Mount Rainier - Disappointment Cleaver

Published on 2026-07-07 by Michael Stanton

Rainier was an odd mountain for me, years ago living in Washington. I did want to climb it, but was too drawn to the northern Cascades to put in the effort. I tried once in winter, kind of a harrowing experience. Later, my buddy Carlos and I tried the Emmons route, but he got a rather unnerving case of cerebral oedema. Later, a friendship was damaged around a plan to climb the Liberty Ridge route, which we kept on the list for years, and then when conditions were finally perfect his wife put her foot down and said no (it wasn't only that which was the problem, maybe that was more of a symptom. Bless them both.).

So I forgot about this mountain. The sands of many years had to grow over the idea. I had to return as a different person. I even came from a different direction. Instead of the northwest, I came from the southeast. Hmm.

Sean and I have quickly climbed a bundle of Idaho peaks together and had a lot of fun. He had a space on his Rainier permit, so I signed up. Slowly, my mind filled with all the details of crevasse rescue, the Z-cross-C pulley system, the mechanics of bringing a party together at a safe point on a glacier...We got together in June to practice these skills at my place, which was really useful. We looked for someone else to join the trip (he had three spaces), but couldn't find anyone. So we made sure to have two snow anchors each, and to travel with a bit more space between us.

The mountain above Paradise

Michael and (lopsided) pack

Sean, posing with pack!

Sean had a good tent and a JetBoil. I'd bring the rope. We had freeze-dried meals. The last time I ate one of those was 2005 with the guys in the Cascades! I got Spicy Chicken Fajita Bowl. Spice is essential in those cold, occasionally bad-smelling high camps with their exertion headaches and stomach problems!

We hiked up in perfect weather. We were a little worried about the weather on summit day. The forecast called for rain down in Packwood, with the sun hidden all day. Our hope was that this is a marine layer that won't affect us in the crystalline world up high. A chat with the friendly ranger when we registered bore that out. She had a pefect forecast. Still, we brought two days of food, and extra stove cannisters.

We talked about all kinds of things amid the tourists, who gradually thinned out. On the Muir Snowfield there were just a few ascenders like us, and lots of folks in improvised garbage-bag pants to glissade. We reached camp, borrowed a couple shovels and fixed up a reasonable tent platform.

Poor Sean had been in Costa Rica, living up a great vacation with his family. However, stomach bugs seem to come with the territory, and he may have carried one up to this austere environment. No one was happier to have an outhouse nearby than him!

The scene at Camp Muir

Looking out from our tent

We ate dinner around 5 PM, which was very good. Sean went to sleep and I spent a couple of hours melting snow. The ranger came by and checked our permit. He said there might be weather, and if there was: don't climb up into a storm!

I did the old trick of boiling water, putting it into a Nalgene bottle, wrapping that into a sock, then using it to keep me warm. The wind was outrageous, constantly blowing down the front side of the tent. I'm really glad we had a good one!

I might have slept an hour, but mostly I lay there comfortably enough. Sean slept well, and I was glad for it. At 11 PM, people started stirring. We resisted until about 12:15 AM, then got moving. There are so many things to do in the cold morning. However, the wind had reduced, which would make things easier. First a trip to the bathroom, then back to the tent to heat some water for oatmeal. Then the gear pile, the harness, all the stuff.

What's this? My headlamp just dimmed noticeably. I had overlooked it because of my experience with Nitecore headlamps over the previous years. A charge lasts all summer! Whereas this new Black Diamond headlamp had probably been used for about 6 hours. By that standard, it should be fine. But it wasn't...and making things worse, even though Sean had a heavy charger, we didn't have the right cable.

I shared this ominous news with him, and lamented my fate. Mainly I was mad at myself for letting such a simple thing shut us down. An alternate plan began to form: wait two hours, then go, but travel short roped for every possibility so I could share his light, and use my phone lamp for the Ingraham Glacier. But it's hard to sit for two hours and wait!

Here, amazingly, our neighbor, a guy named Andrew, said that he'd loan me his spare headlamp (a Nitecore, of course!). He thought they'd have left by the time we got back, so he'd just give it to me. His thoughtfulness really surprised Sean and I. I didn't plan to ask anyone for a headlamp because I reasoned they'd either be getting good rest at 1 AM, or struggling to get up and out themselves. With Andrew's gift, we were back in the game. I got his contact info, we roped up, and set off.

