The ground evaporated as the tip of my ice axe probed
through the cornice. A hare crack spider
webbed out, and the white powder ridge in front of me was gone. I could scarcely make out the sound of the ghostly
arch as it cascaded, chinkling like a wind chime, dislodging small slides from
the vertical face below. The passing clouds muffling my near end. My partner, an
inexperienced but adventurous young lady, stood directly behind me. I thought momentarily about roping up, and
realized that in the white out conditions in which we were cloaked, it would do
little if any good. With only two
people, if one went, the other would merely follow. Especially with my 228LB frame in the
lead. The forecast had been stellar on
our departure, but here we stood, the snow driving past in the clouds as they
scoured the mountain side. I was glad
that I had decided, as always, to pack heavy and for the worst case scenario as
I considered the risk of demise via blind descent V.s. the potential risk of
sheltering in a snow cave awaiting clear weather which may never come. All of this weighed against my most selfish reasoning, of which i would never make my partner aware.
The morning had started early, and started well. My first reconnaissance hike on Mt. Rainer,
the jewel of the Seattle Washington sky line. The well-traveled
south climb was, to say the least, non-technical in comparison to some of the
climbs I had done this year. I looked
forward with relish to our ascent, though we had planned to turn at 10,000ft,
the opportunity for a summit bid had been living and growing deep in the
caveman portion of my brain. While in my
frontal lobes, I knew that this was how so many people before me had made the papers, almost
never in an enviable way. We entered the
south gate of the park early that morning, and headed for the paradise parking
lot at the base of the south climb. The
park had just opened for the year, the gate being open 24/7, instead of closing
at dusk, and opening at nine.
We had stayed in the Mountain Home RV resort, an affordably
priced ($55 per night, 48.621Euros) and well maintained RV park. They
offered all of the amenities in their cabins, which were also well maintained
by the family which ran the park with the help of their children. They were very personable and friendly. I had to leave James in his kennel in the
bus, and they were fine with that despite his vocal protest. He had not wanted to be left behind. I felt bad
leaving him in his kennel for such a lengthy period, however i was unaware that
dogs had been hard on the mountain and its ecology and were therefore no longer
allowed on trails or in wild areas. It
was a disappointment, to me, as well as James who is an expert climber. He has summited several minor non glaciated
peaks in the Pacific Northwest, and has a well established reputation as a sand stone climber in the American SW. He was
very proud of his new mountaineering boots, jacket, and harness. None the less,
he benevolently wagged in his kennel as I loaded it with toys, and some of my dirty
shirts to comfort him.
The lot was vacant when we arrived in paradise. The morning air was soft, full of
humidity. The high clouds passed by the
mountain as we viewed it on our approach.
Today was the window, with predictions of more cloud cover and snow storms
moving in overnight. We started out, and
immediately the weather turned. Snow and
low clouds bore down on us at about 5,600ft (1, 06.88 M). Fortunately the ascent had been wanded
previously by a guide service. Ensuring that
the bread crumb feature of my GPS was functioning we continued on. Winding up the fresh powder of the slope, until
we came to the first 28 deg slope. We
followed a snow shoe rut that had been laid in, the switchbacks winding ever
higher, losing our legs to the occasional soft spot. I almost immediately regretted my decision to
leave behind my Tubs 360 snow shoes the first time my foot went through the
hard packed track and I sunk up to my right hip. 'Thank goodness for Bikram yoga, and flexibility!'
I thought as I struggled to extricate my leg from the black hole below me and
bend myself in the correct direction to stand erect. My partner weighing
slightly more than a feather fared a little better, her red blond hair shone in
the now gathering sunlight, as she daintily avoided the post holes my feet and
girth had combined to drive in to the snow pack.
As we crested the first good slope, the ridge ahead was an
easy slog. We took a brief respite, and enjoyed the view our efforts had afforded us.
Avalanches set loose from the high points across from us as the glaciers
on the south face calved and let loose barrages of seracs, boulders, and fine
powder from the night before. The energy roared through the still air, vibrated
through my chest, and was silenced by the powdery insulation. We had crested the ridge, and shortly after I
had looked back to see the clouds bending around Mt Adams, the hulking and dull
appearing peak sitting in the stream of clouds as they passed it by.
To the south the sharp fang of Mt. Jefferson
could be seen. I stared at a mesa top, a
glaciated mesa top. I have never seen
that one.
I thought to myself. Mt Hood in her snowcapped majesty stood
behind the mesa, and it took me several looks to figure out I was looking at
the northern aspect of Mt. St Helens. The
northern aspect. I had never seen it at
any elevation.
