I moved to Seattle nearly 10 months ago, right at the beginning of rainy season, and so for nearly the first month I lived here, I never saw the outline of Mt. Rainier looming over the skyline.
Then one gloriously clear day in November, there it was. That first view was literally breath taking. I've heard traffic on the interstate actually slows down in the areas where you can see "the mountain", and I can believe it.
Ever since that first view, I've had my sights set on summitting the 14,400-foot peak. That is no easy feat, as much of the mountain is covered in glaciers, and you need not only to have the physical endurance for a 9,000-foot ascent, but also the technical know-how to traverse the crevasse fields that come with the glaciers.
Luckily, I have a brother, Richard Kresser, who is crazier than I am, and has a lot of experience mountaineering, including summitting Mt. Rainier several times already. So over the past seven months, he has become my guide and trainer. We started small, hiking up from Paradise to Camp Muir in January. Then we graduated to a winter summit of Mount St. Helens. Next up was to summit Mt. Hood, which was easily the most difficult thing I'd ever done up to that point. But I was becoming more confident in my abilities on ice and snow, and was looking forward to Mt. Rainier.
Due to a busy summer schedule, we weren't able to attempt the Mt. Rainier summit until Labor Day weekend, which is toward the end of the summer climbing season. Our four-man team consisted of me, my brother, his roommate Jeremy Jackson and Jeremy's girlfriend Erika Kelly.
The weekend got off to a great start, with a completely clear sky on Saturday as we made our way up from the White River trailhead to Camp Schurman, at 9,500 feet. Arriving at high camp around 4pm, we had a clear view up to the peak, as well as the path we would take early the next morning.
But here's where our summit attempt starts to come apart. We noticed there were three teams still climbing down the mountain, which was really late in the day to be arriving back to camp. One team of three was so high up on the mountain, we were positive they would not arrive back to camp before dark.
When we went to bed around 6:30pm Saturday night, two teams had made it back to camp, but the third team was still high up on the mountain. We woke at midnight, and started our climb at 1am. The first hour was absolutely amazing - as we crossed crevasse field after crevasse field. There is nothing quite as awesome as crossing a snow bridge as your headlamp illuminates the endless depths below you.
Then we ran into a team of three coming down the mountain. It turns out the team we'd seen high up on the mountain had not made it back, so this team had gone back up to see if they could find them. They were not successful, so they asked us to keep an eye out, and we went on our way.
At about 11,400 feet, two and a half hours into the climb, we came to a tricky traverse where we were crossing a steep slope just above a deep crevasse. We were making comments about the difficulty of the terrain when we heard shouting from the crevasse. We quickly built a snow anchor, and then rappelled my brother to the lip of the crevasse to talk to the three climbers. They said they'd fallen into the crevasse about 7:30pm the night before. Two of the three climbers had critical injuries, while the one who'd shouted to us was doing his best to keep the others awake and warm.
My brother rappelled down into the crevasse, to assess the situation. Turns out the climbers were lucky. They had fallen onto a ledge about 50 feet down. The crevasse continued on to depths of hundreds of feet - so they easily could have fallen to depths where we may never have seen or heard them. But unfortunately, due to the location of the ledge, and an ice overhang, and their deteriorating conditions, it appeared impossible that we would be able to haul them out of the crevasse ourselves.
We spent several hours connecting with 911, getting disconnected due to the spotty cell service, and relaying information to dispatchers about our location and the victim's conditions. We were told a rescue crew was being assembled, but due to the early hour, it would be several hours before we'd see any help arrive. Meanwhile, we were doing whatever we could do to stay warm ourselves, as it was still pitch black and very windy and cold on the side of the mountain.
Around 10am, a second climbing team made their way to our location, with a couple doctors in tow. We sent one down into the crevasse to do a more thorough assessment. The good news was, it appeared everyone's condition had stabilized, although everyone was still exhibiting signs of hypothermia.
Eventually, a group of Mt. Rainier climbing rangers arrived on scene, and quickly started setting up the logistics to short-haul all three climbers out of the crevasse, which is where a helicopter drops a cable into the crevasse, and each climber is hooked to it and flown out that way. We learned later that this was the first short-haul the park has ever done, and to our eyes, it seemed to go off without a hitch. The climbers were flown to Sunrise Visitor Center, where the two most serious victims were flown to a hospital in Seattle.
As we headed down the mountain, I felt a mixture of emotion. Exhaustion, from having been outside in the elements all day. Adrenaline, from the unexpected dangerous situation we found ourselves in. Disappointment, for not being able to summit. But also satisfaction, of knowing that even though we were not the ones that ultimately got the victims out of the crevasse, that if we had not been there, it might have been hours until someone else found them, and by then it may have been too late. And I hope that our presence starting at 3:30am gave those climbers hope that they weren't all alone in that icy cave while they waited for a rescue.
One major thing the experience taught me is how important it is to be prepared. A couple weeks prior to our summit attempt, we had spent a weekend up at Camp Schurman doing some crevasse rescue training. While I enjoyed learning the techniques, part of me wondered if I would ever really need to use them. Obviously, I would. And it was already having the knowledge of what to do, that I believe kept all of us calm and efficient in the hours following their discovery in the crevasse.
Another important lesson was the importance of knowing when to turn around. I don't know what the three climbers' situations were leading up to their fall, but in my opinion, they must have either started too late in the day, or had been climbing too slowly to make a safe descent. One of the reasons I trust my brother as my guide is because I have confidence in his decisions to either continue on, or turn back, depending on the timing and the conditions. In my eyes, reaching the summit doesn't matter if you don't make it back down.
Leaving the park on Monday, we were told that all three climbers would eventually be OK, although two of them were still in the hospital recovering. Even though we didn't get to summit, knowing that we helped save three people's lives was more than enough satisfaction.
And don't worry; I'll be back to summit Mt. Rainier another day!
