Mt. Rainier
Disappointment Cleaver and Fuhrer Finger
April 2014
Solo
Climbed: 16k
Skied: 16k
Although not in Colorado, Rainier is still a 14er and I think worthy of a trip report here. In this report I have included non-mountain related pictures. I spent about a week on the mountain, and week off.
Note: Edited Feb 2016 to fix pictures and add some additional commentary(minor). Major revisions are italicized.
I traveled over 3,000 miles and arrived in Seattle April, 18th and reunited with an old girl friend who I met in Las Vegas during spring break in 2010. I spent the weekend lounging around and partaking in tourist activities.
My girl kindly drove me the 2 hrs to Paradise Sunday morning and we said our farewells. On her journey home, she stopped at the guide offices, and they told her no one climbs Rainier this time of year. This greatly worried her and bit me in the ass legally later on... The weather forecast was dismal, to say the least. I only had a week in Seattle so I decided to give the climb a shot regardless of the weather.
Being unable to recruit a partner, I left Paradise on a solo mission at about 1:00 p.m. I disregarded the permitting procedure, as the park will not issue solo permits on the spot. My sights were set for a climb and ski of the Fuhrer Finger. I skinned up to just below Panorama Point, and descended to the Nisqually Glacier. It is unwise to travel solo on a glacier, but I was aware of the risk and had a season of extensive glacial experience in the French Alps. Still, it is a roll of the dice. However, the Nisqually is not chaotic and was not, at this time, heavily crevassed, there is a huge amount of snow cover in April
Views of Mt. Adams to the South were impressive:
I continued my way up the Nisqually ascending to the Wilson Glacier, enjoying the glacial features:
Looking back to the Nisqually and Muir Snowfield:
The sun came out for a bit, and I had thought the weather gods would grant me a favorable window for Monday/Tuesday.
My loyal partner keep within close distance:
I arrived at the basin below the finger, and set camp right in the middle of the glacier. Well, the wind that night snapped a pole on my tent, causing a tear in the rain fly. I woke up Monday morning and relocated camp to a more sheltered area below some rocks. I spent the day drinking water and cooking food. The weather was fair for the most part. I did not guy out the tent. This was an amateur move on my part. Proper guying would have saved the tent
I overslept by 4 hours Tuesday morning, and awoke at 8 a.m. and looked out my tent to see clouds down low, but a sun shiney day.
I decided a little exercise couldn't hurt and I needed to escape my boredom so I geared up and headed for the couloir. I crossed one open crevasse. It was less than a foot wide but maybe 30 or 40 feet deep. All the other visible cracks were easy to avoid.
I began climbing the couloir and the morning remained beautiful:
The finger is to the left of this rock band, but I felt some mixed climbing was in order:
I climbed and climbed to the top of the finger. At the top of the couloir, I figured I was home free. Right around 12,000 ft or so, the clouds came in and it began to snow. It went from clear to near whiteout in a matter of minutes. The wind picked up significantly, and conditions became blizzard like. I turned around.
Visibility at times was less than 50 ft., but the rocks on both sides of the finger provided some depth of field. During the climb, I encountered icy snow and sugar. I figured the ski would be less than marginal, however it was actually quite enjoyable. The finger is around 2,000 ft. vertical, and maxes out in pitch at just under 40 degrees. (I read descriptions claiming the finger to have sections of 45 degree snow, however they were unfounded during this outing and a classic American over estimate of angle).
Mmmmmmm....
The ski down was actually fantastic with good snow, despite the visibility. After a traverse and hopping over some narrow crevasses I found myself back at basecamp:
I was very upset with the weather, and vowed to make another attempt Wednesday or Thursday. I wasn't however, looking forward to going up the same route again.
Around 4 p.m., the wind picked up to a sustained 30 mph, with 55mph gusts (original numbers was a classic overestimate on my behalf with intensifying snowfall. The storm would continue through the weekend... At about 5 p.m. or so, I headed out of my tent to shovel away snow. This began a long series of excavations which continued throughout the night and into the morning. Every few hours, I would gear up, and begin digging. My efforts were noble, but futile. In minutes the wind would redeposit the snow I had just removed. Every time I did this, my clothes became wetter and wetter.
Here is a link to a short video I took Tuesday afternoon inside my tent:
Wednesday morning, the rainfly tear was larger, and the tent wall itself began to rip. I continued shoveling snow away. Snow made its way into the tent when I exited, and through the tears in the wall. Eventually, I became so wet I gave up digging out the tent. I combated the snow and snowdrifts from inside by punching them away from the walls. This was an exhausting effort. Around 8 p.m., I was barely able to move. The snow had entombed 95% of my tent. I was able to wiggle my legs and arms. I had a small pocket just above my head that allowed me to breathe fresh oxygen. The storm continued to rage, I continued my struggles to fight off the snow, and fell asleep thinking I would surely asphyxiate during the night.
