First Summit, Emmons Glacier route
Posted by: Brenden on 07.26.06 @ 11:47 AM PST
Im listening to Innocense Mission - Another Country
Feeling sore
We left Seattle around noon on Friday. It was already hot and the word on the street was for record temps this weekend. A look to the forecast, and the freezing level was to hover around 15,000 feet. Well above the summit of Mount Rainier. Our expectations were high. I had made 3 prior full-fledged summit attempts to be shut out all 3 times. Once due to illness, and twice thanks to the weather. This weekend was looking good.
We arrived White River Campground and got to work. The hike from the car to Glacier Basin had us on a quick pace. No doubt driven by the anticipation and adrenaline at the thought of standing at the top of the great hill. There was no snow and the shade of the canopy was appreciated each time it re-appeard after we were left exposed to the sun. We marched on with Camp Curtis as are target for the night. It had cooled off and we wanted to scale the inter-glacier without the horrendous heat. On our first attempt on this route, we had lost a climber to heat exhaustion by scaling the glacier in mid-day.
The boot-pack up the inter-glacier was wonderful. We had crampons with anti-bott devices, but probably didnt need them. We used our trekking poles, and didnt rope up. It was as nice an ascent as any slog up the Muir Snow-field. The word on the street was the route above was in just as good a shape. We reached Camp Curtis with relative ease, and slept well through the night. The temperature never dipped below 40 degrees.
The next morning we moved down the ridge onto the Emmons for the quick climb to Schurman. Lots of tents and not much space. I was surprised that at around 10am not many teams were back from the previous night. We spent the day sleeping, eating, and hydrating as is the norm and also met some pretty neat people. I wish more advertising of climbing courtesy was done. When your in camp and its getting to late afternoon, be cognoscente of the people trying to get some rest for their summit bid that night. Its tough enough to get sleep during the day as it is. Throwing rocks around and yelling across camp to your friends doesnt help. (I say this for myself as much as everyone else)
Since this would be my first foray above 10k feet I was looking forward to some teams going up first. There was talk about a few teams doing a 9pm start, so we set our sites on 10pm. This should get us to the summit about sunrise, and get us back to Schurman at a decent hour. We set off at 10:01pm. (A feat of unparalleled organization, not matched in recent days) oddly enough, we passed the teams starting out earlier about 1/3rd way up the cooridor. I found myself leading, and route-finding.
Fortunately for me, not to mention everyone behind me, the route was very straight-forward. The climb up the cooridor took longer than I thought it should, and I began to feel the effects of the strain and the altitude. I had considered for a few brief minutes about turning around. My ultimate decision was that I would push on as far as I could safely go, and if need be, pass off my climbing partner to a stronger group as they came by.
Turns out, I pushed all the way to the summit. There were a few snow-bridges along the way that looked a little hairy, but were pretty solid considering the temperature. When we came out of the cooridor we winded through some crevasses, and at the 'brown band' we actually opted to shoot straight up-slope toward the Berg. On our descent, we took the other route. On that particuliar day, the direct shot was definitely the way to go. The snow was solid, and the Berg was easily passable with maybe a 10 foot stretch of water-ice to trample over.
About 13,000 feet the snow solidified due to the wind, and we had great cramponing to the summit. We reached the summit at 4:40am and had beaten the DC folks by about 30 minutes. After a few obligatory summit shots on Columbia Crest, we signed the book and sat down at the top of the Emmons route to watch the sunrise. There is something about sitting on a volcano at 14,000 feet watching the sun breach the horizon. A visualization that is now etched into my memory forever.
On top of the world, we made our way down. Once the sun hit the surface, the snow was immediately soft, and heat was just as oppressive. I thanked God for getting us up safely and during the coolness of the night. We encoutered the first team about 13,000 feet. Making good progress, but you could see the sun taking its toll. Further down the mountain, my climbing partner came upon a backpack anchored into the snow by an ice axe, and also a pickett. Disconcerting to say the least.
"Thats odd, who would leave that on the mountain?".
Now imagine his surprise when the pack moved, and suddenly from underneath, a person pops up. Left on the moutain by his buddies, they at least dug him hole to keep out of the wind. We were more than happy to clip him into our rope and get him back to camp.
We pulled into Schurman around 8:30am and made the immediate decision to just pack up and go. I could tell I had a couple more hours before my body would demand rest, and I didnt want to spend those hours tightening up in a tent, just to delay the inevitible march of pain out to the car.
