In May 1997, I made my first attempt at climbing Mt. Rainier a mere two days after climbing Oregon's Mt. Hood. Mt. Hood was a successful climb, and for me, my first climb ever involving significant glacier travel; in other words, my first "mountaineer" mountain. I was thrilled to have been successful on Hood, and I worked in plans to attempt Mt. Rainier on this same trip. For the May attempt of Rainier, I'd be going with my old college (U-Cal Riverside) roommate Vic Caro and his wife and fellow UCR alumnus, Joelle. Vic was well-experienced at the ways of mountains, having climbed quite a few impressive peaks and attempting others (including Aconcagua). Joelle did not have the experience that Vic did, nor what I did, but she was a fit and capable hiker nevertheless. I made my way to their home in the Seattle area, arriving the evening of the same day in which I'd bagged Hood. After a rest day, we set out to tackle the big snowball.

We left their place around 7 a.m. and arrived at the Paradise Resort and Ranger Station around 11 a.m. in dense fog and near-total white-out conditions. After getting dressed and getting our permits, we started up the route toward Muir Camp... a little after noon. Seven tortorous, lung-busting hours later, shouldering heavy packs and clomping our way up 4,700 vertical feet of snow and ice in ugly white-out, we arrived at Muir Camp utterly exhausted and in no mood to make an attempt at the summit the next morning. We camped outside in a tent, and the three of us cocooned into a two-person tent, pretty much lying on one another all night. Out of exhaustion, I slept rather well. But we had pretty much forfeited any ideas of a summit bid. By starting the day at near sea-level, we'd gained over 10,000 vertical feet in a day and I really felt the effects. Arriving in the mid evening did not give us time to rest properly. When the other summit teams started to stir around midnight, both Vic and I mutually agreed to cancel our bid. I was not upset; rather, I considered this a very valuable experience, and I learned fast that while Hood was a good experience for me, it does not compare to Rainier in size and effort required to gain the top. The only highlight of this trip was that the clouds had broken a bit that evening and we had some of the most amazing views down onto creation I'd ever seen. The next day we hiked back down into the foggy muck and eventually back to our cars at Paradise. I bid Vic and Joelle goodbye and started my long drive back to Arizona. I had been humbled by Rainier and frankly, I appreciated the lesson. (Final note: the weather had apparently deteriorated up high and many of the summit teams that started out when we were up at Muir Camp were coming back to camp.)

Back in Arizona, I suggested to Vic via email that we make another bid for the peak later in the summer, and he was agreeable; we set up an August date to coincide with my teaching break. It would just the two of us this time, Joelle having had her fill of the peak on the first go-round. Vic and I planned for 5 full days on the mountain: an early start on the first day, a rest day to acclimate to the elevation, and three days to summit, which accounted for possible bad weather days. One way or another, I was going to get this peak! I left Phoenix the night of August 9th, heading for Southern California, where I'd visit with the folks for a few days and attend a friend's wedding. As such, I bought my plane ticket for an Ontario (CA) departure to Seattle.

The drive across the desert turned out to be one of the scariest drives I've ever done! My plan was to leave my home in Tempe around 8 p.m., drive across the desert and arrive in San Dimas (CA) around 2 a.m., the whole point being to drive during the darkenss when the summer heat wasn't so debilitating. I'd done this many times with little problem. This night, however, started all wrong. A big monsoon thunderstorm had brewed up over Arizona that afternoon and had passed through the Phoenix metro area around 7 p.m. dumping a lot of rain and hail and featuring a lot of lightning. After a while, it moved on. I loaded my gear and my cat into my car and headed west on Interstate-10. Zipping along about 70 mph, I eventually caught up with the storm, which was poking westward about 20 mph, around the western Maricopa county towns of Tonopah and Harquahala Valley. The ferocity of the storm was immense! The lightning was so intense and frequent that the whole desert would light up for seconds at a time as though it was the middle of the afternoon. The rain fell in torrents. Soon thereafter I drove past all that into a small period of relative calm, and then, right into true zero-visibility dust. I was now in the very leading edge of the storm. These storms, if large enough, tend to kick up a leading dust cloud called a haboob. In central La Paz county, about near the Vicksburg exit on I-10, visibilty went from poor to bad to downright nothing; I'd never seen it so thick! By dumb luck I found myself right behind a DPS patrolman who slowed us all down to a stop. The dust was so thick I could literally not see the hood ornament on my car, and I'm not making that up. I pulled off I-10 way to the side and just sat there for about 20 minutes until the pall of dust cleared out. When it left, I could see dozens of cars and trucks having done the same. There was just no way to drive!