The original tone was rather light hearted. This was a time when I realized my own mortality and I honestly did not think I would survive. I recorded a series of good bye videos. Call me reckless, a fool, whatever, but these things happen to mountaineers. April is a tough month for this mountain, and I took a chance and faced serious consequences. A Colorado 14er summer hiker is not a mountaineer. It was a very harrowing and terrifying experience, yet rewarding for what I learned. I can not begin to describe what it is like to essentially give up and allow myself to be buried alive. I was dead tired exhausted, soaking wet, and had no energy to battle the snowdrifts which were entombing my body. I relinquished myself to the elements. I had zero control of the situation. I took a peek into the looking glass...
To my delight, I woke up Thursday morning, and the wind had actually blown some of the snow away from my tent. The area around my head was more open and I had an open space for breathing. However, I could not sit up, bend my arms, or legs. It was like being entombed in concrete. I wiggled my way up, fought away the snow for hours, and crawled out the door. I crawled through the hole in the top of the tent and left it on the mountain. I littered. By this time, the tent was destroyed. I was too weak to defend it from the fury of Rainier. Outside, the wind was still howling, snow was falling, and it was near whiteout. 3 to 4 feet of snow fell from Tuesday afternoon to Thursday morning with strong winds. I spent over 48 hours in the blizzard.
Feeling too wet to weather at least one more nightI really had no choice at this point, as I crawled through the hole in the top of the tent and there was no way to get back in, I packed up and headed down. On the way up I ascended two avy slopes. I knew these would be loaded and treacherous to negotiate. I decided to chance heading down, over dying of exposure. I still stand by this decision to descend. I could have built a snow cave, but my clothing was wet and I would have risked hypothermia and possible death.. It was near whiteout, and total whiteout at times. However, the visibility would improve every so often. I would wait until I could see a rock, serac, any landmark, and ski as far to it as possible before I lost sight, then wait for it to clear again. The going was very slow, and required much patience. Some instances I would wait as long as 20 minutes until I could see again. This was extremely frustrating, terrifying, and demoralizing.
I arrived at the avy slope I feared the most. I paused just above the rollover and traversed ever so slowly onto the slope. A few feet in, the slide broke at my skis. It was eerily silent as I watched the slope fracture and float away into nothingness. The slide made no noise. My heart pounding, the visibility dropped, and I stopped at the crown for at least 15 mins until I could see again. The crown was 3 to 3.5' deep, 300 feet wide, and ran around 300' vertical. Finding myself in this situation again caused much grief, and I was disappointed with my decision making and arrogant actions. I redact this statement of me being disappointed with my decision making. I had to get down. I was not arrogant. If anything, my arrogance was when I decided to chance the weather. My stupidity was not knowing how to properly guy a tent. If properly staked, I could have weathered the storm for a week. Lessons learned.
I skied down the slide path, until I ran into a 60 ft serac. Then traversed around and skied down to a relatively safe bench. I was not aware of the serac from up above, thinking there was a smooth runout. Had I been caught, the slide would have carried me over the cliff. If not buried at the toe, I either would have been injured after the fall over the serac, or lost my skis after the cliff fall. I am still reflecting on this... I had 48m of rope and in hindsight, could have anchored myself and went out and jumped around on the avy prone slope. I continued my stop and go progress, according to the breaks in cloud cover. After a gruelingly slow journey through deep snow, I finally made it back to a deserted Paradise, and lounged in the bathroom area drying out my belongings. Once off the glacier, the map and compass, helped to get back to Paradise. That season alone, 4 people went missing, and died, just above Paradise.
The route from basecamp up The Finger:
Slide path, SS-AS-R1-D1-O
I called my friend from the payphone in the bathroom. She was very happy to hear my voice and rushed up from Seattle to retrieve me. She said she had called the rangers and asked them to keep an eye out for me, after hearing of the weather. She told them my name, physical description, and choice of route. Lounging around in the bathroom, I learned the gate to Paradise would close at 5 p.m. A very kind water technician gave me a free ride down to Longmire, courtesy of the Dept. of Interior. She had to radio in to and fill out a form for giving me a ride, oh isn't bureaucracy nice. My name was broadcast over the radio waves.
