Mt. Rainier, Liberty Ridge

By: Larry Sverdrup | Climbers: Larry Sverdrup, Mike _?_ |Trip Dates: June 24-30, 1999

Photo: Gary Clark

® The author(s) and naclassics.com | Back to climb page NAC Home page

In pursuit of the "Fifty Classic Climbs" I had chosen Liberty Ridge on Mt. Rainier as the next route. I had previously climbed Rainier four times by four different routes, including the anticipated descent route. Initially we rounded up a crew of five strong mountaineers who all purchased tickets for the flight to Seattle for the weekend of June 4-7. When a weather window failed to appear for the scheduled 4-day weekend, three members of our team were forced to drop out. Mike and I decided to keep rebooking until a weather window appeared.

Thursday June 24:

We were itching to get on something and decided that there was enough of a chance for a weather window to go. I got caught up in meetings and arrived late at Mike's place. Mike's girlfriend Nicole took over and aggressively drove us and our gear to the airport. I was impressed.

At the Seattle airport we met Mike's parents whom I wasn't expecting. Their purpose in being there evidently was to deliver to Mike a cellular telephone. I was immediately reminded of my sister's words as we began our climb of the West Buttress of Denali some years ago. She thought that we should "accidentally" lose the radio in the first crevasse because we didn't want to be rescued under any conditions. The stigma and embarrassment of being rescued was worse than death itself as far as my sister and I were concerned. I didn't say anything to Mike, however, and simply joked to his mom that "So, all calls were being charged to her?", a comment for which she punched me in the arm. We rented a car and drove to Enumclaw where we rented a hotel room.

Friday June 25:

We checked in with the rangers, paid our $15 per person climbing fee and headed out. Shortly thereafter I rounded a corner to confront a bear also on the trail but coming the opposite direction toward us. The bear, perhaps 20 yards away, looked right at me and paused for a few seconds before sauntering towards us. I called to Mike behind me telling him that we had a problem. After Mike joined me and the bear continued at us we retreated back down the trail. My thought was that we were going to lose our food, and thus our chance at the route. We hastily discussed what to do. We hiked back up the trail a few paces to see what the bear was up to and the bear slowly veered off the trail to the left. Mike made me stay in the lead, I made sure that he was left of me on the trail. We passed at least three large piles of dung.

Higher up on the trail we played tag with a large group of climbers heading for camp Sherman and the Emmons-Winthrop route, trading occasional conversation. At Saint Elmo's pass (or a lower pass on the same ridge) we converged with a group of three from Kentucky, also hoping to climb Liberty Ridge. After a short break we roped up for what was anticipated to be an easy traverse of the Winthrop glacier en route to Curtis Ridge, our goal for the day. We never saw the Kentucky crew again. We descended sharply and soon found ourselves in a whiteout. There was a trail left in the snow from previous parties and we blindly followed it. We soon found ourselves negotiating a severely crevassed area. Stepping in my predecessors footprints, my right leg plunged completely through a snow bridge and I caught myself on my forearms and now horizontal ice axe! So much for an easy traverse of the Winthrop! I almost took a full crevasse fall. Undaunted but now skeptical, we continued to hike for an eternity expecting to find the camp on Curtis Ridge around every corner. It never appeared so we finally bivied atop a rock outcropping. During the night a small rock rolled into our camp and came to a stop, narrowly missing us. It was strange that it picked our relatively small outcrop to stop on with such a large hillside from which to chose.

Saturday June 26:

We arose from our bivy sacks to find 1-2 inches of new snow. The trail of the rock which had rolled into our outcrop could be traced in the snow to the rock ridge above us. I suspected there was some geological instability in which rocks tended to stop where other rocks were, leading to piles like the one we were upon. We melted water to fill our bottles, dried out our gear in the morning sun and headed off. At the edge of the Carbon Glacier we expected difficulties getting onto the glacier, but there were none. We donned helmets and were soon glad that we did. Massive rockfall including small boulders had blasted the trail in the snow near the edge of the Carbon Glacier. The couple ahead of us later told us that the rockfall was not there when they had passed earlier in the morning. After negotiating a broken section near the edge of the glacier we soon found ourselves on a very unbroken section near the center of the glacier. A mild whiteout obscured any view of what lay above us. Then occurred one of the loudest ice avalanches I have ever heard. A thunderous roar froze both Mike and me. Were huge ice blocks about to come roaring down past us?