We met up with some friends, and high-tailed it outta there. The trip down the inter-glacier was some of the most amazing, cold, long glissading I have ever done. I was wearing shorts, and still decided to drop into the 800 vertical foot chutes that were strewn along the glacier. We were at the base in no-time.
About 1/2 mile out of Glacier Basin my legs began to give out. Every step started to ache, and downhills with the pack weight became almost unbearable. It took concerted effort and concentration to lift my legs over some of the obstacles on the trail. The sun was heating up, and I had way too many layers on, but was too tired to stop and shed. I became indifferent to everything around me. Heat, pace, conversation around me. People on the trail became objects. Something to walk around, then, later, something to make move out of my way. The last mile is a blur. I only remember being hot, then cool, then hot, then cool again, as I moved in and out of the shadow of the canopy.
Finally the car. We finished drinking whatever liquids were left, and triumphantly left the parking lot.
It was my first summit. It was scary, tiring, painful, and exquisite. I cant wait for the next one.
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Mount Rainier - Waiting for our set
Posted by: Brenden on 06.06.06 @ 02:12 PM PST
We set off late Thursday night, and drove to the town of Ashford which is a stones throw from the Mount Rainier National Parks gates. A restless night of packing and re-packing were followed-up with a few good hours of sleep. This was our weekend. The weather reports were less than stellar, but we knew the weather changes rapidly, and we only needed a few hours of clear weather to make the run so we headed up.
Friday morning we headed up the Muir snowfield as we have done many times before, this time with an additional 15 to 20 pounds of gear for a probable extended stay. We landed at Muir in nice clear weather and after a short break, started digging out our campsite. A nice large carving into a snow-drift would help protect us from the weather, and a long bench to sit and cook on would also come in handy.
Later we would add cubbys to store gear out of the weather. Friday night came, and we decided to not attempt a summit as the weather had moved in, it was snowing and the winds picked up. This was an easy decision with the climb earlier in the day. Satruday night would be our shot.
The next day we woke early and lounged around the hill. The sun would pop in and out. The temperatures would fluctuate by what felt like 20 degrees. In early afternoon the clouds rolled in and it began to snow for real. There was talk of potential avalance danger, but the big story was a black bear spotted at about 11k feet. (I saw the photos)
The climbing rangers headed up to Ingraham Flats (11K feet) to test the snow for potential avalanche danger. The report back was less than encouraging. The estimate was that avalance danger was "considerable". This means that natural avalanches are possible, but human triggered avalanches are probable. This was enough to put the climb on hold for the night, but we would watch what the guides would do. It continued to snow for the next few hours, and as each flake dropped, so did our hopes of a summit bid. We pooled our rations and decided to hold out for a possible Sunday night summit.
Sunday morning we woke to about a foot of new snow. Our camp was buried and the snow was heavy. The forecast called for clear skies, but we as well as most of the climbers at the camp decided there was little chance for snow consolidation that night. We broke camp and headed down-hill. The sun was shining and we took our time decending. We spent some time taking pictures of the Paradise glacier and the summit as the weather had cleared.
At 8000 feet we hit the clouds. The winds were up and snow was still falling lower on the mountain. The new snow was deeper and the visibility had decreased. We were following a track by climbers about 30 minutes in front of us. Near the top of pan point the boot-track turned north and began to traverse the ridge. We hesitated for afew minutes, discussing whether or not to stick to the flagged route down the face of Panorama point, but decided with the avalanche danger where it was, we would be smarter to stick to the boot pack. A few hundred feet along the well traveled path, we ran into the group who had turned around and was coming back to decend the face of Pan Point.
As we decended the face in deep snow, the sense of almost being at the car was on us and we were looking forward to a nice breakfast. Sticking with the approach of following the boot-pack we started to head a little further south than we normally travel. (Must be right.. they had to come from Paradise) Another 100 feet or so on the boot-pack we heard a rumble. Looking up, all I could see was a fracture line at the top of the hill, then I felt my legs get pushed and cold. A slow moving slab was pushing us downhill. I could see the snow creep up the legs of the lead climber, and I began taking small steps to stay on top of the snow. At its peak the snow wrapped around my waist, and as quickly as it came on it dropped to my knees.
It was surreal. It was the first time I had been in that situation and quite frankly it scared me.
The slide was as wide as the slope, and had pushed us down the hill about 20 feet. Not a major slide, but enough to drive home some chilling realities of the mountain.
