June 16, 2007
Black Pyramid Forced Bivy Site (12,700 feet) to Emmons Glacier Crevasse Bivy Site (approx 10,000 feet) via Liberty Cap (14,112 feet)
We wake to another brilliant sunrise, a thick layer of clouds several thousand feet below us blanketing the rest of Washington, clear blue skies above us, and most importantly, virtually no wind.
Black Pyramid Forced Bivy Site (12,700 feet) to Emmons Glacier Crevasse Bivy Site (approx 10,000 feet) via Liberty Cap (14,112 feet)
We wake to another brilliant sunrise, a thick layer of clouds several thousand feet below us blanketing the rest of Washington, clear blue skies above us, and most importantly, virtually no wind.
View from Edge of Black Pyramid Bivy
After the single most dangerous bathroom break I have ever experienced (off the edge of the cliff at the edge of our bivy site) we start to get packed up and ready to go. Determined to prevent the “bonk” that I experienced during the climb yesterday, I eat a decent breakfast, and we use the last of our fuel to melt water for the remainder of the climb.
Black Pyramid Bivy Site
Well rested, fed, partially re-hydrated, and optimistic, we start up the remainder of the climb, with Liberty Cap, the summit for this route, in sight above us. The first section of our climb today takes us thru more of the same loose snow that we dealt with yesterday and finally onto some truly heinous steep, bulletproof alpine ice, blanketed by a thin, scattered layer of loose snow. After several hundred feet of this rock-hard 60+ degree ice interspersed with more loose snow patches, we reach some of the lowest angled terrain that we have seen since leaving the Carbon glacier, 4000+ feet below us, take a short break, and continue our upward slog toward the final summit pyramid.
Bulletproof Alpine Ice above Black Pyramid
The next part of the route takes us up and over two short near-vertical snow cliffs, and as a final mental crux, the path takes us across a monster crevasse, requiring us to jump/step over a 50+ foot deep, 3 foot wide crevasse, with 3,500+ feet of exposure directly to our left, an even bigger crevasse to our right, landing on a tiny, 1 square foot patch of snow and ice.
Dan and Hooman Approaching Headwall Cirque
This final step brings us into an enormous cirque of more steep, bulletproof alpine ice and snow, which will require roped lead ice climbing to reach the top of Liberty Cap, the summit pyramid. Climbing into the cirque, we decide on a route that traverses to the left of the steepest part of the ice wall, and takes a direct path to the summit. We set an anchor, and I start to climb out and over to the main headwall, traversing over some simple but loose snow and ice. When I reach the main headwall, I find boiler-plate ice that fractures off in huge chunks when I try to plant the ice tools, making for nerve-wracking, time consuming and tiring climbing. Thankfully, the slope angle is reasonably comfortable for ice climbing, and I am able to take short rests here and there on the wall. When I start this lead, the expectation is for one or possibly two rope lengths of climbing before we reached the lower angle slopes that would take us to the summit. Hooman finally informs me that I have 5 feet of rope left, and I am forced to set an anchor in the middle of nowhere on the steep slope, making for a relatively uncomfortable wait while Hooman and Dan climb the rope with ascenders. Dan takes a nasty fall while attempting to get over the cliff seperating the cirque from the main headwall. Thankfully no damage is done, and he joins me at the anchor, berating me for an carabiner that he found with a gate that had been forced open on one of my ice screw anchors.
Dan and Hooman on Summit Headwall Fixed Line
Hooman reaches the anchor, and I immediately set off on another lead, hoping that this will be the final rope-length that will take us up to the summit slopes. When I start this lead, the weather is still the same as it has been all morning – light winds, blue skies, and generally good climbing conditions. When I finish the rope-length 20 minutes later, the weather has taken a very serious turn for the worse, and we are now dealing with full blizzard conditions, with the winds getting stronger, and snow coming down harder than it has at any point on the climb so far. By the time Hooman and Dan catch up to me, I am nearing hypothermia, and quickly set out for another rope length of leading in order to warm myself back up and get us up and over to the summit as quickly as possible.
