Rainier Mountaineer

How I Came to Climb Mount Rainier

My name is Abbie and I live in the suburbs of Boston. I successfully climbed Mount Rainier in August 2010 on the 4 day climb through RMI Guides. It is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and it was not necessarily always “fun,” but the entire experience was amazing. I want to write it all down because I know that over time some of the memories will fade. Moreover, I want to share my story with others who might be interested in climbing Rainier and want to know more about what the entire experience is like, from the first day of training to arriving at the summit.

I grew up in Seattle, Washington. On clear days Mount Rainier looms in the distance over the city. I always found it to be a powerful and strong, yet incredibly beautiful sight. As I grew up, I began to thing about the possibility of one day climbing it. My father had attempted to climb Rainier in 1980, but had been turned back due to weather. He said he would climb Rainier with me when the time came. Once I hit 28, now married and with children probably in the not-too-distant future, I figured it was time to make the climb a reality.

Training

Our climb was scheduled for mid August. I started training in March. Before that point I had considered myself to be fairly active, doing some kind of aerobic activity (usually power walking, elliptical training, and aerobic videos) 3-4 times a week, for about ½ hour each session. I did not do much strength training other than the little bit that was on workout videos I occasionally used. My relevant experience included day hiking and/or occasional backpacking trips in the White Mountains of NH, and in Washington State when I had lived there.

After signing up, I did a decent amount of research on the RMI website and other online sources about how to train for mountaineering. Many of them were fairly vague, listing types of activities that would be beneficial, but not much on how often to do them, or for how long. Above all, they said, you must be in the best shape of your life. Whatever that means.

I took training very seriously. I loosely outlined my goals: I would train about 4 times a week, and increase my workout sessions from 30 minutes to 45 minutes in March. In April I would go up to 1 hour. In May, 1 ½ hour. In June, 2 hours. And in July, 2 and ½ hours, although I ended up working out about 1 ½ to 2 hours at a time during the last weeks. Another goal was to find out ways to train without joining a gym. Gyms kind of skeeve me out, and I really didn’t want to spend the extra money.

I started out by beefing up my strength training regimen and used the strength training videos that I had ignored before. I focused a lot on my quads and hamstrings. I also started running, just to get my body used to an oxygen deficit knowing that I would not be able to experience high altitude prior to the climb. Prior to this I had always proclaimed that I hated running, and I did. For the first two weeks it was painful and I had to force myself to throw on my running shoes. But over that time my body got used to it and all of a sudden it became fairly enjoyable and I was able to hit zones where I felt like I could run forever.

I started going on long bike rides as well. And in June, after colleges got out for the summer, I would go over to the Boston College football field and walk stadium steps with a backpack full of old textbooks (probably around 20 lbs). The month of July offered weather that allowed me to go down to the Blue Hills south of Boston or up to New Hampshire for long day hikes in the White Mountains. These hikes would last about 6 hours and gain anywhere from 2,000-2,800 feet in elevation.

In July I had a major setback in my training. My husband and I hiked Mount Liberty in the Whites. We were on our way down and I noticed my knees were really hurting, despite using my trekking poles to my greatest ability. For days after the hike, going up or down stairs or hills or squatting resulted in pain in both knees and a popping sound like rice krispies. Even at rest a dull aching persisted in the joints. I saw an orthopedic surgeon and he diagnosed me with Patellar Chondromalacia: basically the weakening of the cartiledge of my knees due to overuse. It causes the joint to become irritated and painful and it is treated with rest and physical therapy. However, because the climb was just 5 weeks away, he said that there was not enough time for rest and PT to help treat it. He also said that it didn’t preclude me from going on the trip as long as I was able to put up with the pain.

Discouraged, I continued to train. I focused less on strength training since the squats and lunges were too painful, and more on running, hiking, biking, and using the elliptical in our basement. I also now had major doubts that I would be successful. Google searches for “training to climb Mount Rainier” ended up just provoking anxiety since they would produce posts from people who would climb 30 flights of stairs three times a day with a 50 lb pack on their back. And my knees still hurt, despite heroic doses of ibuprofen and frequent icing. When the climb was a week away, I decided to stop training all together and give my body some time to rest and repair itself.

