Mission Project

We picked up the rental car and hit the road towards the park. I'm not really sure what time we actually arrived at the park considering I fell asleep about an hour into the drive. I do however remember hearing mom voicing her concerns from the front seat once we entered the park. Something about the fact that there were no guardrails on the side of the road, which you could tell dropped off into complete darkness. It didn't help that dad figured this would be a good time to test out how good the tires were on the car. We arrived safely at the National Park Inn and checked in. Greg and I got into our room and it quickly turned into the likes of a mountaineering store. Ice axes, ropes, stoves, pickets, crampons, biners, ice screws, sleeping bags, food, and other items were thrown over almost every square inch of the room. Double and triple checking everything, which would in the next few days still prove not enough, and packing and re-packing.

After repacking 3 times to get everything to fit in, I threw on my new pack to check the balance. I had recently purchased a Mountain Hardwear Maestro pack and was stoked to test it out. A few weeks prior on a training hike I had caught a branch and snapped off one of the buckles. A quick phone call and Mountain Hardwear had two in the mail making sure I got it in time for my departure. Now that's customer service! The pack was almost as big as myself, and weighed in just under half of my own body weight at 70 lbs. I thought I had too much food but I knew that was not the area to skimp... you can't really skimp in any areas come to think of it. That was the lightest the pack was going to get whether I liked it or not. We settled in around 1-1:30 A.M. and I surprisingly passed right out while getting hit with an incredible breeze coming through the window.

Day 1...June 20th we awoke to sunny skies and warm temps. Dad came in to make sure we were up around 7. Hardly enough sleep, but we had to get our business done and register for our climb with the NPS by 10 AM. My father had been made aware by the Inn staff that there was a search going on for a day hiker who had gone missing the day prior. Not very good news to get on the morning we were to depart. A quick detour on the way to breakfast out onto the back porch of the National Park Inn to catch our first glimpse of Rainier up close left me absolutely floored. The mountain that looked gloomy and cold the night earlier was now glowing in the suns rays and looked simply magnificent. A photo, a description, this trip report, a first hand account...nothing can do this mountain justice. The shear size of the mountain is breath taking. It looks massive from Seattle and then standing still 5 miles away from the base, it is absolutely enormous. To give you some perspective, the "Wonderland Trail" which circles the base of the mountain is 93 miles long.

After a great breakfast served by incredibly friendly staff we got back into the car. We were headed to the Jackson Visitors Center, to register with the National Park Service for our climb. The Park service seems to do an impeccable job of keeping tabs on every team. They have a list of your gear and your intended camps. Overdue parties are investigated and if need be, a search and rescue procedure is initiated. Unfortunately, we later learned that the day we began our climb the missing day hiker was found by search helicopter. He had fallen to his death near Eagle Peak. It was a quick bitter taste of reality. This man was just hiking around the base of Rainier, not climbing it. The mountain claims an average of 3 to 5 lives per year. As the sign in the visitor's center boldly puts it... "There is no "easy" way to the top of Mount Rainier." A quote that I wouldn't truly appreciate until we reached the trailhead on our descent 2 days later. It reads further, "The highest road reaches just 6,400 feet, hiking trails only 1,000 feet higher. To attain the 14,410-foot summit demands extraordinary exertion. You will ascend 9,000 feet over crevassed glaciers and 40-degree slopes. You face wind and cold, and perhaps far worse. This is a climb, not a hike, and anyone heading up had better be prepared". After a quick glance around the visitor's center I stopped briefly at the plaques that pay tribute to and memorialize those who have perished on the mountain. Very sobering.

After registering and checking route conditions and weather forecasts we headed back toward the park entrance. We had to buy fuel and fuel bottles that we couldn't bring on the plane with us. We drove 6 miles into the tiny town of Ashford to Whittaker Mountaineering. Base camp for Rainier Mountaineering Inc., the main guide service on the mountain. We took a quick glance through the store checking out all the fancy lightweight gear we wished we had and grabbed a few last minute items we needed along with our fuel and bottles and we were off. Back up the winding roads to the Jackson Visitor center's parking lot. Right about then is when my adrenaline started flowing. We were almost beginning. A couple months of planning and training came down to this. It was time to see what we had in us.

