I’ve got a huge backlog here of trip reports to get through, so I’ll keep some of them brief! This one is about our climbing group‘s attempt at Rainier via the Emmons Glacier. The climbers in this group consisted of our group leaders Eric and Vlad, Pete, Kimber, Leslie, Rusty, and myself. We had a pretty decent weather window, so we got up earrrrrrrly Thursday AM and drove to the White River ranger station to pick up climbing and wilderness permits for our climb. Even though we got there 30 minutes early on a weekday, there were already a dozen people or so in front of us in line.
After we got our permits, we set up an elaborate car shuttling system because Vlad & Eric had hatched this plan to attempt the summit on Friday or Saturday (depending on weather and energy levels) and then traverse across the Emmons and Fryingpan Glaciers to attempt a linkup of the Little Tahoma summit. Needless to say, opinions in our group varied on whether crossing this glacier and climbing Little T was going to be a) feasible and b) enjoyable. See below for a picture of the crevasse minefield we were looking at.
Now, a few words regarding my opinion of Little Tahoma. A lot of climbers/mountaineers use lists of summits to guide their goal setting, often shooting for climbs that are considered to be the “most difficult” or that will attain “the highest summit.” All that is well and good, and if climbing the top 100 peaks in Washington is what REALLY gets you going, by all means go and do that. I don’t have a problem with setting a goal that includes summiting a set of peaks that are on a list. Instead, my issue with the use of lists is that I think it often obscures a lack of vision. To me, the feeling of seeing something and saying to myself “I’d really like to climb that” is what truly motivates me to prepare for a summit attempt. The presence of a peak on a list doesn’t do that for me. That being said, there’s something obviously pleasing about getting to a high point within a mountain range, otherwise none of us would ever be climbing. So if you think about climbing a mountain, do you try to hit up every high point along the way? If there is a small rock spire on the way up Mount Stuart, do you think to yourself “I should climb that in addition to my summit bid”? Maybe on some occasions the character of the climb on that rock spire is compelling and you do add it to your itinerary. But other times, it’s just a blip on the radar. For me, Little Tahoma is just a blip on the radar of Mt Rainier. Sure, it’s a pretty big blip at 11k+ feet, but relative to the scale of Rainier, it’s not big enough to be compelling to me, and the reports I hear of poor rock quality (as well as the gnarliness of the approach), don’t do it any favors. I think after this long paragraph (in what I originally planned as being a short trip report), you can guess where I landed on the Little Tahoma plan.
We headed on the trail to Glacier basin, through meadows and wildflowers and tons of hikers, up to the base of the Interglacier. Here was where the huffing and puffing really began as the trail ended and we took a direct line up the center towards the prow of the formation. I was struck by the high quality of the snow, and got excited to ski here one of these days, maybe next June! Thoughts of June turns didn’t make me feel any less tired, so I employed one of the oldest tricks in the books – turning around and taking a quick sit break to enjoy the scenery. This clearly had nothing to do with me being tired.
We descended from the Interglacier just above Camp Curtis, and headed towards the first crevasse crossing of our approach, which we navigated by taking advantage of a snowbridge that we were sure wouldn’t be long for this world.
We made it to Camp Schurman around 3:30 or 4, set up camp on the Emmons Flats at about 9.8k ft and after melting snow, decided it was probably best to take a rest day rather than summit. Looking back on it, I think this decision probably exacerbated the altitude issues some of us experienced later. A day is not enough time to acclimate, so it’s really just adding to the time spent at altitude. Nonetheless, we enjoyed a beautiful sunset out of the tent door as we drifted off to sleep.
We slept in a little bit on our rest day and made a leisurely breakfast. The day was a little more cloudy, and some people opted to practice ice climbing in a nearby crevasse. Kimber and myself decided to take naps in our tents, every now and then saying “Hey…are you awake?” “WELL, I AM NOW.” After a few of us trekked down a couple hundred feet to visit the facilities at Camp Schurman, we got all of our climbing gear organized, water supplies topped off, and calories replenished and settled in for sleep before our alpine start.
The weather in the evening did not afford us the same sun-kissed views of Camp Schurman, and some ominous clouds were rolling in along with higher winds. There was a lot of talk about managing altitude sickness, whether by timing, or acetazolamide, or simply mindful breathing techniques.
As we set off up the mountain, the skies were clear, and the air was brisk. We traveled as a rope team of 4 (Vlad, Leslie, Rusty, and Eric) and a team of 3 (myself, Pete, and Kimber). I regaled our rope team with reinterpretations of some of my favorite constellations, most of them quite NSFW. When we got to about 11k feet, Kimber started feeling the effects of the altitude and prudently decided that it was better to turn around before they got more severe and before we had any major crevasse crossings. Since the descent from that point was going to be fairly straightforward, Pete offered to descend with her and I joined the other rope team to continue upward.
As we climbed, the sky started to lighten and we could tell sunrise was approaching. This was the first time that I really experienced alpenglow, where the sun is fully illuminating the ground I was standing on, but at such a low angle in the sky that the path the light has to travel is long enough to scatter all wavelengths of light other than the long wavelength that produces deep reds and oranges. If you’ve never experienced it, think of it as an amazing sunrise or sunset, but instead of observing it from afar, you’re actually in the middle of it. It was one of the most profoundly beautiful things I’ve ever experienced in nature. I often come back to this specific memory when I think about what being in the mountains means to me, and how it relates to the way I view the world and humanity’s place in it.
After savoring this beautiful moment for a minute, we continued upwards into the clouds. We navigated some crevasse crossings that were a little spooky, but not technically difficult, although we had to double back at one point because we followed a set of footprints that attempted a shortcut through some crevasses that was not quite feasible. When we reached about 13.2k feet, Eric let us know that he was suffering from the early symptoms of AMS. We decided that even though we were close, it would be prudent for us all to turn around, so Vlad set a quick anchor and used a munter to belay us all to his position, where we reversed the rope team and began our descent.
The descent was difficult for Eric, as he was exhausted physically and mentally from his symptoms, so we were glad we had made the decision to turn around. As the sun continued to rise, it heated up quite a bit and we shuffled our way back towards Emmons Flats, where Pete and Kimber were resting and waiting for us. Even though our summit bid was unsuccessful, I remember thinking at several points along the climb that I was really enjoying the process, and not just the goal. The environment we were in was one of the coolest routes I had been on. I was already getting excited to try again later…although the long trek out certainly did its best to put a damper on that excitement! More on our next attempt is coming up in a few posts!
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