Initially very slowly. We were in a conga line for the long gentle traverse up to the Gibralter Rock formation. But people stop and move to the sides. Then we stopped on the side to remove clothing. This area of the mountain is protected from the incessant southwest wind. We crossed this rocky formation, where Sean fixed a problem with his water bladder, then got onto the Ingraham Glacier, where we met the wind again...this time flowing down the mountain. We trekked impossibly high on that glacier, as it seemed to take forever before we would turn right to get onto the Disappointment Cleaver rock. Finally we realized we were avoiding an enormous crevasse. Once turned, we marched smartly right and somewhat down to reach the rock.

Above the Cleaver in the morning

Sean and the slow dawn

We went up a couple hundred feet, then an RMI guide asked us to wait as his rope teams were crossing below us. We did this, but it was a bit frustrating. I'd ask for permission to move with care, but he'd say another team is coming. Indeed, team after team hove into view below. He thanked us for waiting and released us. We didn't knock anything off, happily.

However, if we lost the way, marked by wands, we did set off local clatterings of stone. So we focused intently on keeping it. Finally there was one place where it was unavoidable to at least move some rocks down 6 feet or so, if not more. We called out a warning, the guide got his people out of the way, and we climbed the short (5 meter) section. One or two rocks did make it down to the trail.

Then we were free, climbing into penitentes where a track between the bowing snow forms let us move much faster than on the rock. Now above the Cleaver, we got some water and fumbled some food into our mouths. The sunrise would come soon. Magical lights were above us, traversing under a wall of ice to the summit.

Here was the steepest snow of the climb, and I really enjoyed it. Switchbacks in the icy track led us up to the left of a big serac. Helpfully, there were pickets in the snow with a carabiner to clip to. I clipped all of these in this section, and mostly ignored them higher up. Quite a luxury to have that!

Above the serac, the trail split in two. The ranger the day before told us the "new way" was to go right here and make a long traverse, rather than go up and under a headwall of ice. The right trail looked slightly more used, so we followed it. However, I think the old trail is still used, because the lights we saw above the Cleaver matched the position of people on it.

Climbers with Little Tahoma in the back

Traversing above a crevasse

Michael on the long traverse to the north

For the next hour, we'd be in this interesting detour which takes us on a horizontal "balcony" tour of glacial landscape. There was snow protection here, I think only because of the sense of exposure you get...the way itself was easy. We left those unclipped and enjoyed the wild bannister rail on the edge of a world. The sun was rising, spreading tendrils of fire into valley and lake. Scrim of cloud, some dark, some light, complicated the sun's takeover while adding to the beauty. It was breathtaking to look at, so we would snatch glances, and turn back to our task, with the picture of what we'd seen warming our minds.

Many switchbacks upslope followed. First pink light, then orange came to our snow world. We were cold in the wind, but smiling because we were getting pretty sure that only our inability to endure fatigue could stop us.

And we were pretty good at that.

However, high up, one particularly long switchback of the way heading southwest exposed us to such strong and cold wind that we lost feeling in our faces. I was always moving my toes and fingers. I had everything on. A couple more switchbacks got us to the crater rim, where a little crowd of people hung out. Sean looked and moved like a popsicle. His extremities were really cold. He got on a jacket and warmed his hands. We sat about 5 minutes, then got up to march across the crater to the highest point, which had moved slightly left in recent years, abandoning the place named Columbia Crest. Ardent peakbaggers we, we smartly went the right way to the right place!

Sean as seen from a switchback

A similar shot

A beautiful sunrise

Emerging on the crater top in screaming wind, we were joined by two guys from Oklahoma ("My sister lives in Newcastle!" I screamed through the wind at him, and he nodded approvingly).

We all took pictures, took a few looks around, and skedattled. Curiously, just below the rim, the wind died completely. It would never return to the strength with which it had harried us below.

The sense of depth to the valley below was amazing

Dawn with Little Tahoma

Endless glacial slopes

So rather than provide a time when we reached the top I'd call it "just ere Windstop, on the day of our Lord, July 8."

Haha...okay, according to timestamps on photos, it was 7 AM.

We went quickly down. I would send rope team leaders into consternation as they see us coming in the track, and wonder what to do. Of course, I step off downhill, so they may continue unimpeded. Relief spreads across what small hint of facial features I can see.

Why would people think I'd allow us to be a problem for ascenders? Of course, it is my job to move out of the track. My goodness.

Michael near the top, face freezing!

Success!

However, I must confess, this strategy went wrong at one point. I went above the rope team because of the nature of the slope, then I thought we could just cross over them. Sean, in back, heard the outraged fury of their leader, who said "I don't like the ropes crossing!" three times. I couldn't hear that. Of course it was wrong of me. Sean took a few more paces, hollered down to me, and I stepped back and fixed it. I shouted up an apology, but she was too angry and continued hurling invectives. Happily I heard none of this but Sean learned some new curse words!

