Rose on Rainier
The story behind the name
When my newly-minted stepdad invited me to climb Mt. Rainier, the idea was so abstract I didn’t realize what I was saying yes to.
I had never even backpacked before, much less mountaineered.
I figured he’s either trying to get to know me,
or he’s trying to end me.
look at these idiotsMy stepdad was a Special Forces Green Beret. He has Green Beret friends, like a medic, a pilot, and a mountaineering guide, who had all the credentials to climb Rainier, and… me and my brother, who did not.
I trained on the sand dunes of San Francisco, my brother on the hilly roads of NYC – no mountains, no ropes, no crampons, no experience.
Just idiocy and a stepdad’s suspicious plan.
If anyone could devise a strategy to disappear two adult children in an icy crevasse, it would be elite special operators.
We trudged our way up to Camp Muir for the first night. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.
My stepdad turned around early on due to severe altitude sickness, leaving my brother and I — and our ineptitude — with these total badass strangers.
Our packs were too heavy, we did not fuel or hydrate enough, and it took us all day and into the evening to get there.
I remember squinting through fog and fading light to see Camp Muir so far away. I sincerely considered whether the Search & Rescue fee might be worth it. The fear and physical pain were overwhelming.
But…
I could not let my brother win,
or leave him alone.
There was no choice but up.
To access the vault outhouse, situated along an exposed ridge, I crawled on all fours and wore my backpack, praying the added weight and ground contact would prevent a perilous and embarrassing fall. Who wants to die trying to poop on a mountain? I watched one tent with a 90 lb pack inside get blown away, and my group leader’s tent whipped into his stove and caught on fire.
Total shitshow
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Total shitshow 〰️
Camp Muir was supposed to be respite. But I had altitude sickness and was allergic to the medication supposed to help. The climb up depleted me, which was daunting considering the next day’s climb required actual mountaineering. Without my stepdad, the mastermind behind this little adventure, it was just these elite superheroes and … us.
10,500ft up this mountain with them,
I had never felt smaller.
That night was terrifying. There is nothing like setting up camp on the side of a volcanic mountain, exposed to the wind and elements, with people you don’t know on an adventure that has so far proved exceptionally dumb, and then expect to sleep. Each sound wracked my body with fear, and I counted the seconds between each one, convinced some natural force was barreling toward me and my little tent.
By this point, I was actually open to the idea of falling into a crevasse.
A week prior, six people didn’t make it home.
They were in their tent on this same mountain, perhaps lying awake in fear like me, when an avalanche swept them to their deaths. I couldn’t stop thinking of them, and how nothing but fate at this point would protect me. I didn’t sleep a wink.
Fortunately, I made it to the morning, glaring at my brother who somehow slept peacefully next to me, now questioning if what I had heard all night were indeed terrifying sounds of imminent death or his absurd ability to snore through it all. My murderous thoughts were interrupted by our group leader unzipping our tent to provide the morning report.
He said the winds were vicious, and that we would spend the day determining whether to make a summit push around 1am. The plan was to practice our crampon walking, rescue roping, and ice ax self-arresting.
The End
We decided to return home.
All that training, time, money, and emotional energy invested in what was ultimately a failed summit attempt was hard to accept. Glissading down the mountain was the only fun I had. I was beyond relieved to be back on the ground.
Rainier changed me.
It was only upon reaching safe ground, and the fact that nobody died, that I could conceptualize Rainier as something fun, repeatable, and a challenge I rose to. And I believe that the terror, mortality awareness, and complete overwhelm of any useful skillset were also critical to the transformation I experienced. I was never the same after that, and that is why in this newest venture of mine, I named my first and dream private practice:
