SIX DAYS AT WAR WITH MYSELF
Mt Rainier, Liberty Cap (14,118ft)
June 30th-July 5th, 2012
Climbing Team: Peter, Rob, Matt
Liberty Ridge – Featured in Roper and Steck’s
“Fifty Classic Climbs of North America”
Route:
- Day 1: 3 miles to Glacier Basin; Camp 1 (5,900ft)
- Day 2: Up and over St Elmo’s Pass, across Winthrop Glacier and onto Curtis Ridge; Camp 2 (7500ft)
- Day 3: Cross Carbon Glacier and gain Liberty Ridge via Eastern Slopes. Climb to Thumb Rock at 10,700ft; Camp 3 (High Camp)
- Day 4: Weather day. Tent bound at Thumb Rock
- Day 5: Attempt summit from Thumb Rock. Forced into bivy at 13,200ft; Camp 4 (unplanned)
- Day 6: Gain Liberty Cap Glacier, Summit Liberty Cap (14,118ft), Descend 10,000ft via Emmons Glacier to Camp Shurman and Car at White River
Day 1: Optimism and Rain
The pack that will join me to the summit
We flew into Seattle Friday night the 29th of June and got some dinner and a motel. Saturday we ate a good breakfast, hit REI and the grocery before packing up our packs in the hotel room and then headed up to Rainier National Park. The route goes through the White River Ranger Station where we picked up our permits. There had been only 2 successful parties of 12 on Emmons in the past few days, but 2 of 3 had made it up Liberty. We talked with the Ranger for a bit then headed off to the Glacier Basin Trail.
We had originally planned on leaving Saturday morning, but given a dismal weather forecast we had taken our time back in Seattle. With the weather looking fair and the Ranger encouraging us, we decided to head to Glacier Basin that day, 3 miles and 1,800’ of gain. In classic style, it began to rain about a mile in and things were gloomy. Carrying the heavy pack was draining and when we got to camp, the rain complicated things. We were one of two parties there (the other an experienced pair of ladies planning to head up Emmons) and we spent most of the afternoon in the tent. There was plenty of snow here, but we were able to filter water in a nearby stream.
We had originally planned on leaving Saturday morning, but given a dismal weather forecast we had taken our time back in Seattle. With the weather looking fair and the Ranger encouraging us, we decided to head to Glacier Basin that day, 3 miles and 1,800’ of gain. In classic style, it began to rain about a mile in and things were gloomy. Carrying the heavy pack was draining and when we got to camp, the rain complicated things. We were one of two parties there (the other an experienced pair of ladies planning to head up Emmons) and we spent most of the afternoon in the tent. There was plenty of snow here, but we were able to filter water in a nearby stream.
Going to bed we were unsure of the next day’s plan. Getting to thumb Rock would be awesome and put us in position to attempt the summit on Monday (forecasted to be a good weather day) and avoid a weather day at Thumb rock on Tuesday. However, that’d be one hell of a day. The trip had begun, we were on Rainier. “I’m in for one hell of a ride,” I thought, as I drifted off to sleep. |
Day 2: The Skies Clear and Dreams Soar
When we awoke Sunday morning, it wasn’t really quit raining, but as a local described it, we were in a cloud. Another team of 3 had started from the TH that morning and were hoping, like us, to make it to Thumb Rock later that day.
We slowly gathered our gear, one at a time, though try as we might, keeping things dry proved to be a tall order. As we got ready to set out, the first hint of a blue sky showed itself and our route ahead became more obvious. |
Shortly out of camp and onto the snow slopes surrounding our site, we ran into 2 climbers.
“Success?” I inquired. “Nah. We turned back on Liberty Ridge,” one replied, “didn’t get a wink of sleep last night at Curtis. Rock fall and avalanches continued on the Carbon well into the night. That’s a bit too active for our tastes.” Doubt crept in. The vastness of our endeavor and the multitude of variables were suddenly remembered. How would we fare? What chance did we have if this seemingly competent pair had been turned back? Secretly we all hoped that they had simply psyched themselves out as is so often the case in the mountains. Personally, I have been guilty of this on more than one occasion. |
With this new knowledge we headed right towards St. Elmo’s Pass. Many climbers planning to attempt Emmons headed left.
By now the clear weather had fully developed. High on the rocky pass we enjoyed some lunch and took full advantage of a rare opportunity to dry our gear. The damp and dismal morning was quickly turning into bright optimism. With dry clothing and sleeping bags, surely tonight wouldn’t be so bad.
Not really in a rush anymore, we gathered at the bottom of the pass at the start of the Winthrop Glacier. From here on out we would be roped together. It is worth noting that like most of the rock on Rainier, this descent was loose and rotten. I took a nice little fall and scraped up my arm a bit. The wiser, more experienced climbers (Peter & Rob), chose an all snow route.
