I'm not sure how many times I've climbed this mountain. What I can say for sure is I've never stood on the summit in good weather. Not even moderately good weather. In fact the only time I came even close in good weather I had to turn back well short of the summit because I started late.
So in spite of such a lousy track record and a well-deserved reputation as a thigh-buster, I headed up for our annual Turkey Burner the day after Thanksgiving. Also: I didn't have to even consider shopping. Or watching football. Or feeling like I did nothing but eat all weekend. And #optOutside
In the lower forest, the sudden cold snap that had rolled in a few days prior had caused tons of frost beard to appear. (Not to be confused with my frosty beard.) I've seen lots of pictures of frost beard and even seen it in real life a couple of times, but never like this. It was everywhere. Think impossibly thin strands of ice extruded from a rotting piece of wood. (How it happens isn't 100% understood, but it likely has something to do with a fungus.)
Higher, the waterfall was coated in ice and still deeply in shadow. It's usually very refreshing to stop in the spray to cool off a moment, but even below the snow line it was not warm enough for that.
Once I gained the ridge, the snow started to pile up. It wasn't bad and there were tracks to follow. I was making good time until I came out into a clearing and the Mountain interrupted.
No matter where I am, Mount Rainier will grab my attention. This time, it was under a cloudless sky, gleaming in the morning sun. The trail ducks back into the trees and then back into the open. BOOM. Rainier. I walked away from it to gain the summit itself and then OH HELLO THERE. Truly, there is no better symbol of my love for the mountains than the Mountain itself.
But back to this mountain. The summit was under about two feet of snow, sculpted by the wind into swooping lines and tiny cornices. On three sides, it's a 500-plus foot drop. No wonder I couldn't see anything when I was up here in the middle of a cloud bank or in the pitch dark. Good thing we were always cautious. We hung out for about 30 minutes hoping someone else would arrive, but it was just us. Or so we thought...
Back down off the summit block I swung out near a cliff to get a view into the gully below. A big mountain goat lounged in the sun in much the same way I had, but I think she was warmer. After all, she wasn't wearing shorts. (I'm a true Northwesterner.) We were as stealthy as could be, but not ninja enough. She looked up and nonchalantly made her way across the gully and into the trees on the other side.
After the excitement of finding a goat so close to home I decided I didn't want to just bomb down the super-steep way we'd climbed. We followed a set of tracks the long way down. Except they weren't human tracks, they belonged to Ms. Goat. And the long way was really LONG. The goat did a surprisingly good job staying on the actual trail until it diverged from the ridge line. After that, we winged it to descend roughly on the trail until the snow thinned enough to discern the way.
Six hours later (I swear it seemed that long) we were back at the car. Exhausted. Beat. Stoked. Blue skies, snow, goats, and Mount Rainier have a way of making me feel amazing. Too bad that can't be every day, but if it had to be just once in a while, right after Thanksgiving made it easy to give thanks.
