It’s Not About the Summit (and other lessons that I needed to re-learn)

It all started with a call from my brother; “Hey Cary, any interest in climbing Mount Rainier with me in July?” As I soon learned, Mt. Rainier is not the tallest peak in the lower 48, (Mt Whitney holds that title), but it is the most glaciated and offers the most variety of technical terrain, making it a popular climb for aspiring mountaineers. Climbing Rainier, or any other mountain, had never crossed my mind, but I knew that it would be an opportunity for a new experience and chance for adventure with my brother so I said yes.

Statistically, only 50% of those that make the attempt succeed in reaching Rainier’s summit. Physical limitations and weather are the primary reasons for failure. To help ensure that I didn’t fall into the “physical limitations” category, I dutifully started a training program which consisted of running, core strength exercises, and a variety of stair work wearing a weighted backpack. (Sigh. Yep, I was “that guy”, wearing hiking boots and a backpack on the YMCA Stairmaster.)

The time for the climb arrived and I found myself in the small town of Ashford, WA at the headquarters of our guide company, Rainier Mountaineering, Inc (RMI). 

The first two days of the program were filled with group introductions, gear checks, and snow school. This time was spent getting to know the rest of our climbing group, ensuring that we possessed all the proper equipment for the variety of conditions that we might face on the mountain, and learning the basics of glacial mountaineering. Early on my confidence was shaken as other members of the group commented about training at altitude, their past mountaineering exploits at Everest Base Camp, Mt. Whitney, and Kilimanjaro, or how they were attempting Rainier because their past athletic pursuits were “no longer a challenge” for them. Suddenly my hours spent on the Stairmaster seemed foolishly inadequate.

On day three we set out, locked and loaded to reach Camp Muir, our overnight stop and subsequent launch point for our summit bid. The weather was beautiful, and the day was filled with panoramic views, marmot sightings, and curious questions about what was to come. The excitement and energy of the group was palpable. 

We arrived at Camp Muir in the late afternoon and settled into the bunkhouse (aka a semi-permanent plywood box where we would soon cram 18 climbers). Over a dinner of dehydrated lasagna, our guides prepped us for the upper mountain climb ahead. The general plan: go to bed at 7pm, wake at midnight, start our summit climb around 1am. From this point on, we would be wearing crampons, climbing harnesses, and avalanche transceivers (so cool!)

Lying in my bag at Camp Muir that night, I could feel the plywood walls shake and shudder as the winds increased, but it was not enough to shake my excitement for what the next 12 hours would bring.

As we set off into the darkness of 1am, our steps illuminated by battery powered LED goodness, it was quickly evident that this would be a different experience from the day before. The air was cold, the wind was ever present, and walking with crampons while managing the rope line took purposeful focus. One and a half hours into the climb, at our first maintenance break near Ingraham Flats, two on the team decided that they had gone as far as they cared to press. At the base of Disappointment Cleaver, the crux of the climb, another four climbers tapped out. At the top of the Cleaver, another two climbers bowed out. At this point, the wind seemed relentless. With the wind chill, keeping my fingers from going numb required constant finger movement inside my gloves.

As we crossed 13,000 feet, our team of 18 climbers had dwindled to 10. At the break, rope lines were re-formed, and I found myself with four others in the lead group. As the degree of incline increased, so too did the average wind speed. Soon, we began to incorporate the use of anchor points hammered into the ice along the route. The use of the anchors with our rope greatly reduced the risk associated with a misstep, but also greatly slowed our rate of travel. As our march forward continued, I noticed that the sun must had risen, but that the thick cloud cover disguised its arrival. So much for a breathtaking sunrise at 13,000 feet.

Around 13,400 feet, winds had increased to a sustained 30mph with gusts nearing 50mph. With every gust, I instinctively crouched lower, and looked away in hopes of shielding my face from the sting of flying ice crystals. It was at this point that I noticed, between the howl of the wind, and the visual white-out from the cloud cap, I could only hear and see one rope line partner in front of me, beyond that, just a climbing rope disappearing into the white ether of the mountain. Fifteen minutes of climbing in these conditions and the gusts seemed to increase their frequency with each switchback. I had heard the phrase, “embrace the suck” before, and now found myself reluctantly opening my arms for a long hug. Then. It. Happened.

