Mount Rainier National Park
When at day's end the last of the light washes across Mount Rainier, its snow-crowned summit is suffused with a glowing pink, as though a piece of the sunset had somehow settled to earth. The icy old volcano is so high, 14,411 feet, that as much as 20 minutes sometimes passes before lowland shadows climb to the mountaintop and the rosy glow at last gives way to a ghostly white, looming against the nighttime sky.
The spectacle is visible from afar, for Rainier rises head and shoulders above any nearby peaks. Towering over the shores of Puget Sound like a splendid beacon, it has few rivals for vertical contrast between foot and summit. In all of the country south of Alaska, only Telescope Peak, bordering Death Valley, California, rises higher above its immediate surroundings.
Fire and ice are the improbable twins that shaped this majestic peak. Volcanism built the cone; glaciers are wearing it away. Any mountaineer who ascends Rainier's steep slopes can experience both of these forces. Indeed, the first documented summit climb, in 1870, would have ended in disaster if the two climbers, P.B. Van Trump and Hazard Stevens, had not found one of the many caves that penetrate beneath the ice on Rainier's crater rim, caves that were hollowed out by steam escaping from volcanic vents.
It was just before dusk when the weary climbers reached the mountaintop and stumbled into one of these unexpected shelters. There they spent a miserable night trying to warm themselves beside the sulfurous steam vents. The heat that issued from the vents was unbearable for more than a few minutes at a time, the fumes were nauseating, and the steam quickly saturated their clothing. Yet whenever they crept away from the infernal vents, bitter cold instantly froze their trousers and sleeves. Eventually the long night passed, however, and in the morning the pair managed to climb back down the mountain to safety.
Ninety years later, scientists recognized that Rainier's summit was a uniquely suitable site for experiments preparatory to our first moon probe. Anxious to learn how it feels, mentally and physically, to survive in a hostile environment, totally cut off from other human beings and the events of daily life, they spent more than a month living in the same place where those early climbers had bivouacked.
The scientists soon found that they had chosen a hostile site indeed. Rocks surrounding the steam vents reached temperatures of 170º F, almost hot enough to boil water at these high elevations. A yard or two away from the hot rocks, in contrast, their thermometers recorded winter air temperatures as low as 0º F inside the caves, and outside the mercury dropped to -80º F at night. This temperature range of 250 degrees is greater than that recorded almost anywhere else on earth, ideal for experiencing the kind of temperature extremes that might be encountered on the moon.
Austere, in fact, is the only word for the summit of Rainier. Permanently covered with ice and snow, it is ringed with glaciers that spill down the slopes on all sides. Fierce winds howl almost constantly, and blizzards may blind climbers even in midsummer. Few who reach the top have enough energy left to explore the whole broad crown of the mountain. Instead, they cross the small crater left by Rainier's most recent eruption in order to reach Columbia Crest, the highest point on its rim, then seek a spot where they can sit and relax. And there, if the day is clear, they exult in the astonishing view and rest up for the descent. This peak, so serene at sunset or when seen floating above Seattle like an anchored white cloud, demands real stamina to climb, but the magic and euphoria that come with the accomplishment are unmatched.
The ascent to the summit takes two days. On the first day, climbers make their way to a permanent camp located about two-thirds of the way up the mountain. They get an early start the next morning, setting out while the sky is still dark and street lights are still gleaming in sleeping communities far below. The idea is to make it to the top of the mountain and come back down again before the heat of the day softens the snow's surface and creates other hazards.
Even with the help of ice axes and steel spikes on your boots, the climb is tough, especially in the oxygen-poor air at these high elevations. The route, moreover, goes across the jagged surface of a living glacier, threading its way between crevasses that split the ice into a maze of miniature canyons; some must be jumped, others crossed on bridges of ice and snow. The crevasses are caused by stresses that develop as the glacier inches downslope over uneven bedrock. Their walls are sculpted with ledges that lead nowhere; icicles that weigh tons hang from their lips, melting by day, freezing again at night. Although the crevasses look bottomless, few are more than 100 feet deep. But they certainly add to the excitement of the climb.