It is clear from this climb that it is "easy" when all goes well, but can turn deadly in an instant. The crevasses, for example...they are huge! A whole team could be pulled in. Many were slowly narrowing, such that a long fall could squeeze the air out of lungs. Add in the jerky movements of cold and exhausted people, and perhaps their odd behavior, affected by altitude...and things are strange up there.

Another summit shot, with the dreaded crater behind us

A selfie shot which Sean insisted should have Adams!

Beginning the long march home

Typical crevasse crossing

The night before I had the pleasure of meeting a fella named Eric, who had climbed the mountain many times. He was also in mountain rescue. I won't repeat the sharply tragic stories he told me from that. I got the sense that we live in comfortable illusions. Such work strips them away, and life is held differently. Eric had said that his favorite route on the mountain was the Sunset route. In honor of the testimony of such a wise fellow, it is the way I would climb the mountain again.

We ran into no more people all the way from the long glacial traverse back to the steep snow above the Cleaver. In the irritating rock of the Cleaver, a party of three met us precisely at the 5 meter loose section and hollered "there are many people below you!" at me. There weren't (we met no one until Camp Muir), and even if there were, I was being careful and couldn't change things much. One or two rocks fell to the next switchback.

Michael near a cached sleeping bag, left by the guide service

Four climbers head towards the Cleaver

A similar shot

Michael with Gibraltar Rock

Sean thought unroping would be better here. I resisted that because we'd have to rope up again, and get all the prussiks in place, etc. Whereas I thought the crampons were making our lives hardest, though I resisted removing them because I knew the rock was interspersed with sections of snow. Basically, we felt clumsy and slow, but very much wanted to reach camp. So this was a taxing section on descent. Finally, with one long traverse, we reached the Ingraham Glacier. After a stop for a drink and to change layers, we were on easy street. Though still, we were plenty exhausted. We kept candles burning in the mind knowing that most accidents happen on descent, when everything gets lax, gets "casual." We did become somewhat lax (for example, my step across another team's rope), but were ready to tighten up if needed. ("HA! So he thinks..." --dear reader).

The last long traverse to Muir seemed to take forever! But we reached it at 11 AM. I wanted to fall into a coma in the tent. However, a man engaged us in discussion. It was Andrew from the morning, though it took me a while to realize it. He and his friend Michael woke me back up, causing me to at least temporarily abandon the old snake skin of exhaustion and talk about computers, about the dolomites, and the mountain.

A long descent!

Michael and penitentes on the Cleaver

On the Ingraham Glacier

But finally I peeled away and took a nap ("You were snoring less than 2 minutes after you said you'd rest," said Sean later). That helped so much. I was ready to think about descending another 5000 feet to Paradise. Sean made coffee, and I alternated between pretending to get gear together and laying back on my pillow.

Finally we got serious, and were heading down around 2 PM. I bombed down the snow slopes, getting the occasional standing glissade. Sean took them more slowly, therefore, I got ahead and we had separate adventures wandering through the beclouded land of tourists. He saw a drama where two Indian children stomped wickedly through an off-limits wildflower area. He told them to stop, and they merely twisted their feet among the petals! Later, a ranger saw them and, in Sean's words, blew a gasket telling the children off. Everyone was looking for the parents, but they were absent. The ranger's last words, delivered with stony-faced despair: "They think they own it..."

Michael rounding a crevasse

The ships prow of Little Tahoma, with gaily bedecked worshippers

My story was more funny. A spry older man came to me sitting on a bench and said "how old are you?"

"Fifty-five," I answered, liking his pleasant, energetic manner.

"Oh, I thought older." He looked disappointed.

"Well, I probably look so old because I've been up since midnight," I offered, hoping to cheer him up.

"Well. I'm Eighty!" he said, inordinately pleased.

"You look at most 70 to me," I said, and meant it. He really was amazingly youthful for his age.

Later I thought about it, and got the idea that he is very pleased, and searches for people like himself to share the joy with. He was hoping I was say, 65, and then perhaps I would have the same outer covering as him: charmingly youthful, despite the resevoir of wisdom that comes with age. Alas, I broke the script. I looked older than my years, and well, I don't know...perhaps it is my cigar-smoking habit.

Sean and I reached the car. We felt proud of what we'd done. We felt great about our partnership. Heck, we get along like peas and carrots! I selected the music for the stately and triumphal ride down the mountain: Metallica's "The Thing That Should Not Be."

Heads were banged.

Goodbye, Camp Muir! A friendly place

Down under the clouds again...