Liberty Ridge is surrounded on either side by enormous hanging glaciers. On the Left is Willis Wall and to the right is Liberty Wall. Nothing happened near us so we continued upwards. Soon we were above the clouds and the views of the mountain were stunning. Higher up we were forced to traverse directly below a huge serac. I couldn't help but wonder from where it came, and how it ended up in its current position! Although the route topo shows a straight line from A to B, in reality one meanders all over the Carbon glacier to avoid crevasses. Eventually we reached the left side of the base of Liberty Ridge. If anything were to come down Willis Wall at this point, it could get pretty exciting.

I remember reading about the move onto Liberty Ridge and how it can scare the dickens out of one. The ridge itself is just a lose pile of dirt and rocks. Huge boulders appear in precarious perches just waiting for a hand to pull them down. I pounded in a snow picket uphill of the anticipated crossing lest we both end up in the enormous crevasses behind us on the Carbon. The deep moat between the Carbon and Liberty ridge was bridged at one place by a large chunk of snow or ice. Climbing gingerly over it, it managed to stay in place and I was soon on the side of the rock pile. There is no pro on this choss pile. There is an enormous exposure if you consider the moat. And don't ask for bomber handholds, just less loose ones. I avoided the loosest looking sections and near the ridge crest ludicrously found myself stemming dirt but managed not to fall. The crampons and ice axe found great use despite the lack of snow and ice.

Near the ridge crest Mike began simul-climbing behind me, which come to think of it means that the picket had been removed.

Hiking up the ridge crest proved to be far less of a problem and we made rapid progress. Sections of steep snow were traversed, interspersed with short sections of rock. We could see the debris from the ice avalanche we had heard earlier in the day below us to the right side of the ridge. Below Thumb Rock our pace slowed considerably due to dehydration as our water had run out. We decided to forge ahead and make Thumb Rock before melting water, but we might have actually saved time by stopping and doing so earlier. In short, below Thumb Rock my pace was pathetic. Somewhere below Thumb Rock a substantial rock fell, missing Mike by 5 feet or so.

We met a couple from Santa Fe, NM at the Thumb Rock camp at 10,800 feet. The camp itself might be missed were it not for the dug out platforms. Not exactly a roomy horizontal paradise, but the best that Liberty Ridge has to offer, apparently. We ate and drank as much as we could, knowing that the following day would be the biggest climbing day. As the sun set, several large ice avalanches were seen in the path of the earlier larger one we had heard. Enormous white clouds of ice dust and snow would billow up as the ice chunks plummeted down and exploded. Sometimes people wonder why people climb. I can tell you that as a climber you witness things that a non-climber could never witness.

Cirrus clouds threatened us in the evening sky as we hit the sack. The cirrus clouds were followed up with a mackerel sky. Weather was going to be an issue; it was just a matter of timing. The breeze was blowing toward us from the right side of the ridge. An avalanche occurred over in that direction and a fraction later I smelled for an instant the smell of "sparked" rocks. Rocks containing certain pyrophoric materials such as rare earths make sparks when banged together. I used to bang a lot of rocks together as a kid and I remembered the smell. So even without looking I knew that a rockfall had occurred.

Sunday June 27:

We arose to uncertain weather and began discussing options with the Santa Fe couple. Mike put in a call on his cell phone, and came up with 20% chance of precipitation today, 60% tomorrow. We all decided that today was the day. The Santa Fe couple took off, electing to go to the left of the rock formation above us. We would have been on their heels were it not for one of Mike's crampons which had somehow suffered serious damage. A bolt in the rear which set a certain tension had become bent over 90°. This bend prevented Mike from even putting it on so it was essentially worthless. Great place to loose a crampon! Pounding on the screw might well just break it off completely but we had no other apparent choice. I pounded as Mike held. We bent it part of the way back to being straight and Mike tried it on and it worked. We were on our way.

