Unfortunately, hiking almost 100 miles hasn’t made me a super-athlete or given me feet of steel. I think part of the problem is that my muscles and feet just haven’t had time to heal from the daily abuse. My big belly and weak legs coming into this hike certainly didn’t help any. And, of course, my 50-pound pack doesn’t help me float down the trail with aplomb. Next time I’ll pack lighter.
In any event, we’ve come a long way, we’ve persevered, we’re on the final stretch, our packs are about as light as they’ve been (it probably helps that Matt just gave away some of our hot chocolate to Dave and Jeremy!), and we’re expecting a beautiful day. What I don’t think we’re expecting is the brutal hike that lies ahead.
It’s cold this morning, but it’s clear and sunny. After a leisurely time around camp, we finally pack up and head out, mid morning. I remember the short, steep climb up the trail to the lake, having punished my feet last night by forcing them to take me there. This morning, however, I can actually see the lake. We had hiked past it in the dark and didn’t even know it. Our easily-reached goal was the Patrol Cabin. If the lake had been a bear, we’d have been eaten. Of course we were fine. I never saw a bear the entire hike and Matt just saw the one at a distance way back at Klapatche Park.
In any event, the lake is beautiful. We stroll around its banks, snapping a few shots and enjoying its serenity. I scan its banks, fruitlessly, for that mama bear and her cub. There was a sign on the Patrol Cabin to the effect that these bears do, in fact, exist. I think it’s a hoax.
We slowly begin to wind our way out of the basin in which Mystic Lake resides. We do our usual routine: rest every so often, take photos (of lazy marmots, in this case), and look at the map to identify interesting features. That’s one thing about hiking this trail. There’s an endless supply of features to check out, either by foot or simply on
your map.
After arriving at the top of the switchbacks, we gaze back at the mountain and I mention that it would be neat to hike over to that thar hill. It’s located just a bit closer to The Mountain than Mineral Mountain is, and it appears as though we could get there via a relatively easy hike along this ridgeline. Matt laughs and wishes me luck. Of course, I’m not that big a glutton for punishment. Maybe another time.
Ahhhh. Now it’s time for a little downhill. We slowly make our way down to Moraine Park. Our plan is to take an extended break there. Drop the packs, have some food, and of course, see what the map has to say.
It’s a relatively short, gentle downhill and a very nice, level walk across the Park. We look for a good rest spot as we amber across the large clearing. Upon arriving at the far side, we decide just to drop our packs there, as there doesn’t appear to be any particularly great place to stop other than just on the side of the trail.
We let our packs slide off our backs as we just sit on the grassy ground, letting our feet rest on the dirt trail which is simply a deep rut through the meadow. It looks like this trail must have been created initially with a spade, slicing down into the thick, rich grass and soil. It has gotten deeper as thousands of hikers have beaten it down with their tired feet. It makes for a comfortable kind of stool.
We get out the map, curious as to our exact location, looking things over in a relaxed fashion, as we tear off chunks of beef jerky and exercise our jaws. What a treat on this hike, along with dried fruit.
I’m sitting on the Southwest side of the trail facing away from the mountain, while Matt is sitting on the Northeast side of the trail. All of a sudden, he leaps to his feet, points at The Mountain, and says in a calm, but intense voice, “it’s happening!”
By now, I hear a rumbling sound coming from about 3 miles behind me. I jump up, spin around, and see a cloudy wall of snow screaming down Liberty Wall. Without hesitation, I call to Matt to take the lens off my camera which is sitting on the ground in front of him. Before I’m done speaking, I grab my pack, unzip the top pouch, and remove my 70-200 f/2.8 SSM. Matt hands me my 6 megapixel digital SLR body, I slap the zoom lens onto it, point it at the mountain, and begin snapping away. I capture this huge avalanche within seconds of its birth, high up the mountainside.
After the snow settles, about a minute after the chaos began, I feel exhilarated to have gotten photos of an avalanche, not feeling quite so cheated at not having seen a bear. This is a pretty good treat. I'll settle for an avalanche.
Having gotten some rest and some excitement to boot, we button up our packs and continue on the mild, rocky, decline alongside Carbon Glacier. Although we can’t see the gargantuan glacier to our West, we know we’ll see its foot before too long. Matt, in particular, has been looking forward to seeing a glacier close up.
We both comment, as we trudge down, down, down, that we’re glad we’re not headed the other way. This has to be the longest descent of the entire hike. We will soon be reminded, with agonizing finality, that what goes down, must go up.
Headed up this extremely long climb we see Paul and Cindy from Wisconsin. They’re clearly struggling, but they’re determined and I believe they will make it back to Longmire.