In the end, however, it turned out to be enough, and it all paid off. Yes, you need to be in excellent shape to climb Rainier. But you also need to be able to handle the altitude and the elements as well as the mental challenge it poses you. There were huge dudes on my climb who told me about their insane training schedules that blew mine out of the water but who had to turn back due to altitude issues, muscle cramps, or other setbacks. Yet there was another guy who said his training consisted of “renting a bunch of equipment and going to the chiropractor” who was successful. The RMI guides all said that they have learned never to try to predict who will make it and who won’t. They have been surprised too many times.

Equipment

RMI gives you a list of every last item you need for the climb. I rented all of the technical equipment as well as some clothing: the ice axe, harness and carabiner, climbing pants and hardshell pants, crampons, helmet, down parka, and hardcore mittens.

I opted to buy my own mountaineering boots, which was a pretty hefty financial investment. I got leather boots made by La Sportiva, the Nepal model. Many other climbers rented leather boots from the rental store next to RMI and they all were surprised at how comfortable they were. One girl rented plastic boots from REI and wore them for the first time at climbing school. At the end of the day her feet were covered in blisters. She abandoned the plastics and rented leather boots from Whittaker and ended up being one of the few that made it to the top.

I did not regret buying boots. My feet are very flat and narrow and I am prone to heel blisters. I was able to wear the boots during my training hikes and find out exactly how to tape up my feet to prevent blisters. I put duoderm over my heels, covered that with duct tape and at the end of the climb I had no heel blisters. I did however, develop blisters on the middle toe of each foot and will probably lose a nail. However, they caused minimal discomfort and it was a small price to pay for reaching the top of Rainier.

Everything else I either already owned or purchased myself. RMI recommends a 70 liter pack. I think that this is bigger than you really need. I had an REI Valhalla pack that was probably 65 liters and I had more than enough space for my stuff. It also helps if you stick only to the packing list they give you and forget about anything that you REALLY don’t need.

At the end of the day I used about 90% of the equipment on the climb. The only items I didn’t use were my base layer pants (I wore only the climbing pants the entire time), the hardshell pants, hardshell jacket, and the heavy duty mittens. But I was glad I had them along because you can’t predict what the weather is going to be like as you go up the mountain.

The Climb-- Orientation

Day One of the 4-day climb consisted of a basic orientation, introductions, and equipment check. Day two was climbing school. We went over to Rainier with our climbing gear and a couple of clothing layers and hiked up to a snowfield that was at a little over 6,000 feet. We started out learning the various techniques for walking in snow up and down hills, using the mountaineering boots as a platform. At this point they taught us about pressure breathing, a deep breathing technique that helps the body adjust to higher altitude. We threw on crampons, grabbed our ice axes and learned how to self arrest falling down feet first and head first. We threw on the ropes and harnesses and practiced walking as a rope team, allowing an appropriate distance between us and the person in front, as well as how to maneuver the rope at switchbacks.

We came back from climbing school and ate dinner. I had to take an ativan before going to sleep.

The Climb--Paradise to Muir

We woke up early in the morning to get our packs ready and check out of the room. It was overcast and the air was chilly but I figured that, like the day before, the clouds would eventually burn off, yielding to a sunny day. We walked down to the tent marked ‘Summit Climb’ and met up with our excited and nervous climbing companions. After arriving at Paradise and unloading our packs Seth (our lead guide) gave us a few minutes to choose our climbing attire, apply sunscreen, fill water bottles, use the bathroom, and tighten up our boots. The hike up to Muir took about 5 hours and we gained 5,000 feet in elevation, ultimately arriving at 10,000 feet. The initial trail was a cement path that, after about a mile, turned to dirt and gravel. It was fairly easy hiking and many of our teammates opted to wear sneakers or lighter boots for this leg of the journey. The pace was slower than what I was used to and what I had been going at on previous hikes. However, I could also feel the weight of my pack affecting the muscles in my hips and legs, which were burning a bit at this point. About 2.5 miles in, where the path ran into a large snowfield that would lead us to Muir, we all donned our mountaineering boots and set out to hone the skills we had learned the day before.