No, the wind didn’t suddenly stop; nor did the sun unexpectedly break through the clouds in majestic warming rays. No, what happened was a voice, shouting over the wind, “That’s it guys, we’re calling it; turn around!”

And just like that, our day was done. The lead guide determined that the risks presented by continuing were just too great. So, we turned around, 900 vertical feet shy of the summit.

At some point during the descent, we reached the bottom of the cloud cap and the views opened, presenting us with spectacular vistas. We were all astounded to see the glacial features and natural beauty that we had climbed right past, hours earlier in the dark of night. We spent the better part of the day retracing our steps back down the mountain, eventually ending up in the parking lot awaiting the bus that would take us back to Ashford. 

Over burgers and beers at base camp, the group talked about the highlights, low lights, lessons learned, and everything in-between. By the second round of beers, most of us had come to grips with the truth that reaching the summit just wasn’t meant to be that day. In the weeks since, I have found myself reflecting on the experience, and my own lessons learned. I quickly surmised that most of these were things that I already knew, but needed a reminder.

My reminders…

Take a risk and try something new. This mountain experience represented something new to me. Of the 50+ clothing and gear items that were required to participate, I owned maybe 10, with the remainder being borrowed or rented. It would have been much easier, cheaper, and logical to simply brush aside the invitation. The joy that I found in the experience reminds me to try to say “yes” to as many new experiences as possible, and not just the big experiences; I have since noticed that the same joy can be found in accepting a lunch date with an old friend, or an impromptu game of make believe with my kids.

Success is where preparation and opportunity meet. This is something that I have heard from my dad over the years, and there is no question that it is true. Only after the climb did I realize that as the guides established the rope line groups for the final push, they did so with an eye towards ability. Had I not put in the prep time training in the months leading up, I may have found myself relegated to one of the rear groups rather than with the head guide, leading the way forward. Life is always more fun and rewarding when you are part of the group leading the way forward. How can I apply this same concept to my family life and my career?

Confidence is good, but overconfidence can sink the ship. In the months leading up to the climb, I had put in the training time, done my research, and watched countless how-to videos on YouTube. In my mind, I was fairly confident that I was prepared for the mental and physical challenge ahead of me. That said, when others were speaking about their past mountaineering exploits with authority, or commenting about how they couldn’t wait to “show the mountain what they were made of”, I kept my mouth shut. In true Murphy’s Law fashion, it turned out that the overconfident members of the group were largely the ones turning back early, cutting their adventure short.

On the other end of the spectrum, one team member mentioned that he was on a two week break from military duty and had planned the trip as the highlight of his vacation. It wasn’t until he was pressed late in the trip that he admitted to being an active duty Army Ranger, and former Division 1 athlete. If anyone deserved to project confidence, it was this guy, but he was smart, and didn’t want to risk sinking his own ship. Life can throw you curveballs; it’s always better to let your results speak for themselves after the fact than to project assurances that you may not be able to keep.

It’s not about the Summit. We didn’t reach the summit, and at first that was a letdown. But, with reflection on the experience, I don’t think that it would have been any more satisfying had the weather conditions improved and we marched up that last 900 feet to stand on top. I’m sure that it would have been nice to look down on creation from 14,400, arms raised in victory for the obligatory summit selfie. But, like so many things in life, it’s not the easy days that shape and mold us. I don’t become a better banker so much during the times of economic strength, rather the lean times helping customers navigate the challenges that come with recession. I am not made a better father by hitting the easy button and letting the kids do what they please, rather the times I put my desires on hold long enough to help them with a project or teach them a new life skill. My marriage isn’t made stronger while on vacation, rather the times that my wife and I are working through a difficult parenting issue together. 

We may not have reached the summit that day, but successfully enduring the last 30 minutes of the climb in the face of the cold, wind, and white out conditions left a bigger mark on who I am and what I can endure. It gave me a memory with my brother that will remain, likely longer than any memories of sunny days long past.