We opted for a very safe form of climbing in which we simul-climbed with a minimum of one piece of running protection in at all times. We used snow pickets almost exclusively. When I placed the last of our four snow pickets, I would belay Mike up and start the process all over again. Mike prefered that I do all of the leading. Since we were tied in at a distance of approximately 80 feet, this meant roughly 300 foot of climbing between belays. It was our impression that the couple above us placed far fewer pieces of protection if indeed they placed any at all! Despite this, we managed to keep up with them fairly well. They were carrying a tent which made their packs heavier, and perhaps due to the lack of pro they were probably climbing more deliberately and cautiously.

In general our route avoided scrambling on the rock formations and kept to the snow and ice except in one instance where the rock travel was trivial. In the middle of the day we hit patches of water ice and I began to place a few ice screws here and there. These gave us great peace of mind. We almost caught up to the Sante Fe group in this section. During the day we hit almost every type of snow imaginable including styrofoam-like snow, stacked layers of powder snow and ice, hard consolidated snow, soft snow, etc. We finally rounded a final corner and were heading up the "pressure bulge" as we called it. We were heading toward the "second to the last rock outcrop". At this point the sky became filled with cirrus clouds, followed shortly by a mackerel sky. A storm was coming shortly. We were on a leeward slope and the wind gusts would blow down the mountain directly in our face. Waves of spin drift snow began to blow over us. My outer mitts dangled from a string laced through the arms of my storm jacket when I was working with pro. I remember seeing the substantial volume of the mitt filled with snow in a flash during one of these spin drift waves. My feeling was that we didn't want to be caught on this leeward slope if it began to load up. The slope was so steep, however, that loading it up was not easy. Meanwhile Mike was getting nervous and agitated about the storm. To me it was just a curiosity or annoyance. The difference in psychology on the matter was perhaps affected by the fact that I was doing all of the leading. I was preoccupied with protection, route selection and stuff like that while Mike had nothing to do but watch the storm move in.

Apparently Mike dropped my only locker carabiner at the previous belay. Atop the third to the last rock outcrop there was a place big enough to stand but nothing more. I brought Mike up and he immediately demanded the snow shovel. He was going to dig us a snow cave NOW. I tried to argue with him that we should continue up to below the second to the last rock. There we would be downwind of a huge rock and shielded from anything which might decide to fall, including an avalanche should the slope load up. Mike was of one mind only, and I had to agree that if he was successful, we would be safe inside of the cave in any event. Mike was furiously digging away with his pack on. I was able to convince him that it was easier to dig a snow cave without a pack on. I drove in all four pickets and anchored both of our packs.

Mike did a superb job of digging accommodations given the location. At roughly 3 foot depth he hit water ice and could go no further. Hence he formed a tube perpendicular to the fall line. I stood near the entrance, brushing away snow deposits he shoveled there. Finally Mike was done and I shoved in his pack which was smaller than mine. Mike went in head first to the left and later said that he had to fight a strong vomiting sensation of claustrophobia when he initially deposited himself inside. I chose to keep my head near the entrance. I positioned my pack to hang from a picket near the entrance to the cave. I remember hooking the sling to two separate places on my pack lest the loop at the top break away. The sling was clipped to a carabiner in a snow picket.

I took off Mike's crampons and he managed to wriggle inside of his bag and bivy sack. I got in feet first to the right and took off my crampons. I elected to leave my boots on inside of my sleeping bag and bivy sack. Later I would have doubts about the wisdom of this move. Mike's feet were to the left of my head as I lay inside. I swung my pack over the door to the snow cave, largely plugging it. Using Mike's smaller pack from the inside I was able to completely plug the entrance. We ate and drank a little, but mostly went into hibernation. Snow from the storm sealed the gaps around the packs and wondering if it was possible to suffocate, I punched the packs on several occasions to create air pathways.