Roping up for the glacier was exciting. I had read and trained for months, but this was the real deal. I felt ready for the challenge.
By now the clear weather had fully developed. High on the rocky pass we enjoyed some lunch and took full advantage of a rare opportunity to dry our gear. The damp and dismal morning was quickly turning into bright optimism. With dry clothing and sleeping bags, surely tonight wouldn’t be so bad.
Not really in a rush anymore, we gathered at the bottom of the pass at the start of the Winthrop Glacier. From here on out we would be roped together. It is worth noting that like most of the rock on Rainier, this descent was loose and rotten. I took a nice little fall and scraped up my arm a bit. The wiser, more experienced climbers (Peter & Rob), chose an all snow route.
Roping up for the glacier was exciting. I had read and trained for months, but this was the real deal. I felt ready for the challenge.
Rob led the way and we quickly made progress on the level terrain. I thought things were moving quickly, though already after noon, I harbored doubts that we would make it all the way to Thumb Rock that day. Not only was it far, but it would require us to cross the most dangerous glacier of our route in the worst possible conditions. Since I have always been told to cross unstable terrain when it is cold and dark, going for it in the late afternoon sun just seemed plain silly to me.
We didn’t come upon the first crevasses until we were well on our way. With good snow and visibility, and strong partners ahead and behind, I took in the glory that is Rainier. Never had I seen such beauty or a mountain so huge. Occasionally stopping for pictures, we continued to move well. |
The slope steepened as we climbed towards Curtis. We crossed some rock bands and a few moderately exposed snow slopes before spotting some tents up ahead that marked the Lower Curtis Camp. The glacier crossing had been mostly easy and took roughly 3 hours from the top of St. Elmo’s Pass to the camp on lower Curtis Ridge. At the camp we were greeted by the team from earlier that morning (who, like us, had decided not to tempt fate on the notoriously broken up and active Carbon Glacier so late in the day) and the most awe inspiring and terrifying site my eyes had ever seen.
Liberty Ridge was in full view. As Peter and I stared into the distance, we both agreed; we were terrified.
Liberty Ridge was in full view. As Peter and I stared into the distance, we both agreed; we were terrified.
We made camp on the rocks (the only camp of the trip not on snow) and as usual, Rob was quickly thinking of water. We agreed that he would take care of camp while Peter and I went on a recon for the morning.
We knew there was a rappel off of the ridge or a low traverse (as well as other options) to gain the Carbon and we hoped to decide that evening which would be the best option for the morning. There are also multiple ways to gain the ridge once across the glacier. We had a lot of decisions to make. We grabbed a rope and some gear and headed out. We decided against the scree laden lower traverse and shifted gears to find the rappel, which we located high on the ridge after about a half hour. After testing rope length (required tw0 30’s or a 60), we headed back to camp and set in for the night. |
Here, above the clouds, enjoying impeccable weather and a full view of the most ambitious project I’d yet attempted, my mood was unique…a sort of nervous excitement. Unfortunately, as I went to bed, I noticed a small leak in my pad (I had gone with a single, blow up pad – BAD IDEA!!) which would plague me the rest of the trip.
For the most part, the approach as over; tomorrow, the fun would begin. |
Day 3: It Begins
The sun was up earlier than expected, and it was a scramble to set off. This time with packs in tow, we made our way towards the rappel. We were quite glad we had located it the night before since it is anything but obvious and would likely have eaten up precious time to find it that morning. The cordlette strewn boulder can be found about a 10 minutes’ walk out of camp, perched on a ledge above a 50 or so foot drop that leads to the loosest rock you will ever see. After almost killing Peter with rock fall and wondering if the anchor was at all safe, we quickly realized we had not made the right decision. The steep, loose slopes below the rappel took extra care and time to descend and we watched the other team rope up and begin to cross the glacier despite having left camp after us. We all agreed not to repeat the rappel if we ever found ourselves on this route again. |
Peter on the lower Carbon
Though we had lost an hour and the sun was already well into the sky, we still felt good about the Carbon. Though we couldn’t see the entire route ahead, we were confident that we would find a path. After almost losing my helmet, rearranging my pack and layers and roping up, we headed for the ridge.
From here, the first thoughts of real danger began to enter my mind. Liberty Ridge cuts the center of the giant North Face of Rainier (Willis Wall to the left, Liberty Wall to the right) which seems to be in constant motion. Huge, catastrophic avalanches were heard; each time stopped us in our tracks and demanding our attention. Never had I seen such power and fury from nature. The ramp ahead leading to the upper glacier looked steep, there was no clear way to access any side of the ridge, and once we did, the climb looked steep, sustained and downright scary. Though I didn’t say it, I couldn’t wait to be in the tent at Thumb Rock. I knew the following hours would shake me. |
Everyone voiced their opinion as to which way was safest and easiest to gain the ridge, and the lower glacier passed without incident. The team ahead of us had made a wrong turn (or at least their initial choice had not worked out) and they were only slightly ahead of us. Having agreed to try and gain the ridge via the snow slopes on the right directly below Thumb Rock, we made our way towards Liberty Wall. We passed the party as they sat and rested and were now fully on our own, no tracks to guide us. To our dismay, a giant 30ft wide crevasse blocked our passage and we sat there for a bit scratching our heads.