After double checking everything and going over gear countless times in our heads we laced up our boots and strapped on our gaiters. We started the skyline trail at an elevation of 5400 ft around 12:30 PM. It was roughly 60 degrees. With 70-pound packs we slowly ascended through the now softened snow. Making it a rather difficult approach. I believe I began sweating during my first few steps. Maybe I could do without the winter cap. About a half of a mile in, we said our goodbyes. I think the tears in my Mothers eyes convinced a few of my own to try and come out and I got a little choked up as she turned around and began making her way back to the car. Dad continued up another half mile then gave us each a big hug and some words of encouragement. I'm still not sure who was more nervous, them.... or us? Up we went.

The views became more and more breath taking. Up through Panorama point, Pebble creek, and then onto the Muir Snowfield. We had met a friendly group of 3 after taking a quick water break in one of the rock outcroppings before pebble creek. The snowfield begins 2 miles up from Paradise and is nothing more then steep snow, as far as the eye can see broken by a few rock fields here and there. Hiking with a 70 lb pack in heavy stiff mountaineering boots is not my idea of fun. Let alone in soft snow, up a continuous steep slope. The next two breaks we took were right along with the 3 guys we stopped with earlier. Since we figured we were keeping the same pace we introduced each other. Their names were Kent, Ken, and Tim. From Seattle and Tacoma. They had been on the mountain plenty of times before and while the navigation at this point was pretty easy and straightforward, the company was welcome. They had grown up in the Cascades and were very knowledgeable about Rainier and helped in pointing out some of the other giant peaks poking through the clouds in the distance. Mt Adams, Mt Hood, and Mt Saint Helens... which was identifiable due to the massive crater from its 1980 Eruption

For the next couple of hours, we slowly hiked up the snowfield. It seemed to never end. At one point I began to worry about my physical shape and more so, lung capacity. But a quick look around me at our new found company proved them to be in the same condition as myself. And they grew up in these mountains. That gave me a little confidence boost. Around 7:30 pm we could see the Guide huts and solar toilets of Camp Muir. While maybe not to any sane human being, it was a welcome sight at that point. Looked almost comfortable nestled in the Col on the south side of the Cowlitz Glacier. And, It almost looked close enough to touch. Yet it proved to still be about 45 minutes to an hour away. The 5 of us stumbled into camp 1 at 10,188 ft around 8:15 PM that night.

After trying to locate a good spot on the glacier for our tent, I dug out a new level area for out tent about 15 feet from a perfectly good tent platform used by a team the night prior. We could have used this, except a 12-inch wide crevasse was beginning to open up right down the side of it. We quickly got the tent set up, cooked up some Ramen noodles, and melted snow for drinking water. High altitude camping tip # 1 – Don't cook ramen and then boil drinking water in the same pot. I believe my Nalgene bottles will now forever give a nauseating after taste of ramen noodles. As we got changed into our warmer clothes the temperature dropped as quickly as the sun did. And then the wind picked up. The wind picked up hard. It was a constant 50 to 60 miles per hour all night. It was so noisy I had to use earplugs and the tent was shaking so badly it felt like it was punching you as you curled up in your sleeping bag. That night it was around 10 to 11 degrees with the wind chill. Around midnight I began to really worry that my old recently repaired tent wouldn't hold up and we would be begging for space in the stone shelter.

Day 2... 6 A.M. came all too soon. Not that I had planned on going anywhere that early. I had nowhere to be in any type of a rush. I was on a glacier at 10,000 feet. Why the hell was I up at 6? For those that know me know that I am not a morning person. I will gladly sleep till noon every day. Needless to say, I got cold and at that point there was no falling back asleep. I hung out in the tent going over our route on the map and coming up with a plan if the weather wasn't going to calm down or perhaps get worse. After I couldn't sit any longer I bundled up and put my hat and glacier glasses on. I grabbed the camera and headed out into the wind leaving Greg sound asleep in his bag. Apparently though, I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. A young woman and I exchanged good mornings tucked behind the stone shelter and spoke about the conditions. She had made the summit the day before and was in high spirits, and then decided to completely crush mine by saying she had overheard the weather was supposed to deteriorate. High winds were in the forecast along with possible snow that afternoon. I sat alone in a rock outcrop taking in the scenery until Greg had woken up.

