Mt Rainier Trip Log 1999
Copyright Mark "Indy" Allen, 1999
I don’t usually log my trips, but, then again, I don’t usually have trips as strange as this one! I feel that if I don’t write this log, either one of two things will happen; 1) I will, over time, forget the details of the experience, or 2) no one will believe me. My love of mountaineering has led me to the summit of Mt. Rainier 33 times. Not one of those experiences was as strange, as was this trip. It seemed that around every corner, or passing second, something exceptionally unexpected occurred. Hold one to your butts, cause this one gets ugly. Bar the door and shut the windows; Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride ain’t got nothin’ on this tale. It’s not really that bad. As compared to any other climbing trip, this one was probably the usual, or at least the expected. I view the trip as a complete success! Let me say that again; everyone came home safe and sound. The trip was a success! The top is inconsequential. The love of the climb and compassion for the experience is the summit. I rediscovered those qualities on this trip. I find passion in the joy of being and doing, not standing on top. Although we did summit, in retrospect, it means little. The details are omnipresent. I hope that you will find joy, laughter, sadness, dismay, fright, and happiness in this tale. I know that I have, do, and will continue to enjoy the climb.
"Hey, you guys need to calm down." "Whiteout." "Let’s dig in here." "Did you see the guy in short sleeves?" "Don’t think I won’t run back to the mountain." "I’d tell you, but you won’t believe me." "How high you boys goin’." "Pressure breathing is the key to your success." "Get up." "More whiteout." "I can’t see anything, but white shit." "I think I can see the summit." "Nope, keep climbing." "Yea, baby!" These quotes detail a unique history of phrases that were either spoken or overheard. There sound is undeniable. A combination of words evokes the memory of images and objects. The part, for me, that is unobtainable, is the feeling. With each of my climbing experiences comes the part that can not be understood or explained, much less, told to another person. "It’s" the unknown, but "it’s" also very intimate and friendly. "It’s" the thing that we sometimes brush against. Before we can turn to look, "it’s" gone. Or, maybe, "it" just turned "it’s" back. Sometimes I feel that "it’s" always here, I just lack the courage to confront "it". "It" is the passionate feeling that lies within each of us. Sometimes, unknowingly, I get close enough to touch, but never to feel. I can see, but I can’t quite get the camera out. The words! They bring "it" closer to me. I can say the words, but their meaning is special to only me. This is what I hope to change. Throughout this story, these phrases will be repeated, and their meaning, will be revealed. The experience brings us closer to our person. The mountain has done that thing for me. That thing is "it." "It" is Rainier!
Mt. Rainier is the highest point in Washington. Let’s get the facts up front. It’s the tallest peak in WA, most glaciated peak in the 48, most difficult peak in the 48, and longest endurance climb in NA. Do you now see the allure? The climb to Rainier actually started in February of 1999. I taught a mountaineering class at the REC-PLEX in St. Peters. The class was small, but eager. As usual, I was late to the first class. The class was filled with bright eyed, bushy tail individuals, with a potpourri of experience and knowledge. Let’s meet the class. Whitney Pierce was the first. A TWA pilot, but more importantly, as an avid backpacker, his thirst for mountaineering knowledge was unquenchable. I could never give him enough; he could always soak up more. Rainier was not his first passion, but it’s seed soon planted root in his mind. A goal was found. Brynn Palmer is a client that I have known for a few years. Our relationship is special. Not only have I taught climbing to Brynn for three years, but I have also had the luck to teach her daughter (Layla) and her husband (Bob). Brynn wanted to do the mountain every year for the past three years. This was to be her first stab at the hill. Extenuating circumstances held Brynn back; skin cancer, a house fire, work, etc. Betsy Brown, a rock student, soon found the love of the mountains and desired an altitude experience. Although her spirit was willing, a recent move to CO held her from the trip. Jan Demas! Well, what more can or should be said. Jan is a special friend. Although she couldn’t find the way to the hill, I have never seen such eagerness. Medical limitations, held her in STL, but her mind ran rampant concerning the adventure. I wish that she could have made it. Last, but for sure not least, is Steve Snyder. He and his wife Becky summited in 1998 with me. Steve was a late addition to the team. In that friendship, I have found a special person. Steve’s unselfishness, self sacrifice, and unrelenting determination make him an invaluable team member, and more importantly, a friend. I’m last; Indy. I’ve never done anything of importance! Let’s move along.