The guides took turns leading us in a long line up the steep, snowy hill. Throughout the day we broke 4 times. Each break was expected to run efficiently and smoothly: put down your pack, pull out food and water (we each brought 2 full Nalgenes, so we rationed half of a bottle for each break), sit on your pack and do everything you needed to do as quickly as possible. Not much time for shooting the breeze or lounging without purpose. Before you could even start to digest your food, the guides were throwing on their packs and asking us to follow suit. Our packs were at their heaviest at this point, probably around 35 pounds. We had all of our gear plus food for the next 30 hours. Despite my worries that I had not prepared myself enough to carry a heavy pack, after the 1st hour, besides a mildly sore neck I could hardly tell it was there. The burning in my legs had stopped as my body surrendered to the heavy load and the journey I was forcing it to take.



At one point, I was following Lindsay, one of the assistant guides. We had just started up from a break and the slope was getting steeper, probably around 30 degrees. The steep slope made me nervous. Vivid visions of my poor body tumbling uncontrollably down the snow whipped through my head as I apprehensively focused on putting my feet on the small shelves that Lindsay had imprinted into the hill. I thought maybe the altitude was affecting me and contributing to my sudden anxiety so I increased my pressure breathing. But we continued at a slow, controlled pace and Lindsay, who was also young and from Boston, kept a good conversation going and distracted me from my worries as we talked about Beantown, and other topics of mutual interest. At one point, a line of guys who had just summited the peak walked past us. “You climbing to the top?” the first one asked. “We’re gonna try,” Lindsay replied casually. “Well,” said the guy, assuming a proud attitude, “If you need a guide, let me know.” Lindsay humored him with a laugh. After they passed by she said, “One thing about being a female guide, you get into a lot of awkward conversations.”

The Climb--10 Hours at Muir

We arrived at Muir at around 3pm and were immediately instructed to put down our packs against a rock wall to the side of the RMI bunkhouse. The building was about 11 feet by 18 feet and was lined with bunks stacked three levels up to sleep 18 people. There was a very small open area in the middle and obviously not enough room for everyone to bring their entire pack in. So we brought about half of the contents of our pack into the bunk: all of our food (there were foxes around that had been known to get into packs for food), dishes, sleeping bag, parka for a pillow, earplugs, toothbrush and paste, toilet paper, and any clothing we might wear at the start of our climb in the middle of the night including avalanche transceiver, helmet with headlamp, and harness, All sharp objects were kept outside with the packs.



After unpacking, I drank a whole nalgene of water and thought about eating something. And I will now take this time to touch upon nourishment during the climb. Food and water intake contribute hugely to ones ability to deal with high altitude and also to supply they body with energy as well as aid in self repair. So during breaks or at Muir, it is in your best interest to eat or drink whatever you can. And as much as you can. Great. The concept is amazing: you have carte blanch to eat all the crap you love that, in the outside world, is not considered healthy. The problem is that the altitude unfortunately depresses any desire you might have to eat. As Seth, our lead guide, put it: “If you don’t like a warm, chewy Power Bar at sea level, then you most definitely won’t like a cold, hard Power Bar at 14,000 feet. So I stocked up on peanut butter cups, cookies, chips, and pizza, my favorites.

It was almost like eating became a form of punishment. Even two days after the climb was over, I was still struggling to muster up an appetite. We were breaking every hour to hour and a half. The breaks were as short as possible, many of them not over ten minutes long. I had never felt so repulsed by an Almond Joy bar and it took all my willpower to cram half of it down my throat. For me, it was also difficult to resume climbing so quickly after eating and drinking, and my stomach would churn uncomfortably for a bit until my body would finally figure out what to do with the food.

The worst was at Muir. We arrived and I took the opportunity to force myself to eat some real food, initially consuming most of a premade roast beef sandwich. We were instructed to eat dinner an hour later and be in bed by 6pm. My dinner was a freeze-dried, just-add-water pasta primavera. It was actually surprisingly good, but on top of a half digested sandwich, I was not enjoying it as much as I might have otherwise. Everything felt like it was sitting in my stomach like a rock.