While some people hike to Camp Muir as a goal, my personal goal was way past Muir where the actual climbing begins and ascends 4,000 more feet to the summit. We had 4 days on the mountain. So all said and done we had one day to play with as a rest day, to recoup from any minor injuries, or hunker down in the case of bad weather. I was hoping not to need that extra day.

That morning was very relaxed. After breakfast we hung around and tried to get some more insight on the upcoming weather and conditions. The group of 3 that we ascended the snowfield with had decided to cancel their bid on the summit and rather just make a quick climb up onto the Ingraham Glacier and then would call it quits and hike back down to Paradise. The forecast didn't look all that good and all three had recently become Fathers. Not the time to play with the odds. Weather up there changes every minute. The mountain produces its own weather pattern. One minute it is sunny. The next it is snowing fiercely and blowing artic winds. They headed out while we packed up our low camp.

This is where the climb got interesting. After some discussion we decided against roping up, as it could prove more dangerous to us while climbing up the loose scree of Cathedral Gap. Across the Cowlitz the route crosses under Cathedral rocks. A 300 foot loose cliff of volcanic rock. Then up through Cathedral Gap. The gap is a very steep area of unstable rock and scree. Some the size of a pebble and some the size of a small car. Greg had taken off past me on a quicker pace. I wasn't in a rush to wear myself out yet as I knew this wasn't the place to stop and take breaks. You have to be quick through these sections. They are very active rock falls. Especially during the warmer temps mid-day. Speed is safety. Pressure breath and you'll be through it in no time. Or so I thought. I remember looking up at Greg as he was nearing the end of the glacier to begin his climb up the scree of the gap. When I heard it. The crackling sound goes through you like a knife. It demands every nerve in your body to immediately react. You get chills, a rush of adrenaline, your heart rate hits around 150, your hairs stand on end, and your lungs prepare themselves with a deep breath almost instinctively...All within a fraction of a section. A large rock fall, directly above me. A quick glance up and the very top of the cliff was a blur of reddish gray smoke. Each section of the rock broke into numerous fragments as it hit on the way down. It seemed like I was looking up at it forever. Next thing I knew I was running down the Cowlitz praying my crampons would hold in the softening snow. Never mind the fact that one bad step or catching a crampon point on my gaiters would send me in a somersault down the slope. The rocks seemed to just keep coming. All around they kept falling and rolling down the Cowlitz at incredible speeds. I took a quick look up and saw that Greg was out of any immediate danger. Ok...Time to focus back on what the hell I was doing. I was running down the side of a crevassed glacier.... Un-roped.

The rocks stopped falling and I kept running. I wanted to get myself out from under that cliff ASAP. I had run a good 60 ft off route down the side of the steep glacier. Looking back, I'm not sure which was more dangerous. Running down the glacier risking an un-roped crevasse fall, or getting hit by a boulder the size of my pack. Regardless. It was a fight or flight type situation. I chose Flight. I still think it was the best decision. And thankfully, none of the rocks had my name on them.

We took a short break and had some water out from underneath the rock fall. We also had a short discussion of how close of a call I actually just had. Then we continued up the gap out onto the Ingraham Glacier. I had to put the incident into the back of my mind and stay focused. We still had another infamous rock fall to go through getting onto the Ingraham glacier. Here we got our first views of Little Tahoma, an impressive peak of loose volcanic rock with hints of red, gray, brown, and green. We also got our first views of some of the bigger crevasses.

