Making Your Dreams a Reality
Yesterday morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the cloudy skies, I watched my altitude tick over 14,000 feet. I cried. The summit of Rainier was just a few hundred agonizing feet away, and my journey to get here was about to come to it’s end. I crested the hill in front of me, and the crater rim came into view. The place I had yearned to be standing for so long was within sight. I turned around and watched as morning sun peaked above the jagged horizon, easing the bitter cold I had felt for the past seven hours. In an instant my dreams became reality, and with it my goals became memories. Just eight months ago I stood atop the highest mountain in New England, Mount Washington, battling subzero wind chill and frozen water bottles, and I made a decision that I would stand on top of Rainier. Little did I know the trajectory my life would take from that moment on, as I pushed my body and mind to the limits of what I was capable of.
Three days before this, Aidan and I grabbed our bags out of the back of my van after parking at the base of Mount Rainier. As usual, we were late. We threw on our packs, downed a quick breakfast, and hit the trail into a thick layer of fog. The usual sweeping vistas we had come to expect were nowhere to be found on our approach to Rainier. Instead, we meandered our way up the trails from Paradise with nothing but a GPS track to guide us. We hit the Muir Snowfield in good time, mostly due to the fact that we had no sights besides trees and tourists. We marched up the snowfield, being careful not to tire ourselves out or get soaking wet in the melting snow. Ironically, despite being mid-summer, the temperature at Paradise was chlly enough to warrant gloves and a beanie even while hiking uphill.
Our climb up the Muir Snowfield
After around two hours and a couple thousand feet of vertical gain, we encountered some climbers that gave us both good and bad news. On one hand, we would be popping out of the clouds soon and would get to enjoy a cloud inversion, something I had dreamed of experiencing on Rainier since the day I knew I wanted to climb it. On the other hand, we were informed that a snowbridge on the route had fallen during the storm that had just come through, and it was considered impassable for most climbers. We opted to push on with the hope that the guides working the route would fix it in time for the stampedes of clients to arrive for their weekend climbs. And just a few minutes after that we got our first few of the upper mountain as the clouds began to part. Even though we were already half way up it, the scale of Rainier was unfathomable. We turned around and gazed upon the clouds that we now stood above. The only thing visible was Mount Adams way off in the distance. It was as if we had been transported to another dimension worlds away from the cold dreariness we had spent the last few hours in. I guess that’s why they call it Paradise.
As the sun’s rays beamed onto my skin the temperature quadrupled. We stripped off our layers and continued on, with Camp Muir shortly coming into sight. Despite looking close, we had a while to go. We kept taking it slow, as we knew at this point there was no rush if we weren’t going to try and summit the next day. After around five hours on the approach, we arrived at Camp Muir and picked a spot to call home for the next few days. We immediately got to digging, molding the snow into our own personal base from which we would stage. For an alpine camp, Camp Muir had all the luxuries a mountaineer could need. Four separate toilets, all with pedal driven conveyer belts to move your business into the void. A ranger hut, multiple guide service huts and tents, a helipad, and a public shelter. It was like its own little community, tucked away from the rest of the world down below.
Camp Muir above the clouds
The rest of the night was spent setting up camp, making food, organizing gear, and just enjoying the breathtaking scenery. The wind made setting up my trekking pole backpacking tent quite a challenge, and in hindsight I would have happily carried the extra weight of a free standing tent to avoid the bullshit we went through during that process. Eventually, the day drew to a close, and we sat down on the ridge to watch the sunset dance across the clouds. It was an otherworldly experience and a bucket list item that I was overjoyed to tick off. The full moon shone bright across the horizon. Plus, I had spotty cell service so I could post it on Instagram. You’re goddamn right I did that. After the sun set, we remembered that we were on a mountain, and the cold set in. I did not sleep much that night as the temperatures plummeted.
Enjoying the sunset over heaven
We lazily awoke the next day, unsure what to do with ourselves. We talked with some other groups as well as the ranger who advised us to get some walking in to acclimatize a bit more. So, we headed up to Cathedral Rock to make sure we were ready for 14 hours of glacier travel, and for a nice change of scenery. The view of Little Tahoma from the top of Cathedral Rock was incredible, and we spent a few hours up there soaking in the sunshine before heading back down. The rest of the day was again spent organizing gear and gawking at the incredible scenery. The clouds had opened up, allowing us to see the ground thousands of feet below us. Late afternoon came, and the rangers gathered everyone to give us an update on the route. We waited with bated breath, hopeful that we would get the chance to stand on top of Washington. It was up. A few hundred yards of traversing was required, but a new route had been established that day thanks to the efforts of many strong mountain guides. We were overjoyed and immediately began cooking dinner to get to bed as early as possible. We planned to rise at 10 P.M to beat the guided parties out of camp by about an hour, giving us a good window to avoid being crowded. After eating, we settled into our bags with the biggest grins we could have possibly had.
Hanging out on Cathedral Rock
Before we knew it, the time had come. I rolled over onto the patch of frozen bare snow next to me, starting the climb off with a bang. Even if we wanted to sleep in a little bit more, the circus that had erupted outside of our tent had other ideas. Like clockwork, everyone emerged from their tents and began to don their summit gear. A full moon casted long shadows across the Cowlitz Glacier and the still air coaxed us out of our sleeping bags. The mountain felt alive, almost as if it was calling us to stand on its summit. We packed our bags, ate a sorry excuse for breakfast, and ignored the many signs of exhaustion and altitude. We were buzzing, both figuratively and literally. We turned our headlamps on, and off we went into the night.
