Ben Kunz and I climbed that big mountain next to the Paradise Visitor Center and Parking Lot this weekend. Except for the circling helicopters, current and former UWCC types, and the ten thousand other people we met between the summit and Paradise, we had the place to ourselves.

The rangers were the crux of the route. We had to dodge them and their wily schemes on several occasions. First, the guy at climbers' registration convinced us to tack another two grand of vert on to our approach by starting from Comet Falls TH rather than crossing the Nisqually (supposedly hard ice covered in ball bearings), then hiking up the Fan (supposedly instant rockfall death), then traversing the Wilson (which supposedly some people have been belaying due to bare ice). The check-in guy also insisted that there was no fixed rope at the rappel from above Camp Hazard toward the ice chute.

On the hike up, we were flagged down by a red-bearded ranger and given our first interview. We like interviews, but prefer to have them after the climb so we can chestbeat whilst drinking beer. Red was relieved to find out that we weren't another search party intruding on HIS search area.

A few thousand feet higher, two climbing rangers gave us another interview. The female ranger, named after a soft and pleasantly fragrant French cheese, had just done a patrol of our route the previous day and tried to scare us off with tales of "really steep" ice that "wouldn't even take a pick... bulletproof... dinnerplating... no penitentes... blah blah blah...". Everything is scarier when you're soloing, I suppose.

And then there were the helicopters, ostensibly looking for "some doofus", as Miss Fromage, in her professional capacity as member of the search party, referred to the lost hiker.

Rangers (just left of helicopter) getting picked up

Despite the NPS' obviously coordinated efforts to divert, distract, and delay us, we eventually found a sweet bivy spot and practiced crevasse rescue. This practice was useful in illustrating how much it would suck to have to haul out your partner on a two-person team. We agreed not to fall into any crevasses.

Ben coming up the Turtle to high camp

(Now there's a big gap in the chronology of the TR, a departure from the usual mode, in which I write at length about food, "the brotherhood of the rope", "the freedom of the hills", and food.)

Sunday we climbed the route in good time, disproving the rangers' propaganda. There was a massive pile of webbing, cord, and rope at the rappel toward the ice chute. The ice was not very steep (maybe 60 degrees at most), occasionally brittle, and well-featured for all but 20 feet. Ben followed easily with two ice axes and we simulclimbed the whole thing in two pitches with a 30m rope, placing all six ice screws and one picket.

Ben above the first ice pitch


Mt. Adams


Second ice pitch

The slog to the top was mind-numbing. No routefinding problems or sketchy crevasses, just lots of stepping and breathing.

Summit pose


Yay!


"Good job, buddy!"

Team Forsyth (Colin and Ryan) reached the summit just before us and we had a fine, unexpected reunion. We hustled down the Disappointment Cleaver route until my balled-up crampons sent me sliding between switchbacks. I got pissed and cursed the rest of the way down the crumbling cleaver and over the dripping snowbridges. Skeeeeettttttchy. The soft dirt trail between the Cowlitz Glacier and Ingraham Flats is a lot of fun to run down, though. We met Aaron Z. and his dad just before stepping onto the Cowlitz. Mr. Z. was having his 50th birthday present: his first climb of Rainier.

The boottrack was knee-deep in places


Ben made me stand on the snowbridge and take this photo

The hike down from Camp Muir was neat-o and is highly recommended.

• 2 brand-new coiled ropes at the rappel station (still there)
• 1 gummi bear (immediately eaten by Ben)
• 1 toque
• 1 bottle of hand sanitizer
• 1 crusty sling

Originally posted here.