After three months of training, the team was set; Whitney, Brynn, Steve, and myself. We departed on June 5 at 8am. Minds wandered and spirits dreamed. We reluctantly left our spouses for Seattle, WA. With a little help from my friend at TWA (Joe Bali), we were all upgraded, for free, to first class. The trip was off to a great start. Our arrival into Seattle was immediate and grand. Well, not actually. We got the car and headed for REI. After several gear exchanges, new purchases, and lots of drooling, we found our way to the Claremont Hotel and eventually dinner at Dukes. The weather was calm and cool, but full of excitement. I don’t think that I could have eaten one more bight of crab or oyster. After dropping Brynn at the Claremont, Steve, Whitney, and I, went out for a night on the town. After searching, in vain, for a pool hall, we settled in a small and very loud pub. The "Owl and Thistle" Pub was filled with drunken, underage patrons, but the Guinness was good. After a few brews, we retired to the Claremont.
The following morning (Sunday) was filled with excitement. "Today we start!" We left the comforts of Seattle and headed for the climb. Actually, the climb starts with a few warm ups. Our first destination was Snoqualmie Falls and Little Si. The Snoqualmie Falls (pronounced "snow-quam-me") is a large water fall on the way out of town. Why miss it? Little Si is a small sport climbing area just east of Seattle. The hike to the cliff is about 2 miles. It’s a chance for me to see how everyone trained. The start of the trail is steep and narrow. The rock isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Actually, it’s pretty lousy, but we (I) wanted to climb. With little delay, we shouldered our packs and began the hike under a light drizzle. Steve blazed the path, Whitney shortly behind, then myself, and finally, Brynn, who started a little slowly. I was a bit concerned, but let’s not get excited. When we arrived at the desired climbing area we stumbled upon no less than fifty other climbers. It was a sight. Bolts everywhere, climbers pealing off jugs, climbers with shirts off (it was 45 degrees), leaders jumping off, stick clips. Well, you know what I thought. I was disgusted. We did a few climbs, then promptly prepared to hike back to the car. On our last climb, Steve and I were laughing about a "gas" incident. A climber on the ground shouted up to us that we "needed to calm down." It was apparent that these climbers were not allowed to have fun. Their only concern was "showing off" or "saving face." "Conquer and destroy!" I had never seen so many climbers that didn’t want to have any fun. I was disgusted. We returned to the car, took a few pictures of blooming flowers, then began the drive toward Rainier. Our destination was Tachoma. We reserved two rooms and tried to find sleep.
Finally! Today (Monday) we start the hill. We woke, ate, and departed for the mountain. After a short stop for more supplies and packing, we arrived at Paradise (5400’). The snow was amazing. Paradise usually has 600" of snow. This year, that had already received 1100", and it was still snowing. It was a sight. We decided to eat lunch in the lodge and then start. When we did start, it was great. I always say that the first step is the hardest. It was no less true this year. Under cloudy skies, 200’ visibility, 30 degrees, and a light snow, we took the first step. The time was 3pm. It was difficult to concentrate on the summit; many climbers were returning from unsuccessful summit attempts. This is where the trip started to get ugly. Brynn was lagging far behind. Short of taking her pack, there was little that could be done. We continued, slowly! After about one hour, the clouds broke. Although we couldn’t see the upper mountain, it was refreshing to see sunshine. Brynn, who was still lagging, took several nasty falls. When I say "nasty" I mean, she could not stand without assistance. She wasn’t hurt, just tired. It was obvious that her lack of training would be her demise. After about two miles, we encountered our first hill. Short (500’ tall) and sweet, it would prove to be the test. The clouds had again recaptured the mountain. I broke trail in the fresh snow, while Whitney nipped closely at my heels. Once on top of this small incline, Whitney and I waited for Steve and Brynn. Steve had stayed back with Brynn to offer assistance. When they arrived, it was obvious that we were done for the day. Our progress was pathetic. Over the course of 3.5 hours, we had hike less than 2 miles and gained less than 2000’. I left the group to scout the next section. The terrain was steep, but not difficult. It began to snow again, but heavier than before. The winds increased to 15 mph. When I returned, I found Steve and Whitney looking at each other. I found out why. Brynn had collapsed on her pack and was now sleeping from exhaustion. The decision was obvious; "Let’s dig in here."