I thankfully didn’t have any problem drinking and maintaining hydration. With all of the physical activity and power breathing, you lose water pretty quickly. And dehydration can exacerbate symptoms of altitude sickness, as well as lead to electrolyte imbalances. I used powdered Gatorade in my water bottles and recommend that everyone considering this climb do the same. It certainly appealed to my taste buds more than plain water.

The guides sat us down after dinner to tell us who we were on rope teams with and to discuss what the events would be over the next few hours and during the actual climb. I was surprised to find out that my dad and I were on the same team. I had been told that RMI avoided putting family members and friends on the same rope team to avoid dealing with any baggage or bickering between them. They recommended that we try to be in our sleeping bags by 6pm since they would be waking us up to start the climb sometime between 11pm and 2am. We scurried around, trying to organize our stuff to enable us to get ready quickly in the morning. I was one of the first to go to bed, and stuffed ear plugs in my ears. This was key since it seemed like many people took a couple hours extra to get in bed. I don’t think anyone slept well over the next 6 hours. I got maybe one hour of solid sleep, but was mostly drifting in and out as far as I could tell. My sleeping bag was rated for 10 degrees above zero and was too warm, so I think the inability to regulate my temperature contributed to the lack of sleep that night. I also didn’t dare to take a sleeping aid since not enough time would pass for the drug to get out of my system.

We were woken up at midnight by the assistant guides carrying fresh and hot water into our bunk and turning on the lights. They went over what the weather was like outside the hut and what kind of layers they would start out wearing. I threw on a light top base layer and a fleece and just my climbing pants. I used a trip to the bathroom as an excuse to see whether it would be enough. I felt a little chilly, which was about right. The guides had said if you feel comfortable standing outside then you are wearing too much. But if you feel like you are freezing, then you need another layer somewhere. I went back inside to make my breakfast. It still felt like the sandwich and pasta from the previous evening were still sitting in my stomach. But I whipped up some instant Cream of Wheat and shoveled it into my mouth. I threw on my avalanche transceiver and then stared at my harness. For the life of me I couldn’t make sense of the tangled webbing but eventually got it on in what I thought was the correct way. I grabbed the plastic bag full of gear that I would need for the climb, leaving behind the unessentials like my sleeping bag, sandals, dishware, trekking poles, and some food. I put on my helmet with headlamp and headed out to my pack and proceeded to stock it up the way we were instructed: clothing layers on the bottom, then food, then full water bottles, and finally the parka. I put on my gaiters and crampons and headed over to my rope team, lead by the lead guide, Seth. He handed me my loop on the rope and as he was helping me hook up to it, he realized that I had put on my harness backwards! We fixed the problem, the other two climbers roped up with us, Paul was behind Seth and in front of me, and my dad was behind me and last in the line. Once we were all ready, we headed out into the darkness.

The Climb-- Summiting: Cowlitz Glacier to Ingraham Flats

This section was by far the easiest leg of our climb. We traversed the Cowlitz Glacier, which was pretty flat. We had to be careful to leave the right amount of space between us and the next person up. The rope should have a little slack on each end. It shouldn’t be pulled tight, but it also shouldn’t have so much slack that it is curling up on the ground at risk to be stepped on and stabbed by sharp crampon spikes.

After traversing the Cowlitz, we found ourselves stomping up the Cathedral Gap. It is a steep hill of rocks and pumice dust. We slowly crisscrossed our way up, kicking up dirt as we walked. It was a bit awkward walking in crampons on rock. I found it easier in the softer, dustier sections that gave when the crampon spikes dug into it.

Looking up, I could see other rope teams way up on the mountain, little twinkling lines of headlamps plodding their way up to the summit. I later learned that other guide services based out of Seattle will have their clients summit in the middle of the night so that they can get back to the city early in the day.