We caught up with Tim, Ken, and Kent. We spoke of the rock fall, wished each other well, and they headed back down to Muir for their descent. We made camp 2 and found a perfect tent platform from a previous party up high on the glacier in an area called Ingraham Flats at 11,400 ft. We spent the remainder of the day resting, eating, and preparing gear and our summit packs. Our summit packs would only consist of emergency equipment including sleeping bags, first aid supplies, emergency food, clothing, and a stove with fuel.

We got in the tent around 6 pm and planned to wake at 11:30 pm that night to eat, get dressed, have some hot cider, and make our summit bid. Needless to say, it was a pretty restless couple of hours. The silence was broken every now and then by rock or ice fall overhead. A sound that by the only the second night on the mountain, you were accustomed to. A few loud serac falls up on the Ingraham headwall were heard as the sun fell and the tent got dark. The large ice falls sound like a jet flying overhead. They are that loud. Finally the alarm clock beeped. I peeked out of the tent to see millions of stars and not a cloud in the sky. Perfect! The glacier looked very eerie under the starlight. The wind was blowing lightly with a gust every now and then and the temp was probably around 25 degrees. Other tents began lighting up and the Flats came to life at midnight as teams prepared for the climb ahead. We had our hot cider, some hot oatmeal, dressed in our many layers, and roped up. Getting a later start then I originally wanted to, we started up as the second team up glacier around 2:00 AM. Within 50 yards...my lungs and legs were already burning. Another pleasant reminder that the air contained about a third less oxygen then I was used to breathing back in NJ. I was in for a long painful day. Climbing uphill at that altitude without acclimatizing is like running while breathing through a straw. You cannot get enough oxygen. Your heart is pumping quicker to deliver more oxygen to your cells. As an example, my pulse while at rest at home is around 70-80 beats per minute. While laying in my tent at 11k my pulse was around 110-120 beats per minute. On Rainier, your also gaining anywhere from 4000-5000 vertical feet per day and camping at that altitude. This is 7 times faster then is recommended for proper acclimatization.

As we reached the base of the Ingraham Icefall we began our traverse right to gain the base of the Disappointment Cleaver. This is where we crossed our first deep crevasses. At this point we were climbing in the dead of night, and your visibility was limited to the beam of your headlamp. Everything was black except the stars above. Your perception of things at this point weren't all that great. Nor did you know how exposed you really were on the edge of a seemingly bottomless crevasse. The Ingraham Icefall still stands as the site of the worst mountaineering accident in the history of the United States. On June 21st 1981, 11 of 28 climbers were killed by an icefall, which triggered a devastating avalanche. Their bodies thrown into the glacier and never recovered. Ironically, this was the same day we began our summit bid, 27 years later. It was a very uneasy moment as we climbed quickly and quietly through the icefall. I don't believe I stopped thinking of that accident until we were well through the icefall.

Then we traversed onto the "Nose" of the Cleaver and climbed up and across the loose rock outcrop. You are extremely exposed here. Roped together, you have to attentively manage your rope as a small rockslide could escalate into a much bigger issue very quickly. You didn't want to pull large rocks loose. Here I clipped into the fixed ropes and gained the steep snowy section of the nose up onto the "spine" or ridge of the Cleaver. We ascended up the loose rock sections of the spine broken by areas of snow and slick ice. Even in the dark, you could now tell how exposed you were on the spine. If you were to fall right, you would go directly down hundreds of feet into a crevasse on the Emmons glacier. Left, and you would go directly over into the Ingraham. If a leader took a fall on the cleaver without a running belay, it meant a long fall that a second would most likely not be able to arrest. It is just too steep. There is no room for error. Every step you take with crampons on needs to be given 150 percent of your attention. One minor error, one wrong step, one trip, or one snag of your crampons on your gaiters could have a potentially fatal outcome for the rope team as it has in the past. Sending both of us into an uncontrollable slide down over the edge of the Cleaver and into the Glacier. Breath...step....look....breath....step....look....breath...step....you get the point.

