Geologic Time Includes Now
The Blue Glacier, as seen from the moraine used to access it
57.2. The average weight of a square foot of ice, (in pounds of course). This is not a number I was aware of before looking it up just before writing this, but it was certainly a number I was thinking of just a few days ago. You see, while I sit here now, lounging in a lawn chair with my laptop in front of me, just 48 hours ago I stood atop the aptly named Blue Glacier at the top of Olympic National Park, wondering if it was my turn to meet the deities that supposedly occupied the summit of Mount Olympus. As I pondered the density of ice, I felt, heard, and experienced the 1.7 square mile, 900 foot thick glacier below me begin to rumble. I looked up at Aidan, just a few feet from me, who could only let out a "Carter?" No Aidan, that wasn't me. In this moment, as you might have guessed, Aidan and I were hopelessly off route during our Olympus summit bid, and in some of the sketchiest terrain we'd ever stepped foot, getting a real time demonstration of the forces that shape the mountains we love to climb.
Let's back up to about 5 days ago. Baker! With that out of the way, we booked it to the Olympic peninsula, with the biggest unknown of the entire trip in front of us. For a mountain as statistically popular as Olympus, it felt like everywhere we looked online gave conflicting answers on the difficulty and technical requirements of Olympus. Combined with my persistent lack of research, we were walking into it blind. After taking our sweet time and enjoying the Olympic peninsula to its full extent, we finally made it to the trailhead for the Hoh River Trail, the the standard route on Olympus. Arriving 5 hours after our ideal start time, we also learned that a wilderness permit was only able to be purchased online for a National Park in the middle of a dense and remote rainforest, requiring us to backtrack an hour.
Arriving 7 hours after our ideal start time, this time with permits in hand, we finally began the trek down the 17 mile approach. Our plan was to slam miles like a college kid does vodka, and camp anywhere past Lewis Meadows which sat around 10 miles into the trail. We'd eat dinner, nap a bit, and wake up around 11 P.M to start the rest of the approach and eventual climb of Olympus, reserving the third day for our descent. This is, to put it lightly, an aggressive itinerary, and we had already cut our first day in half. The beginning of the trail was smooth sailing. Almost 12 miles of a wide, flat path that snaked its way through one of the biggest temperate rainforests in North America alongside the pale blue Ho River. It was an idyllic trek, and we kept our speed high, only making occasional stops for water and snack breaks. After an intense day of pushing ourselves at the fastest pace we could maintain, we settled on 12.4 mile camp which sat just before the beginning of the incline, as the sun had already set along with our energy levels.
Through the Ho Rainforest
We quickly threw down our tent, cooked, and discussed our options. We both quickly realized how beat we were from sprinting through the rainforest all day and eventually settled on making it 4 days on the mountain. This would give us time tomorrow to move camp up to the end of the approach trail which was another 5 miles and 3,500 feet away from us. This would allow our summit day to be easier, limiting any risk of over-exhaustion in a dangerous place. So we happily ate up the extra few hours of sleep and drifted off feeling confident.
We awoke. Everything that had hurt last night, hurt even more. Both of our stomachs screamed in pain, most likely from the river water we had been drinking. But, as usual, we weren’t giving up that easy. So we sat around, made breakfast, and set off once we felt just a tiny bit better. We took our time on the ascent, careful not to tire ourselves out or become dehydrated. As we climbed out of the valley we had camped in, the higher peaks of the Olympics came into view. We caught glimpses of snow capped peaks, glacial rivers, and rocky moraines that urged us to keep going. Eventually, we made it to the ‘ladder,’ which ended up being a 50+ foot dangling ladder with half of the planks broken. Downclimbing that in a 40lb pack was… interesting, we’ll just say. After a few hours we arrived at Glacier Meadows, the last campsite on the approach trail before the climb began. We set up, cooked an early dinner, and quickly went to sleep, eager to get the earliest start we could.
Approach to Glacier Meadows
At 30 past midnight, we zipped up the tent, threw our packs on, and set out into the pitch black, making our way to the base of the glacier. We continued hiking through dense forest for a mile or so, before coming to the base of the moraine that sat on the outskirts of the glacier. We climbed up it’s loose rocky face, fully aware of the rockfall we kept hearing just a few yards behind us. At the top of the moraine, we peered over the edge, our eyes met with nothing but darkness. That is, until we turned our headlamps off, and were immediately met with the silhouette of Mount Olympus draped against the clearest Milky Way I had ever seen. It was magical. We immediately dropped our packs, and took our first substantial break under the full, dazzling night sky of Olympic.