I was happy to be on the
ridge as the strengthening sunlight caused separations of stone and ice on the
cornices from the evening’s storm to give way.
We came near to camp Muir, and as we approached the view to
the north of the mountainside was no less stunning than the view from the
south! The clouds from the west
continued to roll in, and form our vantage point the ridge behind us began to disappear.
The southern glaciers were now smothered by
the onslaught of clouds, and the avalanches in all of their roaring glory, were
muffled. We met a climbing guide on his way down. “You might want to head back.” He cautioned, “The
gate to the park closes at six, you don’t want to get closed in.” I considered what he was saying. I thought
my beta had been good, and my research thorough. The thought of being trapped
within the gates of the park overnight, and the generous fine which would ensue
thereafter, trumped what I thought I knew.
I looked to my partner. She was
in agreement. After all the guide probably knew what he was talking about. At just under 9,000 ft. (2743.2M) we decided
it was prudent to turn back. Who would know better than a man who hiked the mountain for a living what the
park hours were. As we descended below
the 7,000ft mark we met a group emerging from the upcoming bank of clouds. “Going down?” asked their leader. “yeah.” I said, “The gate closes at six, we
only have a few hours to get back in order to have enough time to get off the
mountain.” He looked at me with a quizzical look. “Today is the first day that the park is
open.” He said, “The gate won’t close for the rest of the season.” My heart sank. There was no way I had the physical stamina
to finish a late ascent, and we did not have the time anyway. I thought about James, as we continued our
descent. I hoped he was ok. Since he adopted me when part of my family
moved to Singapore we had not been apart for more than a few hours.
We descended at a brisk pace, post holing was not so bad on
a steep slope, much easier than the uphill direction. It was almost enjoyable. As we neared the first set of cliffs, the
weather started to change, and visibility was reduced to the length of my 75mm
ice axe. White powder, white snow
blowing, white clouds……white everything.
My partner was post holing now, the powder had accumulated. I set my bread crumb trail, and watched the
accuracy indicator on my GPS. 15ft (4.572M).
I followed the arrow to the next bread crumb, probing the hill side. I indicated to my partner to glacade, and we descended
several hundred feet at 8mph (12.8748M) according to my GPS. I arrested my glacade and probed the ledge on
which we came to rest. My ass hole
puckered, taking a bite out of the slope as it fell away drifting in the the eternal void below! My penchant for talking, to
which anyone who knows me can attest, was not abated by the climb nor the avalanches. However, for the rest of the decent my brain was engaged and my talk hole was closed.
As my mind churned I thought
about a scene in the movie ‘As Good as It
Gets’. “OVER A DOG!” Jack Nicholson’s
character sobs, as he plays his piano. “OVER
A DOG!” I thought inside, as I decided to continue our descent. Selfish? Yes, indeed I would risk my life,
and hers over the prospect of my only friend dying in his kennel. As someone who was once in a kennel, perhaps
my empathy clouded my judgement.
Our progress was a crawl as we descended the slope. The words of a great climber echoed through
my head “The summit is compulsory, return to base camp is mandatory.” As we reached the last set of glacade chutes
my stomach untwisted and the adrenaline ball in it melted away. Well-worn ass grooves in the cottony drifts
on top of the ice field enticed me with promises of an expedited and lazy descent.
I talked to my partner, “ill page you on our radio when I get to the
bottom. Don’t start until I do, I don’t want
your axe in my back.” She nodded in
understanding. Down I went, this time slightly more confident that I would not
be cast in to the abyss. 1,000 vertical
feet later (304.8M) I paged her, and waited for her to show up. We began the downward slog through the forest, and the clouds began
again floating above us. Dusting us with
the frigid cold dandruff like snow that only 4 deg F (-15.56C) conditions can yield.
As we descended the mountain side on the winding, Alps like
road of the Mt Rainier national forest the hulking blunt peak looked down upon
us occasionally through its cloud blanket.
Letting us know, that not only had it let us go, but we would have to
return if we wished to gain its summit.
I was happy to have been there.
When we returned to the bus, after a quick bite, and loads
of water, my newfound friend departed for Seattle. James was so joyous upon our arrival that he
quickly scolded me, and then forgave me once I made him some dog food with bacon
bits and boiling water from the tea kettle.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it always “Dogs are the best people I have
ever met.” They live in the moment, forgiving, loving, and never judging. I
think made the right choice.
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