With no discussion, Steve, Whitney, and I, began to dig tent platforms. After finishing, I let Whitney and Brynn get warm in their tent. Steve and I started making dinner; there was no need for all four of us to sit outside and watch snow melt on the stove. After we finished melting snow, Steve and I retired to our tent. I found it extraordinary that both Steve and I were in such high spirits. We ate, laughed, shouted, and laughed again. With the snow and the temperature slowly falling, I settled into thought. We had traveled less 2 miles (1800’); that’s less than half of where I wanted us to be. Whitney was complaining of not feel well, and Brynn...I didn’t know. Either we need to pick up the pace or go home! I could only hope that the morning break clear and fresh. That would be the new start that we needed.
The morning did eventually break; Tuesday was here. At daybreak it was still snowing, the temperature was 30 degrees, and visibility was down to 20’. It had snowed about a foot during the night. After lying in the tent for several HOURS, I went to Whitney and Brynn’s tent to see how they were doing. Whitney was complaining about his upset stomach. Brynn was quite a sight. During the night, a blood vessel had exploded in her eye. It was completely filled with blood. Her other eye stem was swollen, which meant that she could not move that eye. Brynn was having trouble completing sentences and could not concentrate. Her body temperature was falling and she complained of fatigue, not to mention that she just looked like shit. Whitney said that he was feeling better, but I knew that his condition would rapidly change with altitude. He told me that we could continue, but wasn’t sure about making it to Muir. Brynn said that she would try to continue, but felt the same about Muir; she wasn’t sure if she could make it. Camp Muir was still three miles and 3200’ above us. I acted like we could discuss staying on the hill, but my mind was made up. With little dialogue, I decided that it would be better for everyone in the team to descend. We broke camp, packed, and headed for Paradise. After the "hill" incident, we arrived at the car shortly after noon. It was still snowing. After spending several days on the hill, we never saw the upper mountain. It was finely cloaked under a veil of clouds. I hung my head and drove away. This was the first time that I had ever not made the summit of the mountain. Of all of my attempts, I had always made the summit. I had been denied, but I didn’t feel that I had ever really given it my true effort.
As we drove away from the mountain, I began to feel a sadness. It’s difficult to explain. I was, believe it or not, very happy to be off the mountain, but being on the mountain was all that I could think about. Strange! When I was there, I just wanted to be finished and be off the damn thing. When I’m off the hill, my thoughts are consumed with how to get back and try again. I was unsettled, that as a guide, I couldn’t help these people make and finish the climb. I felt as though I had let them down. I was loosing it or was I? Had I lost my touch? Now that we were off the mountain, what do we do? Rainier had been the objective. Now that it was out of the time frame, were do we go? FOCUS! Get it together and refocus your energies toward the positive. "We can. We will." I had to set an example and be positive. There was no need for the trip to be a disaster. I had it! We’ll just do a small hill. Now, that sounds so stupid! Uh...what else would you do? Sit around and watch TV? No, get a guide book and head for the hills.
After a short dinner of Burger King we retired to the Comfort Inn for a night of drying out and roller derby. At about 6pm Brynn pulled me aside and told me that she would not be continuing. She wanted to go home. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't hear of it. I went to bed not knowing what was going to happen.
