Jimmy Ritchie

Mount Rainier Summit July 16, 2019

On Friday, May 10, I woke up to a text message from Kody Smith asking me if I wanted to fill a spot on a mountaineering trip to Mount Rainier. Filled with excuses, like most mornings, I said that I didn’t think I could afford it right now and that I was supposed to be out of town that week anyways. Once I got up and started moving around, I wrestled with the idea in my head.

I had started rock climbing earlier in the year and watched “Meru” half a dozen times or so. “Meru” is a documentary by Jimmy Chin in their attempt(s) to summit the “Shark’s Fin” in the Himalayas with two of his climbing friends. It was a gritty, soul searching expedition that inspired me to want to give mountaineering a chance. Mount Rainier could be my opportunity.

Located southeast of Seattle, Mount Rainer is an active strato- volcano that shadows over the city at 14,410 feet. It is the most glaciated mountain in the lower 48 states. It would be a technical, endurance climb gaining 10,000 feet in roughly ten miles. Not exactly something that you want to commit to at 7:30am on the first day of a beach vacation. But I texted him back “How much do you think it will cost?” No response. Thirty minutes later or so I texted, “When are the dates again? I want to try and go.” He called right away. He said that he wanted to let me sit on it for a bit and knew I’d change my mind. I didn’t know much about mountaineering, even less about Mount Rainier but I was up for the challenge. Our team was Kody Smith, Brett Bagley, Jeff Schoonover and myself and our permit was scheduled for July 15th, just two months away.

Training began right away and I started by running and cycling during our family vacation in Pawleys Island, SC. Upon returning from the trip, I joined a gym and started working out, along with adding the Stair Master to my cardio routine. It was just me and the ladies on the Stair Master mostly, working on our glutes! I bought mountaineering books, watched countless YouTube videos, and read climbing blogs for research. My friends Austin, Adam, and Andy let me borrow all kinds of gear for the trip from backpacks and down jackets to handwarmers and gloves. I would stay up late tweaking on what gear to buy with Kody,


arguing over each item until he won. I’d hand him my credit card and say, “Whatever, just buy it.” Jeff and I ran stairs with Kody at a local high school and ran up Stone Mountain a few times to work on elevation gain. The whole crew went to Stone Mountain a couple of times to practice being roped up together for glacier travel as well as crevasse rescue.

Although I had been doing all of this training, the research of the route had caused some serious anxiety the week before the trip. We were using the Emmons Glacier Route for our ascent to the summit. The route begins at White River Campground

(4,400 feet) and travels 3.5 miles to the

Glacier Basin Campground (6,000 feet). It

eventually leads you to the bottom of the

Inter Glacier which starts at 6,800 feet and

ascends straight up to Camp Schurman at

9,460 feet; gaining nearly 3,500 feet in the last 4 miles. From Camp Schurman you ascend to the summit of Mount

Rainier also known as Columbia Crest at

14,410 feet in anywhere from 2-4 miles

depending on route conditions. With all of

that said, I was freaking out. The closest thing

I had to relate that to was Stone Mountain in

Georgia where you gain 670 feet over a mile. This would be 15 stone mountains in 2/3 the distance. Adding to the equation a 50-pound pack, no experience at altitude, and lack of overall mountaineering experience equals panic attacks...lots of them. The week before we left, I was filled with anxiety about whether I was in good enough shape, knew enough, blah blah blah. The mountain was beating me before I even stepped onto the trail. I used Austin as a sounding board and he said, “You’re basic problem is that you just aren’t sure of what the outcome is yet.” I replied with “Yeah, yeah... but do you think I’m in good enough shape?” He was right, I wanted to know that everything was going to be okay and that there wouldn’t be any issues, which is impossible for a climb like this. That thought helped me get through the week and I was ready for the trip.

It began with an alarm at 3:00 AM on Sunday, July 14 to make a 6:00 AM flight to Seattle. Jeff picked me up to go to Brett’s house and we headed to the airport. The flight was uneventful and I was able to make up a few hours of sleep along the way. I woke up about 30 minutes before Seattle and was able to get my first glimpse of Mount


Rainier in person. It sat towering above everything below it with streams of clouds no more than half way up its face. It was somehow beautiful and intimidating at the same time. I had done lots of research leading up and was able to

point out our route from the

sky, once more intimidated by

the length and steepness of

our ascent. After landing, we

waited an hour or so for Kody

to arrive from his NOLS trip to

Alaska where he had learned

mountaineering skills and how

to survive on a glacier for 2 weeks. He looked a little rough and tired but was in good spirits, happy to see familiar faces again.