There, I was welcomed down from the mountain by two friendly rangers, who cited me $70 for camping without a permit. I was not cited for climbing without a permit, as I did not travel above 10,000 feet, or onto any glaciers. The rangers did not believe this whatsoever, but went against their "better judgment" and did not issue the additional $300.00 ticket. I suppose I deserved the punishment for my blatant disregard and arrogance. I redact this last sentence. I just said it to avoid flaming at the time. I still have not paid the fine. I don't feel I need a permit to camp on public lands. I am not going to pretend to be someone who I am not in my reports anymore
My girlfriend collected me at the Park Inn, and I experienced a very warm feeling being reunited with a familiar human being, however she was incredibly pissed, and I was in the doghouse. After hearing of the blizzard, she was in contact with the rangers, who by the way asked her what my mental state was, as many people go to Rainier to commit suicide, apparently. She was also on the phone with my mother, and they were both crying. I told here I would be back in no later than week, so they were just worried. We headed back to Seattle. In all, I spent 5 days and 4 nights on the mountain.
We spent the weekend on the peninsula and at her parents house on Puget Sound.
Seattle from the ferry:
Pissed girlfriend:
Still in the doghouse:
We traveled from Bainbridge Island, to Port Angeles then along the coast to some hotsprings and Koh Rainforest, which reminded me of the movie Fern Gulley.
At some point, I left the doghouse
The Pacific Ocean at Ruby Beach:
The Sound:
My return flight was scheduled for Sunday. The upcoming week's weather forecast appeared to be phenomenal. I cancelled my flight and bought a new ticket for the following Friday. Flights from Philly to SeaTac are incredibly cheap.
This time I rented a car to save my friend the grief of transporting me 3 hrs one way. I applied for a solo permit Sunday night, and left Seattle Tuesday morning at 4 a.m., with no response from the park superintendent. The NPS wants at least 7 days for processing. I ended up being approved Tuesday afternoon, but by this time I was already lying in the sun, lounged in my boxers, at Camp Muir.
I arrived in Longmire at 7 a.m. and had to wait 2 hours for the ranger station to open in order to obtain a climbing permit. I paid the fee, and deposited the permit, along with my fictitious partner's, Reinhold Messner, permit in the self-registration box. I left Paradise at around 10 a.m., and made it to Muir around 3 p.m. or so. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. The skin up was a long slog, but enjoyable.
A look at my previous attempt's route from the bottom
I began the enjoyable skin up to Muir:
Adams
Best view of the day!
The Shelter:
I spoke with 2 Austrians that had skied the cleaver and received a valuable 1st hand conditions report. I had about 12 clients for a Denali training excursion as bunkmates. I brought the wrong fuel canister, and ended up bumming water off the clients. I filled up a bottle I found lying around the shelter to drink in the morning.
I woke at 4 a.m. and began skinning to Cathedral Gap. Following the Austrians' skin track, I crested, and was greeted with the dawn. The snow was firm and icy, and while negotiating a kick turn, I slipped and arrested to a stop about 10 to 15 feet above a large cliff. Great start to the day...
Little Tahoma Peak
Ingraham Glacier and Dissappointment Cleaver
There was a massive serac fall the previous day. I believe this filled in several large crevasses:
I traversed over to the cleaver, and was surprised by the amount of exposure. I could see where pickets would be valuable here for beginners:
The morning remained beautiful:
I switched over to crampons and axe, rather than following the steep, slippery Austrian skin track:
At the top of the cleaver, it was a long slog to the crater, with a false summit or two.
The Crater!
This is a steam vent, as Rainer is still an active volcano!
I wasn't quite sure which hump was Liberty Cap, so I went to both. It took me, a slow paced, 7 hours to reach the summit.
Possible summit shot:
I lounged around on the summit in the most ideal weather imaginable. A complete reversal from the prior weeks.
I started skiing around noon:
I questioned whether or not to head to Gibraltar Chute. I wanted something steep to ski. However, I was unfamiliar with the glacial features, and was alone, so I stuck to my ascent path for the most part. I diverted from the standard cleaver route, and skied some of the Ingraham. The snow up high was loose and moist.
I opted for the more direct route to Camp Muir, and traversed to Cadaver Gap. I skied a nice, short, couloir and made some nice turns in the wide open glacier back to camp:
7 hours up, 40 minutes down.
A look at the two interesting parts of my ski route:
Back at Muir, I learned the nalgene I drank a liter from in the morning, was Teddy K's Piss Bottle. Great. Teddy, why wouldn't you just use a gatorade bottle, instead of a $10 nalgene?
After saying goodbye to my Denali training friends, I skied/battled my way down to Paradise in very wet snow, then drove back to Seattle to reunite with my friend for the remainder of the week.
It was an exceptional trip, and I would like to spend a considerable portion of time in the Pacific Northwest. The area is stunning. I would also like to head back to Rainier and ski some different glaciers, i.e. Emmons and do some climbing, i.e. Liberty Ridge.
It is going to be a long summer and fall, until I return to Chamonix for the Hiver... sigh.
If you have any questions about the route or want some advice for planning your trip, I would be glad to answer any questions. Thanks for reading!
Note: I could have simply omitted the avalanche incident, but I welcome constructive criticism, as this helps myself and others learn.
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