So, thinking the worst was over, I got back on the road... and in about 20 miles, near the town of Quartzsite, met up with the dust-wall again! This time, I pulled off into the town and found a Wendy's restaurant. The wind was howling and the dust was blowing like little b-b pellets. With all the stops and slow driving, it was near midnight. On top of that, the temperatures were still in the high 90s... needless to say, this was one of those weather "events" that are unique to Arizona. I looked for a place to stay in Quartzsite but could find one. After waiting for over an hour I got back onto I-10, drove another 25 miles into Blythe... and met up with the dust a third time! This was getting absurd. After another hour of sitting in my car in a pullout with the cat, I decided to give it one last go. Finally, the storm had lost enough energy and I made the remaining 200 miles into San Dimas with little difficulty, other than being utterly exhausted, arriving around 4 a.m. Later, I learned the same storm had spawned a flash flood in the Paria Canyon on the Arizona-Utah line, killing 10 hikers who found themselves in the canyon with nowhere to go. This was one mean storm!

Okay, so the wedding went well, the folks were in good spirits, and a few days later I flew up to Seattle, arriving in mid-afternoon. Vic picked me up and we went straight to the supermarket for grub, then drove to the Paradise parking lot just below Mt. Rainier, ariving around 6 p.m. We slept in the back of Vic's truck that night to give us a night of altitude acclimation, with the most grueling part of the climb set to start the next morning.

We hit the trail at 6 the next morning, August 13th. The weather was nice, and a few wispy clouds were in the air. The first mile or so of the trail is paved with asphalt, in large part to accommodate all of the casual day hikers, many of whom come for the wildflowers and huge fir trees. It was pretty steep in places, and it made our 60 lb. packs seem that much heavier. Soon, however, the trail leveled off for about another mile, losing the asphalt in the process. It was still very well-defined, with rock-steps in places. We also encountered our first bits of snow along the way. After a couple of long switchbacks and some further snow patches, we came upon Pebble Creek, a small creek fed directly by the large Muir snowfield directly above, elevation about 7,500 ft. We were now completely above the trees and we could see the Muir snowfield directly above us, and the heavily crevassed Nisqually glacier directly to our left (west). After a rest to eat some food and fill up on water, we began the miserable slog up the snowfield to our high camp. From Pebble Creek to the Muir Camp it was about 2,600 feet of elevation gain in a little over 2.5 miles of hiking. It was just steady, steep hiking, by far the most unexciting stretch of drudgery of the whole climb. After nearly four hours of this, I finally arrived at Muir Camp, elevation 10,100 ft. Victor had arrived about 15 minutes earlier, but since I had the tent, we couldn’t set up camp until I arrived. We then set up camp, melted snow for water, had dinner, and were in the tent by 4 pm, trying mightily to get some sleep in spite of all the talking and ruckus of the other hikers and climbers. We originally planned to spend a whole day at Muir Camp just to acclimate, but the weather had been spectacular today and we decided to take advantage of the good, clear conditions and go for the top the next morning.

At 10:30 pm, still August 13th, we awoke (surprisingly, we did sleep a bit) and set about getting ready for a summit attempt. By midnight, August 14th, we were ready, and we hit the trail for the top. The first stretch had us traverse across the Cowlitz glacier, hopping over two small crevasses in the process, and gaining about 500 feet in about ½ mile of hiking. Victor was in the lead and I was behind, roped together with about 80 feet of rope. After crossing the Cowlitz, we had to scramble up a rocky and dirty trail that took us through the Cathedral Rocks. It was at this point that my headlamp’s batteries died. I had brought along an extra set of batteries, and I replaced the duds and had a working headlamp once again. We were aided by a gibbous moon and cloudless skies.

After crossing this dirt foot path, we were once again on glacier, this time the Ingraham glacier. The trail was good and we made good time. Again, there were some small crevasses to hop, and after another half mile of hiking, we came upon more rock and trail, this time at the bottom of a rocky outcropping known as the Disappointment Cleaver. This is where it got steep. The trail alternately went from dirt to snow for a while, before become entirely snow. The switchbacks were endless and quite steep, and in the dark, it was hard to tell where we were exactly in relation to all of our climbing, and how far we had to go. And to add to the troubles, my headlamp began to fizzle and die again. The cold was probably affecting the batteries, but it was also a cheap headlamp. Fortunately, there was just enough ambient light so that I could follow the trail without the lamp. The moon had set by this time, and in the darkness before dawn, the Milky Way galaxy was bright and incredibly beautiful. After steadily making our way up, we at last came to a level portion of the trail, at which point Victor and I rested and forced down some food.

According to a guide leading an RMI (Rainier Mountaineers Inc.) group, we were at 12,400 feet, still another 2,000 feet below the summit but at least above the crux of the climb, the Disappointment Cleaver. The sun also started to rise, and for the first time we could see the humongous snow cap that was Rainier’s top directly ahead of us. At this time, Victor and I switched places, me assuming the lead, for no other reason than I was maintaining a more steady pace, albeit a very slow one. We were now on the upper Emmons glacier, and in the morning’s light, we could see some monstrous crevasses to our left and right. Our footpath simply skirted these openings, although in some cases we were walking alongside crevasses with unseeable bottoms. From here until the top, it was just slow going. Both of us felt the altitude’s effects, and we typically could muster no more than a dozen or so steps before needing to rest.

