned to camp (getting lost for a few minutes along the way), while the others continued to the top. We hiked out on Sunday in the rain, having seen some beautiful scenery and having shared some great company.
The Goat Rocks area -- so named because of the bands of mountain goats which live there -- is the eroded remnants of an ancient volcano that erupted well over a million years ago. Though none of my pictures are of a wide enough angle to show the entire crater area, the view is reminiscent of the blown-out mountainside of Mt St Helens -- only much larger and after significant regrowth. The rough outline of the mountain that dominated the landscape some two million years ago can still be seen in the semi-circular ring of peaks around the crater area.
Laura and I made the 3+ hour drive from Seattle after we both got home from work on Friday. We hiked about a mile and a half with only the light of our headlamps under the starry, moonless night sky. Our companions had left us a trail of clues to help us find their campsite. We joined them shortly after nine o'clock and after a bit of unwinding by the campfire, we crawled into the sleeping bags.
We awoke before sunrise on Saturday and hiked about five miles to Surprise Lake, where we set up camp and loaded our packs with only enough food, water, and clothing to get us to the top of Gilbert Peak. We allowed up to seven hours to navigate the roughly 7-mile roundtrip mostly off-trail hike, which would put us back in our Surprise Lake camp before dark.
The trail up started under the cover of the forest, but we soon climbed above treeline and saw the terrain rise sharply up to what was the crater rim of the ancient volcano. The trail became a combination of cross-country travel, goat trails, and unmaintained trails. We picked our way up the steep, rocky terrain until we reached the ridge above. On the way, we were fortunate to see a couple of the creatures for which the area was named.
Atop the ridge, the view was incredible! Mt Adams was so close that we could see the huge crevasses in the glaciers on the north side of the mountain. The hiking became much easier, as we simply had to follow the ridge for awhile. There were a few fun sections of class three scrambling where we had to use our hands and feet to cross. The view on both sides of the ridge was simply spectacular on this sunny day!
Earlier on the steep terrain, Laura had twisted her knee. She pressed on for awhile, but after crossing most of the ridge, she determined that it was not wise to push through the pain any longer. She and I turned around for camp as the other three continued to the top.
On our way back, we took a slightly different route that involved slightly gentler slopes. It proved to be a good test for our navigation and route-finding skills! I won't say we were exactly lost. (Well, okay, for a short time we were lost.) Shortly after leaving camp that morning, I marked a GPS waypoint and labeled it "Camp." I should have labeled it "Trail shortly outside of camp," because by the time we were returning, I had forgotten that the point was outside of camp and not camp itself. This simple oversight led to a few errors in judgment that caused me to take Laura off-trail through some thick forest. She took several unnecessary and painful steps as we tried to get back on track. Lesson learned, though: Don't trust a GPS waypoint alone over common sense, a map and compass.
By the time we returned to camp, the others had just arrived minutes earlier -- having successfully reached the summit. We cooked some dinner, shared some stories, and crawled into the sleeping bags again.
It rained off and on through the night, and a cold wind blew the following morning. Laura's knee was feeling better after some rest, and the hike out was mostly uneventful. (Except for seeing several huge tracks in the trail that we swear were made by a Sasquatch!) ;-)
Sunday, September 17, 2006
I spent a mid-September weekend in the Pacific Northwest attempting to reach the summit of 12,276 ft Mt Adams in southern Washington. This was my first big mountain that I climbed three years ago, so I was excited at the opportunity to return.
My first climb was in mid-June of 2003, and we had abundant snow from about 7,000 feet up. The first thing I noticed when I got my first full view of the mountain on this trip was how bare and rocky the mountain appeared this late in the season. She almost appeared naked.
The weather forecast for the weekend was a little iffy. We were likely to see lots of clouds with some rain/sleet/snow around the mountain, but there was potential for some clear periods as well. For all of the above, the forecast was pretty much right on.
Our group of four started hiking up on Saturday around 2:00 PM from the Cold Springs Campground at 5,600 ft. When the wind started blowing and the falling snow was sticking to our clothing and packs in near white-out conditions, we opted to set up camp and get an early start the next morning. Of course, within an hour of setting up camp, the skies cleared and we cooked dinner in the warmth of the sun. Then we ate dinner under cloudy skies. We woke up in our camp at 8,600 feet at 2:00 AM to mostly clear skies, intending to start for the top, but saw heavy clouds rolling in and opted to wait. After the sun rose, there were intermittent periods of clear skies and thick clouds. I took three pictures in the direction of the summit within a half-hour that illustrate how quickly things were changing.
We started climbing up in fair conditions around 9:00 AM, but turned around at 10,600 feet at noon as clouds piled up around us... realizing we would not reach the top before our designated turn-around time of 1:00. We navigated back to our camp in mostly white-out conditions, stopping briefly to help a disoriented climber find his way back to his camp. It was good practice navigating in white-out conditions! After packing up camp, we hiked back to the trailhead. It was clear below, but the top of the mountain remained shrouded behind the clouds.