We wound our way across the Ingraham Flats and took a break just before Disappointment Cleaver. The moon was low in the sky, and would set early giving us little assistance in the way of illumination. However, the night was clear and when you looked up it was as though every star in the universe had come out to watch over our little journey. I kept my headlamp focused on the stomped out path in front of me as we wound our way through icy walls of snow, barely illuminated by our lights. In some way, I was thankful for the lack of visibility of my surroundings. I felt nervous enough as it was and was sure that seeing the potential for ice falls or open cravasses would make things worse.

Just before Disappointment Cleaver, we stopped for a break. I put down my ice axe, then pack, threw on my parka and pulled out some water and food. Again, I had two full Nalgenes full of Gatorade. This time we had six breaks before returning to Muir (and to a water source) so I tried to limit my water consumption to about 300 mL every break.

I was on a rope with three others: Seth was in front, followed by Paul, from California, then me, and my dad at the end. Paul dropped his pack and flopped down on top of it, neglecting to pull out his parka or any food. “Paul, put your parka on,” Seth instructed. Paul struggled to pull his parka out while still sitting on his pack. “This climb is harder for you than it should be,” said Seth. I wasn’t sure why he was saying this. The only reason I can think of is that Paul hadn’t been able to keep up and Seth could feel a lot of pull on the rope subsequently.

“I don’t feel too good,” said Paul, “I’m feeling dizzy.”

Seth paused. “Well that isn’t exactly ideal.” He asked Paul if he had had any other symptoms that might be consistent with altitude sickness (headache, nausea…dizziness isn’t typically one of them).

“I’m just dizzy,” Paul insisted, “I just need to lie down for a bit.” And he flopped back on to his pack.

“Well, do you feel well enough to go on?” Seth asked.

“I don’t know,” Paul gasped, “I think I could try.”

I sat nervously sipping my Gatorade watching this unfold. The next leg of our journey over Disappointment Cleaver would be our longest, most strenuous, and most dangerous stretch. The thought of tying myself up to some one proclaiming to be dizzy did not exactly inspire confidence.

We sat a few minutes longer. Another guide noticed that Paul had a giant rock stuck between the spikes of his crampon and helped wrench it free with her ice axe. Seth stood up and said it was time to pack up and continue. I pulled off my parka, stood up and opened my pack. Paul did the same, except that when he turned to open his bag, he fell straight onto the ground.

“Paul, are you sure you want to keep going?” Seth asked. Are you KIDDING me? I thought, You’re still considering letting him continue?? “I need an answer, and if you fall again I’m making the decision for you.”

I stood there growing colder with each second now that my parka had been packed away. But Paul conceded and headed back to Muir with a couple of others that had decided to turn back. This meant another couple of minutes standing in the cold without my parka. I started pumping my arms and legs, trying to build up some warmth. Our rope leader returned. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes!” I rushed, “Let’s get moving, I’m cold!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,”

“I’m not, I feel great about the decision that was made.”

He laughed and we continued on.

The Climb-- Summiting: Disappointment Cleaver

We made our way to the base of the Cleaver and shortened up the ropes. We were now at about 11,100 feet. This was the leg of the route that I had worried about most, primarily because I heard it was the most physically demanding part of the climb, but without having ever been told exactly why.

The Cleaver gained its name when the first men to attempt to summit Rainier got to the top of this pile of rocks, thinking they had reached the summit. But when the clouds cleared, they found that they still had a long way to go.

The majority of this stretch was on rock, and as we gained elevation we trekked through a few snowy spots. It was similar to Cathedral Gap in that it was essentially a large pile of rocks and pumice dust. It was significantly steeper than the Gap, and had no real trail other than red flags that RMI had put there as a guide. It was difficult to assess where exactly to put my feet, but since the rope tying us together was so much shorter it was easy to follow Seth’s steps. The guides had mentioned that there are a few spots on the Cleaver where, if you fell, you would literally fall off of the mountain. Again, the darkness helped mask these spots and I stayed focused on what was right in front of me.