We reached the top of the Cleaver where teams typically take their first break and felt great. The sky began to turn from black to blue and the horizon started to turn an orange hue. A quick drink from an already half frozen water bottle and a packet of GU and I was ready to go. I knew what was coming next from beta gained from the rangers and reports before we began our climb. There were to be a couple sketchy hair-raising crevasse crossings. A few coming off the top of the Cleaver to Gain the Emmons glacier Traverse. Then another few at the end of the traverse to gain the upper mountain. We approached the first couple of crossings and I let out my coils to allow us to execute a running belay. RMI had a few fixed pickets that I gladly clipped as I stepped softly and quickly across the snow bridges and around the spider web like formation of crevasses. I reached the solid accumulation zone of the upper Emmons glacier and took a quick break to catch my breath. I continued along as Greg now passed through the crevasses and unclipped my runners. I coiled in and we made the incredible traverse across the Emmons. A very steep icy slope with a skinny boot track, 50 feet of slope, and then a gapping crevasse that could swallow a house whole. Once again...No margin for error. Watch your step. Halfway across we witnessed a sunrise that was only about a minute long and then the sun was in full view. It was incredible. The sun rose at 3:30 AM because of our altitude. The sun wouldn't reach the valley until 5 or 6 am. No.... it did not warm up.

Towards the end of the traverse we crossed the next wide crevasse without a running belay, as the bridge was wide and solid and I was confident it was safe. Although the crevasse was one of the largest we had crossed and was extremely deep. A short ways up was another crevasse that hadn't opened up more then 2 feet, which we jumped across uneventfully. Here we took a short break, sorted our gear from the earlier running belay, and took a quick drink. At this point one of my bottles was entirely frozen and I only had the one I had wrapped in my down parka in my pack left. We both agreed we had a good pace going and we both still felt pretty strong at this point.

The upper mountain is nothing but steep snow and ice. Very steep snow and ice. Here we switch backed up to around 13,000 feet where we saw. Ice began whipping down the mountain in chunks and looking up felt like you were looking into the barrel of a sandblaster. The pieces of ice hit your helmet so hard it made you think of the consequence if one were to hit you in the face. Normally teams call this the "high break" and take a fifteen-minute breather here to hydrate and layer up. With this wind, there was no stopping. We continued to fight our way up against the bitterly cold wind when I began to really feel the effects the altitude was having on my body. I felt sick to my stomach, I felt dizzy, I was cold, I was thirsty, and I think at one point I actually felt hungry (no surprise here). But mostly, I felt sick. I had to keep climbing. We had made it this far.

For the next 2 hours we climbed slowly up through the 60 mph sustained winds sometimes gusting around 80-100 mph. You couldn't stay warm because you couldn't move fast enough. It was around 17 degrees F. With the wind chill factored in it was a bitter –17 degrees F. The ice blasted your face so hard it was painful to look anywhere but down. I would collapse every couple of steps from exhaustion or the wind would knock me down. Either way.... I was going down if I wanted to or not. To get into ones pack for anything would be impossible. I wanted my goggles so bad but it would most likely toss me down the slope into an endless somersault like a rag doll, dragging Greg with me until we ended in the bottom of a crevasse or bergschrund at the headwall of the Emmons Glacier. My glasses would have to do. Once again, Step ...breath ...look ...step ...breath ...look. Now with the added addition of collapse. ....step ....breath...look... step....breath ....look ...step....collapse....breath.

A team coming off the summit offered words of encouragement yelled out over the wind. A guide with a client moving at a quicker pace patted me on the shoulder and gave me a thumbs up. Trying to invoke a little fire in me to keep me moving. Their words and gestures meant the world to me at that point. Climbing was painful. My legs were burning. My chest was congested and my lungs felt as though they lost all function. My boot had rubbed through my right shin, which I could feel was bleeding.

The last 100 feet, I must have collapsed 20 times. I wanted it. I could see it. I knew I could do it. Its funny at that altitude when your giving that much of yourself you realize how every little moment matters. Every movement, every decision can make it easier or harder on yourself. Everything is broken down into sections. Ok, if I can make it up there.... then I'll rest and breathe. Ok...now there.... I must have had to convince myself over 30 times to keep moving.