To the left, we could possibly cross, but some vertical ice climbing or a technical jump might be required, not exactly our definition of safe glacier travel. To the right, surely a bridge would show itself at some point, but at what point? We feared we might be all the way to the glacier’s edge by the time we found something.
Not really committed to either option, we made our way to the right, away from Liberty Ridge. I traversed well below Rob, who was in the lead, in order to guard against a pendulum fall. While Peter and I voiced our doubts, Rob was confident and motored ahead. What could he see that we couldn’t? Perhaps his trip to Ecuador only weeks before had him feeling more confident on glaciers than Peter or I, but there was no doubt about it, Rob was going to find a way.
As we found ourselves at the edge of the ridge, far off course, we saw the other team heading up some loose scree at the toe of the ridge. Apparently they were going to try their luck on rock. This option allowed them to avoid our un-pleasantries, but exposed them to a ton of loose, rotten rock and still required several exposed traverses on snow slopes.
“How’s your scree team arrest?” Peter joked, but he was mostly serious. We noticed them unrope at the start of the ridge. None of us liked this option.
Finally, Peter and I caught sight of Rob’s “snow bridge” that he had been preaching for the past half hour. It was barely solid, comprised of dirty avalanche debris, and wildly exposed on either side.
To the left, we could possibly cross, but some vertical ice climbing or a technical jump might be required, not exactly our definition of safe glacier travel. To the right, surely a bridge would show itself at some point, but at what point? We feared we might be all the way to the glacier’s edge by the time we found something.
Not really committed to either option, we made our way to the right, away from Liberty Ridge. I traversed well below Rob, who was in the lead, in order to guard against a pendulum fall. While Peter and I voiced our doubts, Rob was confident and motored ahead. What could he see that we couldn’t? Perhaps his trip to Ecuador only weeks before had him feeling more confident on glaciers than Peter or I, but there was no doubt about it, Rob was going to find a way.
As we found ourselves at the edge of the ridge, far off course, we saw the other team heading up some loose scree at the toe of the ridge. Apparently they were going to try their luck on rock. This option allowed them to avoid our un-pleasantries, but exposed them to a ton of loose, rotten rock and still required several exposed traverses on snow slopes.
“How’s your scree team arrest?” Peter joked, but he was mostly serious. We noticed them unrope at the start of the ridge. None of us liked this option.
Finally, Peter and I caught sight of Rob’s “snow bridge” that he had been preaching for the past half hour. It was barely solid, comprised of dirty avalanche debris, and wildly exposed on either side.
“Well, shit,” I thought, as I longed to be somewhere else, “I guess I am committed now.” I calmed my nerves and belayed Rob across. Within minutes the three of us had crossed the giant crevasse that had again eaten up over an hour of our time. The terrain ahead was easy (despite post holing), but we had to cover all of the ground we had lost. The ridge seemed far away and we were all acutely aware of where we were. The snow was soft because it was avalanche debris and we were dangerously close to the run out from the Liberty Wall. Peter quickly took the lead and our rope team moved with a purpose towards the base of Liberty Ridge’s lower snow slope. Even with the crevasse behind us, we still had access issues ahead. The glacier was separated from the ridge and only two snow bridges appeared to be options, neither of them looking entirely stable.
Half way back towards the ridge, our hearts skipped a beat. At the tail end of the rope, Rob yelled:
“Avvvaaaalaaaaaanche!!!”
A giant serac had broken loose high on the Liberty Wall above us and we feared we might be in the path. We started running before watching the debris collect a safe distance away. Despite having escaped disaster, we all realized we were in harm’s way. The talking ceased and the steps quickened. We needed to get off of the glacier and onto the ridge.
Half way back towards the ridge, our hearts skipped a beat. At the tail end of the rope, Rob yelled:
“Avvvaaaalaaaaaanche!!!”
A giant serac had broken loose high on the Liberty Wall above us and we feared we might be in the path. We started running before watching the debris collect a safe distance away. Despite having escaped disaster, we all realized we were in harm’s way. The talking ceased and the steps quickened. We needed to get off of the glacier and onto the ridge.