Wednesday proved to be a big day. We awoke, packed, and traveled to SEA-TAC. After dropping Brynn at TWA, Whitney, Steve, and I traveled to REI to buy a new guide book. We didn’t know where we were heading, but we were going somewhere. In REI Whitney pulled me aside and told me that he, also, wanted to go home. He just wasn’t feeling well. He had been taking an altitude medication, to prevent him from getting sick. Unfortunately, the inverse was the outcome. The medication had wrecked his system. I really felt bad for Whitney. He had worked so hard for the mountain, but it was not to be. I shared my regret, but reminded him that the mountain will be there next year. We got in the car and drove back to SEA-TAC. After dropping off Whitney, the dialogue was short. Steve and I got back in the car. We said nothing. Then, with a simultaneous nod and a "...oh hell yes!" we set out for Rainier. There were many problems, but we had come to do Rainier, and damn it, that’s what we were going to do! It was late, it was Wednesday, and the weather was still unsettled. Rainier, with full loads, is a five day climb. We had three.
After a short repack, we arrived to a snowy Paradise at 5:15pm. Finally, the weather broke. When we parked the car, the full mountain was in view. Clear, snowy, and very large, Mt. Rainier loomed within our grasp. At 6pm we began our climb. Again, the first step was the most difficult. Within 1.5 hours, we had reached our previous high spot; that’s less than half of our previous time. Passing emerging pines, short Aspens, and an occasional Marmot, be again broke trail in fresh snow. We traveled fast, but not light. Our packs weighed just under 100 lbs. We had to travel quickly; we were running out of time. At 9:30pm we arrived at 8000’. Under a clear sky, we decided to camp. We were back on schedule! After setting up camp and making dinner, I rested soundly.
During the hike we encountered a few other climbers. There was the RMI ass hole that thought he knew everything about anything. Ask any RMI dude; they know everything. The party that stuck out was another party of three (a woman with two guys). As we made camp and the sun set, we could see her slow pull away from the two guys. They were on their way to Muir. She eventually dusted those poor fellas. We laughed as she left them gasping for air. Again, our spirits were high. I really began to appreciate Steve and his companionship. It was extraordinary to be with Steve as a climber and a friend. I thank you Steve!
Thursday broke in grand style. Bright and clear, we unzipped the tent to see Mt. St. Hellens. It’s not every day that you open your front door to such a sight. We ate, laughed, and finally broke camp. Our hike into Camp Muir was short, but enduring. We arrived at Muir shortly after 1pm. We set up camp, took a few pictures, and made dinner. We were pushing pretty hard. We had made it to 10,000’ in six hours of climbing, with full loads. We were very tired, but set to make our summit bid. We prepared our gear and made ready for bed. At 7pm we dove in our bags. The plan was to get up at 11:45pm. At best, we could only get five hours of sleep. This is the difficult part. Let me explain. You lay there, knowing that you are getting ready to have one of the hardest days of your life. You’re tired, but the excitement will not let you sleep. All you can do is think of what will come. It’s very nerve racking. You pretend that you’re sleeping, not wanting your partner to know that you’re awake. So after not sleeping for all five hours, you awake and start the adventure. Goodnight.
"Oh shit! It’s 12:15am." I emerged from the tent to see three parties of three, an hour across the glacier. We had only slept for thirty minutes of the five hours, but they were the last thirty minutes of the five hours. Our alarm didn’t go off, and we overslept. Already we were 30 minutes behind. No worry! Eat a cliff bar, drink some water, and go like hell. We got up, put on our harnesses and began. "12:30am. Cold! One foot in front of the other. I’m hot. Keep going." After one hour we had gained 1000’. We stopped for five minutes to adjust our layering. Another hour and we were at the base of the ice fall. The crevasses were there, but we couldn’t see them in the darkness; we felt their presence. This is the site of the RMI murder in 1981 that killed eleven. It was, and still is the worst accident in North American mountaineering. "Don’t stop." Shortly after, we arrived at the base of the Disappointment Cleaver (DC). Since the snow fall had been extremely heavy, there were no crevasses, but there was also no need to "switch back." The shortest route to the summit was straight up, so that’s what we did. About half way up the cleaver, we stopped for a five minute rest break. This would prove to be our last break of the climb. We were at 12,000’. While resting in the darkness, I heard a sound. A crashing whoosh, then silence. The Ingram Ice Fall has just slid. The temperature was below 20 degrees. The large volume of snow created the slide, not temperature and melt. We didn’t know if any one was hurt. We would later learn that a party was directly under this massive slide, but it stopped half way. No one was injured.