A loud yell over the howling wind forced me to look up into the sandblaster.... only to make out the orange down parka hood of the guide who had given me the thumbs up and pat on the back a half hour before. He was waving his arms as to say, your almost there... get moving! That's all I needed. The last 50 feet I feel like I sprinted. Even though it probably took 10 minutes to move those 50 feet in the wind. I was there. We did it. We reached the crater rim. As I literally stumbled into the crater, I didn't know what to do first. Scream, throw up, sit down, collapse, lie down, try and drink some frozen water, eat something, bundle up in my down parka, or take pictures. But for some reason, I just sat there as I felt cold tears freezing instantly on my cheeks. I'm still not really sure why. Happiness, Relief, whatever it was. What a feeling. What an incredible climb. We made the summit by 10:00 AM. After getting out my down parka and sorting out our rope, we took a quick look around the summit crater. It was too cold and windy to stay long. We knew we had to get down before the winds worsened and we would be in some serious trouble. We had a guide take a picture of us and we roped back up. Right about then is when I began wishing I had some type of Windstopper parka. The wind felt as if it was ripping through my upper body although my legs were toasty in my Chugach pants. I think we spent a total of about 10 minutes on the summit. All of the time was spent getting ready for the descent and refueling. At the time I couldn't think about anything but keeping my head in line for the descent, although now I wish I took a little more time to take in the view. The weather made it impossible to relax. It was fierce up there. I knew we wouldn't be able to descend easily, possibly not at all if the winds got any worse. I also knew the lower mountain was heating up by then and the snow bridges, ice, and rock falls would become increasingly dangerous and instable. The trip down would surely be physically easier then the ascent though...

Wrong. We were pretty worn out at this point and we still found it necessary to take breaks every 100 feet or so even while descending. Going down I was able to take more pictures and take in the view that I couldn't turn around to see on the ascent. But it was not a time to relax and loose focus. Descending proved almost as difficult as ascending due to the winds now at your back, trying to push you off the face of the mountain. Each step still needed every bit of your fatigued attention. Every step needed to be secure. By now the sun was high in the sky and the solid steps of the early morning became soft and insecure.

We winded our way back down the upper mountain trying to keep our feet planted well with every step. With the high winds every step took just as much attention as it did on the ascent. I kept reminding myself that a fall facing downward on this slope could be disastrous. We had successfully made our way back to the upper Emmons Glacier. Looking down revealed a maze of giant crevasses of deep blue ice. The edges of the narrow boot track would collapse every now and then under your weight sending pieces of snow and ice rolling down the slope over the lip of the crevasse where they disappeared. It also threw you off balance and a couple of times I had to plunge my axe into the ice above to stop the beginning of a fall. This part of the descent was really tense. We then negotiated the crevasse crossings back over to the top of the Disappointment Cleaver. As it did on the ascent, the top of the Cleaver made for a good long break on the descent. We were now back at 12,500 feet and I began feeling a little better. I was able to get down some trail mix and another packet of GU without feeling like it was going to immediately come back up. My water was melting and I downed a good amount of it knowing we only had 1,500 feet left to descend back to our high camp on the flats and I could melt more snow.

Descending the cleaver becomes a dangerous task in the warm sun. The steep snow slopes become instable and soft. We gained the rock spine and took a breather knowing we would have to move quickly through the next section of rock fall on the nose. I wanted to have at least a quick burst of energy to move through quickly. I took this opportunity to take a bunch of pictures but most pictures I took at this point contained objects that I didn't intend to capture in my pictures. I was physically drained and I'm not so sure I was even looking through the viewfinder of my camera. I was simply just aiming it around the mountain pressing the button. Turns out that some of the pictures taken with this "technique" were some of the best I had taken the entire climb. After I was done with my photo shoot I clipped the fixed line and led our way across the steep exposed slope across the nose. It was super soft and was making me rather concerned about the stability. If this slope slid while it was this soft the anchors probably would of wound up hundreds of feet below in the Ingraham glacier along with the two of us. I had planned to be through this section a lot earlier in the day. Not at 1:30 in the afternoon. But then again I didn't plan on 100 mph gusts for the last 2000 feet on our summit bid. The wind had consumed a lot of both our time and energy. Managing our rope carefully as to not start a rock fall below us and watching and listening over our heads for any coming from above we made our way across.