The Milky Way draped behind Olympus
We couldn’t wait too long, however, as we knew our summit had just begun. We downclimbed a few hundred feet of scree, being careful not to send boulders onto each other, and landed on the side of the Blue Glacier, which looked bare as ever. We threw on our boots and crampons, tied into the rope, and began traveling across the glacier towards what we thought was the beginning of the ascent. The landscape of the Blue Glacier was unrecognizable. Striking blue ice wrapped the rock below, and glacial streams trickled below our feet. Hearing water running below you on a glacier is definitely not the top of my list for sounds I want to be hearing. But, the glacier seemed intact, and short of punching through on snow, we felt it was safe to cross. However, what laid in the distance did not give us the same level of confidence.
You see, I had screenshotted the route description on my phone. However, I fundamentally misunderstood the directions that were given to us. We were aiming for what seemed like an impassable icefall, just waiting to drop a school bus sized piece of ice on your best friend. But, the route said to go that way, and the bootpack was heading right for it. So we pushed on, hoping a route would open up. As we put it, “let’s just get up there and see what it looks like.” Well, after several times over saying that phrase, we found ourselves a few hundred vertical feet up this icefall. As I swung my ice axe into ice, using my other hand to balance, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were supposed to be here. Any sane person would look around at the hundreds of crevasses, hanging seracs, and boulder craters near us and know that we were hopelessly off-route. Eventually, we managed to finally convince ourselves that we indeed were lost, and should most definitely turned around.
Our supposed ‘route.’
As we were descending, the ice finally gave us a sure sign that we were not allowed to be there, as something below us shifted. Suddenly, I was no longer confident in the ground I was standing on, and acutely aware of the danger I was in. Immediately, Aidan and I began our quick but careful descent, having to fully turn around to downclimb the slopes we had just ascended, all while bracing to be swept away in a geologic event on a scale we couldn’t even fathom. Be it our unwavering luck or our impressive ability to escape consequences for our actions, we stepped off the icefall unharmed, spotting a group climbing a small gully in the rocks that marked the beginning of the REAL route up Olympus.
After wasting multiple hours and at least 1,500 calories worth of energy, we pushed on, climbing up loose rock and soft snow. After an hour or so of scrambling in mountaineering boots, we were done. We sat down on a ledge, ate some snacks, and made the easy decision to turn around. You see, we had budgeted so little time for this climb that if we spent four days on the mountain it would leave us with one day of rest before our next mountain attempt. Not exactly what we were looking for. So, despite being over 20 miles from the car halfway up a mountain, we decided we would be back at the car today. After completing the Presidential Loop in one day back in March, we were confident in our long distance hiking abilities, even if our bodies were already screaming out in pain. So we backtracked, making our way down the scrambles we had spent so much time climbing. We crossed the glacier again, and began the climb back up the moraine. After the sufferfest that is climbing volcanic rock, we were able to push the last mile back to camp, making good time in the process.
Lunch was nice
We packed up in record time, as the idea of eating a real cheeseburger was too tantalizing to resist. We set off from Glacier Meadows around 1:30, with 17.1 miles between us and the car. My memory of the next 8.5 hours is blurry. I believe my brain shut itself off after a certain point to prevent any more neurological damage. My body was but a vessel for my goal, and that goal was to eat a real meal as fast as possible. We arrived at the car as nightfall fell, collapsing on the sidewalk. We didn’t summit that day, but not having to spend another night out there was completely worth it.
I learned a lot that day on Olympus. Preview the route! Having an idea of the type of terrain you will be in can make it easier for you to minimize putting you and your partner in EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS AREAS. If your gut is telling you not to do something, then you should listen. Especially in an environment like a glacier, as things can turn deadly extremely quickly. Anyway, we’re a few hundred miles West now, spending our rest time staring at the most glaciated peak in the continental U.S. With just three days before Aidan boards his flight home, we’ll be attempting the crown jewel of the Pacific Northwest. Mount Rainier. You all knew it was coming. It’s all I talked about for months. The final and greatest act of my performative unwillingness to lead a normal life. Or, just the beginning? We’ll see what happens.