I did not find this leg of the journey to be nearly as intense as I had thought it would be. I never felt unsteady on my feet, or that the rocks would slip out from under me. It was steep, but not horrible, and my pack was significantly lighter than the previous days trek to Muir. I felt most unsure about what to do with my ice axe during this stretch…it did leave you with only one hand free. After we reached the top of the Cleaver, more climbers turned back. I spoke to one woman afterwards who said her feet had been sliding, and rocks falling out from under her and at one point she had let go of the ice axe to stabilize herself. Her own mistakes scared her and she decided at that moment to turn around at the next break.

We were at the top of the Cleaver and at about 12,500 feet. I followed the same routine as before: parka on, food and water out, pack down. Way off in the distance I could see the lights of Yakima. After our climb I learned the many people had turned around at this point. Some, like the previously mentioned woman found the terrain to be more than she felt prepared for. Others began to be affected by the altitude, with bad headaches, nausea, and even vomiting.

At this point Seth looked at me and suggested that I keep my parka on for the rest of the ascent. I was confused at first, I hadn’t feel too cold while walking. But then he pointed out that I was shivering almost violently despite having my parka on (I wonder if I was becoming hypothermic, many people do not notice they are developing symptoms). I noticed that the wind had picked up considerably as well. He said that if the parka was too much, we could always stop quickly so that I could take it off. I also took this opportunity to upgrade from my liner gloves to ski gloves, and put on a hat and balaklava.

The Climb--Summiting: Cleaver to High Break and the Upper Mountain

We set out again from the Cleaver. At first I thought the parka would be too much, but soon the wind again became strong and I was glad I had it. Now we were slowly weaving our way along the switchbacks up the glaciers of the upper mountain. For me, this was the most nerve-wracking part. The slope was at a steep 45 degree angle. Our trail was only about a foot wide with an abrupt drop off of nothing but flat glacier wall below me, along with who knows how many crevasses. I tried to get a song into my head to help pass the time, but they wouldn’t stick. I was too honed in on my immediate surroundings and my next step. Our pace resembled a slow shuffle and I could focus only on the path in front of me and where to kick my feet in. Don’t look up the mountain, don’t look down the mountain, I kept thinking to myself. Anytime I tried to look up at my surroundings, I felt as though I was about to lose my footing and tumble uncontrollably downhill. I alternated from kick stepping to side stepping to rest stepping at slower times. And I never stopped pressure breathing. However, I had started to develop a dry, hacking cough. But I attributed this to the cold, dry air irritating my airway.

At one point we came to a crevasse that was about 3-4 feet wide. Someone had bridged it with a ladder hammered down in all four corners and with wooden planks tied on top of the rungs. On the uphill side of the ladder there was a post hammered on each side of the crevasse with a rope tying them together that served as a sort of handrail. Crossing over the crevasse wasn’t physically hard but mentally I had to go to my happy place and forget the gaping hole extending hundreds of feet underneath me.

High Break came about an hour after leaving the Cleaver at 13,600 feet. I could see the rocky rim of the crater looming not so far above us. The other rope teams caught up to us and I was astonished that there were only 8 climbers left among 4 guides. The darkness had obscured all of our breaks, and my rope team was always the first to leave, so I hadn’t realized that people were turning back.



I was barely able to relax since the slope was so steep. I was trying to pin myself against the side of the mountain, the heel of my crampons digging into the icy wall. I decided to forego any food at this break and stuck with finishing off my first bottle of Gatorade. It was starting to get lighter and I could see the crevasses crossing the glaciers in the mountain below. Suddenly Seth said “Sunrise is going to happen in 10 seconds.” And sure enough, the sun began to rise above the peaks of the Cascades in the distance that were skirted by clouds thousands of feet below. I felt completely detached from the rest of the world still sleeping beneath those clouds and totally unaware of what I was experiencing. I had my camera in the breast pocket of my parka and pulled it out to take some pictures.

We got back up and spent the last 45 minutes slugging out the steep slopes up the rest of the mountain. Before I knew it, we were at the crater with the wind pounding against us and scrambling over it to get down into the bowl.

