Some mountains need more than one try to reach the summit, at least for me. Back in the 1970s, I lived in a small town an hour’s drive east of Vancouver, British Columbia. The biggest mountain within easy striking distance, by far, was Mt. Rainier down in Washington state – it was an easy day’s drive from my home. I’d been thinking about it for years, so when a couple of climber friends suggested we go down and give it a try, I was on board. It was September 4, 1975 when Ken and Paul piled their gear into my car and away we went, crossing the border into the U.S. and getting on to the Interstate near Bellingham. By the time we’d made it through Seattle traffic, taken lesser roads and arrived at the parking lot of the Paradise Ranger Station, six hours had passed. We spent a little time convincing the rangers that we were capable of making the climb without killing ourselves, then set out up the mountain. From the 5,400′ trailhead, we took 4 1/2 hours with full packs to plod up the Muir Snowfield in perfect weather to arrive at Camp Muir at 10,188 feet.
Like most folks trying the mountain, our plan was to get a few hours of shut-eye and set out for the summit. Camp Muir was a fascinating place. The stone hut was a 12′ x 25′ one-room shelter with sleeping platforms. A plaque at the entrance said “Erected in memory of John Muir, 1921”. The place was crowded with climbers from all over, not just Americans and Canucks but even from other countries. Rainier isn’t the highest mountain in the Lower 48, but it’s the most heavily glaciated and offers plenty of challenging routes – plainly put, it’s a big draw. Everyone was talking and there was no way anyone was getting any sleep. The hours passed and it was time to get a move on. We got out of our sleeping bags at midnight and started climbing by 1:00 AM. This may have been the first time I’d climbed at night, and I found it an interesting and strange experience. By 6:00 AM, we’d reached 12,000 feet elevation and I felt like death warmed over. Nauseous, exhausted, I couldn’t climb another step – I was suffering the classic symptoms of acute mountain sickness. Ken and Paul felt fine, so they continued on to the summit while I went back down to Camp Muir. Hours later, the guys arrived at the hut and we made our way together down to Paradise and drove away, arriving back home by 10:00 PM.
Was I disappointed I hadn’t made it? – you bet. It ate away at me for a couple of years. I was determined to go back and do whatever it took to make the summit. In the meantime, I had spent some time in California where I had met Ron and Jonathan, a couple of climbers. Also, and more importantly, I had met Brian Rundle. He and his friends had picked me up while I was hitchhiking on May 14, 1977. A mere five days later, Jonathan had driven up from Olympia and climbed Mt. Lindeman with me and Brian. We had such a good time on that climb that on June 19, Brian and I found ourselves motoring south – the time had come to try Rainier. We stopped in Seattle to pick up Ron, then headed on down to Olympia. There, we found Jonathan at the fire hall where he worked as an EMT. An enjoyable evening was spent eating and watching TV while planning our climb, then heading over to Jonathan’s place to spend the night.
The next morning, we had a leisurely drive up to Paradise, and then spent the afternoon in a long, slow-motion slog up the Muir Snowfield to Camp Muir. The weather was perfect. We spent the night in the stone hut, and then all the next day, the 20th, hanging out. The day was cloudy, so we spent the time practicing ice-ax self-arrest and generally hanging out and shooting the shit with all manner of other climbers. By eight o’clock in the evening, the skies had cleared and we were more than ready for the climb.
After a feeble attempt at sleep, we arose around midnight and gagged down something so we could at least say that we had eaten breakfast. It took us until 1:30 to finally exit the hut and start walking. There were a lot of climbers strung all up and down the mountain, moving by headlamp, and we took our place in the queue. Our choice was the Disappointment Cleaver, the “normal” route used by most climbers. Our path contoured across the Cowlitz Glacier to Cathedral Gap. Once up and through the gap, we climbed on to the Ingraham Glacier and walked past Ingraham Flat, which had been used by some climbers as a camping spot. We contoured around this glacier to a large rocky ridge to the north, and that ridge was the Disappointment Cleaver. There were some steep parts, but nothing difficult. One of the great views in the growing dawn was Little Tahoma Peak. There was a clear, well-trodden path up the cleaver through the snow – it was impossible to get lost.
Once above the cleaver, it was one long snow slope up the Emmons Glacier. The altitude finally caught up to Ron, and he decided to call it quits. He promised to sit in the snow and wait right there for us to return, no matter how long it took. I’m not sure how high he got, maybe 13,000′. He waited patiently, chatting with others as they passed. Meanwhile, the three of us plodded up the steep slope until we finally reached the crater rim. It’s tempting to stop there, as the highest point is still 20 minutes walk away across the nearly-flat crater, but if you don’t go the rest of the way, you haven’t climbed the mountain, period. So of course we went, and before long stood on the summit of Mt. Rainier, elevation 14,411 feet. It was clear and sunny, but extremely windy. Here’s our hero shot from the summit.
From left to right: DM, Brian, Jonathan
We didn’t stick around long. On the way back down, we picked up Ron, and were all back at Camp Muir by 1:30 PM, twelve hours after starting out. The weather had turned, and it was a miserable descent to Paradise in clouds and rain. By the time we got back to Jonathan’s place in Olympia, it was 8:00 PM. The next day, Brian and I dropped Ron off in Seattle, bought some gear at REI, and were back at my place in the Great White North by 3:30 in the afternoon. It had been a great climb, and made more fun by having summitted on the summer solstice.
I actually went back to Rainier one more time. It was 1990, and I arrived with Susan after we had climbed our way north through the Cascades. She was excited to try the mountain, and I was proud to guide her to the top. We left Camp Muir at midnight and I got us off track right away – we ended up way off route by following a set of footprints by headlamp that led to a campsite of some scientists. By the time I realized my mistake and we’d returned to Camp Muir, it was too late to start again for the summit. We headed down the mountain later in the day in a thunderstorm. I still remember plodding down the trench made by many others in the Muir Snowfield, and hearing our ice axes buzz as the electrical charge built up. We were pretty jumpy, worrying that a bolt from the blue would do us in. It didn’t, and we made it down just fine, but I still regret leading us astray. Rainier – great mountain, and a great experience for me, one of the good ones.
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