Mount Rainier, Kautz Glacier

August 2003

The Team

This was probably the most serendipitous climbing team I’ve ever done a peak with. Martino I knew from business school and had been trying to do a route in the Cascades with for four years (without success, for a variety of reasons). John Hillstrom I knew from undergrad, but, with the exception of a chance meeting two years ago, hadn’t talked to since we graduated from college. That chance meeting was really responsible for this climb. Summer 2001: Ed and Martino are struggling up the Casaval Ridge on Mount Shasta, toting ski gear for a fun descent. Two guys come whipping up behind, moving light and super fast. As they come into view we greet each other, as climbing teams usually do. One guy looks familiar… “John?!?” I ask. “Ed?!?” He replies. We laugh and catch up a bit, high on the mountain, introducing our respective partners. John’s partner this day is John Street, who happened to know and have climbed with one of my fraternity brothers from college (this is a weird, small world). Anyway, we make plans to try to climb together again and off they go, blasting for the summit. We follow more slowly with our heavier packs and have a fantastic day.

I end up climbing again with Street later that summer, when I learn that I have found someone stronger and bolder than myself, if maybe not quite as experienced on technical terrain. After he solos a ten foot section of pretty vertical ice I ask him, “so, how much ice climbing have you done?” He replies with a characteristic grin and cock of the head, “this is my first time.” I groan in disbelief. Fast forward to August 2003. We four make plans to reunite and tackle the Kautz glacier on Mount Rainier. We make a great foursome:, Martin has spent more time on Cascade glaciers than the other three of us combined, I will lead all the technical climbing, and Street and Hillstrom are two of the strongest guys I know, and end up dragging Martino and I up the route.

Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself..."

CS Lewis

The Approach

After some negotiating in Seattle with gear and a couple rental brain buckets we were on our way to the mountain. We checked in and found that there was one other party that would be attempting the route at the same time we were. The rangers were characteristically unhelpful, with no value add on the conditions of the route or the glacier. We packed up and set off on a pretty afternoon.

The hike up to high camp was reasonably uneventful. We trudged along trails lined with pretty mountain flowers, then dropped down onto a dirty glacier to cross over to the ridge which led up to our high camp. We got our first taste of what Cascade glaciers would be like when we crossed a short crevasse field with small snow bridges and (what looked to me like) gigantic crevasses.

Soon we were on easy snow and wandering along this ridge to high camp. Then began the first set of arguments between Martino and I that would persist for the entirety of the route… rope up or no? Suffice it to say that my rather cavalier attitude toward avoiding crevasses didn’t sit quite right with the NOLS instructor. In general, Martino won those arguments and we spent much of the first day roped together and moving pretty efficiently across the glacier. We stamped down some snow and set up our high camp at 9600 feet next to a small stream that provided running water (what a fantastic addition!). All day the weather had been pretty dicey, with low clouds and fog obscuring the route. But in the evening the clouds parted and we were treated to a good view of the icefall and upper sections of the route.

The Route

The next day dawned cold and foggy as we geared up in the pre-dawn darkness. A small breakfast and some water and we were on our way up the Turtle snowfield, headed for the crux ice chute. As we ascended I could hear occasional thunderclaps echoing across the mountain (usually followed by my own voice screaming profanities as I realized that I was likely going to get turned back by bad weather on yet another summit goal).

By the time we reached the icefall above our high camp (at about 11,500 feet) we were thoroughly disheartened. We got lost trying to find the descent into the rock gulley which would give us access to the Kautz glacier, and the weather persisted its gray and dreary ways (although the thunder had stopped). Finally we made our way to the base of the ice chute as the mountain began to light up (it was still far too foggy to make out a “sunrise”). We roped up and I took the lead up 40 degree stepped ice. It was fun climbing… we were simuling the whole route so I would occasionally put in pro and clip a Tibloc to the rope, so that if one of the guys fell he wouldn’t yank me off with him. I ascended to the top of the first pitch to be met by a large, seemingly impassable crevasse.