Monday June 28:

Sunday evening and all of Monday the weather was less than optimal. It is amazing that one can lie in one's bed that long, but when tired at high altitude I guess it is pretty easy. In a snow cave one has complete wind protection, and body heat raises the temperature to near 32 °F. All one has to do is stay warm in 32 °F. It is easy to get wet, however, as snow brushes off and then melts. Both of us got a bit damp, but neither complained about being cold.

Tuesday June 29:

On this morning of after spending two nights in the coffin, I peered outside. There were very high clouds and very low ones and clouds drifting in the distance, but the mountain itself was fairly clear. Mike agreed we would make a dash for the top. I started to crawl out of the coffin when to my surprise pieces of ices started whizzing past at high rates of speed. I thought to myself, the hill side is so large the chance of getting hit were …whizzzz …smack, I take a direct hit by a small chunk of ice in the helmet. It didn't hurt but I retreated inside. Well, I thought, the chances of getting hit twice were minuscule. I stood up in the entrance and looked uphill to see if I could ascertain the source of our bombardment. Whizzz.…smack , I took a direct shot on the chin. Reeling for a second and not wanting to find myself dangling fifteen feet down the slope I fell back into the cave holding my chin, not knowing if I would look down to see blood. Meanwhile Mike wanted to know why I was screwing around when we are supposed to be getting going. I determined that I had just received a shiner and would live.

The ice bombardment seemed to ease. My chin was sore for several days, and a quarter-sized layer of skin pealed off a few days later. We both got out of the cave, and I packed my sleeping bag and bivy sack into my pack which was once again hanging supposedly anchored to the picket. I set up the stove inside of the cave to melt water. To help Mike sort the ropes I lifted my pack to flip the rope clear of the pack. When I set the pack back down it took off down the mountain. All of our ice screws were attached to the pack and they broke out of the fresh snow as the pack slid. We both watched stunned as this occurred. The pack accelerated and launched airborne at a bulge and we lost sight of it. How did it come unclipped? I momentarily thought of chasing after it, but we both realized that due to the steepness of the route it probably fell down to the upper Carbon Glacier under the Willis Wall. In retrospect I should have clipped the pack into the rope with a locking carabiner as the ultimate backup. Use of two conventional carabiners with opposed gates should also have worked.

In any event, the pickets were all accounted for. The anchoring sling was gone with the pack. What hurt the most at the moment was the loss of my camera and film. Everything else was replaceable. The fact that all of our ice screws were gone was a concern, but the angle was easing off above, and we had managed to get by largely with the pickets anyway. I tried to look at the bright side. We were going to the top today anyway, and loss of the pack just meant less weight to carry. As I moved inside to check the water I bumped the snow shovel which hit the water pan, knocking it over. A pool of water formed on Mike's ensolite pad. As I foolishly tried to save it, it rolled off of the far end..... It was a comedy of errors this morning. I finally filled both of our bottles and we were off. Just before we left there was another whizzz...smack. This time a direct hit to Mike's gut. He was wearing so many clothes that it didn't hurt, however, and he was able to hold onto it. It was a ball of ice the size of a baseball, easily capable of taking an eye out or lacerating a face. I now have a theory that the source of the bombardment was the Santa Fe group as they began climbing the water ice sections above us.

We passed the second to the last rock formation and the angle eased a little. However, the conditions began to look more and icy. I got in two pickets sunk in half way and then there were no picket placements whatsoever. I was on water ice without screws. Mike said something to me. I placed both the axe pick and tool pick and equalized them intending to belay off of the tools. I was concluding that they could hold quite a bit all the while thinking that neither of us had yet taken a fall testing the belay anyway when I turned around to see what Mike was yelling about. A picture was worth a thousand words. He stood with his leg elevated to the side, a crampon clearly dangling from his foot! Well I didn't burden him with knowledge of my tool belay just yet. Apparently his crampons adjust length by freely rotating. Every time he took them off, unless he prevented rotation they would change length. After the snow cave he had apparently loss the proper length and when we hit the hard ice they got tested.