At 4am the sun began to rise. The sky was filled with reds, oranges, and purples. It was one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen. The sky was still clear, but the winds had begun to pickup. Once atop the DC (12,500’) we started the final headwall. Then suddenly, the clouds gathered and attacked. Within seconds, the visibility dropped to 20’. The winds rose to 30 mph and snow began to fall heavily. After a short discussion, well, it was more like a few shouts, we decided to continue. The temperature began to drop very quickly and the snow made visibility extremely poor. It was impossible to tell the difference between the sky and the glacier. You just put your foot in the uphill direction and stood on it. After several hours of this torture, there was "no more up." We had made it! 14,411 feet!!! We had made the summit in just over 30 hours after leaving the car. Wow. Strangely, I felt no emotion. The summit was awful. Steve and I were completely covered in ice. The temperature was -20 degrees. The wind was sustained at 50 mph gusting to 70 mph. It was impossible to tell the difference between fresh snow and spin drift. Our tracks were gone. During the final two hours of the climb, it had snowed two feet. We took our pictures, found our summit rocks, and prepared for the descent. It was 7am. As I took my first step down, I found the emotion. I began to cry. All I could think about was my wife, Kim. I so wanted to be with her. I was cold, and I wanted to feel the warmth of her glow. I knew that if I wanted to find her, I had to remain focused. "Drive on..!"
After an hour of descent we made our way to the top of the DC. We broke through the clouds to find sunshine and warmth. The summit was now in view. After a short rest, we finished the descent to the Cathedral Rocks for another rest. During our descent, we passed a party of four "bone heads" that had removed their crampons. Some people just are stupid. And I wonder why people get hurt in the mountains? These are the few that give us all the bad name. These are the few that make us look like risk takers. There was no reason for this carelessness. We passed them quickly. After another hour, we were safely back at Muir. It was 2pm on Friday. With no discussion, we began to break camp. Two hours later, we arrived at the car. We had finished the climb in 46 hours. A climb that normally takes five days had just been completed, safely, in 46. We didn’t skimp, and we didn’t cheat! We knew what we had to do and we did it. After a beer and a Gatorade (in that order) we headed for Tachoma. We stopped for food, then went straight to bed.
On Saturday, we did little. We drove for a steak lunch, then to REI. While there we ran across Gary Hogan; a rock student of mine in STL. Wild. We went to the Space Needle, walked to water front, and ate dinner. Later, back at the hotel, Steve got his last fix of roller derby. On Sunday we went to SEA-TAC to fly home to our waiting wives. It was a long trip!
After returning to St. Peters, I had a difficult time. Not with the trip, or the events, but with myself. I was extremely fatigued. I wanted to crawl out of bed only to lie on the floor. I had difficulty concentrating. I was very fatigued. I was leaving on Saturday to guide a trip in New York. I had to get better. I did.
As far as the trip goes.... I felt that we were always safe, but out communication was lacking. I always learn from my trips. I learned, on this particular trip, that a lack of communication can be dangerous. People not willing to tell you how they feel or what they want, on an individual level, can put the team at risk. What if we had continued up the snow field as a team? What if someone had gotten sick on the snow field? What if? Well, I guess that’s why we turned around. I feel that Brynn and Whitney may be angry with me for turning us back, but we all returned safely. As a matter of fact, I know that neither of them are angry, but the lessons that they learned are forever engraved. We turned back together, as a matter of safety, not as a matter of failure. The only way that we, as climbers, can fail is if we don’t come back. I had a friend, a few years back, who died while climbing. Some said that he died happy; outside climbing. This is so untrue. If I die while climbing, I screwed up. The number one thing in my climbing is safety. I have no tolerance for sloppy climbing. I want to die as an old, wise man, not as a stupid kid, who got in over his head. The wise man climbs tomorrow. That’s not an excuse to be lazy, but an incentive to climb again, tomorrow. The trip was a success. We summited together, fell together, laughed and cried together, and yes, we came home together. The trip was a success!