The Climb: Summiting: At the Top

We spent 45 minutes at the summit, arriving at about 14,200 feet. A few other climbers went with a guide across the crater to the rim at the opposite side which was the true high point of the mountain, at 14,411 feet. I opted not to do this. I felt my time was better spent resting, eating something, taking some pictures, and reveling in my accomplishment. I still had to make it all the way back down the mountain and wanted to be in good shape for it.

There was a clear blue sky when we arrived at the top. It wasn’t any warmer in the crater and the clouds started rolling in overhead. We relaxed a little bit, ate some food, took pictures and when the group that went to the high point of the crater returned we took off our parkas, packed up, roped up and set on back down the trail.

The Climb: The Descent

It took us about 2.5 hours to get back to Muir. The sun had only been up for an hour or two but the snowy trail had already become slushy and my feet would slip and slide a little bit with each step I took. We were also walking with the wind now and sometimes the gusts were so strong that I feared they would blow me off balance. I found out afterwards that my dad felt the same way. Again, the descent was incredibly nerve-wracking with the 45 degree icy slope dropping off below us. And with the sun we could see the crevasses all around.



We took 2 breaks on the way down, one just above Disappointment Cleaver, and one at Ingraham Flats. Getting down the Cleaver wasn’t too bad in the light. I had a better idea of where to put my feet and, although our guides said there were a few points where, if you fell you would fall off the mountain, I never saw or felt acutely aware of this danger.



We finally made it back to Muir at about 11:15 am where the rest of our group greeted us with applause. We took an hour to rest, eat, and pack up everything we had left in the bunkhouse.

The descent from Muir was probably the least enjoyable part of the journey. Our packs were heavy again, and I was tired from the climb to the top. And, unlike coming down from the peak where I was seeing everything in the light for the first time, nothing was new to me coming down from Muir. However, there were several troughs worn into the slopes of the snowfield and we were able to use our garbage backs as sleds and slid down them instead of walking, which added some fun to the descent as well as saving my knees a bit of stress.

On the way down we passed another group of RMI climbers in a line parading their way up to Muir. I remember thinking about how I did not envy them in the least.

Once off the snowfield, we took our last break and continued our way down the dirt path. About a mile and a half before we reached Paradise my knees really started to bother me. I slowed down my pace quite a bit, and by the last couple hundred yards I was walking backwards.

Lots of park visitors who saw us making our way down with giant packs on our back asked us how far we climbed up. It felt really great to say “all the way to the top!” Never have I felt so cool in my life.

We finally arrived at Paradise. The first thing I did was take off my mountaineering boots and slip on my Keens and my feet screamed in relief. I went to the bathroom and realized that I hadn’t looked in a mirror in over 30 hours.

The Aftermath

We took the bus back to the RMI base, had a celebratory beer and our guides handed out certificates. We returned our rental gear, packed up the car and headed back to Seattle.

When I got home, I felt like crap. I was tired and achy and the cough I had developed on the way up the mountain had gotten worse and now I was producing green gunk. I dragged my stuff into the house and went straight to take a shower. I used the steam to cough up as much junk as I could for about 20 minutes. I thought of my patients with pneumonia and how we always encourage them to cough and deep breathe to mobilize secretions. Once I felt that I couldn’t get anything else out, I got out of the shower, put on pajamas and again was struck by my achiness. I took my temperature and the thermometer read 101 degrees. I went straight to bed and slept for 12 hours.

I woke up and felt great. My temperature was normal and the cough was more or less gone. In retrospect, I think the cough was a mild bronchitis brought on by the cold air and all of the pumice dust I inhaled while pressure breathing over Disappointment Cleaver and Cathedral Gap. And I think my body had been on overdrive creating heat to stay warm and that the hypermetabolic state had continued once I returned to sea level and the summer heat, turning into a fever. All that remained for the next couple of days was some aching in my knees and sore quad muscles.

As I write this, it's been about three weeks since the climb. I recall getting to the bottom and thinking I'm glad I did that, but I have no desire to do it again anytime soon. But as time goes on, memories tend to fade. Maybe it's because I need to fill the void in my life now that it doesn't revolve around work and training, but I just might be getting the itch to prepare myself again for another adventure like this soon.