Once our rental car arrived, we went to Kauf Sports to rent some essential mountaineering gear such as tents,

ice axes, mountaineering boots, some safety

equipment and crampons (metal spikes that

attach to boots). The boots aren’t very

comfortable and we went back and forth on

whether they fit us correctly. Not that any

of that mattered though, the ones we were

trying were the only ones available. A short drive from there was REI to get our freeze-dried meals, snacks, protein bars and last-minute gear before a much-needed early dinner.

At dinner I noticed everyone seemed quieter than before. It was probably a combination of exhaustion and hunger but mine was brought on by the anxiety of what I had seen from the window of the plane upon descent. During dinner, we picked a hotel in Enumclaw which was midway between Seattle and our trail head. It was the Roadway Inn, a majestic 2-star hotel that had a small coffee hut in the parking lot and a 2 queen bedroom for $140. It was perfect. We laid out all of our gear, splitting up the tent, cooking systems and safety equipment as evenly as possible. I probably asked Kody 150 questions in 30 minutes or so but he patiently answered most of them. It was the, “Should I take this or should I take that?” “What are you wearing on the hike in?” “How many layers should I wear for

the summit?” “How long does it take to boil water at altitude?” type questions. After stuffing everything into our packs, we put them on to see how much weight they had gained with water and the new equipment. Mine was most likely between 45 and 50 pounds. Jeff is not a big gear guy, but had decided to buy a brand new North Face pack. He was proud of

that one. He slung it on his back, clicked in the buckles and while tightening the straps he somehow managed to break the buckle around his waist. Literally the most important buckle on the whole pack, the only one that matters. It’s important now to mention that we looked up the meaning of

“Enumclaw,” the town we were staying in, and it means “place of evil spirits.” ...Perfect. We drove to a Tractor Supply Company and all we could find was a belt for shotgun shells. Jeff somehow made it work with a bit of electrical tape and sheer panic. Eight o’clock came and it was time to go to bed early because we needed to leave the hotel around 6:30 AM for the trailhead the next day. In the middle of the night, I woke up to my legs cramping up pretty badly... not exactly what you want to happen before a climb like this. I shook it off and went back to sleep, trying not to think about it.

In the morning we grabbed coffee and a bite to eat and headed to the White River Ranger Station to check in. The rain had already

started. Ranger inside told us that there was some really bad weather coming in and that we might not have a solid window to summit. Either that, or we’d be caught in a white out. I think the term “white out” is pretty self-explanatory... He obliged when we asked for an extra night on our permit in case we couldn’t push on due to weather or exhaustion.

With the car parked and bags packed, we hit the trail to Glacier Basin Campground. The hike was

beautiful, filled with waterfalls, and trees that shade you from the sun or in our case, rain. Moss covers the rocks

below and hangs over fallen tree limbs like

light green clothes that have been hung up

to dry. We saw a marmot and some wild mountain goats as well. It was a 3.5-mile hike that hugged the White River and gained 1,500 feet in elevation which is not terribly difficult. However, Kody is

leading us and starts out with this blistering

Alaskan bushman pace for the first 2 miles

or so until Brett finally asked to lead and slow it down a bit, thank God. A solo hiker passed us on the trail heading back to the parking lot and said that the weather was so

bad that he had to turn around at 13,000 feet and that there were some sketchy areas up there. Very reassuring.

We arrived at the Glacier Basin Campground, ate a bit and changed into our mountaineering boots. There were some campers there that were breaking up the trip into a few days and all I could think at that point was, “Why aren’t we doing that?” Kody’s pace had worn me out. We stashed our shoes in a tree and headed to the Glacier Basin and to the Inter Glacier. We attached our crampons, readied our ice axes and roped up. To “rope up” is to have a rope tied to each other, so if one person slips or falls the others can help stop them or pull them out of a crevasse. The order was Kody in

front, then Brett, then Jeff, and finally me bringing

up the rear with about 20 feet of rope between

each of us. The Inter Glacier is where the trail

begins to get steep and somewhat dangerous.

