We all have limits, and they fluctuate from day to day. One day we feel invincible. We perform well, with courage and strength. The next day, we feel fragile. We are drained, dull, and anxious. I used to think that my attitude could guarantee a high performance every day, but I realize now that each day, countless factors determine my limits. We do not know what our limits are until we go right up to the edge and realize that we are at the end, or perhaps we continue over that edge into the dark place of danger where we damage ourselves, need help, or have to make a hasty retreat. Adventurous types love going to that edge. It is a part of knowing yourself. Sometimes crossing the line is an act of faith. At other times it is an act of folly. When we overcome, there is a satisfaction that comes from discovering what you are capable of. It is often more than you ever imagined. But sometimes we think we are capable of more than what is possible on a given day. Those who climb mountains have tested their limits and experienced the elation of doing what they thought was impossible, but they have also been humbled and stopped by forces that they underestimated. The mountain clarifies the limits of our mortality and the demarcation that exists between what we can and cannot do.

As a person of faith, I push the limits. I claim Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Yet we are not invincible. We are finite. We experience God’s empowerment, but we ourselves are not omnipotent.

Wednesday evening my phone rang, and it was Uli: “Do you want to climb Mount Rainier with me this Friday?  We’ll climb all night, summit at sunrise, and be back down before noon.”  “Sure. I will be there,” was my immediate response.

I had been wanting to climb the mountain for years. When the clouds lift in Seattle, the mountain appears as a hulking mass of rock and ice dominating the southern horizon and beckoning adventurers. They are drawn in by the force of its imposing, dangerous, and uninhabitable beauty.

According to the National Park Service, the mountain is the most heavily glaciated peak in the contiguous United States. To reach its 14,411-foot summit, one must climb 9000 feet of elevation over a distance of about eight miles. The climb involves traversing glacier fields, avoiding crevasses, circumventing seracs, kicking footholds into ice, and avoiding rockfall and avalanches. Weather is always a major concern with high winds, freezing cold, and sudden storms.  These dangers are very real, with over 400 lives being claimed by the mountain since 1897.

Uli is a world-class runner. He won the Master’s Division at the Boston Marathon in 2012 and in 2014. He is one of the best ultra-marathoners in the world, and a skilled mountaineer.  He would be my guide. I had recently won the Portland Marathon and was in peak physical condition. I had great confidence in our conditioning and mental toughness.

We arrived at the Paradise parking lot at 7:30 p.m. We laid out our gear and waited for the sun to set.  By climbing at night, we would avoid some of the rockfall, icefall, crevasse collapse, and avalanche potential which are all triggered when the snow is melting. Our goal was to summit at sunrise and then make a hasty descent, arriving back to the parking lot before noon.

We were attempting to climb the mountain at a torrid pace. It was only eight miles and based on my training I was not intimidated by the elevation gain. I knew that I could do it. Uli was one of the best in the world.  We were both in top condition. I thought that I was prepared.

Climbing light meant that we did not have to carry tents or sleeping bags.  We had a rope, ice axes, crampons, food, water, and essential gear. We wore cross country running shoes for the first half, ascending quickly as darkness settled.  The lower trails disappear into the Muir Snowfield which is 2.2 miles long and ascends 2900 feet of elevation. This section ends at Camp Muir (10,067 feet), where climbing teams rest and park rangers have their highest established base. The snowfield itself has been listed as one of the ten most dangerous hikes in the United States. (Backpacker Magazine, https://www.backpacker.com/skills/america-s-10-most-dangerous-hikes-muir-snowfield-mt-rainier-wa)

Uli and I kept a fast pace as we made the long, straight slog up to Camp Muir. As the final glow of sunlight disappeared behind us on the Western horizon, I looked forward to seeing its warm glow again to the East the next morning, as we approached the summit.

I felt the annoyance of a migraine setting in as we jogged into Camp Muir. I was trying hard to stay hydrated and to take in some calories, as we prepared for the second phase of our climb. The mountain loomed large over us as it slowly and subtlety tapped us of reserves of energy.

It was only 11:15 p.m., but the camp was starting to wake up as climbing teams began preparing for their own ascent of the next section of the mountain. We took off our running shoes and put on boots. We added a couple of layers of clothes. We put on climbing harnesses. We put crampons over our boots. We reviewed techniques for self-arrest in case one of us slipped. Uli made sure I knew how to perform a crevasse rescue. We had a light breakfast, “roped up”, and headed towards Ingram Flats. A few rows of the lights of headlamps could be seen crossing the flats as climbing teams began their ascent. The stars illuminated the snowscape and the air was a crisp 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

Uli was in front of me and we were tethered together by 35 feet of rope, ice axes in hand. The purpose of a rope team is that if one person slips and falls, their partner(s) will be able to stop their fall (hopefully).

The effects of altitude are intensified by the speed of one’s ascent. It takes time for your body to adjust to the lack of oxygen.  The symptoms of mild to acute mountain sickness include dizziness, fatigue, headache, loss of appetite, nausea or vomiting, shortness of breath, and confusion.

My headache intensified and I lost my appetite as we scrambled up the rocky spine of Disappointment Cleaver. My stomach was in knots. We pressed on, approaching 12,000 feet.