As we made our way back to the main pack of climbers, we talked about the slide. Turns out, it was their path we were following. This was an avalance rescue class, and they had decided to abandon that route due to avalance danger. ( One of the climbers who saw us thought we were on skis. )
We continued following the boot pack, only to realize they did not come from Paradise, they came from Mazama Ridge. This landed us well south of our normal path out, so we had some issues with navagation. It took us a while to get back to the car, so we were hungry, tired, and it had been snowing the whole time. We had missed the breakfast at the National Parks Inn. It was a blessing in disguise, we hit the all you can eat breakfast buffett at the Copper Creek Inn. MMMmmmmm Eggs Benedict...
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Conditioning and Aclimatizing at Muir
Posted by: Brenden on 05.16.06 @ 10:44 AM PST
It was a great weekend for climbing. We left work on a friday and stayed at a great little cabin just a stones throw from the Rainier National Park entrance. The evening was filled with talk of snow, ice, and crevasses with the occasional poker game thrown in.(I dont want to talk about the poker) We hmm'd and haw'd over new gear, lamented the things forgotten and talked with anticipation until we passed out by the glow of a fire.
The day started relaxed and slow. We were in no hurry, we had the whole day to trek to Camp Muir and set up camp. The goal of the trip was to load up the weight, and get the backs used to the stair climb that would prelude the summit attempt this summer sometime. We decided to fuel up with a hearty breakfast at the National Park Inn in Longmire. It was either the friendly service, or as a result of the fresh baked scones with blackberry butter, that we made a pact to return the next morning and perhaps make it a tradition. Half in a food coma we made it to the parking lot at Paradise. (About 2 hours behind schedule) It was warm. Very warm by moutain standards which made us generous with the sunscreen in the parking lot. We met up with another member of our crew which we expected to see at camp later, but since we were running a bit late, it was nice to start the trek with him.
The parking lot was packed. To be expected this time of year. A lot of snow-shoes for what looked like well-traveled soft corn snow. We geared up. (Why do packs always feel heavier than they have to be?) We spent a solid 15-20 minutes doing the "My pack is lighter than your pack" thing, and eventually hit the snow. It was about 11:15am when we started and the crowd had lightened a bit at the base, but high in the Muir snowfield you could see the dotted line of weary trekkers making their way to camp.
The fields of Paradise were wonderful. The sun was shining and the pack lost its initial weight. The typical heart thumping, air-gasping did not materialize, and I felt stronger than before. This was a good sign. We followed a spread out boot-path up to the face of Panorama point, where a nice long glissade chute ran the length right down the middle. On either side of the glissade the crowds had kicked steps in to the top. It was easier than most of the ascents on this face in the past. The last being in heavy snow, with snow-shoes. We made it to the top and stopped for some water and energy bars. A few dozen clicks of the digital and we were back on track. The snowfield had a wide swath of boot-prints that scoured the face of it. I remember thinking it looked like a prairie ravenged by a giant heard of buffalo. Bleak, no trees, and the seemingly endless number of tracks left by weight-laden animals. We stretched our necks to view the summit capped in the all to familiar clouds that meant high-winds near the top. The weather on Raininer can be stunning both in its beauty and ability to change. The clouds were tearing off the eastern side of the crater like cotton batting from a cats toy. Just above Pebble Creek we came upon an old snow cave of ours from a previous journey. There was no mistake, we dug it in the middle of the snow-field during a storm a few weeks back. It was funny to see how time and the elements had shaped the creation. I was actually surprised to see any sign of it. Im used to the mountain renewing itself faster than that.
I dont know what it is, but at about the 8000 foot mark, my body starts to slow. I dont have fatigue in my legs, my breathing isnt rapid at all, but its as if my mind cant get the signal to my legs to move. In the past I have hit this stretch and blamed it on conditioning. This time I felt strong, no muscle ache, no cramping. I just wasnt able to move my feet very quickly. I struggled on at the back of our string, and started to worry I would have to rest-step so low on the mountain. An ominous sign of any summit attempt in the future. I made it to the point where I would take 50 steps, then rest. This has been a pretty good practice for me in keeping my motion forward. (Small goals)
I get to Camp Muir behind everyone else, and immediately start to feel better. I will do some more research on both the physiology of climbing and the mechanics. Perhaps there is a technique out there that will help keep my pace up with my perceived condition.
That evening we made camp in a small bowl just north of the hut at Muir. It was windy, but not as bad as near the hut. There was a tent there already, and another would be added before the night was over.
