I had not yet received a response to my request for a permit to solo climb Mt Rainier when I flew into Portland, Oregon from my home in Colorado in late May 2004. The ranger station office had closed shortly before I arrived, so I settled in for the night at the majestic Paradise Lodge, built in 1917. My room was spartan, but I relaxed in the magnificent great room lobby with its blazing fireplace and cozy atmosphere. Later, following a fine meal of rainbow trout and a glass of wine in the dining room I settled in for the night.

The next morning I checked in with the park ranger at 7 AM to secure my permit to climb the mountain solo via the “Fuhrer Finger” route. This is not a trivial matter. With reason, the park service does not readily give out solo permits. Climbing on glaciers is always risky and roping up is recommended. I had to submit an extensive climbing resume and verify that I had all the requisite climbing apparel and equipment.

My plan for the week ahead had been to climb Mt Rainier in Washington State on Tuesday, climb Mt Hood in Oregon on Friday, and then run the Newport Marathon on Oregon's coast on Saturday. As it happened I needed a bit more recovery following Rainier’s climb to be ready to run a marathon the following Saturday. There was no way could I have climbed Mt Hood on Friday and had anything other than a lousy, miserable marathon experience the following day. With the added rest days I did recover well enough to run a sub three hour marathon.

I have fond memories of family trips to Paradise Lodge when I was young. We would spend the day hiking trails in high summer through meadows of multi-colored wildflowers, and follow up the day with fine dining in the evening. This early in the year the meadows were covered in snow.

In order to climb the mountain in a one-day push, I would need an early start so I put off the climb until the following day. After enjoying a hearty breakfast in the lodge I set out for a day hike to Camp Muir at 10,000’ elevation to scout out the scene for the next day's climb. The lodge at 5,000’ elevation was immersed in a fog bank, but returning climbers reported that Camp Muir was in the sun, with blue skies. Ever hopeful I trudged upward. I passed many pilgrims who had turned around before reaching the sun, when finally a hearty young woman exuberantly reported that sunny skies were just ahead around the 8000’ level. She was right! Soon Camp Muir came in to view and I broke into a little run up the snowfield, passing fellow sloggers like they were standing still. Actually, they were standing still quite a bit of the time! Actually they were standing still quite a bit of the time!

Though I'd broken out of the clouds just before Camp Muir, I had my doubts about trying the Fuhrer Finger route the next day. I would be all by myself on that route and would have to traverse the Nisqually Glacier AND the Wilson Glacier--unknown territory--and if the visibility was bad I could easily get lost. It's no fun being lost in a whiteout on a glacier.

I hurried down from Camp Muir to make it to the ranger's office before they closed that afternoon and changed my planned route to Disappointment Cleaver. This is the guided route, and I was correct in assuming that it would be well-marked with wands. While at Camp Muir earlier I had seen the packed path leading across the initial glacier to the first landmark of Cathedral Rocks.

Next morning up at 3 AM, I checked out of my room and was hiking up the snow packed trail by 4 AM. Under the full moon I didn't need a headlamp. The fog had completely lifted and the mountain was in full view in all its glory. What a great day for climbing! I wished I had left earlier.

As soon as the sun hit the slopes I saw one monstrous avalanche thunder down the slopes to the left of Camp Muir and heard another one that remained out of sight. Definitely cause for concern!

I reached Camp Muir around 6:30 AM. A couple of "guided climbers" lounged outside the barracks. They informed me that the rest of their crew was inside sleeping. This day was for “practicing” on the slopes near Camp Muir, and then in the next couple of days they would make their summit bid. My method is to move fast and get the deed done. The less time spent on the mountain means greater safety and less of a chance for the weather to go bad on you.

A packed trail led through the snowfield in a long gradual incline culminating in a distant rocky ridgeline—Cathedral Rocks. I wore black Gore-Tex pants with suspenders, a couple layers of warm shirts, an outer Gore-Tex shell coat, gloves, ski goggles, a helmet, mountaineering boots with crampons (heavy-duty spikes that attach to the bottom of the boot for traction on ice), and I carried an ice ax for self-arrest in case I slid down slope or stepped into a crevasse.

Once up on the ridge I was relieved to see a clearly marked path of orange wands left by the guided groups. I was the only one to climb the mountain on this day though. I climbed steadily up the glaciated slopes, once I got off the marked path and almost walked into a crevasse. I backtracked and found the path again, where it crossed the crevasse on a snow bridge. Looking back down on the crevasse I saw my tracks down below leading up to the edge before I had turned around. That was the only close call I had that day.

When I finally reached the summit sometime before noon I was greeted by a howling 30 MPH wind. I stood on the edge of a massive crater that stretched across the summit in a circle for hundreds of yards. Steam plumes rose from crevasses in its center. The view extended to Puget Sound in the west--to the north and south I identified several peaks, such as Mt Adams and Glacier Peak. I didn’t linger long up there though in the punishing wind.

I quickly moved down the mountain, reversing course, following the wands. Below Cathedral Rocks a conga-line of fifteen climbers were roped together in teams of three and cautiously treading across the snowfield. I was happy that I was by myself and able to move at my own speed.

I continued below Camp Muir now, quickly plunge-stepping and running down the snowfield back to Paradise Lodge, arriving around 3 PM that afternoon—the round trip of 9,000’ elevation gain had taken me 11 hours. I thought it might be a record ascent, but checking on the internet later I found that someone had done the round trip in seven hours on skis.

I drove back to my parent’s house in Olympia Washington where I’d be staying for the next few days before heading down to Newport for the marathon. When I told them where I had been the last couple of days they smiled. They would have done their utmost to stop me from climbing solo if I would have told them what I was up to beforehand. The next day looking across the water from their home on Puget Sound the mountain looked awfully small in the distance.