At the top of the Cleaver, Uli turned towards me, confessing that he was feeling sick. A few moments later he vomited the contents of his stomach. We paused and rested as a few climbers passed us for the first time. I wondered to myself, “Is it a bad sign when your guide is throwing up?”

We both were trying to stay hydrated, forcing down the fluids. I thought it might help my headache go away. But I also noticed that my water supply was getting dangerously low.

All the fluids that Uli had consumed were now mingled with the snow and the ice on the edge of the trail. He forced down some Gatorade and water and we lumbered upward and onward. We gingerly walked across a deep crevasse on a metal ladder that had been laid down as a bridge. Far to the east, the black starry sky began to lighten. I guessed it was now 4 a.m. It was bitter cold, and I realized that my toes were numb, and my leather boots were frozen.

At 13,000 feet Uli vomited again. I had not thrown up, but my head and stomach both ached horribly.  I wanted this ordeal to end. I felt sick and was unable to eat. I was exhausted. I became increasingly worried about my guide, Uli. He must be dehydrated now. I shared some of mine with him hoping he would get it into his system successfully. He was not keeping fluids down and he had just expelled the last of his water.

As we approached 14,000 feet, we had slowed to a crawl. The light of the rising sun was transforming the horizon. A climbing team passed us as we rested on the 45-degree sloping icefield just 600 feet below the summit. At our current pace, the final 600 feet represented another couple of hours on the mountain. Every minute was a slow agony.

After getting sick one more time, Uli asked if it would be all right if we abandoned the summit attempt and got down the mountain. I assured him that I thought this might be a wise decision. We were at our limit, and we had a long way to go to get off the mountain. I knew that most mountaineering accidents occur on the descent, not the ascent. I knew that it would take a major effort to get back to our cars, even with gravity working in our favor.

Somberly, we drank the last of our water and began trudging down the mountain, frequently stepping off the trail to let climbing parties pass by as they made their way to the summit.  Even though we were descending, we were getting weaker. At the bottom of Disappointment Cleaver, we un-roped and looked for snowmelt to refill our water. Although we could hear water flowing under the glacier, we could find none to fill our water bottles. By now the sun was blazing down on the snow and rocks were tumbling down parts of the mountain. My boots and toes had thawed out, but I had suffered from some frostbite that would affect my feet for the next five years.

Uli had been unable to find water. Just 30 feet away from me, he called out, “Matt! Maaaattt!!” I looked at him and said, “Uli, what are you doing?”. His response was “I was climbing with someone named Matt and I can’t find him.”

“Uli, uh, I am Matt,” I replied.

He looked at me with confusion and then embarrassment as my identity registered in his foggy mind.

“We really need to get off the mountain”, he concluded.

Like zombies we shuffled downward, thirsty, and hopeful to rehydrate at Camp Muir. Staggering into the camp, we found it mostly abandoned as all the climbing teams were now on the mountain. A ranger was there, and we talked to him about how we were feeling. He pointed us towards a spigot of water and I greedily filled my water bottle and drained its 32 ounces into my parched body.

Seconds later, it all violently came back up, and out, along with all the food I had consumed during the last twelve hours. I did not have time to get far from the spigot and I was embarrassed by the noise and the mess I had made. The ranger was watching me without judgement. I asked him for a shovel so that I could clean up my mess.

Compassionately he said, “I will take care of it.”

“I need to sleep,” I told him.

“You need to continue to get to a lower altitude” was his response.

Uli and I reluctantly resumed our shuffle down the snowfield.

These last four miles of descent were hot, exhausting, but also exhilarating. We gladly sat down on the slow and glissaded down long slides of ice at dangerous speeds.

It wasn’t long before we started seeing day hikers dressed in khakis and posing for selfies at the edge of the snowfield. We were getting close!  Finally, we staggered into the parking lot twelve hours after we had started. We had not slept. Our stomachs ached. We forced ourselves to hydrate, barely keeping the fluids down. Emotionally, we were both disappointed. I thanked Uli for his help and his friendship. We got into our cars and began to drive home.

I began to doze off 40 minutes into my 2 ½ hour drive. I could not keep my eyes open. I pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and fell asleep. I was alarmed to wake up four hours later. I called Heidi and explained to her what had happened and where I was. I was feeling better and managed to make the drive home.

The mountain had won. 600 feet from the summit, we had wisely backed down and retreated. I had been humbled. I also had learned a lot that day about myself and Rainier. The mountain deserved my respect. Just because I was a well-conditioned marathon runner did not mean that I was prepared for the altitude. If I ever climbed the mountain again, I would do it differently.

Today’s failures and defeats may be preparing you for something even greater, further down the road.  Just because you fail at something once, does not make you a failure.  It is just a part of the journey.

 

2 Corinthians 4:17

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

 

Our afflictions are achieving something good for us. We are growing wiser. We are gaining experience. We are discovering our limits. We are learning to walk humbly. We are living with a healthy respect for the power of the mountains that we see every day.

 

  • Describe a time when you assumed you could do something but you failed. What did you learn from that experience?
  • What could Matt and Uli have done differently in order to potentially reach the summit?
  • What are your troubles achieving for you?