Summer's officially here and as usual I want to spend the next three months doing pretty much every that it's possible to do outdoors. Including returning to Mount Rainier National Park and hiking the big giant snowfield in the sky to Camp Muir. Though very strenuous, it's not at all technical and gets you up to 10,188 feet--that's only 600 feet lower than the summit of Mount Baker!
Here's a story I wrote four years ago for The Seattle Times about my Camp Muir excursion. I've not been down there yet this year so for the latest conditions, be sure to check the information resources at the end of the story.
Camp
Muir: A quick altitude adjustment
Mount Rainier's base
camp makes for a popular day-hike destination
by Mike McQuaide
(Originally published Thursday, August 28, 2008)
I’m the type who likes
to get mind-blowingly high. In the mountains, I mean. And when an early-August
five-day forecast predicted nothing but clear skies and pleasant temperatures,
I knew where I wanted to go: Camp Muir, that base camp in the sky, tucked high
in the rocks just below Mount Rainier’s airy summit.
How high? Were Camp
Muir at the tippy-top of its own mountain, its location on a rocky saddle at
10,188 feet would make it the fifth-highest peak in the Washington State, just
below Glacier Peak. (It’s 1,800 feet higher than Mount St. Helens.)
Around for pretty much
as long as people have been climbing Mount Rainier and named for John Muir, the
famed naturalist, Camp Muir is the main base camp for many of the 9,000
climbers who annually attempt to summit the mountain. It boasts stone and wood
shelters for climbers and hikers, several aromatic privies, and is home to
several climbing rangers who essentially live on the mountain in a cramped
stone hut first built in 1916.
The rangers dispense
vital information on route conditions and help climbers who get into trouble.
“We do whatever we have
to do to help people out,” says ranger Kevin Hammonds.
But Camp Muir isn’t
just for potential summiteers. With its stupendous views—all the way to Central
Oregon on some days—and its potential to offer a non-technical, relatively safe
hike to a spot almost two miles high on a true Northwest icon, Camp Muir makes
for a popular day-hike destination too.
9:21 a.m.; elevation:
8,500 feet. On a midweek morning under blue skies, I’ve got the Muir Snowfield
all to myself. I haven’t seen a single person; all is silent.
Except for what I could
swear is the far-off sound of whooping and hollering.
Not far up the
snowfield, I spot two hikers making their way down the snow in an especially
smooth manner. There’s no bouncing up and down usually associated with
human-powered forward motion (i.e., walking). That’s because they’re
glissading—that’s the high-falutin’ term for sliding down the snow on one’s
butt.
The snowfield is
streaked with what look like mini half-pipes. Gouges carved out of the snow by
people’s sit-upons where it’s steep enough to let them slide while sitting.
“Woo-hoo, that was fun!” says Annie Passarello from Ashford upon coming to a
stop after a couple-hundred yard sit-down ride. “That just made it all worth
it.”
At 3 a.m., Passarello
and Brian McDonald, also from Ashford, headed out from Paradise in the dark so
that they could be high on the mountain to watch the sun rise over mounts
Adams, St. Helens, Hood, and beyond.
“The stars were amazing
and when the sun came up, everything turned pink,” Passarello gushes. “It was
gorgeous.”
It took Passarello and
McDonald four hours to reach Camp Muir, which is making good time. Hiking books
say to plan on six to 10 roundtrip. It’s nine miles there and back but it’s not
the distance that makes it tough, but the elevation gain—4,700 feet—and that
it’s all done at high elevation—5,400 to 10,000-plus feet.
6:45 a.m.; elevation:
5,420 feet. After staring dumbfounded at the early morning sun hitting Mount
Rainier for what seems like 20 minutes, I set out from the Paradise parking
area. I follow signs for the Skyline Trail and climb through pretty meadows
bursting with magenta paintbrush, avalanche lily, and blue lupine.
In my pack, I carry lots. Though it’s already warm and sunny—60s likely warming
up to 80s—I remember the words of an old salt who once told me that above 5,000
feet in the Cascades, there’s the potential for winter every single day of the
year. I’d be heading up to 10,000 feet and figured the potential was probably
twice as great.
“The snowfield is a
place where a casual day hiker can run to trouble,” says Mike Gauthier, search
and rescue coordinator for Mount Rainier National Park.
“Unfortunately, a lot
of people go up there for a day hike unprepared for how quickly the weather can
change.”
Last June, a Bellevue
man died while hiking the Muir Snowfield when he and his party were stuck in a
blizzard blasting 70-mph winds. I’m in short sleeves and lightweight pants with
zip-off legs, but along with the 10 essentials, my pack includes a fleece
jacket, snowboard pants, and a half dozen more PowerBars than I ever hope to
consume.
After 2.3 miles and
about 1,800 feet of climbing, I reach a sign pointing to Pebble Creek. Once
across, I navigate a short rocky stretch and voila—I’ve reached the Muir
Snowfield. Different from a glacier in that it is not a river of snow and ice
slowly crawling down the side of the mountain, the snowfield is, like it
sounds, a big field of snow. That tilts upward. At times, seemingly straight
upward. Over the next 2.2 miles to Camp Muir, the route climbs 2,800 feet.
Across the snow, boot
track and the mini half-pipes are easy to follow, and here and there,
orange-flagged wands stuck in the snow point the way. Ahead of me, 14,410-foot
Mount Rainier is massive and stoic: a huge pile of rock with a jumble of snow
and ice spilling down its front. It looks like it could use a bib.
10:17 a.m.; elevation: 9,450
feet. Up ahead, at the far corner of the snowfield, I spot what look like
boxes. It’s Camp Muir. Seeing the straight lines and squared-off edges of
manmade structures way up here seems odd. Like being stranded on a deserted
island only to come across a drive-thru Starbucks.
In a half-hour, I’m at
Camp Muir. So are about 30 others, most of them lounging about the rocky
plateau, enjoying lunch while relishing the experience of having summited in
the early morning hours. Others gather their gear for the hike back down to
Paradise while still others scope out a place to set up camp for the night.
Along with the privies
and shelters, the camp features several tents that have been set up nearby in
the snow. Just above, a line of roped-up climbers crosses the Cowlitz Glacier,
passing below a huge crevasse that looks to be smiling down on them.
“That was exhausting,”
says David Clark, 20, from New Hartfield, Conn. He was part of a RMI (Rainier
Mountaineering Inc.) party that left Camp Muir at midnight, reached the
mountain’s summit at 7 a.m., and just now returned to camp.
"Awesome, but
exhausting. I’ve never been above 8,000 feet before so that was a big step up.
”
I’d expected it to be
much colder up here, and that I’d be bundled up in my jacket and snowboard
pants, teeth chattering as I shivered in a stiff wind at 10,000-plus feet. But
the air is still, the sun is strong, and though I’m still in short sleeves I’m
even a tad warm.
The glissading on the
way down fixes that.
On my way back down,
not far below Camp Muir, I come to the first half-pipe streaking down the
snowfield. Down I go. Onto my butt in the cold, cold snow swooshing down the
hill losing in a snap all that elevation I worked so hard for on the way up.
When I’m too wet and
chilled to take it anymore, I hop out and hike for a bit. When I heat up, I
plop back in. Then hop back out. And plop back in.
And downward I go.
Back to Paradise.
Mike McQuaide is a Bellingham freelance writer and author of "Day Hike! Central
Cascades" and "Day Hike! North Cascades" (Sasquatch Books).
Information:
Rangers at Camp Muir maintain a blog that
offers information on current route conditions, weather, guide services, photos
and more. Go here.
For more park information and conditions, go here.