To add insult to injury, the weather was once again deteriorating. The gusting winds blew Mike around more than me because he still had a pack on. Belaying off of tools in wind is a little spooky as the anchors are not multi-directional. We decided that to continue on in the poor weather without screws was unsafe. Mike was now convinced that my previous rock formation idea was the best alternative for the next bivy. However, I didn't want to lose ground and I spied a snow filled crevasse very close by near the edge of the ice cliffs we had reached. I actually experimented with chopping an ice bollard at one point, using it to belay Mike up to me. My ice axe was of the lightweight variety and chopping with it was slow and tedious. In retrospect, Mike's adze might have been on a heftier tool making that option more palatable. It didn't occur to me at the time.

The crevasse was a little spooky. I was never sure whether I was packing down snow to a solid base, or just risking punching through a snow floor to plummet deeper inside the crevasse. So we took turns "checking it out" (AKA risking a crevasse fall). It soon became apparent that our accommodations were going to be a little more luxurious this time. We could have had six people sitting down playing cards in there. Your head would not touch the roof sitting down. We chopped blocks to plug the door. If we had screws we would have been battling our way to the top. The only other concern was whether the ice block forming the lower side of the crevasse could break away to fall down the mountain. This would leave us rudely suspended from our ropes which where anchored to pickets and tools planted on the uphill side.

During the night the ice made but one cracking sound. We attached Mike's red helmet to one of the pickets which had already grown an eighth inch thick layer of rime ice. We hoped it would improve our visibility should we get stuck there. For my part, I had several backup plans. One, in good weather I could go on exploratory leads looking for snow patches in which I could place pickets for protection. We might be able to piece it together to the top this way. I also had the thought that there might be more snow further west (upwind). The route was pretty popular, and another group coming past would probably gladly loan us a few screws. Unfortunately Mike got a forecast suggesting 90% chance of poor weather the next day. We thought that nobody would be coming up the route. This forecast turned out to apply to the lower elevations of Seattle and was completely wrong for the upper mountain. A snow storm, however, could allow us to use the pickets and possibly make the footing less icy.

We still had food which we inventoried. Our biggest problem was water. We had little left, and our fuel reserves could melt but a few cups more. Mike had a black stuff sack which we intended to fill with snow should we get a bright sunny day. Mike called 911 twice in order to get to talk to a ranger but got disconnected during the transfer both times. I asked him to try to talk to a ranger to find out when the next party might be coming up the route since they would certainly help us with a few loaner screws. He didn't know the ranger's number and figured that 911 would patch him through and indeed they tried to do so.

The big blow came when Mike called his mom and said that "we needed a rescue." He was unable to talk with his mom, but spoke a monologue into the phone anyway. Unknown to us at the time, all three calls initiated activity. What his mom got was "We need a resc...." The inability to have a conversation with anybody in fact led people to suspect the worse when it was not the case. Part of the problem was the NiCad battery that came with the phone. A Lithium-Ion battery would be immune to the cold. Mike was always calling with the battery charge line on minimum.

Well that is what happened as far as "the cell phone calls" went. I wish the phone had never been brought along. If one turns up missing they come after you eventually anyway, and we were never in imminent danger. However, one could construe what happened the next morning as luck. That night Mike and I had to share a single sleeping bag and bivy sack. My right foot experienced some pain upon warming in the bag after removing my boots, but it went away. I was reminded of a friend Natalie's phrase "spooning" at a bivy. It was our coldest bivy but I didn't think that it was all that bad. Mike apparently didn't sleep much, but I did. I had intense visions when I closed my eyes, often turning into a face reminiscent of a "monster" or a "devil". I amused myself by wondering if they were renditions of the grim reaper. I wasn't really concerned about our safety. One of my plans would work out. I thought how nice it would be to have a bacon & eggs, hashbrowns, toast and coffee breakfast with one's girlfriend in the morning. Things you often take for granted seem to (at least temporarily) mean more after a trip like this one.

