By Teresa Hagerty, WNPF Board Member
On the morning of June 12th, 2019, I woke up in the summit crater of Mount Tahoma. The air was crisp, cold, and still. The silence was broken only by the gentle rustling of my teammates in the tent next to me. We were cozy and secure in our warm sleeping bags in the 400-meter encirclement of the summit crater rocks.
I have awoken under the influence of deep contentment, elation, and overwhelming awe. I was now one of the lucky few to wake up on top of Washington State and follow in the footsteps of mountaineering legends.
We had ascended via the Kautz route, a technically demanding steep snow and ice approach named after pioneering mountaineer August Kautz. This route follows a winding path through steep snow and ice, rock steps, fields of glacial crevasses, and more significant exposure challenges than the current standard routes of ascents.
The Nisqually Guide Wahpowtey led the first ascent of this challenging route in 1857. Wapowtey led Kautz and companions on an arduous 80-mile expedition from Fort Steilacoom to the base of the glacial ice for Mount Tahoma’s first recorded summit attempt. They were reportedly outfitted in oiled leather, ‘ice creeper’ shoes with nails embedded in the soles, and a precursor to the modern-day ice axe known as the alpenstock.
The Kautz party bravely struggled to an estimated 14,000 feet before a lack of provisions, snow blindness, and days of strenuous effort finally took their toll. The climbing party was forced to make the difficult decision to return to the safety of base camp with the summit nearly within reach. Kautz returned to Fort Steilacoom emaciated by his experience and is quoted as saying “….many a long year will pass away before roads are sufficiently good to induce anyone to do what we did in the summer of 1857.”
He was not wrong. This pioneering ascent occurred a full thirteen years before the first successful summit of P. B. Van Trump and Hazard Stevens.
Myself, a climbing partner, six other clients, and four guides from International Mountain Guides gathered at the foot of the mountain three days before our magical summit morning. Our journeys had started many years earlier to build the fitness, technical climbing skills, and mental fortitude to attempt this climb. We chose this route to test our skills, challenge our abilities, and retrace a piece of the path of the first documented ascent of Mount Rainier.
Our four-day itinerary started at Paradise at 5,400 feet as a stepping-off point toward on-mountain high camps, mazes of glacial crevasses, and the renowned Kautz Ice Chute. Our 14,411′ summit destination soared 9,000 vertical feet above and a strenuous three days journey beyond. With forty-five pounds on our backs, we traveled through the verdant meadows of Paradise and plunged into the icy world of the Nisqually Glacier.
The first day took us through mazes of bottomless crevasses, across steep snow fields, and beneath tons of towering ice to reach our first on-mountain camp. Our camp one at Lower Castle was an incredible location with front-row views of the Tatoosh Range and seemingly endless points beyond.
It was here that our Lead Guide informed us that it was possible – with the weather forecast on our side – to attempt an overnight camp in the summit crater. This option would depart from the standard practice of leaving cumbersome overnight packs at high camp before a summit attempt. It was up to us to climb well enough to prove that we had what it took to make it happen.
The entire team woke the morning of day two with a fire in our bellies. We climbed strong, focused, and well to camp two near Camp Hazard at 10,800 feet. A team huddle green-lit the updated plan to break camp in the predawn hours and carry overnight gear up through the most technically challenging section – the Kautz Ice Chute. I drifted off the sleep, knowing that this would be a summit day like no others.
The once-in-a-lifetime chance to camp in the summit crater would also be an opportunity like no other.
We ascended on the morning of day three by the glow of flickering headlamps. Our goal was to clear an exposed vertical rock step onto the 600′ blue ice of the Kautz Ice Chute before sunrise. I was in the middle of the rope – secure in the confidence of an experienced guide in front and a trusted climbing partner behind. It is nevertheless nervewracking to ascend hundreds of feet of near-vertical ice while weighed down by an overnight pack.
A single misstep could send the entire team into an uncontrolled fall. Yet, with every swing of the ice axe, I was grounded by the weight of potential consequence, buoyed by the trust in my team, and awed by the overwhelming beauty of the moment. This is why we do this.
The Ice Chute came and went in a blur of effort, swings of the ice axe, and adrenaline. We soon found ourselves at Camp Wapowtey at 13,200 feet. Only an hour of effort and 1,200 vertical feet separated us from the summit crater. The upper mountain is a wild place of windswept snow, deep blue crevasses, and seemingly untouched wilderness. It is a place that makes you feel both insignificant and capable, terrified and inspired, and utterly enveloped in the forces of nature. The mountain humbles and uplifts in equally powerful measures.
We finally stepped into the summit crater under endless blue skies. At 3:00 p.m., we were the only party at the top of the mountain and would be until the early morning hours the following day. For the next fifteen hours, this was our private sanctuary. For this moment, this was our mountain. And, unlike our summit climbs past, we had all the time in the world to enjoy it. We had successfully retraced the challenging path of the first recorded ascent route and could now take it all in.
After dinner in the summit crater, we ascended to the highest summit of Columbia Crest. We watched the sunset colors paint the vast sweep of the Cascade Range, saw the light dancing on the Puget Sound, and witnessed the shadow of Tahoma reach far into the east. We were experiencing something that only a handful of people had ever seen – the sunset from the summit. I shamelessly cried tears of joy.
The first known climbers of Mount Tahoma were known to bivy in the summit crater by survival necessity or occasional planning. It is now a rarefied opportunity due to the ever-changing route conditions, unpredictable weather, and logistical challenges. This unique privilege will be a moment I remember for the rest of my life.
The practice of mountaineering is one of focused endurance, risk mitigation, a dash of suffering, and continual awe. This climb was no exception. We were chilled by cold winds, scorched by the relentless sun, and challenged by technical climbing with heavy overnight packs. It is an experience of extremes – cold and hot, awestruck and terrified, tired and exhilarated, and countless points in between. One theme is constant, though: gratitude.
I leave every summit attempt, every Wonderland circuit, and every day in the presence of Tahoma changed for the better. She challenges us, expands us, and always teaches us so much. This mountain, and all wild places like it, are treasures. The experiences of awe, wonder, humility, and gratitude provided by immersion in truly wild nature are without measure. It makes us better people.
The last word belongs to Bailey Willis – a geological engineer and an integral force in establishing Mt. Rainier National Park.
Southward, 9,000 feet above you, so near you must throw your head back to see its summit, is grand Mount Tahoma; its graceful northern peak piercing the sky, it soars single and alone. Whether touched by the glow of early morning or gleaming in the bright noonday, whether rosy with sunset light or glimmering, ghost-like, in the full moon, whether standing out clear and cloudless or veiled amount the mists it weaves from the warm south winds, it is always majestic and inspiring, always attractive and lovely. It is the symbol of an awful power clad in beauty.”— Bailey Willis, 1883
Interested in experiencing mountaineering while giving back to Mount Rainier, North Cascades, and Olympic National Parks?
Through partnerships with experienced local climbing guide services, Washington’s National Park Fund enables individuals to join together to raise funds for the national parks, culminating in a three- or four-day climb to summit a peak over the summer. Learn more about Climb for a Cause.
Editor’s Note: Cover photo courtesy of Paul Pottinger. Find Paul’s climbing blog at pottinger.net/osm.
About the Author: Teresa Hagerty is a member of Washington’s National Park Fund’s Board of Directors. She is proud to have called Seattle home for over twenty years and was captivated by Mount Rainier National Park from the very first day. She leads day hikes, backpacking trips, and snow camping overnights in our great pacific northwest, teaching outdoor skills and appreciation for our shared wilderness treasures.