Shortly thereafter, Peter chose the lower of the two snow bridges, placed a picket and I belayed him across. Once I crossed myself, I breathed a sigh of relief as the slopes above looked to be only moderately steep instead of the 55+ that I had expected from down below. “Ok, this won’t be so bad, “ I told myself as I looked up towards Thumb Rock, “only a few hundred feet of climbing and the day will be over.” Yea right, the slope was well over 1,000ft and took the better part of the afternoon. |
Unsure of snow conditions and spooked by our recent avalanche encounter, we decided to sue running belays. Rob led out, he would place a picket once per rope length and after the supply of 4 was exhausted, we would all meet and swap leads (Peter and Rob, that is, I never led on that slope).
Up….and up….and up, the climbing seemed to last forever.
“This route is a bit too classic for me,” Peter murmured at one of our rests. I agreed. I was ready to be resting.
Up….and up….and up, the climbing seemed to last forever.
“This route is a bit too classic for me,” Peter murmured at one of our rests. I agreed. I was ready to be resting.
As we closed in on the camp site, the other team appeared. They had climbed most of the ridge and were now on the final slopes below Thumb Rock. We knew that space would be limited and unsure of anyone already occupying the space, Peter only half-jokingly asked “Are we in a race?”
“YES!!” Rob and I replied. We tried to pick up the pace, but who were we kidding? The other team was travelling unprotected and with a purpose. Reminiscent of a mountaineering machine, it quickly became obvious that we had no chance. As it turned out, we were still a ways from camp anyway and none of us had the fortitude to make a respectable attempt to plant our flag first. As the storm clouds came in and the snow began to fall, we talked less and less. We were all ready to be at camp.
We crossed a minor rock band (with, you guessed it, some dangerously loose rock) and made the final approach to camp without the use of protection. We arrived to find the other team already set up, but still had a choice of camp sites. We chose to dig out a platform in the snow for our tent and I got right to work. Taking turns, as we only had one shovel, the going was pretty slow, but it didn’t seem too long before I was relaxing inside the tent. Aside from getting out for water or views here and there, I spent most of the night relaxing.
“YES!!” Rob and I replied. We tried to pick up the pace, but who were we kidding? The other team was travelling unprotected and with a purpose. Reminiscent of a mountaineering machine, it quickly became obvious that we had no chance. As it turned out, we were still a ways from camp anyway and none of us had the fortitude to make a respectable attempt to plant our flag first. As the storm clouds came in and the snow began to fall, we talked less and less. We were all ready to be at camp.
We crossed a minor rock band (with, you guessed it, some dangerously loose rock) and made the final approach to camp without the use of protection. We arrived to find the other team already set up, but still had a choice of camp sites. We chose to dig out a platform in the snow for our tent and I got right to work. Taking turns, as we only had one shovel, the going was pretty slow, but it didn’t seem too long before I was relaxing inside the tent. Aside from getting out for water or views here and there, I spent most of the night relaxing.
The weather sucked. Though we set our alarm for an early morning summit attempt, we all expected Tuesday to be a weather day. I settled into my sleeping bag (now sleeping on my pack as the pad was all but useless) and drifted off to sleep.
Day 4: Tent Bound
Around 2am I woke up to find the winds howling and snow falling. Sure, it had been snowing when we went to sleep, but this was a full blown storm. The tent was shaking. Rob and I thought it was pretty fun. Around 430am Peter said;
“I guess I should turn off the alarm then, huh?”
That was it; Tuesday was going to be a weather day. I settled into my bag and tried to keep warm and dry. We stayed in bed until almost noon, venturing out at times (Rob had to get up and shovel snow off of the tent) but mainly being tent bound. As the day wore on, the weather improved dramatically. We emerged from the tent to begin melting snow and preparing for the summit push on Wednesday. After having sat around thinking for hours on end, worrying about avalanches and all sorts of ‘what-ifs,’ we were now feeling much, much better. We headed to sleep as the sun went down. Tomorrow would hopefully be summit day.
“I guess I should turn off the alarm then, huh?”
That was it; Tuesday was going to be a weather day. I settled into my bag and tried to keep warm and dry. We stayed in bed until almost noon, venturing out at times (Rob had to get up and shovel snow off of the tent) but mainly being tent bound. As the day wore on, the weather improved dramatically. We emerged from the tent to begin melting snow and preparing for the summit push on Wednesday. After having sat around thinking for hours on end, worrying about avalanches and all sorts of ‘what-ifs,’ we were now feeling much, much better. We headed to sleep as the sun went down. Tomorrow would hopefully be summit day.
Day 5: Over the Edge
A lot of things were running through our heads. How early we should start was one of them. Too early and the snow would be more difficult to climb. Leave too late and we risked avalanche or running out of time. We were also extremely nervous about avalanche risks. Most accident reports were either falls on moderate slopes or from avalanche (mostly climbing the day after a storm!). We decided to get up at 530am, but were quite slow getting our stuff together. We didn’t start climbing until almost 8am….the start of the bad news.
