"May all your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view…where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you."

— Edward Abbey

Todd

They were a nice Washington couple, and I suspect we gave them plenty to talk about. Todd (my lifelong friend and frequent accomplice in mountain adventure) and I, waived goodbye to the athletic middle aged couple as they drove away in their well-justified utility vehicle. I caught a gleam of satisfaction, or perhaps mockery, on both of their faces as they watched our famished bodies inhale their day old pizza. The now rubbery Italian concoction, at least to us, seemed absent of clues indicating that it had been festering in their convectional vehicle. In fact, it tasted as if it had been cooked in a wood-burning oven, right there, in Mt. Rainier National Park.

In total, our newfound friends left us three pieces of Hawaiian style pizza, two green apples, one peach yogurt, one pina colada yogurt, and two bananas. We felt like kings! No faster way to becoming a rock star in Washington I tell ya! Climb the Liberty Ridge and your aura or general rag-doll appearance afterwards will have people literally throwing food at you before you can even leave the White River parking lot—located a mere 10,911 vertical feet from the Columbia Crest Summit.

"The mere act of closing my eyes, even momentarily, would force visions of abysmal crevasses, seemingly insurmountable bergschrunds, and bowling alleys of rotten pumice to once again control my consciousness...."

From my now safe haven in the parking lot, I stared drunkenly from exhaustion at the Glacier Basin Trail that had prefaced our ascent. The density and fortitude of the tree line before me would not surrender site of the powerful mountain we had just summited. Nevertheless, the mere act of closing my eyes, even momentarily, would force visions of abysmal crevasses, seemingly insurmountable bergschrunds, and bowling alleys of rotten pumice to once again control my consciousness.

Mt. Rainier, with the largest rise (10,000 vertical feet) of any mountain in the contiguous United States, proves to be a recreational apocalypse for over 10,000 people a year. Moreover, statistics for those who attempt taming the ridge called Liberty occupy a small percentage of that critical mass.

I had not questioned the reason why these numbers were dissimilar prior to our ascent. Yet, the answer now is obvious, if not threateningly obvious. The Ridge is the real thing. It's a kick in the ass.

From Glacier Basin (approximately 3.1 miles from the White River parking lot), climbers should carefully choose the correct path over St. Elmo's pass, so as to best position oneself on the Winthrop Glacier. From the top of St. Elmo's Pass (7,400'), one can view in full glory (weather permitting) the wondrous yet terrifying sites which are the Winthrop and Carbon Glaciers.

"My first glance at this disarray of dynamic glacial ice left me permanently awestruck..."

For Todd and myself, this labyrinth of geological conversation could have only been created by some giant celestial God. This God of very cold places must have simply strutted by the mountain and defiantly dumped one of the universe's largest jigsaw puzzles of ice with random precision throughout the mountain's many contours. Luckily for us, this God didn't bother to pick up the pieces much less put the puzzle together. My first glance at this disarray of dynamic glacial ice left me permanently awestruck. There are 35+ square miles of ice cooling the slopes of Rainier, including 26 official glaciers—more than any peak in the contiguous United States.

After a couple of hours of skirting around hundreds of crevasses, we tiptoed over the final ice bridges precluding the Ridge's starting line (8,700'). A tension-raising mixed scramble followed. For several hours we would have to cautiously bow to the heights above, strategically dodging the curious rocks darting around us. Needless to say, these torpedoes promised pain, setting the tone for what would prove to be a humbling ascent.

The Moon at Dawn

We gained steadily up the Ridge and were determined to attain our goal of reaching Thumb Rock (10,800'), the Ridge's only realistic bivy spot. The beta we had received from a friend back home described the climb up to Thumb Rock as the most challenging section of the entire route. Thinking that we would be getting these difficult matters out of our way the first day spirited our stride. We failed to consider that beta, due to changing conditions on the mountain along with the vicissitude of every climbers perspective, is too often entirely subjective. To cut to the chase, our beta was simply wrong.

Thumb Rock presents a bird's-eye view high above typical weather fronts that brew up around Mt. Rainier. We had encountered rain and moments of little visibility prior to reaching Thumb Rock, a giant protruding arâte resembling our stubby appendage. However, from our skillfully carved-out ledge on Thumb Rock, only the color blue painted the skies above the remaining portion of the illuminated route that still awaited us.

"To cut to the chase, our beta was simply wrong..."

We thought that we had nailed it! With what looked to be forthcoming good weather, how could the rest of the route be that challenging? Our proposed beta identified a steep but relatively easy climb after Thumb Rock, right? Wrong. Rainier's mocking laughter at our naiveté came in the form of thunderous avalanches that could be heard throughout the night as gravity shaved off pieces of the Willis Wall and Liberty Wall directly to the left and right of our barely sheltered bivy ledge.