Thus came the first inflection point in the climb. Martin and I debated about what to do… the crevasse was long and bounded on each side by icefall. Ten feet deep and almost as wide, it was impossible to simply step across. Why bother, we wondered? It was much later in the morning that we thought it should be given where we were on the route and the weather had not improved. The summit was a virtual impossibility, and reversing this section was going to be difficult. Why shouldn’t we just bail now and call it a day? Hillstrom, the heart of the team at that point in the climb, deftly advocated that we climb on just for the fun of it, rather than heading back to camp and sitting in our tents. I paced back and forth along the crevasse, an angry tiger pacing his cage. “Oh, f**k it,” I say, to no one in particular, and turn to slam my tools into the lip of the crevasse. I plan to downclimb ten feet to where a bottleneck in the crevasse has gathered enough debris to make a small bridge, step across and pop out the other side. I do it. That’s not so hard, I think, and the rest of the team follows as I belay them across.

We wander up a gradual snowfield to another pitch of low-angle ice which leads out of the crux chute. I reach the top and bring my partners up, feeling the despair of what looks like will be a fruitless climb. Then, ever so slowly, it dawns on me that I can see the glowing yellow orb of the sun fighting to peek through the clouds. I stare at it, as if I can will the weather to improve. “There is no spoon” I think. The team gathers at the top of the chute and we discuss options. Well, we can go down, we can stay here, or we can go up (I lamely state the obvious). Our big worry is that if we launch into the upper Kautz glacier in the fog we will be unable to find our way back to this chute. If the weather stays as it is, it will make for very difficult route-finding on the return. But that yellow orb proves persistent and it shows signs of clearing. Finally we agree to continue, still not believing we have a shot at the summit. Slowly we begin navigating the crevasse field on the upper Kautz as the clouds lift and the sun gathers strength. We pass through the second metaphysical bottleneck on the route.

The upper Kautz glacier is in horrible shape, and we are moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. The route wanders left and right, only occasionally wanded, as we work our way through, over, and around formidable crevasses. Soon we reach an impasse, at maybe 12,500 feet. Still 2000 feet from the summit and approaching noon Martin again raises the notion of bailing. I am starting to hear the summit gremlin but agree that we are in a bad spot. Street calls up from below, “should I traverse over to the rocks?” He is volunteering to scout a path around the entire crevasse field, and from my perch it looks like it will go. It means flipping the rope team on it end with Street leading. “Do it!” I call down, figuring this is it, go or no go.

Street moves efficiently over to the rocks and ascends past the crevasse that barred our way, gathering speed and confidence as we move higher on the glacier. I begin to believe that we may have a shot at the summit. Soon the team is accelerating as maybe we all smell the possibility of success as we find a new gear. Street is an absolute madman and is literally dragging Martin and I at the other end of the rope. We decide later that the adverb “streetly” must mean digging down to find that reserve of strength we all have and taking whatever activity up a notch. Anyway, up the slope we go toward the summit ridge, through this weird field of penitents. I look back on this as the third inflection point in the climb, when Street takes the lead and drives the team forward. Ironically, he would pay for this later with a bought of altitude sickness, but for now he is pulling us on.

Soon we make the ridge and can see the rounded summit across a snowfield and a small rock scramble. We drop our rope and small packs and make a beeline for our goal, all of us slowed considerably by the altitude. We’ve won, though, and soon we are on top, goofing around and taking pictures. The wind has kicked up and it is 3:00, time to go down, right now.

We stop for some food back near our packs then begin our descent. The late afternoon snow makes the crevasse field even more dangerous than on the way up, and we are slow to move through and back to the mouth of the ice chute. Street is really feeling the altitude and I realize that we all need to get down before sickness and weather create an epico. Now it is really time to go. Fortunately the weather cooperates and we can easily make out the features which mark the beginning of the chute. Once there, I set up a rappel for the guys, then rap/downclimb myself. We belay over the crevasse and all downclimb the lower ice pitch. We ascend toward the icefall as the sun begins to set. I start to relax as I realize that we did it.

The rest of the descent isn’t entirely without incident as we want to make sure we head down the correct snowfield in the gathering darkness. I look back and realize that the clouds have swallowed the upper sections of the route again, as if the mountain is closing the way behind us. I shudder with what could have been and head down. With weather like that you rarely win, but sometimes you do. I am pretty sure we are on the right track and soon we are back at our tents, drinking water, preparing food, and celebrating.

The next day was without incident and we celebrated with beer and a jacuzzi back in Seattle. This was a fantastic route, although it was in very poor shape, and a really fantastic team. Nice work, guys.

I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway...you rarely win, but sometimes you do.

Harper Lee

To Kill a Mockingbird