As you leave Thumb Rock, the true task begins; thousands of feet and unrelentingly steep ridge climbing. We chose the left variation (The WI3 route wasn’t in anyway) and quickly found ourselves on steep and exposed slopes. Ripe with fear of a slide, we began placing pro shortly out of camp. I found this part to be pretty tough mentally as it was not only steep and a prime candidate to slide, but the real climb had begun.
“Keep it together,” I kept telling myself. After a few hundred feet of climbing, we were off of the slope and onto a small and somewhat flat area. We took a break.
As you leave Thumb Rock, the true task begins; thousands of feet and unrelentingly steep ridge climbing. We chose the left variation (The WI3 route wasn’t in anyway) and quickly found ourselves on steep and exposed slopes. Ripe with fear of a slide, we began placing pro shortly out of camp. I found this part to be pretty tough mentally as it was not only steep and a prime candidate to slide, but the real climb had begun.
“Keep it together,” I kept telling myself. After a few hundred feet of climbing, we were off of the slope and onto a small and somewhat flat area. We took a break.
From here the route followed the ridge crest and as I watched Rob ahead and enjoyed my own climbing, the true meaning of “Classic Climb” seemed to come to mind. We climbed like this for a while before getting to an icy traverse. Though Rob and Peter had little problem, I used a second tool here and traversed across.
So far, we had been protecting most of the route through running belays, a strategy we had decided on to try and mitigate the avalanche risk and the risk of a team catastrophe. Simulclimbing seemed like our best bet. We continued upwards on consistently steep slopes. Every time we thought we were approaching a flat area, it would turn out to be a mirage, the climbing seemed infinite.
So far, we had been protecting most of the route through running belays, a strategy we had decided on to try and mitigate the avalanche risk and the risk of a team catastrophe. Simulclimbing seemed like our best bet. We continued upwards on consistently steep slopes. Every time we thought we were approaching a flat area, it would turn out to be a mirage, the climbing seemed infinite.
Hours and hours went by and we made slow, but steady progress. We finally took a rest in late afternoon on the most moderate part of the climb so far. After some water and a small amount of food, Rob led ahead on some mellow slopes. Above here, progress slowed to a halt.
The slope steepened and to our horror we were climbing on a sheet of ice with a few inches of powder covering it. Not only was it difficult to climb, but it was going to be near impossible to arrest. We placed a few screws, but we were not making very good time. The clock had become an enemy.
Rob chose to move to the left into some soft and deep(er) snow. It wouldn’t take pickets, but by now we had realized that protecting moderate slopes was a bad idea. As both of my partners were tired and we weren’t placing pro, I took a turn at the lead and tried to kick steps straight up for several hundred feet towards a rock formation that we thought, as usual, might yield a flat area. At this moment, the word “Bivouac” first entered our minds.
The slope steepened and to our horror we were climbing on a sheet of ice with a few inches of powder covering it. Not only was it difficult to climb, but it was going to be near impossible to arrest. We placed a few screws, but we were not making very good time. The clock had become an enemy.
Rob chose to move to the left into some soft and deep(er) snow. It wouldn’t take pickets, but by now we had realized that protecting moderate slopes was a bad idea. As both of my partners were tired and we weren’t placing pro, I took a turn at the lead and tried to kick steps straight up for several hundred feet towards a rock formation that we thought, as usual, might yield a flat area. At this moment, the word “Bivouac” first entered our minds.
As we gained the top of the formation, we realized that this was not going to be a good option for a place to spend the night, but we did get a good look at the route ahead and another possible "camping" site. We down climbed to have a look but our progress was painfully slow (thanks in no small part to me) and by the time we had reached a small area between two crevasses, Peter and I had already decided to try and wait out the night.
Rob disagreed, and rightfully so. Our site was between 2 crevasses and sloped towards a cliff. Above us were hanging seracs and we were clearly in an avalanche chute. What was our alternative though? Push a line up the ridge in the dark through unknown terrain which would possibly require us to climb technical ice in the dark! We might not find another place to camp if we pressed on.
Both options presented great danger and after a long team discussion, we decided to spend the night where we were. The slope was steep enough to warrant sleeping in harnesses anchored into the ice and we didn’t bother taking off any clothing. I simply took off my boots and got into my bag, preparing for a tough, tough night. Hopefully the glacier would stay intact during the cold and dark hours ahead.
Rob disagreed, and rightfully so. Our site was between 2 crevasses and sloped towards a cliff. Above us were hanging seracs and we were clearly in an avalanche chute. What was our alternative though? Push a line up the ridge in the dark through unknown terrain which would possibly require us to climb technical ice in the dark! We might not find another place to camp if we pressed on.
Both options presented great danger and after a long team discussion, we decided to spend the night where we were. The slope was steep enough to warrant sleeping in harnesses anchored into the ice and we didn’t bother taking off any clothing. I simply took off my boots and got into my bag, preparing for a tough, tough night. Hopefully the glacier would stay intact during the cold and dark hours ahead.