One in our party departed fairly quickly back to the car to keep some previous engagements, and the three of us remaining settled in. To be honest, we all felt 'bad'. Looking back, we were all probably a bit de-hydrated. The classic headache, and lethargy came over all of us. Mine didnt kick in until a few hours had passed. I was feeling down to the point of skipping a hot meal, and eating a cold dinner and retiring to the tent very early. The cold wind helped push me inside. A shame really. I woke several times during the night, and each time I noted how bright the tent was. I had forgotten it was a full moon. There is nothing more spectacular than the mountain during a full moon. I had missed it.
The next morning I woke early, with a headache. I made my way outside the tent and realized the sun hadnt risen yet. I pulled on my down jacket and sat at the foot of the tent just watching for the moment the sun peeked through. It was glorious. The Alpenglow on the slopes around me and on the summit above were magnificient. Sitting alone at 10,000 feet in that setting seems to provide little doubt about the existence of a higher power.
So now, lets talk about the descent. It was the crack of dawn and memories of the blackberry butter at the National Parks Inn got us moving. We broke camp and headed down to paradise. It was nice being the only folks on the hill. For a few minutes anyway. We encountered a small handful of folks on the march up, some headed to Ingraham Flats for an attempt on the summit that night.
Now.. lets spend a few minutes talking about Glissading. Glissading is the practice of sliding down the mountain-side saving some walking and generally having some fun. Now remember, its early in the morning, and that means the snow has solidified overnight and turned to ice. While this makes for good glissading on the well worn paths, the paths that are a little more chopped up ended up being punishing.
We ran into several chutes all down the face of the Muir snowfield, and also down Panorama Point. It saved a lot of time, but the friction generated was, to say the least, unexpected. There were also other obstacles in the glissade routes, and generally were unavoidable. I wont go into too much detail here.
We arrived at the parking lot just as the first big push of climbers (actually, they were mostly telemark skiers) were making their way up. The lot was a flurry of activity already, and cars were everywhere. We pulled off the gear, and made our way to breakfast.
It was a nice quick drive to the National Parks Inn where breakfast was eaten with much vigor and appreciation. (Its all about the scones)
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Snow Camping on Rainier
Posted by: Brenden on 04.17.06 @ 09:15 PM PST
It started at 7:30pm on Friday night with about an hour of daylight left. We were there to really test our night navigation skills.
We hiked to about 7700 feet when we decided to look for a ridge to dig a snow-cave in. We sauntered over to what should have been a 10foot snow-drift, but what actually was a Cornice with a 50 foot drop. After realizing we really didn’t know "EXACTLY" where we were (I had failed to zoom the GPS in far enough to follow a previous route), we retreated to a known location. It was snowing heavily, we had about 15 feet of visibility, and avalanche danger had increased from Moderate to High. No sense in risking it.
We get to a suitable spot to make camp (around 6600 ft) about 10pm. We commence digging the snow-cave for about an hour and a half. The trick with snow-caves is, you need to be sure you have at least 2 feet of solid snow overhead. Turns out we had the requisite 2 feet, but it was soft snow. We failed to account for the new accumulation that day. As we were putting the finishing touches, what happened next is, to this day, shrouded in controversy. The facts are as follows:
- My climbing partner begins recklessly plunging his fist through the roof of the cave for ventilation in several areas.
- I place a very small, very light 'snow-wedge' to protect the vent hole from allowing streams of wind in.
Who is at fault? Ill leave it to your good senses to decide who neglegently and without thought weakended the structure. :)
"H-RUMPH!" (The sound of a snow-cave roof collapsing)
Its 11pm, the winds around 25mph sustained, it had snowed about 8 inches since we started digging, we are cold, tired and hungry, and our shelter had just disappeared into the hillside. On top of that, now buried bewteen a couple feet of snow are legs and torso of my climbing partner, along with all his gear. You could say we weren't having an 'ideal' trip. We looked at the situation, and felt good that we had the gear to spend a night in the open, so we opted to stick it out. Again, it was good to go through the experience in a somewhat controled environment. (We were less than an hour hike out to the car)
We used the remaining crater as an open-top igloo, and built the walls up to at least act as a wind-breaker. One half-hearted cave was carved, but not realistic for two people. Since I had the lighter bag (+15) I slid half-way into the snow-tube, while David slept exposed. I didn’t sleep a wink for fear of another collapse. The claustrophobic feeling got the better of me. I was warm and cozy though, except for the mind-games..
Anyway, We were up at the crack of dawn. A nice calm morning with about 12 inches of new snow on the ground. We emerged warm, but tired. The night was what we needed; A little out of our comfort zone, and a reminder about how quickly your fortunes can change on the mountain.
I took a few lessons home that morning, and look forward to heading back up.
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07/26/2006: First Summit, Emmons Glacier route