West Side Forced Bivy Site to Black Pyramid Forced Bivy Site (12,700 feet) via Rock Overhang Forced Bivy Site (12,200 Feet)
After what seems like a few hours, it finally starts to get light out. Hooman eventually gets pushed off of his sitting platform by the falling snow accumulating between his back and the rock wall behind him. Inconveniently enough, at this point, gusts of wind start blowing up the mountain, ripping the rainfly up and over our heads, blasting us with loose snow and blowing away the insignificant amount of heat that had accumulated under the rainfly and under our sleeping bags. Hooman suggests that we should descend. Neither Dan or I are even remotely comfortable with the idea of downclimbing the steep and now loose snow-covered slopes that we spent the past two days ascending, and we decide that it’s time to move up.
One of the most important pieces of beta that we got from the climbing rangers at the beginning of the trip was to head towards the Willis Wall on the left hand side of the ridge if we ever lost the route. Right now, we’re on the right side of the ridge, so we decide to try and find a way back over to the other side, and see if we can continue up. We traverse back down the ridge, hugging the rock cliff, mostly for psychological comfort, and make our way to the left side of the ridge, where we find navigable snow slopes, and continue up the ridge. After less than 100 feet of climbing thru the whiteout, it becomes apparent that we aren’t going to be able to climb very effectively in these conditions with such limited visibility and loose snow on the steep slope.
A short distance above us, there is another band of cliffs with a large overhang that looks like it would be a good shelter. Hooman and I climb up to have a look, and we decide that it would be a decent place for another bivy. Dan reaches the cliff face, and we proceed to rig the rainfly in front of the rock overhang, giving us shelter from most of the blowing snow.
Overhang Bivy Site, with Rainfly Rigged as Tarp
We get as comfortable as possible in our cramped little space, and I set about trying to use my cell phone to call the rangers and various other parties who are expecting us to be down from the mountain. Much to our surprise, after several unsuccessful attempts, we get thru to the NPS Rainier climbing rangers at the Paradise Ranger station, and inform them that we are pinned down by the weather at about 12,200 feet on the side of Liberty Ridge, that we have enough food and fuel for the remainder of the climb, and finally, that we will not be off the mountain by our original exit day. The phone continues to cooperate, and we also reach the management at the REI where Dan and Hooman are scheduled to work the next day, and let them know that neither of them will be able to make it for their scheduled shift. Finally, I manage to reach my friend Elsa, and let her know that I probably won’t be able to bartend for her party in Puyallup on the 16th, part of the original plan for this visit to Seattle.
Jared, Hooman and Dan Happy to be Alive
The snow continues to fall as we huddle in our cave, visibility limited to our immediate rocky and snowy surroundings.
View from Bivy Site in Whiteout
After an eternity of shivering and waiting, the skies finally open up, visibility improves and we are greeted with stronger winds but also patches of blue sky.
View from Overhang with Improving Visibility
We pack up our gear, break down the improvised shelter, and begin the hardest climbing yet on the route, thru a 2-3 foot deep layer of very unstable, unconsolidated fresh snow that, when weighted, slides back downhill under body weight, making each step a struggle for balance, and making upward progress incredibly difficult and tiring. In addition to the crappy snow conditions, the wind quickly picks up, and eventually becomes yet another howling gale coming down the mountain straight at us, blowing all of the recently fallen snow down the hill in a steady river of snow. This surreal moving river of white is our nemesis and constant companion for the next 500 feet of climbing, and each step up is a battle against the wind, the loose snow, fatigue, and the cold.
Hooman Fighting the Wind and Blowing Snow
After several hours of struggling up against the wind and the cascading mass of snow that seems determined to prevent any upward movement, sometimes stopping every step to gasp for breath, I finally reach a tiny, exposed rocky ridge, the only flat ground visible anywhere on the ridge at this point. I drag myself up to the rock ledge, and quite literally collapse next to Dan in the shelter of a small boulder, completely and utterly spent. After several minutes to catch my breath, we discuss options, and despite the fact that I am more exhausted than I have ever been at any point in my life, I insist that we keep going up, mostly because I don’t want to stop here and freeze, and as difficult as the climbing is, it keeps us warm. Hooman and Dan convince me that finding the correct path at the top of the route would be impossible with the blowing snow limiting visibility, so we decide to bivy here at this extremely exposed but reasonably flat spot. I’m pretty much incoherent at this point in the trip, but manage to muster enough energy to agree, and Dan and I start to hack frozen rocks out of the ground to build a small wall to shelter us from the furious winds blasting us. After 30 minutes of building, we have a small wall that takes most of the edge off of the gale, and we all crawl miserably into our bags, and wait to fall asleep, an difficult prospect, since we are still be pummeled mercilessly by the wind and spindrift.
An Incoherent Jared Sacked up at Black Pyramid Bivy
The platform that we are perched on is nerve-wracking in and of itself, with a jaw-dropping 75 foot cliff only inches from our feet falling onto a slope littered with jagged volcanic rocks , with 3,000+ feet of exposure immediately beyond the initial cliff.
View From Edge of Black Pyramid
Thankfully, we are wedged so solidly into place by the rock wall and a large, immobile rock next to me that we often need to synchronize rolling over and sleeping positions in order to prevent elbows to the ribs, although being squeezed together this tightly certainly helps keep us warm. We are continually blasted by spindrift, and are forced to tighten the breathing holes on our sleeping bags to the smallest possible diameter to keep out the wind and snow. While checking the top of my bag for snow accumulation after some particularly fierce gusts, I make the unpleasant discovery that the sharp volcanic rock near my feet has ripped a two inch hole in the bottom of my down sleeping bag, and small clusters of down are attempting to escape. Thankfully, duct tape is handy, and the hole is patched as well as it can be, considering the circumstances. Also, at some point on the trip, Dan’s inflatable sleeping pad has developed a leak, so I end up lying on a snow patch with a thin, uninflated layer of nylon and foam under me, which turns out to be less uncomfortable than I thought it might be when the leak was originally discovered early in the evening. After several hours of huddling on our cramped little patch of flat real estate, it starts to get dark, and I don’t remember much after this point, so I think that I might have actually fallen asleep for at least a few hours that night
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