I spent most of that night shivering and hoping we’d still be there in the morning.
Day 6: Liberty at Last
As we left our makeshift camp, the winds began to die down and the blue skies remained. Up we headed towards a snow bridge which we all hoped would offer easy access across the bergschrund. Route info had told us that in some years, near vertical ice of 10-40ft would block our crossing, and so many days in and after our cold, cold night above 13k, we all welcomed the path of least resistance.
Up we climbed, roped together and unprotected, our progress was steady. Rob in the lead, stoic and confident, chose the route ahead. Dehydrated, hungry and tired, I stopped our progress more than once, even getting sick at a point. When we approached the crossing, the snow bridge showed itself and our path was clear. Rob placed a single picket, I traversed below to parallel his line and the rope was pulled taught. Seconds later he was across. The climbing was not steep, but physically and mentally drained, I happily obliged when a belay was offered. Now on the Liberty Cap Glacier, the snow was of good quality and the slope was moderate. Peter took the lead as we began a long traverse up and to the left. Having learned our lesson from the painfully slow progress of the days before, we again traveled unprotected, trusting our footing and each other. We slowly gained altitude as we chose our line.
Many options presented themselves, but we had all silently agreed upon a route. Less than 3 hours after leaving camp, we found ourselves within striking distance of the upper glacier.
As had become a recurring theme, one of my crampons chose the perfect time to come loose as I heard Peter call out from above;
“I’m going to place a screw or two here. This section is pretty icy.”
“Great,” I thought, but it wasn’t all bad, “After this last section of ice, the slope will give way and we will be off of this ridge and onto the summit….on to safety.”
I removed my loose crampon and attached it to my harness. From the opposite side I grabbed an ice tool.
“Okay, 2 tools and 1 crampon instead of 2 crampons and 1 tool. I can make this work.” I climbed up towards Peter. “3 points of contact, don’t trust the right foot, breathe, again.”
Within minutes I anchored my tools in the ice next to Peter and took my much needed rest. Rob was next to come up and traversed below and to my right before leading through.
Above and out of sight the slope appeared to lessen significantly and we were all anxious to see that reality come true. Unfortunately, bound by 30 meters, Peter was forced to remove his anchor before Rob could place a picket above the ice.
“Shall we trust a single screw?” he called up.
“We’re going to have to,” replied Rob.
“Shit, this is the real deal,” I thought, “don’t mess this up now.”
Still on a slope far too precarious to strap my crampon back on, I inched my way upward until Rob’s voice came from above.
“Tell Peter I’ve got a picket in.”
Relief swept over me. “Bring me in,” I hollered, “I’m still missing a crampon.”
Rob agreed and the rope was pulled tight. Moments later I sat beside him in the snow, enjoying some of the gentlest terrain we had seen in days. The 3 of us were quickly reunited and a brief discussion ensued as to whether it was even worth reattaching my crampon, but knowing my own comfort level, I strapped it on.
The mood had changed, something was different. A desperate sense of urgency gave way to a feeling of imminent success. No one said it, but we all knew the worst was over. We were going to make it, we were going to summit.
The nature of this route, a true and committing alpine style ascent, meant that success and the promise of safety were actually one in the same. I looked forward and back, tied to trusted friends. I wondered if either of them cared any longer about the summit or if they were just happy to be out of harm’s way. I wondered how I felt and what mattered most to me. These past days had been the most intense I’d ever lived.
As expected, each small slope led to a false summit, but the going was easy and we slowly but surely made our way. Stopping on occasion to catch our breath, communication was not necessary, by now we moved as a single unit. As we gained altitude, the immediacy of success began to soar inside me. It was surreal.
My thoughts bounced back to years passed, when my mountain dreams were simply long-term goals, when reading of expeditions past and watching others climb dominated what mountaineering meant to me. A time when a debilitating fear of heights left me wondering what would I ever really be able to climb?
I thought how barely 3 years ago I had poured my heart and soul into finding a way to make Rainier happen, into saving money for gear and a guide, building my skillset and making an attempt as a guided client on a standard route.
Now here I stood, a member of a climbing team, an equal pulling my own weight (sort of) on a classic route. The flooding of emotions was too much to bear as tears filled my eyes.
“This is it….this is what it feels like to follow your dreams.”
By now Peter had stopped up ahead. A few steps more and Rob and I joined him. He looked at his watch, it was 12:30.
Up we climbed, roped together and unprotected, our progress was steady. Rob in the lead, stoic and confident, chose the route ahead. Dehydrated, hungry and tired, I stopped our progress more than once, even getting sick at a point. When we approached the crossing, the snow bridge showed itself and our path was clear. Rob placed a single picket, I traversed below to parallel his line and the rope was pulled taught. Seconds later he was across. The climbing was not steep, but physically and mentally drained, I happily obliged when a belay was offered. Now on the Liberty Cap Glacier, the snow was of good quality and the slope was moderate. Peter took the lead as we began a long traverse up and to the left. Having learned our lesson from the painfully slow progress of the days before, we again traveled unprotected, trusting our footing and each other. We slowly gained altitude as we chose our line.
