Climbing Mt. Rainier: A Self-Guided Ascent of the Ingraham Direct

It all began with my friend Michael Sharp and me talking about climbing Denali in Alaska. We were fans of climbers Mark Twight, Steve House, and other great alpinists at the time. We wanted to climb the Japanese Couloir in the same alpine style as our heroes. Michael and I had done a lot of climbing together—rock, ice, and alpine mountaineering. To prepare for our eventual goal of Denali, I wanted to climb an easier mountain. Known as the “training ground for the Himalayas,” Mt. Rainier seemed like the perfect place to refine our skills.

Early in our planning and training phase, Michael had to drop out due to work commitments. I reached out to my friend Matt, who lived in Colorado. We needed two additional climbers and found Keith and JD online. Matt and I trained together, even taking a snow mountaineering class in April 2000. Keith and JD trained in their respective states, and we all agreed to meet in Washington. We were a team of four, and because I was comfortable leading on rock and ice, I was designated team leader.

Colorado has many 14ers, and quite a few are very difficult—but none quite like Mt. Rainier. When we arrived, a ranger pulled us aside and cautioned us: “This is nothing like Colorado 14ers.” Covered in massive glaciers, towering seracs, and crevasses large enough to swallow houses, Mt. Rainier has a reputation for being deadly. In the early 1980s, eleven members of a twenty-two-person team were killed on Disappointment Cleaver. Their bodies were never recovered. It is also an active volcano—making Mt. Rainier a serious challenge. A climb like this without a guide service is more like a mini-expedition. As such, we had a long gear list:

Two 4-season tents, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, Tibetan prayer flags
50 wands (for marking the route in whiteout conditions), Garmin GPS, maps
2 snow pickets and 1 ice screw per person
Two 8.5mm half ropes
1 avalanche probe per two people
Avalanche beacons
Two snow shovels
Harness, helmet, carabiners, ice axe, crampons, mountaineering boots, pulleys, and other climbing gear
Stove, food, cooking gear, and personal items

To climb Mt. Rainier, you begin at Paradise, the visitor center at 5,500 feet. From there, you ascend the Muir Snowfield to Camp Muir at approximately 10,080 feet. Some guided climbers stay in the RMI hut, but we stayed in tents. We found a spot where a previous party had camped, complete with a snow kitchen dug at least five feet deep. We used it for cooking and enjoyed the carved-out benches. Although we initially planned to climb the same night we arrived, we decided we were too tired and would begin the ascent the following evening.

We spent the next day practicing snow travel, examining crevasses, and talking with other teams. We discovered that many had not summited despite multiple attempts—this was their third or fourth try. It wasn’t encouraging, but we remained committed. Then Keith told us he would not attempt the summit; he didn’t feel ready.

We woke at midnight. I stepped outside the tent and saw stars so bright against a sky so black it felt like standing on the moon. There was no color—only black and shades of gray. The three of us geared up and stepped onto snow so frozen our crampons barely bit. We could see the gap between our boots and the surface. Other teams were already moving. We left just after 1:00 a.m., climbing into the darkness with only headlamps and cold air.

Our original plan was to climb Disappointment Cleaver, but it wasn’t viable. Instead, we chose the Ingraham Direct. About twenty minutes after passing through Cadaver Gap, we heard a deep rumble behind us—an avalanche. Later we learned it had swept through Cadaver Gap. Fortunately, no one was caught.

We continued up the Ingraham Glacier, following the packed path left by climbers ahead of us. As the sun rose, we stopped and looked down at Little Tahoma Peak. The view was breathtaking. Climbers looked like ants on the glacier below. After countless switchbacks, we reached the summit rim. From there, it’s a walk across to Columbia Crest at 14,411 feet. Exhausted, we arrived just after 7:00 a.m. We took photos, ate, drank, and took it all in—we had made it.

“Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory.” — Ed Viesturs

From the summit, we could see endless snowfields, clouds below us, and distant mountain ranges. The descent began uneventfully, though Matt broke through a snow bridge over a crevasse but quickly recovered. Things changed in the icefall.

A massive ice block broke loose above us.

You know how people say life flashes before your eyes? It does. I remember thinking, I can’t go anywhere. The block struck the wall above us and shattered. A large chunk slammed into the snow like a stone hitting water, sending snow upward like a splash. Other fragments flew toward climbers below. One woman was struck in the leg—one moment standing, the next on the ground. It happened instantly. Her team rushed to help her. We continued past, shaken.

Later, we encountered a crevasse that had opened earlier that morning. Someone had placed a ladder across it. I paused to take a photo of my feet—it looked like something straight out of an Everest documentary.

We eventually returned to Camp Muir, packed up, and descended. Quiet, exhausted, and reflective. I remember how vivid everything looked—the green grass, the colors of cars. We ate, slept deeply, and drove home.

Keith and JD went on to summit Mt. Hood shortly after our Rainier climb.

To learn what happened to all of us afterward, I suggest reading The Story of the Rice.

Additional editing by Gordon Eaton III