Eventually, we get to a spot where we have a great view of the foot of Carbon Glacier. We drop our packs, I begin eating, and Matt scrambles down to the valley the glacier has carved over the years. This is Matt’s chance to get up close and personal with a glacier. It’s a bit of a hike, so I have a chance to eat some cheese and salami. When I see that Matt has gotten to this mammoth mountain of ice, I grab my camera and take several photos of him next to the glacier. He is a mere dot next to the foot of the glacier. The scale of this thing is amazing. The ice must be well over 100 feet thick and this isn’t even the biggest part of the glacier or the biggest glacier on Mount Rainier. Thankfully, Matt arrives back at the trail without having been hit in the head by a 50-pound rock falling off the glacier (which happens with regularity—I mean rocks falling off the glacier, not people getting hit in the head by them).
Back on go the packs and a little more downhill before getting to the suspension bridge that will take us over the Carbon River. By now, the valley is relatively small and the bridge is not far over the river—maybe 20 feet—unlike the Tahoma Creek suspension bridge that towers one hundred feet over the Tahoma Creek.
On the other side of the suspension bridge, we meet Cindy from Michigan and Sarah formerly from Michigan now living in Seattle. We’re a little concerned about the climb ahead so we ask them for some reassurance. They give it to us. However, they just came down. We’re going up.
We leave the clear view we have while in sight of the glacier and head into the thick forest. The trail is relatively level at first, but then begins to slope gently upward. Thus begins the longest ascent of the hike.
After hiking for some time, we stop so I can look at the map. Certain that we’re somewhere in the middle of the switchbacks, I just want to know how far until we get to Cataract Valley Camp. According to the map and Matt’s GPS, we haven’t even gotten to the switchbacks, yet. This is a little discouraging as I am just plain tired. At this point, I’m taking breaks pretty frequently. We press on. I feel a little encouraged when we finally get to the camp. I figure we must be about halfway through the tough stuff, since the camp is about halfway up the switchbacks.
The problem is that just because you've gotten past the switchbacks doesn’t mean that it’s easy going. It’s really no different than hiking up switchbacks. Switchbacks, in fact, allow the trail to be more gentle! So, areas on the map that don’t show switchbacks may actually be more difficult hiking than certain sets of switchbacks. In any event, getting past the switchbacks doesn't ease our pain.
To make a long story short, after getting past the switchbacks, we just keep on climbing and climbing and climbing. At one point, we are so thrashed that even Matt says that this is probably the toughest climb of the entire hike. Okay, now I know that it’s not just me! This climb is never going to end.
As we get closer to the top, closer to Spray Park, maybe in Mist Park, I notice that there are numerous beautiful small waterfalls. Despite the fact that I’m beat up and worn out, I still enjoy their beauty and think to myself that I’d like to come back here some time when I have a lighter load and more energy.
Eventually, of course, we get to the top. We can now see The Mountain, for the first time in hours. It looks gorgeous. The sky is clear. As tired as I am, it’s amazing how photography motivates me. I want to get a shot of The Mountain with the setting sun illuminating it. I take off down the trail at a brisk pace looking for a good spot to set up my tripod. After finding a location where The Mountain is in plain view, I head off the trail to get to the ideal spot to capture this beautiful spectacle.
I can’t be too picky, as the sun is quickly dropping toward the horizon, so I stop when I get to a spot that will work. I drop my pack, loosen the straps that hold my carbon fiber tripod securely, extend the tripod’s three three-section legs, mount my camera to the tripod, and attach the cable release to the camera. I make some quick adjustments to the camera so that I capture the best possible images and begin to snap a picture every few seconds. I want to capture the light as it changes so I can choose the best shot later. Matt arrives as I shoot.
My feet ache as I stand there attempting to capture The Mountain’s glory. Right now, however, it’s easy to ignore. This is what I love. Within about a half hour, the sun is gone.
After resting a while, it always seems to hurt more getting started again that it would have if you had just kept going in the first place. Oh, well. We don’t have far to go.
Matt had begun having knee problems on our way to Snow Lake and today he’s feeling it again. I go on ahead. It’s downhill, so I can move along okay. Matt just wants to take it easy on his knees.
I had forgotten that we have a set of switchbacks to descend to get to Eagles Roost. After I begin going down them, I remember having seen them on the map. I’m certainly not thrilled, but at least I know I’m almost there. By now, it’s quite dark and my headlamp is guiding the way. I’m careful to find the camp and not miss a turn. I don’t want to be backtracking now. It’s been an extremely difficult day.
I get to camp and throw my backpack off. What a relief! I know Matt’s struggling (even though he would never complain) and I’m happy to get the tent set up on my own. By now, I can do it alone pretty easily, having gotten the technique down well during the past 12 nights, even though I had help almost every other time.
I begin to worry about Matt, but before too long, he hobbles into camp. As always, we thoroughly enjoy our hot dinners. Not only is the experience pleasurable because it’s cold out and we’re hungry, but because we’re not wearing backpacks and we’re sitting down. It’s a combination that can’t be beat.
Tomorrow is a short day and we know it will be an easy hike. That will be a relief relative to this day’s marathon. After dinner, we wrap things up and hop into bed. We’re exhausted and we quickly fall asleep to the silent sounds of this remote wilderness.
Photos of the Hike
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