The weather gods of Rainier are now very, very pissed off at us. The wind is blowing stronger than it was the night before, and the snow is coming down in huge billows, limiting us to less than 100 foot visibility, less than 20 minutes after we could see blue skies in all directions. Climbing thru the worst conditions that we have yet seen on the mountain, I reach the end of the rope yet again, and set another anchor, and yet again freeze solid while Hooman and Dan climb up the fixed line. When they arrive, we unrope, and continue up the slope into the teeth of the storm, finally reaching some lower angle terrain. The rangers told us to be on the lookout for crevasses and rope up when we near the top of the route, and according to Dan’s altimeter, we are less than 200 feet from the summit. Since we still have less than 100 foot visibility, and we are pretty sure we’re almost at the top, we rope up, and continue climbing. The next part of the climb is basically a blur of white, cold and pain for me, and the next thing I know, we’re on our knees on a flat section of snow, with no slopes obvious in any direction. A quick, freezing half-hearted celebration and we’re on our way down.
After a 200 foot descent down a steep snow gully, we stop, uncertain of our path, with extremely limited visibility, and definitely no boot path to follow. At this point, the wind is constantly blasting us with rime ice, covering us in icy suits of armor. Our glacier goggles are quickly coated with ice, leaving us temporarily blind, and after repeated attempts at cleaning them off, I take off my glasses. I join Hooman and Dan 200 feet down in the gully, and after some quick route scouting, we determine that we’re on the wrong path, and the map comes out. After consulting the map, and Dan’s compass, it is decided that we need to head back up the gully that we just descended, and continue on across the ridge in the other direction, which will hopefully take us to the lower angle slopes leading to our descent route on the Winthrop/Emmons Glacier.
After we reach the top of the slope, we start heading in what we think is the right direction, which is confirmed by an occasional glimpse of the main summit of Rainier to our right thru the clouds. The visibility starts to increase, and we are finally able to determine that we are heading in the right direction.
At this point, we are all exhausted, freezing, and ready to be done with this particular adventure, but we still have more than 4000 feet to descend to reach the mecca of Camp Shurman, perched on Steamboat Prow, the rock outcropping that separates the Winthrop and Emmons Glaciers. We continue along the flats between Liberty Cap and the head of the Winthrop Glacier, and after a short discussion of another bivy near the top of the Winthrop near the Russell Cliffs, we continue on down the glacier. Despite the increase in visibility, we are still being continually blasted by gale force winds and loose snow.
The wind seems to intensify as we descend the steep upper Winthrop glacier, and as we plow quickly down thru 3 foot deep powder snow, I set off several small powder avalanches, narrowly avoiding a ride down the mountain after hopping over what looks like a small crevasse on one occasion. When I called the rangers from our cliff-side bivy earlier in the trip, one of the bits of info they gave me was that if we needed to descend the Emmons/Winthrop glacier in hurry, we should immediately begin our descent when we reached the Winthrop, instead of traversing across the top of the Winthrop to the top of the Emmons, as is common practice on this descent. At this point, I vaguely remember this bit of advice, and cross my fingers, terrified that we might end up in trouble, unable to descend any further on the route that I am taking us down, and be forced to ascend yet again thru the massive amounts of loose snow and screaming wind blowing violently down at us the slopes of the Winthrop.
The wind continues to howl, and definitely seems to be messing with our minds – it will blow very strongly for a minute, and then pause, disappearing completely for several seconds, only to come howling back down the glacier carrying more snow and sandblasting us for another minute, only to pause again, and repeat, ad nauseum. After 1000-1,500 feet of descent, we can actually see our salvation at Steamboat Prow far below us when the wind and blowing snow allow us a moment of visibility, which motivates me to charge ahead as fast as I am physically capable of at this point.
After some complex route finding around seracs and past crevassed areas, we reach the middle portion of the glacier, a large, relatively flat ridge of ice and snow called “The Corridor”, which is sandwiched between impassable areas of huge snow blocks, enormous crevasses and seracs that prevent passage below 12,000 feet down either side of the glacier. This route will eventually take us all the way down to Camp Shurman, still 2000+ feet below us, and since Hooman has been on this part of the route on previous climbs, he takes the lead, scouting past some of the biggest crevasses we have seen yet on the climb, including several pants-crappingly large snow bridges, including a 5 foot wide, 10 foot long monstrosity that starts to collapse as I cross it after Dan and Hooman have already walked on it, and falls away into the crevasse seconds after I step onto the ice on the far side, taking several years of my life with it. Hooman continues to lead us down and to the right side of the corridor, and we finally reach a spot that is too steep for us to continue down on foot. We set an anchor, and Hooman rappels down to the bottom of the cliff. I follow, and meet Hooman 100 feet below the anchor.