Waking under the full moon
The first chapter of the climb flew by. Before we knew it we had ascended Cathedral Rock and the Ingraham Glacier was laid out in front of us. We just had a few hundred feet before us and Ingraham Flats, the last high camp before the upper mountain. For some reason, the route had been moved 10 feet to the right to "avoid rockfall," which placed it square up the middle of a somewhat sketchy ice wall. True to our nature, Aidan and I immediately accepted this route and began climbing the ice wall. As usual, we made it up, and didn't even want to think about how we were going to make it back down.
As we rolled into Ingraham Flats we got our first real view of the Cleaver. The towering behemoth of loose rock haunts every climber who follows this route on Rainier. More than a thousand feet of pure torture awaited us, as well as the riskiest part of the climb We made our way up the Ingraham Glacier, passing under looming seracs, and crossing our first ladder of the climb. We approached the Cleaver and prepared for the pain that awaited us, being careful to be efficient with our movement to avoid being clobbered by a boulder in the aptly named ‘Bowling Alley.’
The full moon over Gibralter Rock, as seen from the Ingraham Glacier
We climbed onto the cleaver and beelined it for the spine. It was this point where the mountain showed her true colors. The wind got fiercer, the moon darkened behind clouds, and the route got less and less marked. The altitude was starting to kick in, and we struggled to eat and drink. The entirety of our Rainier summit day, from camp all the way back to the bottom of the Muir Snowfield, was accomplished with 1.5 liters of water each. We slogged up the cleaver making abysmal time, praying that it would end soon. Eventually, through sheer willpower, we crested the Cleaver and dropped back onto the glacier. Despite what we thought, the crux of the climb still lay ahead.
The constant risk management and hyper vigilance required when moving through glacial terrain is downright exhausting. Knowing that one wrong move can send you or your partner into a crevasse the size of an upper middle class suburban house tends to wear you down. I struggled on the glacier as the terrain around us seemed to despise our very presence. It seemed inhospitable. But, not one to give up easily, I pushed on.
After traversing across the glacier to head up the newly established route, we crossed the second ladder of the climb. This one was much, much sketchier. Two ladders tied together with cord stretching a solid ten feet across a bottomless crevasse. Our crampons scraped and sparked as we trundled our way across, being careful not to disturb its resting place. As we crossed, the guided groups that we had tried so hard to avoid closed in on us. We figured the ladders would slow them down enough for us to put some distance between us, but our hopes were dashed when they just went AROUND the ladder, over an equally sketchy snowbridge. So we waited as over twelve people in a row slowly made their way past us before falling in line behind them.
Now at the back of the train, we continued making our way up the glacier. We ascended the 'trail,' making switchbacks as we went. The wind continued to whip, making insulating layers necessary. Every now and then someone in the guided group would stop, allowing Aidan and I to jump to the side and try to make some progress. But of course, before we were able to get to the front, the train started moving yet again. It was only when they decided to take a break were we finally able to break past and put some distance between us and them.
As we neared the top of the glacier the faintest hints of sunlight began to poke their way across the sky. All I wished for was a warm ray of sunshine to warm my chilled bones. With the prospect of a sunrise summit in front of us our spirits were renewed. Our bodies, not so much. The altitude symptoms were really showing their heads. Our lack of sleep, food, and water were also contributing to the level of fatigue we felt. Finally, after making our way through alien fields of penitentes, the first rocks of the crater rim came into view. I couldn't believe my eyes. I had altered the course of my life so much that the summit of Mount Rainier lay but a hundred feet in front of me. Months of work, sacrifices, and pure stubbornness had finally paid off. I propelled my body towards the crest of the ridge as tears welled up in my eyes.
Battered and bruised, we approached the summit against a backdrop of orange and pink
I turned around, watching the sun rise above Washington, 10,000 feet below me. We had done it. Choking back tears, Aidan and I hugged, and reminisced on the journey that brought us here. We plopped our stuff down in the crater rim and headed up to Columbia Crest, the true summit of Mount Rainier. We enjoyed the 360 degree views, congratulated everyone else on making the summit, and got out of there to escape the cold. The descent was brutally hot, and coming down the Cleaver left my toes and I in ruins. But, before we knew it, we were back at the car, sipping on a cold Pepsi.
Watching the sunrise from Columbia Crest
My life is now split into two parts. Before I summited Rainier, and after I summited Rainier. It’s corny, I know, but the experience fundamentally changed how I view things in life. For a long time, Rainier was the pinnacle goal. The one I didn’t think I would accomplish this year, no matter how much work I put in. It felt, in short, unattainable. Now, the world is my oyster. For many, climbing Rainier is a lifelong dream. I am incredibly lucky to be able to accomplish this goal in such a short time, and blessed to be surrounded by people that helped me make that happen. This entire experience has been a dream come true, and I know won’t return home the same person that left. To have seen and done so much that I never would have dreamed of just a few years ago has been insane.
I may say this a lot, but I mean it now more than ever. If you believe that you are capable of accomplishing something big. Something crazy. Something that everyone asks ‘why?’ Do it. If you wake up every morning and know that you will accomplish your goals, you are unstoppable. Go out there, climb your Rainier, whatever that may be, and let it push you to new heights. Don’t waste your life waiting for the perfect moment to start. That moment is now.