Going straight up vertically was too tough, so we

began to zig zag to make it a bit easier. There were

other climbers in the distance above who looked

like they were struggling a bit, and we eventually

caught up and passed them. I started off feeling really good for the first 500 vertical feet or so, but then the cramps returned from the night before. The snow on top of the ice had become slushy due to the rain,

so every other step or so, your foot

would slide back. When that would

happen, my calf would cramp up, then

my quads and hamstrings followed. It

went off-and-on like that for a while and

the pain was getting to me. Eventually, it

got so bad that my leg locked up and I

was dragging it up the hill. I was in the

pain cave and it wasn’t looking good. I

had to ask to stop a few times, falling to

the snow as I yelled out. I’d rest my legs

for a minute before getting up and saying “I’ll give it a shot.” Jeff was very understanding and would check on

me from time to time or yell stop if he saw me fall. Here it was, all of my fears leading up to the trip being realized before we even got to high camp. I didn’t want to quit, I didn’t want to call it yet, but I didn’t see it getting any better with time. I took salt tablets, drank water, and tried to eat but nothing seemed to work. My mind went to some pretty bad places. “You

should have trained more.” “What’s everyone going to say when they summit and you don’t?” “What if they can’t summit because of you.” I had some serious thoughts about calling it off and heading back to the parking lot. Afterall, I knew Brett had left the key outside of the car, I could go and get a hotel for the night and pick them up the next day. “They’ll be better off without me if this keeps up.” But I kept climbing. The embarrassment and self-hatred was building as we made our final push to Camp Schurman. I played the “just get to where Jeff is now” game over and over, step after step, and somehow managed to cross the ridge into camp. I knew it was going to be “one step at a time” at some points, but I didn’t know it would be “one step and drag the other leg up the mountain.” At that point, Camp Schurman was the summit for me, and I thought I had about a 2% chance of summiting but I tried to hide that and stayed positive.

Camp Schurman is situated on the high side of the Steamboat Prow trail with a ranger station, toilet, and tents filled with excitedly worn out climbers. We set up our tents, breaking one of the poles in the process, laid out our sleeping bags and started on dinner. I was only able to eat half of my food but had some

salt tablets and drank lots of water. There was an

area where water was running just below the surface and we filled all of our bottles and water bladders

with it, saving lots of time and fuel from melting snow. The water bladders refer to a water reservoir system. The “bladder” holds anywhere from 1-3 liters of water in your pack with a tube and nozzle extending out of the pack and over your shoulder. It allows for you to carry lots of water and access it efficiently while hiking.

After dinner, Kody had everyone gather around his tent while he worked on his foot. He had a nasty blister on his heal that he was tending to and didn’t want to have to put his boots back on that night. The plan was made to get up at midnight and try to leave after one of

the guided groups in the morning. The reason you start so early is because when the sun comes up it starts to change the conditions of the route; crevasses get bigger, the snow bridges across them can melt and it’s flat out more dangerous at that point. Six inches to a foot of snow had fallen that day so the trail was covered and would have been miserable to be the first group out. Silence fell over camp by 8pm and everyone was trying to

rest and get as much sleep as possible before

their summit bid. Sleep did not come easy.

After cramping up a bit more at night and

going to the bathroom a couple of times, I

only managed a couple of hours. Brett woke

me up and my head went through all of the

excuses that I had been thinking about all

night, but I didn’t say anything. I just

reached in my pack, grabbed a Starbucks double shot of espresso and began to chug. Headlamps lit the tents nearby as other climbers started to make noise and camp was quietly alive again. You could hear all of the gas stoves cranking up to boil water for breakfast and coffee.

I ate as much as I could for breakfast and packed things that we only needed for the summit. The other teams started heading out around 1am. I was trying to figure out how to tell my team that I would not be joining them for the summit but before I knew it, I was roped up and ready to go. We left Camp Schurman for the summit at 2am.

