Update: Because I’m a space cadet and forgot to publish this earlier, this post is actually a month old. We’ve since hiked to Muir in super sunny conditions, and also had our summit attempt last weekend.
This past Sunday, Sky and I set out to stand at the highest point on Mt. Rainier before you need a climbing permit: Camp Muir. Situated more than halfway up Mt. Rainier, Camp Muir sits at a proud 10,188ft of elevation. From Paradise to Camp Muir is a mere 4.5 miles – but at a total elevation gain of 4,788ft, you’re heading up, up, up the whole time.
On Friday, when our weather for the weekend was looking pretty bleak, Sky and I went back and forth on whether or not to go through with our hike. We’re scheduled to summit Rainier on June 19th (gulp!) and want to hike up to the basecamp at least twice before our trip. We’d already postponed one weekend due to weather, and the 19th is quickly approaching. We made the decision to go ahead and give it a shot, and picked Sunday.
We knew it’d be about a 15 hour day, so we headed out Sunday morning at 7am. Our plan was to be hiking by 9:30, at Muir by 2:30, and back at the car by 7. I figured that gave us plenty of time to go slow, and adjust to the altitude. The night before, we packed tons of food and water, multiple layers, a first aid kit, sleeping bags (just in case of an unplanned night out, and for that lumbar support in the bottom of our packs), and our trekking poles. I sat my hiking boots with a fresh pair of socks by the front door the night before, as I planned to drive in my Chacos, and we stuffed a bag for the car with fresh clothes and sandals for after the hike.
When we woke up Sunday morning, everything was easy-breezy, and we were in the car a few minutes before 7. Sky slept most of the way, waking up only to go, “Are we there yet?” and then conk back out, and I listened to a book on tape and enjoyed the beautiful drive. Then, five miles from the park, as I mentally ticked off all the gear we brought, I had a terrible realization. Pack: check. Water: check. Trekking poles: check. Hiking boots: …. HIKING BOOTS! STILL BY THE DOOR!
“Oh. No.” I said.
Sleepy Sky woke up. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh. NO!”
“WHAT’S WRONG!?”
For those of you who know me, I don’t do well with stress. When things don’t go according to plan, especially when I’m the one who planned it, I get a little off-my-rocker upset. And this was definitely not according to plan. After pulling over and doing a futile hunt through the car (I knew they were happily sitting by the door at home), and after several long minutes of tears and self-blame, Sky took over driving, and we found a place called Whittaker Mountaineering that rented hiking boots. The young guy behind the counter was quick and kind in helping me – I’m sure from my tear-stained face he instantly knew what was wrong – and within minutes we were on our way. It was a life saver. So seriously, if you’re up in the Mt. Rainier area, stop by Whittaker’s in Auburn. Rental shop. Gear shop. Legit place. Thanks again, guys.
When we finally arrived in Paradise almost an hour late, we trotted over to the Visitors Center and asked the woman behind the counter to kindly point us in the direction of Muir. She raised an eyebrow and asked if we we were prepared, to which we said why-yes-of-course-now-that-I-have-boots, and she handed us a little map on a piece of printer paper with GPS coordinates and compass degrees. And with that in hand, and big smiles on our faces, we set out onto the snow-covered trail at 10:30am….
…and within an hour we were in a complete white-out. Visibility was terrible. You could barely see 20 feet in front of you, and it just kept getting worse. Neither of us had ever been in a white out before, at least not to this extent. There was snow everywhere, and we were literally in the clouds. We would hear people minutes before we saw them, which is TERRIBLY eerie, by the way. As we trugged up these incredibly steep, snow-covered inclines, a few things became clear:
- We were not prepared. I lost a snow-basket on my trekking pole less than a mile in, Sky’s non-waterproof low-hiking shoes were hopeless in the soft snow, and neither of us had crampons, only traction devices.
- The weather was not getting any better. From everyone that we passed coming down, Muir was clear, but the visibility up until then was terrible. Although it was easy to follow the wide path of footprints and the excellent markers along the trail (thanks, IMG!) we’d be hiking without a view the entire time.
- We were split on whether or not to turn around. I was ready to go back, not because of fatigue but just because of the terrible depression of staring at white for hours, and Sky was determined to reach Muir or at least give it our best effort.
But, as this world we live in is unique and fascinating and brilliant, a few lovely instances kept us moving forward. First, I spotted a pair of tossed aside snowshoes – not ideal for Muir, but definitely not a bad option – on the side of the trail. They were missing a strap, but we rigged them to Sky’s boots and decided it’d be okay if he used them on the way up and turned them into lost and found back at Paradise. Then, we managed to fight the depressing white-out by writing Haikus, which kept us motivated for a while. But, as the hours went on, and our hands and feet got colder, even the Haikus stopped helping. As we huffed up to “one more trail marker,” I opened my mouth to tell Sky that I was finished, and it was time to turn back. Before I could say anything, we heard a voice below us.
“Almost there!” I turned to look into the snow – one second, two seconds, three seconds, and then this elderly man appeared, like a mirage, from the fog. “Almost there!”
“Really?” Sky asked.
“Ten minutes to the hut, by my calculations!” He gave us a big smile, but neither of us quite registered. When he was nearly past us, I blurted out, “Sorry, what do you mean ‘ten minutes to the hut’?”
“Camp Muir!” He gestured forward with his hiking pole.
Sky and I looked at each other. We were fueled. Within a few minutes, the sun started to poke out of the clouds, we started to see our own shadows, and then, in one of the most beautiful awakenings nature has ever sent me, the curtains parted and there, up ahead, was Camp Muir.
It was impossible not to whoop and cheer. We were almost there.
Of course, getting across the Muir Snowfield was a whole other experience. The wind kicked into high gear, and we plowed forward, with Muir seeming to never get any closer. Finally, after 45 minutes of it being “right there!” we made it up to camp. It was freezing, and felt like we were sitting in a wind turbine, but we plopped down, ate our sandwiches (which quickly got covered in little bits of volcanic dirt being chucked around by the wind), Sky changed socks, snapped a few photos, and just like that began to hurry back down again. It was 5pm. It had taken us six and a half hours to get to Muir.
We plowed back through the snowfield and the horrid wind, straight into the depressing white-out, and proceeded down the mountain as quickly as we safely could. In some of the steep sections, people had repetitively glissaded down certain areas, creating these fantastic slides in the snow. They shaved mere seconds off the hike, but were huge boosts of energy and joy – something I was definitely lacking as we trudged through the fog. After one brief wrong turn that we quickly corrected, we were 1 mile from Paradise – and so ready to be done. Sky and I sloughed into the Paradise parking lot at 8:30pm – exhausted, but glad to say we’d done it. It had taken us eleven hours to get the nine miles there and back.
The following Monday, we both woke up to terrible wind-burnt faces, and took all morning to relax and ease the creeks in our bodies. The nutty part is, we plan on doing it again… this weekend.
Skill level: Advanced. That shit was hard.
Mental Skill Level: EXPERT. Hiking in a white out is one of the most mentally and emotionally draining things I think I’ll never do again.
Type of Fun: definitely type 2 for me, maybe type 3 for Sky. He’s still not sure if he had fun.
hippydreams 