"Success" is the word that comes to mind in that all of us went up, all of us came down - all of our parts are still working like they did before departure, and we are living, healthy human beings. The second line of order (but perhaps the first question that comes to mind "did you summit?!"). Calm down. I'll get to that in a second.
I would first like to say that this reunion of sorts with my good friends from University was a golden opportunity to check-in; to see how my friends are getting along in this world now that University is well behind us. We are out on our own, we have grown/metamorphosed through our own "peak experiences," and we are not the same people we last knew. it was nice to reacquaint, play together, and even have to work together to face/overcome challenge.
As for me, my learning was vast, deep, and memorable. This is due large in part to the fact that I felt responsible for many of the technical climbing aspects of this trip. Yes, my friends are all from the West Coast now, and yes - they have rock climbed before, and yes- they have traveled on snow before in cold temps, but have they played in the realm of the Alpine? Have they harmonized their every single heart beat to that of the mountainscape? Have they communed with the glacial environ...? Yes, but mostly never in a technical way...
What was I thinking?! Taking my friends into Alpine terrain taking an unspoken responsibility for their care & safety into the upper realms of the lower 48 states to a mountain where avalanches can sweep your nameless corpse into a 600-foot chasm of ice where no one will ever find you?! A landscape where, once the afternoon sun commands it so, Seracs calve off from above and present a clear danger to your future existence merely by following the very same laws of gravity we were burning our lungs and heart apart to rise against?
Yes. I had rationally and ethically debated within my own soul that of course I could safely manage my friends in a true alpine environment and that none of us were going to be harmed. All of us were coming home. Alive.
My actual hardest aspect of this trip was not so much the technical skills (I feel rather competent for a young/introductory Alpinist considering my experience/climbing resume) as it was finding effective ways to convince my dear friends that the techniques we needed to employ and the strategies we needed to discuss were, in fact, necessary- requisite even.
I have learned so much from this trip about both climbing with friends and climbing Alpine routes with folks new to the endeavor. I have gained new perspective on managing groups of people high up. remote. rather high stakes. and how to balance the personalities, egos, expectations, wants, desires, expectations, challenges, and successes of individuals and I am grateful unto my friends for the opportunity to learn from them as my crew.
No. We did not summit. I can say that proudly. We began our day at 1:30 a.m. after a 5-hour cat nap in the tent the previous evening. We were the second party out of Camp Muir for the day - the first being a 4-man group from New Brunsuick, Canada. They moved slow and cautious as their route finding remained less than optimal for a pace that felt progressive to us. After being tight on their heels (which is by no means ideal whatsoever... think: if they trigger a slab release and we are directly behind them.... we go with them.) So, we passed this group once we all arrived at Ingraham Flats camp. We had a nice chat with the New Brunswickers as far as where the route might go. Being my first time on Rainier, I saw where Cadaver Gap comes into the Flats, and where the ID (Ingraham Direct) and DC (Disappointment Cleaver) routes generally began. The Canadians waited while we passed/made a route decision, and they then began following after us once I had committed to head straight up from the Flats camp toward the ID route, as we viewed a few snow bridges that would gain us access to the DC higher up. As team College Reunion continued, we then began to see a few guided parties show up to the Flats... Just off of our left flank, a party of two approached and I asked them if they would like to pass our party to which one of them replied "Naw, you're good man, plenty o' room for everyone up here..." and they continued to the base of the ID headwall where they dropped packs and promptly began digging a snow pit (for analyzing the stability of the snow pack). This was rather concerning for me. These two guys were RMI mountain guides who were assessing if the terrain above would be sufficient and safe to bring their clients up. Red Light. No Go.
The DC route, they mentioned had not been climbed in about 2 weeks. The snow below the prominent rock bands of the cleaver were too exposed/the route followed directly under some fresh snow slides, and the conditions of the approach to the Cleaver proper were sketchy at best. The ID route also was said to be suspect. We dug or own pit an analyzed results at CT 21 and Q 2. This means actually that the snow at the top of the Flats was actually quite stable. Wind loaded, but stable. There was an ice layer about 14 inches below the surface, a hard slab about 2 inches thick, and the overall cohesion was marginal. Our rather novice party determined together that, given our original plan of hiking to the Flats and digging a pit to analyze our further plans revealed a) DC was not happening, and that b) the ID had rather stable snow and an elevation of 11,500 ft. above sea level, but with several ice falls and a few headwalls more to negotiate, we had hit a dead end. The presence of some late morning clouds presented concern for many of our group, and so our final act of prudence was to descend back to Camp Muir. This should not be viewed as a defeat. This was an act of intentional risk management. We live to see another day. I was not willing to manage my friends in the above terrain knowing how they felt about said terrain. Although I felt comfortable moving through what lied ahead, I was also not willing to have us commit to moving higher with a concern-based hesitance in our pace. We were not moving fast enough to summit that day, conditions were questionable above (what would the snow pack be like at 13,000 feet?). So down we went. We felt confident in our decision with all of the RMI parties (3 or 4 guided groups) all decided to follow suit and descend behind us with their clients. No guided parties would commit with clients. We were not going to expose ourselves to the estimated risks above either. It took us 5 hours, round trip to ascend 1,500 feet and return back down. No incidents. No injuries. Only learning.
I will like to return to Rainier with a smaller group and attempt the ID route for a summit bid. I also have been eyeing Gibraltar Ledges and possibly summit access via the Nisqually Glacier.
As for me, I became bored back in basecamp after a while. The kind of boredom where you get antsy, fidgety, and rather annoying because I just had to get the extra hype out from the long and early morning, so, I went back up solo to Ingraham Flats just to go for a "walk". From Muir to the Flats, there are no open crevasses this time of year, a rope is not necessary, and I went out and back in about 40 minutes. My analysis: had our party been more experienced with expedition travel, alpine movement, and the head games/risk analysis that accompanies the Alpine environment, and had weather conditions been more permitting, we actually could have safely attained the summit. However, two of these factors were not present in the time of our decision and THAT is what Alpine climbing is often all about: Decision making and Judgement.
We live to see another day.
Photos to follow...
More stories to tell. This is merely my analysis/story-like telling of our latest Rainier climbing adventure. We did not find failure, we found decision, risk-management, and the privilege to live another day.
More snippets to come in the next while.
There will always be further Summits Beyond.
In adventure,
Kevin