My legs felt sore but weren’t cramping anymore, which was a nice change of pace. There was a full moon that night that would peak through the overcast skies from time to time, but our main source of light was from headlamps. Hiking at night was new to me as well but I really enjoyed it. The snow sparkled as the light hit it in certain

directions. All you’re

focused on is what’s in

front of you, just a few

steps at a time. With that

said, when you looked up

at the mountain you can

see these faint glows like lightning bugs in the distance, all in a straight line or zig zag formation. Those are the teams that had left ahead of us and Brett laughingly said it was “very discouraging.” They seemed so much higher, but also not far away, which showed how steep the ascent would be moving forward. An hour or so into the climb I looked up and called out to Kody, “Are those lights coming toward us?” “Yes,” he replied. A team of 3 climbers had turned around and I was worried that it was a guided group that had decided the route was too dangerous. My legs were feeling great and I really didn’t want to have to turn around, especially this early. Once the team approached us we realized that it was a guided group, but they were turning around because “it was too high” as one of their climbers stated. I think he was having trouble with the altitude. We pressed on.

Every once in a while, we would stop

and take a break to rest, change socks, and

grab a bite to eat but overall our pace was

solid. Around 4:30 AM we looked back and

noticed the sun was just beginning to peak

out. It was inspiring. As one of Jeff’s idols,

Jocko, says: “an earned sunrise is the best.”

We earned that one. Clouds blanketed the

ground below, rising and falling for as far as

you could see. The sun came through,

giving the snow a fresh glow and reinvigorated our spirit.

Just because my legs weren’t cramping anymore didn’t mean they didn’t hurt from time to time. There were

periods where I would have a cadence in my

head to stab with the ice axe, then take two

steps. “Stab, step, step; stab, step, step.”

During breaks Kody would yell to me, “What are we at?” referring to elevation. I’d check my altimeter on my watch and call back “11,800,” and he’d depressingly say “OK.” We always thought that we should be higher up or farther along than we actually were and we were, always playing catch up to the ant-sized teams ahead of us. It’s hard to describe how steep the route is with

words or pictures, but I’ll give it a shot: When we would look up at the teams ahead of us, they seemed to be at the top of a 50-story building, but only one block away. It’s intense.

On one of our breaks, Brett decided to layer up. He pulled his mid-layer pullover jacket that was in a zip-lock bag and lost his grip. It went shooting down the mountain straight into a crevasse about 40 feet below us; hearing it bang against the crevasse walls as it plummeted. “Well, looks like I’m not wearing that,” Brett said as he reached in his pack for his puffy jacket.

Shortly after this, Kody stopped us and said that “he’s not doing so hot” and he mentioned later that he was starting to fall asleep while he was walking... He never

mentioned any problems after that

and seemed to have gotten his

head in the right place for the rest

of the climb. Which was great

because at 12,500 feet we arrived

at a very narrow and exposed part

of the route that we had been

warned of the day before. It was a

“no fall zone” meaning that if one

person was to fall on the team

there would not be enough time

for the other team members to

self-arrest and catch you, and

everyone would fall into the

crevasse below. Self-arresting is

where you fall onto your ice axe with the sharp end going into the snow/ice and dig your crampons in as best you can. There was a 12- foot lip of the glacier that we had to climb the face of using only our ice

axes and crampons. Leading up to that was the exposed route for 50 feet or so that was only 18 inches to 24 inches wide. Kody assessed the situation, placed a picket (anchor) in the snow for protection and one by one we managed to conquer the lip safely but a bit rattled. It was around this elevation that both Jeff and Brett realized

that their tubes to their water bladders had frozen up. Brett was able to use other bottles he had, but Jeff was stuck without his own water for nearly 4 hours until the midway through the descent. I’m not sure how he got through that.

A section around 13,000 feet had us descending for a few minutes or so as we passed seracs or columns of ice on our left. Seracs can fall at any time without much warning. Kody let us

know before entering this area that we couldn’t

take any breaks and needed to get through it

quickly. The chances of them falling aren’t very

high, but he called it a “Low risk, high

consequence” situation. Kody led the

expedition from start to finish and he did a

tremendous job navigating around and over

crevasses and made confident decisions along the way. His NOLS trip had taken root and I felt safe the whole time. A thousand feet below the summit or so I started having this flood of emotions. I knew that nothing was going to stop us at this point and we were going to make it to the top.