Once off the Nose of the Cleaver, it was back through the bottom of the Ingraham icefall. With nerves on edge again we moved very quickly and we made it through uneventfully. After some pictures of crevasses high on the glacier and watching a short rock fall on the nose of the cleaver where we had just been, we made the final 500 ft descent back onto the flats. I collapsed onto my back into the snow next to our tent. My watch beeped as I hit the ground.... 2:00 PM. We had been climbing for 12 hours straight. I coaxed myself up and hydrated and got into the tent. The tent was warm inside from the sun and it felt incredible to take some layers off, lie down, and get off my feet. We took a short nap and woke up to snow falling on our tent. We decided we would descend back to Paradise that night. As Greg melted snow to fill our bottles for the 6000-foot descent I broke down the tent.

Cursing our full packs after throwing them on our backs once again we made our way down the Ingraham back over through Cathedral Gap down the scree and onto the Cowlitz. My favorite place. I moved across the Cowlitz at a really good pace. I wasn't about to have another rock fall incident and walking through all the previously fallen rocks raised every hair on my neck. Camp Muir was in the clouds and wasn't visible across the glacier. We made it to 10k in about 30 minutes. A good pace for sure. Back at Muir we got tons of questions as we walked through. Did we summit? How were the conditions? How was it? How are the crevasses? After a short interview break at Muir we were on our way back onto the Muir snowfield, which was now a complete white out. You hear people use the term "white out" all the time to describe bad visibility but you can never really appreciate a true white out until you are in one. You couldn't tell where the slope ended and the horizon began.

Your perception of the slope grade was nil. No matter which way you look... up, down, left, right, sideways, or cross-eyed... everything is bright white. We navigated down the snowfield with a combination of compass, GPS, and wands. Rime ice started accumulated on our clothing, gear, and faces. The wind was still blowing pretty hard. We found some glissades and gladly slid down. "Glissading" is derived from the French as with most mountaineering terms. It is no more than a fancy word meaning, sliding down a snowy slope on your butt. This proved to be a blast and made up some good time. At one point I had to stop because I thought I was actually burning a hole in my shell pants. I could feel the heat building up from the friction. Then we had a nice fuel bottle chase down part of the snowfield as it came off of Greg's pack and bounced down until it disappeared out of our site. We found it a good 150 yards down the snowfield. We finally got through the clouds somewhere around 7,000 feet near Pebble Creek. It was good to be able to see again.

After a few stops to get our bearings and a couple of disagreements as to where we actually were, it was getting dark. The GPS confirmed that we were only a half-mile out of the Jackson parking lot. A little bit further and an unmistakable whistle pierced the silence as we spotted my father on the trail ahead of us. He greeted us with hugs and congratulations. It was great to see him. We continued out to my waiting mother who was all smiles and hugs...and pictures. The flashes didn't stop. You could just tell she was relieved. I can't imagine how tough it was for them for those 3 days even though we had rough communication via radios every now and then. From 6 pm the night we left for the summit, until around 4:30 pm the next day we had no radio communication, making them rather nervous. They had checked in with the Rangers and they assured them they had made no rescue or had any reports of accidents high on the mountain. Until my mother overheard someone else ask and the rangers said they had pulled 3 climbers off the mountain that day. I'm assuming they then had to assure my mother it wasn't us because she probably demanded a better explanation after that little bit of misinformation.

Dad helped pry the pack off of my back and I felt like I could collapse right there on the tarmac. We toasted with a bottle of Moose Drool, a popular beer in the area that comes from a microbrewery in Montana, then fell into the car and made our way back down the valley to the Inn. That shower never felt so good. And the sandwich's my parents had waiting for us tasted like filet mignon after eating out of a bag for 3 days. After stuffing our faces we hit the bed at around midnight.