Many options presented themselves, but we had all silently agreed upon a route. Less than 3 hours after leaving camp, we found ourselves within striking distance of the upper glacier.
As had become a recurring theme, one of my crampons chose the perfect time to come loose as I heard Peter call out from above;
“I’m going to place a screw or two here. This section is pretty icy.”
“Great,” I thought, but it wasn’t all bad, “After this last section of ice, the slope will give way and we will be off of this ridge and onto the summit….on to safety.”
I removed my loose crampon and attached it to my harness. From the opposite side I grabbed an ice tool.
“Okay, 2 tools and 1 crampon instead of 2 crampons and 1 tool. I can make this work.” I climbed up towards Peter. “3 points of contact, don’t trust the right foot, breathe, again.”
Within minutes I anchored my tools in the ice next to Peter and took my much needed rest. Rob was next to come up and traversed below and to my right before leading through.
Above and out of sight the slope appeared to lessen significantly and we were all anxious to see that reality come true. Unfortunately, bound by 30 meters, Peter was forced to remove his anchor before Rob could place a picket above the ice.
“Shall we trust a single screw?” he called up.
“We’re going to have to,” replied Rob.
“Shit, this is the real deal,” I thought, “don’t mess this up now.”
Still on a slope far too precarious to strap my crampon back on, I inched my way upward until Rob’s voice came from above.
“Tell Peter I’ve got a picket in.”
Relief swept over me. “Bring me in,” I hollered, “I’m still missing a crampon.”
Rob agreed and the rope was pulled tight. Moments later I sat beside him in the snow, enjoying some of the gentlest terrain we had seen in days. The 3 of us were quickly reunited and a brief discussion ensued as to whether it was even worth reattaching my crampon, but knowing my own comfort level, I strapped it on.
The mood had changed, something was different. A desperate sense of urgency gave way to a feeling of imminent success. No one said it, but we all knew the worst was over. We were going to make it, we were going to summit.
The nature of this route, a true and committing alpine style ascent, meant that success and the promise of safety were actually one in the same. I looked forward and back, tied to trusted friends. I wondered if either of them cared any longer about the summit or if they were just happy to be out of harm’s way. I wondered how I felt and what mattered most to me. These past days had been the most intense I’d ever lived.
As expected, each small slope led to a false summit, but the going was easy and we slowly but surely made our way. Stopping on occasion to catch our breath, communication was not necessary, by now we moved as a single unit. As we gained altitude, the immediacy of success began to soar inside me. It was surreal.
My thoughts bounced back to years passed, when my mountain dreams were simply long-term goals, when reading of expeditions past and watching others climb dominated what mountaineering meant to me. A time when a debilitating fear of heights left me wondering what would I ever really be able to climb?
I thought how barely 3 years ago I had poured my heart and soul into finding a way to make Rainier happen, into saving money for gear and a guide, building my skillset and making an attempt as a guided client on a standard route.
Now here I stood, a member of a climbing team, an equal pulling my own weight (sort of) on a classic route. The flooding of emotions was too much to bear as tears filled my eyes.
“This is it….this is what it feels like to follow your dreams.”
By now Peter had stopped up ahead. A few steps more and Rob and I joined him. He looked at his watch, it was 12:30.
The Descent
The sun shone bright but the wind was cold. After just a few minutes and a picture or two, we continued towards our descent route, The Emmons Glacier. We needed to find shelter to make a brew. None of us had had more than a sip of water in almost 24 hours and thus had avoided eating as well. I was drained, I needed fuel. Shortly below the summit we found some mild shelter and collapsed into the snow. Not really doing anything, we just sat there, taking in all that had happened, barely having the strength to move.
A party of two came up and began chatting with us. Their experience had clearly been much less of an epic and they were cheerful. They thanked us for the steps we had put in, we all shared some thoughts on the route and they were on their way. We got up and trudged towards a saddle below Columbia Crest that we hoped would yield the footsteps of guided parties that had been on Emmons recently.
“I can’t….I can’t,” I cried as we again collapsed into the snow. “I need water.”
We gained the saddle shortly thereafter and agreed we’d come far enough, it was time to take out the stove and slowly bring our bodies back from the brink of disaster. Happy to be resting and now in good spirits, I made quick work of the stove and we soon enjoyed some water and shared tasty treats with each other. We spent well over an hour talking about the climb and of adventures from our past. The food and water worked wonders and cautious optimism swept over me. We were all ready to be down and off the mountain. We had agreed to attempt the full 10,000ft descent that day and hoped to make the car by nightfall. At 3:30 we packed up, fresh with fuel and some great beta provided by a few passing guides, and began our descent towards Camp Shurman.