Traversing...

Morning came quickly, and as is typical on the ridge, morning means packing everything. There are no packless summit bids here. Being the steepest ridge on Rainier, climbers are encouraged to not descend Liberty, but instead, descend one of the neighboring glaciers such as the Emmons Glacier. Planning well so as to avoid caring a heavy load is essential climbing protocol.

After a Cliff Bar breakfast, we enthusiastically started our first pitch of the day. Todd would lead a steep, 6 to 10 foot, 80° to 90°, mixed icefall at the base of the couloirs directly above Thumb Rock. Due to the illusive ease of the route from a distance, we decided that we would not place protection until once in the icy couloirs.

Todd started hacking at the icefall to gain footing. Rotten rock and chunks of ice crumbled erratically due to futile stabs of his ice axe and crampons. I wondered what the delay could be. From my figure eight knot, 100 feet below him, the icefall seemed like a three step move.

For Todd however, his careful engagement to the crumbly surface beneath his metal alpine weaponry would prove to be a short relationship. In the blink of an eye, Todd was violently spit off the slope. His rapidly accelerating body looked like a stiff board tumbling end over end down an unforgiving icy surface.

"In the blink of an eye, Todd was violently spit off the slope..."

Although the fear and concentration on Todd's face yearned otherwise, self arrest would prove impossible. Perhaps a couple of seconds passed. I was frozen. My body screamed impulsively to arrest, yet my eyes were empathetically locked into the unbelievable situation before me. Not a second later, the rope pulled! Now it would be my turn to join in on the fun! How many feet would he be able to pull me? I used both of my ice axes to claw feverishly to the mountain until finally we both were able to come to a halt. Below me: one very large hungry crevasse who wouldn't get a meal today and one nose-bleeding best friend who was delighted about our climbing gear.

Above the Clouds

I know both Todd and I restrained from describing the nausea and fear we experienced after our 120-foot rope ride. After all, we were only about 30 minutes into our second day! Concentrating on what lay ahead as opposed to what had just taken place proved to be a prudent decision that day. We would end up spending 15 arduous hours under that sun, pounding pickets, navigating ice screws into temperamental ice, and breaking trail through freshly-dumped, thigh-deep snow before finally reaching the Liberty Cap. Even then, glory would be still be several hours away.

As the sun, to our dubiousness, moved on to warm other parts of the world, we lay hypoxic, exhausted, and in disbelief of what the day had presented us. Left without any alternative but to camp immediately and get as many liquids as possible in us, we set up camp in the saddle between the Liberty Cap and the Columbia Crest (Rainier's summit, 14,100').

I wanted to sleep with my Quasar ice tool after an alpine bonding experience that justified every last penny that was spent on the thing. My final thoughts before falling asleep recapped briefly important lessons from the climb which were embedded in my climbing database. My words were short winded: two ice tools a must, more water needed, more snacks...no next time on this mountain.

The Summit!

I too have found myself guilty of being sucked into the 1996 Everest tragedy and the host of books spun off to find new and profitable niches amongst tragedy-hungry readers. And like so many of those who pick up these books, both climbers and non-climbers alike, I too have been left with the question, why climb? During my fretful night of sleep near the summit of Mt. Rainier, I empathized with all those who have found their fate on the world's highest places. I had been touched by my own physical and mental vulnerabilities on that mountain. I had been broken, and yet reawakened.

I wanted to be back at home with my girlfriend, my friends, and my new dog. I thought of how curious my dog, Emma, appears in my backyard. She is so tuned in to the elements around her, almost as if she's attacked by the universe's every sight, smell, and sound. She can't run away from her powerful awareness. Unfortunately, we, often unbeknownst to ourselves, do exactly that: run away from our innate awareness.

Hungry Gray Jays (commonly know as Robber Jays) circled anxiously around my head as I hovered over my priceless edible gifts. A chipmunk also seemed keen on my shiny apple and still uneaten pizza crust. I quickly finished my yogurt and hid my apple from a dive-bombing Jay. Apparently the White River parking lot was not so safe after all. The swirling winds atop the Colombia Crest Summit were now far behind me. Yet, the battle of survival continued in Mt. Rainier National Park. Only this time I was better prepared for the fight. Although exhausted, a reawakened sense of vitality ignited my ability to smell, taste, see, and hear the challenges around me. Just try and get my food Mr. Robber Jay!

This is why I climb...

-- By Neal Howard George, MountainZone.com Pubster