For most of this stretch we kept pace with a group that was about 200 feet ahead of us. We would see them up ahead before they would go over or behind a ridge. We would reach this same point a few minutes later, just in time to see them disappear once again behind another bump. Somehow this kept my mind busy, and they served as our "pace" group. For this stretch, we seemed to always have another ridge to conquer, a never-ending climb. We continued to keep pace with the group ahead of us, until we crested another small ridge, at which time I could not see them. I was genuinely confused, completely ignoring the fact that (1) the route was now near level, and (2), there was no more mountain above us... We'd made it! When one of this group re-appeared from behind some rocks, it finally dawned on me we were at the crater rim. Happiness!

The winds had picked up, sometimes gusting to about 50 mph (strong enough to push me down if I didn't keep a low center of gravity), and we poked along the path until we finally came to these rocks, at which time we hopped over them and down into the crater caldera. We were effectively at the summit of Rainier, and we both collapsed inside a small windbreak to rest, eat and drink. Despite the winds, the weather was exquisitely awesome: sunny and absolutely clear as far as the eye could see. Mts. Adams, St Helens, Hood and Jefferson were all visible with extreme detail. After about a half-hour in the windbreak, we followed a trail across the caldera to the other side of the rim, and scampered up about 200 vertical feet of easy trail to the actual highpoint of the mountain, Columbia Crest, elevation 14,411 feet. It was about 8 a.m. and we had conquered Rainier! We took our photos, signed a register, and communed with a handful of other climbers, many of whom were laying on the dirt patches to soak up the sun. It was certainly a beautiful day! But soon, we got started down back to camp.

Our hike down was slow and steady, and a little frightening since the elevation drops looked so much more pronounced. The warmth had also softened the snow, which made for a lot of slipping and sliding, but we walked slow and carefully and within 4.5 hours, we’d arrived back at camp, the culmination of 16 hours of hiking. I was so mentally and physically exhausted that about 20 feet from our tent, I slipped on a ice patch, fell on my butt, and fell fast asleep in position. I awoke briefly, and immediately slipped into my sleeping bag and conked out for another 2 hours. I awoke a little later and helped Victor with the melting of water and dinner. Normally climbers descend from the summit to Muir, then back to the parking lot, all in one day. However, the both of us were far too bushed to consider that idea; we stayed another night at Camp Muir, hiking out early the morning of the 15th. I think we were the only team that summitted that day that stayed the extra night in camp. We were like celebrities: everyone wanted to know the route conditions, where the hardest climbing was, "what was it like", that sort of thing. They were now where we'd been 24 hours previous: excited and just a bit scared! Like wise men, Vic and I answered their questions and spent a very enjoyable late afternoon and evening just mulling about camp and enjoying the awesome views down on the rest of Washington.

The hike down went fast and mostly without event. An onshore flow from the ocean created a bit of low cloudiness, and when we arrived back at the trailhead and parking lot, the fog was quite dense. Vic was severely hobbled by blisters caused by his ill-fitting boots and he was about 30 minutes behind me arriving back at his truck. There was a special joy to be had in lurching back to the truck, dirty and haggard, and dropping the pack beside the truck with all the day-trippers watching me. I cleaned up at the showers in the visitor's center, bought some goodies, and within a few hours, we were back at Vic's place outside of Seattle, where Joelle was quite surprised (and happy) to see us back about 2 days ahead of schedule.

My flight back to Ontario was delayed 1.5 hours on the tarmac as they were changing a tire on the airplane. My seatmate, a woman in her 50s-60s, was amiable and we talked on the flight down. At one point, the stewardess, in a hurry to get down the aisle, careened into my shoulder (I was in an aisle seat), forcing me to knock a small bit of Pepsi onto this woman’s tray and some onto her lap. Fortunately, this woman saw what happened and was very understanding. I also misplaced, and probably lost, some small bits of my gear. I have not been able to locate 2 carabiners and my belay device. It’s about $30 of goods, which I can live without, but it is frustrating. But at least I summitted Rainier! Thanks to Victor and his experience, and thanks to the gods for the great weather!

(I also could not find my driver's license. This caused a bit of a problem at the airport when I could not produce identification. They let me on after some questioning and my signing an affadavit that I was who I was. A few weeks later I received a letter from Rainier Mountaineering Incorporated (RMI), the guide service. In it was my license! A note said they found it on the summit. My guess is that my license fell out with the other goodies mentioned above while we were seated in the windbreak. Well how about that.)