A party of two came up and began chatting with us. Their experience had clearly been much less of an epic and they were cheerful. They thanked us for the steps we had put in, we all shared some thoughts on the route and they were on their way. We got up and trudged towards a saddle below Columbia Crest that we hoped would yield the footsteps of guided parties that had been on Emmons recently.
“I can’t….I can’t,” I cried as we again collapsed into the snow. “I need water.”
We gained the saddle shortly thereafter and agreed we’d come far enough, it was time to take out the stove and slowly bring our bodies back from the brink of disaster. Happy to be resting and now in good spirits, I made quick work of the stove and we soon enjoyed some water and shared tasty treats with each other. We spent well over an hour talking about the climb and of adventures from our past. The food and water worked wonders and cautious optimism swept over me. We were all ready to be down and off the mountain. We had agreed to attempt the full 10,000ft descent that day and hoped to make the car by nightfall. At 3:30 we packed up, fresh with fuel and some great beta provided by a few passing guides, and began our descent towards Camp Shurman.
Rob pointed out the tents far below and I welcomed this wonderful site. There were so many tents, so many people, a city of life compared to what seemed like the dark side of the moon that we had experienced. The slopes were gentle but pain shot through my legs. Though I wanted to rest, I knew this was the game we play. What goes up must come down; the climb does not end until you are off the mountain. Shortly before 6pm we arrived at the small city called Shurman.
We sat on some rocks and sorted through our gear while two very nice guys congratulated us on our achievement. They clearly knew what was up and were gearing up for a sunrise summit attempt via Emmons. The more outgoing of the pair shared his own Liberty Ridge story (which bore a striking resemblance to ours!) and put things in perspective for us. I think we all felt better about the style in which we had climbed the route. I was glad to be talking with these climbers; I enjoyed their company very much.
What had we done though, and why? I had pushed myself to the limit, maybe further. What was I taking home with me besides memories and a fresh understanding of myself? For those desperate moments when tomorrow seemed to be more of an “if” instead of “when,” it seems impossible to avoid the nagging question that every alpinist faces; “Is it worth it?”
It is, I am sure of it, though I could never tell you why.
After a light dinner and bidding our new friends farewell, we headed towards the Glacier Basin Camp, the site of our first camp. At last we travelled as individuals, unroped and free to travel at our own pace. I put on my iPod and enjoyed my usual ritual of The Biscuits while I lagged behind my teammates. A quick and fun glissade brought us into Glacier Basin and our decision to descend in a single day was validated. 3 miles of trail hiking to go, I could hardly believe it.
Shortly after passing through the camp, I felt a tap on my shoulder…it was Ryan! Though I knew he was on the mountain, the events of the last 6 days had distracted me. I was thoroughly pleased to see him. We had invited him to join us and I knew that it was with a heavy heart that he had had to decline. I wished him well and his own attempt and we spoke of climbing together when we returned home. Two days later, on Saturday, he enjoyed his own moments of the top, Congratulations my friend!!!
At 9:30pm, almost 16 hours into one of the toughest days of my life, I reached the car. The climb was over. We had done it.
We sat on some rocks and sorted through our gear while two very nice guys congratulated us on our achievement. They clearly knew what was up and were gearing up for a sunrise summit attempt via Emmons. The more outgoing of the pair shared his own Liberty Ridge story (which bore a striking resemblance to ours!) and put things in perspective for us. I think we all felt better about the style in which we had climbed the route. I was glad to be talking with these climbers; I enjoyed their company very much.
What had we done though, and why? I had pushed myself to the limit, maybe further. What was I taking home with me besides memories and a fresh understanding of myself? For those desperate moments when tomorrow seemed to be more of an “if” instead of “when,” it seems impossible to avoid the nagging question that every alpinist faces; “Is it worth it?”
It is, I am sure of it, though I could never tell you why.
After a light dinner and bidding our new friends farewell, we headed towards the Glacier Basin Camp, the site of our first camp. At last we travelled as individuals, unroped and free to travel at our own pace. I put on my iPod and enjoyed my usual ritual of The Biscuits while I lagged behind my teammates. A quick and fun glissade brought us into Glacier Basin and our decision to descend in a single day was validated. 3 miles of trail hiking to go, I could hardly believe it.
Shortly after passing through the camp, I felt a tap on my shoulder…it was Ryan! Though I knew he was on the mountain, the events of the last 6 days had distracted me. I was thoroughly pleased to see him. We had invited him to join us and I knew that it was with a heavy heart that he had had to decline. I wished him well and his own attempt and we spoke of climbing together when we returned home. Two days later, on Saturday, he enjoyed his own moments of the top, Congratulations my friend!!!
At 9:30pm, almost 16 hours into one of the toughest days of my life, I reached the car. The climb was over. We had done it.