Waking up the next morning was interesting. My legs didn't want to move and my face felt like someone held a torch to it all night. Greg's lips were badly swollen due to a touch of sun poisoning and his face was a cherry red as mine was. Except around our eyes. We looked like two raccoons that morning. After breakfast we set out for a short hike to visit one of the parks larger waterfalls. I'm still not sure what we were thinking. We had just climbed Mount Rainier. 18 miles round trip and 18,000 feet total elevation gain/loss. And we were going for a hike? It proved worth it though as the scenery was incredible. We were able to see first hand what the floods had done to the park months earlier. A lot of the park was completely washed out. Huge trees were snapped like pencils at their bases. Piles of rock that would normally take a bucket loader to move were piled 20 feet high. Roads were washed out. Many of which were closed. Much of the day was just spent driving around and taking more pictures. And praying we didn't run out of gas 20 miles into the park.

Its pretty funny when you walk around the park or down in Ashford. You can tell who has been on the mountain by their sunburned and wind-burned faces with a distinct outline of their glacier glasses making their eyes glow white. It is like a badge of honor...or possibly a badge of failure. We had learned that morning after checking back in with the rangers that lots of teams had turned back that day due to the winds and cold. Some had turned back only 700 feet from the crater rim. This boosted my already sky high morale even higher. Not only had we summited Rainier, but also we had done it in conditions that turned many around. We pushed through and got back down safely. It also made it special for me considering that over 10,000 attempt to reach the summit every year with only a little more then half succeeding. Of those roughly 5500 that succeed, 70% are guided parties. Making the Success rate for independent parties around 40%. We had obviously surpassed the odds and succeeded with flying colors.

The next morning we woke and packed up the rest of the car. During breakfast once again you could tell who the climbers were. In the dim light of the restaurant their eyes were glowing like two headlamps. I guess they were thinking the same thing about us. I gave away our fuel bottles to some very thankful climbers checking in at the front desk since we couldn't pack them on the plane. Out back the mountain was hiding way above the clouds. It was like it didn't even exist. We headed back towards Seattle in the rain and wouldn't get another glimpse of the mountain other then viewing some of the pictures we had taken during our climb. I had taken over 300 pictures. Some pictures of my thumb, some of the ground, and some of the camera strap. Then some were of bottomless crevasses as we crossed them. Some were of magnificent icefalls and glaciers. Some were of our camps and a few were nothing but the beam of a headlamp on our push to the summit in the black of night. A lot of them were self-portraits taken high up on the mountain.

And then there was the summit shot. Holding the true meaning of this climb between our hands. The banner showing what this was all for. In the end we had raised over $3600.00 for the Climb for Cancer Foundation by standing atop the summit that morning. Money that will go to help children fighting the disease. Money that will go to help better their lives. I will always be extremely proud of that picture.

I owe a special thanks to Mountain Hardwear and praise for their products. My soft shell helped me stay dry and my Chugach pants kept my legs warm. My Ascent Ventigaiters took numerous snags by my crampons but hardly show a scratch in the fabric. The vents were a godsend on the descent. During the climb I definitely envied those in seemingly bombproof Ev2 tents and brand new Windstopper shells. Those with Absolute Zero Mitt's, and down Parka's.

The flight home was uneventful and while I was happy to be coming home to everyone, I was wishing I was still somewhere on the cold icy flanks of the mountain. I had the time of my life. It was without question the most difficult thing I have done in my life, and the most rewarding. There were times that I was scared. There were times I wanted to quit. There were times I thought the altitude was getting the best of me, and at times it probably was. There were times I didn't think I could make it another 10 feet. There were the times it seemed I couldn't seem to even get my brain to think... period. Then there were the times that I thought to myself "There is no where else in the world I would rather be right now". This mountain has changed my perspective on a lot of things. It has also shown me to appreciate some things a lot more then I had beforehand. We had climbed through seemingly insurmountable weather, we stood atop the summit of Rainier, and we had made it down Safely.

This climb was in remembrance and dedication of my grandmother

Dorothy Sypniewski

And to all of those struggling with Cancer every day.

This is a climb I will never forget... and it was all for you.