After everything I had been through the day before with cramps, I couldn’t believe how strong I felt on the summit day. I thought about all of the people that had helped financially with the expedition; my grandparents, aunts and uncles, family friends, sisters and parents. And all of the encouragement I had received from friends along the way. I was so excited to tell my family and

teared up thinking about telling my little

sister, Anna Grace, she’d be so happy! Then

it hit me, we hadn’t made it yet... still 1,000

feet to gain and an hour and a half left at

least. Get yourself together. I managed to

and we began to pass teams that were

starting their descent. We were close.

It wasn’t a false summit anymore, it was

the real deal, the Columbia Crest. After 7 hours

and gaining nearly 5,000 feet in 3.3 miles, we

reached the top of Mount Rainier at 14,410 feet

around 9am! What an amazing feeling! The

triumph, jubilation and a strong sense of relief

overwhelmed me. We hugged, took pictures,

and let it sink in for about 15 minutes or so. The

views were unbelievable, it was hard to tell

where the snow ended and the clouds began.

Jeff snagged a few sips of water from us and we

were on our way back down. The wind howls at the top and once you stop moving around, you get cold pretty quickly so Kody and I were ready.

The descent for me ended up being harder

than the ascent somehow. They say that most

accidents happen on the way down because the

adrenaline is gone, you’re exhausted and the

conditions are worse. I understand that now.

The windblown snow nearly filled our tracks,

but Kody was able to find our way. Our steps

seemed heavier and clunkier, not as smooth as

on the way up. Thousands of feet below we

could see our campground and after an hour of

trekking we didn’t seem any closer. The lower we

were, the worse the conditions became and the

once firm snow was now a slushy mess. We were

having trouble staying on our feet as we slid from

one step to the next. My mind wandered to the

joy of summiting and getting to tell my family

about our journey. It’s easy to see the romance in

it after you’ve summited, but during the struggle

you aren’t thinking, “Man, is this going to add to

the story.” After a long grueling 5-hour descent, we made it back to Camp Schurman. Other teams that had arrived were happy for us and we had a quick bite to eat, and tried to get some rest before packing

everything up to head back to the car that night. Brett made me the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had just before we packed up. Shortly after, he found my half-eaten freeze-dried meals in the corner of the tent. He had been telling me to eat more but I just couldn’t. I was a little embarrassed when he found my stash. We loaded up our packs with everything and headed back down from Camp Schurman. Once we made it to the Inter Glacier, we were able to glissade (slide down using an ice axe as your break) down going anywhere from 5 to 15mph. What took us 3 hours to climb with cramped up legs took us 5 to 10 minutes glissading. It was a nice boost to moral as well. Another grueling 4 miles of hiking brought us to the car around 9:30 PM.

Mistakes were made along the way. Kody didn’t wear glasses and would wake up to mild snow blindness; and Jeff and I forgot to wear sunscreen and had pretty sever sunburn for the next week or so. And all of us have struggled with mild frostbite in our

big toes, but they’ll all heal in time. We had gone

from car to summit and back in 36 and a half

hours and were exhausted...

There was no trophy waiting for us, no plaque to put our names on, no news reporters eager to hear of our tale. No, this is a type of victory that only rewards internally and within a team. The congratulations from other teams waiting for their summit bid didn’t hurt; but at that point I had a realization about Mount Rainier. It wasn’t about getting to the top. Sure, it was nice to have made it and the views were insane, but that wasn’t it. It was

the training, researching, staying up late with

Kody to talk about gear, night runs with Jeff,

and long preparation talks with Brett. It was

about that cramping nightmare on the Inter

Glacier and getting through it somehow. It was

that “earned sunrise” and seeing your

teammates push through struggles of their own.

It was all of it, that was the summit. I didn’t

climb for the profile pictures like I had jokingly

said before I left, I didn’t climb so people would think I was cool or a badass. I climbed to test myself, to overcome those insane fears that let the mountain beat me before I started. I climbed to let all of these external struggles become an internal battle and come out on top. I climbed for these memories with an incredible group of guys that pushed me harder than I could ever push myself alone. My grandfather

used to always say “enjoy the journey” and I’ve never understood him more! Can’t wait for the next one!

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