The weather gods of Rainier are now very, very pissed off at us. The wind is blowing stronger than it was the night before, and the snow is coming down in huge billows, limiting us to less than 100 foot visibility, less than 20 minutes after we could see blue skies in all directions. Climbing thru the worst conditions that we have yet seen on the mountain, I reach the end of the rope yet again, and set another anchor, and yet again freeze solid while Hooman and Dan climb up the fixed line. When they arrive, we unrope, and continue up the slope into the teeth of the storm, finally reaching some lower angle terrain. The rangers told us to be on the lookout for crevasses and rope up when we near the top of the route, and according to Dan’s altimeter, we are less than 200 feet from the summit. Since we still have less than 100 foot visibility, and we are pretty sure we’re almost at the top, we rope up, and continue climbing. The next part of the climb is basically a blur of white, cold and pain for me, and the next thing I know, we’re on our knees on a flat section of snow, with no slopes obvious in any direction. A quick, freezing half-hearted celebration and we’re on our way down.
After a 200 foot descent down a steep snow gully, we stop, uncertain of our path, with extremely limited visibility, and definitely no boot path to follow. At this point, the wind is constantly blasting us with rime ice, covering us in icy suits of armor. Our glacier goggles are quickly coated with ice, leaving us temporarily blind, and after repeated attempts at cleaning them off, I take off my glasses. I join Hooman and Dan 200 feet down in the gully, and after some quick route scouting, we determine that we’re on the wrong path, and the map comes out. After consulting the map, and Dan’s compass, it is decided that we need to head back up the gully that we just descended, and continue on across the ridge in the other direction, which will hopefully take us to the lower angle slopes leading to our descent route on the Winthrop/Emmons Glacier.
After we reach the top of the slope, we start heading in what we think is the right direction, which is confirmed by an occasional glimpse of the main summit of Rainier to our right thru the clouds. The visibility starts to increase, and we are finally able to determine that we are heading in the right direction.
At this point, we are all exhausted, freezing, and ready to be done with this particular adventure, but we still have more than 4000 feet to descend to reach the mecca of Camp Shurman, perched on Steamboat Prow, the rock outcropping that separates the Winthrop and Emmons Glaciers. We continue along the flats between Liberty Cap and the head of the Winthrop Glacier, and after a short discussion of another bivy near the top of the Winthrop near the Russell Cliffs, we continue on down the glacier. Despite the increase in visibility, we are still being continually blasted by gale force winds and loose snow.
The wind seems to intensify as we descend the steep upper Winthrop glacier, and as we plow quickly down thru 3 foot deep powder snow, I set off several small powder avalanches, narrowly avoiding a ride down the mountain after hopping over what looks like a small crevasse on one occasion. When I called the rangers from our cliff-side bivy earlier in the trip, one of the bits of info they gave me was that if we needed to descend the Emmons/Winthrop glacier in hurry, we should immediately begin our descent when we reached the Winthrop, instead of traversing across the top of the Winthrop to the top of the Emmons, as is common practice on this descent. At this point, I vaguely remember this bit of advice, and cross my fingers, terrified that we might end up in trouble, unable to descend any further on the route that I am taking us down, and be forced to ascend yet again thru the massive amounts of loose snow and screaming wind blowing violently down at us the slopes of the Winthrop.
The wind continues to howl, and definitely seems to be messing with our minds – it will blow very strongly for a minute, and then pause, disappearing completely for several seconds, only to come howling back down the glacier carrying more snow and sandblasting us for another minute, only to pause again, and repeat, ad nauseum. After 1000-1,500 feet of descent, we can actually see our salvation at Steamboat Prow far below us when the wind and blowing snow allow us a moment of visibility, which motivates me to charge ahead as fast as I am physically capable of at this point.
After some complex route finding around seracs and past crevassed areas, we reach the middle portion of the glacier, a large, relatively flat ridge of ice and snow called “The Corridor”, which is sandwiched between impassable areas of huge snow blocks, enormous crevasses and seracs that prevent passage below 12,000 feet down either side of the glacier. This route will eventually take us all the way down to Camp Shurman, still 2000+ feet below us, and since Hooman has been on this part of the route on previous climbs, he takes the lead, scouting past some of the biggest crevasses we have seen yet on the climb, including several pants-crappingly large snow bridges, including a 5 foot wide, 10 foot long monstrosity that starts to collapse as I cross it after Dan and Hooman have already walked on it, and falls away into the crevasse seconds after I step onto the ice on the far side, taking several years of my life with it. Hooman continues to lead us down and to the right side of the corridor, and we finally reach a spot that is too steep for us to continue down on foot. We set an anchor, and Hooman rappels down to the bottom of the cliff. I follow, and meet Hooman 100 feet below the anchor.
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