Tuesday June 29:

The next morning Mike said that he heard footsteps outside. I punched down the door and waved our snow shovel. We called and a roped team was momentarily outside of our snow cave. I hurriedly explained that we had dropped a pack losing all of our ice screws, and that two screws would get us off this thing. The two guys from Minnesota were more than happy to lend us three screws and they even threw in a couple draws. They also gave us a few cups of water. They said to leave their screws with the rangers when we got down. I told them that they had "rescued" us, we thanked them and they took off.

We were in business. We packed up to go. Mike's red helmet we had fixed outside had several inches of rime ice on it. One of the three screws was deemed worthless. It filled with ice and refused to come clean. But we had two excellent ones. We seemed to move slowly but steadily. Dehydration was the main factor I believe. To ameliorate this we began to eat leaves of rime ice formed on the slope, especially at the belays. We generated a lot of heat climbing. The temperature variations, wind versus no wind seemed to be more extreme and we were dressed for the cold variations.

Halfway up or so we saw the helicopter circling around. This meant that at least one of Mike's phone calls had caused something to happen. This to me was not a joyous revelation in view of the fact that we were now back in control of things. Mike asked me pointedly whether or not I intended to blow off the rescue people if they came to us. He didn't think that we should. I wasn't going to be plucked off of the route at this point. We were going to the top. I suspected that there might be a group on top waiting for us. On the other hand, they might recognize that we were moving and "just go home."

As we passed the final rock formation, the pattern of white rime ice against the black rock made a spectacular scene, rivalling the marbled stone on the descent of El Cap. Nature's art is unsurpassed. The whole place is so out of this world.

We had just finished climbing the last of the water ice and were back in snow picket country. It was easy step kicking from here to the top. Two burly RMI guides appeared from the top. We kind of paused for a few moments wondering what to say to each other. They gave us a quart of Gatorade which we downed as well as a few almonds. We still had a lot of food in Mike's pack. My only concern was over the "ethics" of claiming I did the route. I decided that it didn't matter with whom I hiked the final steps to the top with. Hence we tied in with the RMI guides at their request. One of the guides took Mike's pack on top of his own huge pack and proceeded to take the lead pulling the rope uphill as he did so. I refused to give up anything and carried our rope and pro. We hiked with them over the top and down to the saddle where we unroped and conversed with perhaps a dozen people. I suppressed the thought of raising my axe in victory at the top of Liberty Cap. It just didn't seem appropriate.

Had the rescue people not appeared, we would have hiked out the following day down the Emmons-Winthrop route. The rescuers were about to be coptered off whether we came along or not. At this point I didn't see any point in not joining them. Whether Mallory reached the summit of Everest or not is unrelated to his not making it back down. How one gets off the mountain or if one even does bears no relevance to whether one did the route. The rescue people were happy we were safe. The last five missions they had run had rescued only dead bodies if indeed they even recovered a body. We were the first live people they had been asked to "rescue" in some time. People got needed flight time. And the mission was completed well before dark. Mount Rainier does not charge for rescues at this time. There was a diverse conglomeration of people on the rescue squad including Marines, one climbing ranger, RNP employee volunteers, RMI guides, and mountain rescue personnel.

They gave us a lecture about getting on the helicopter. We had to interlace arms to avoid being blown away and cover all exposed skin to avoid frostbite. The downwash from the rotors can create 100 mph winds. We wore earplugs due to the noise. I reiterated that if it was safer Mike and I would just hike out! When the helicopter landed the wind smacked a bunch of people in the rears with ice chunks. Somebody said "Yeah Baby" as in the "Spy Who Shagged Me" and everybody laughed. The view of Mt. Rainier out the back of the helicopter as it flew away was absolutely stunning. Planes fly far above the mountain, but a helicopter flies at a similar altitude, so as you pull away the enormity of the mountain is fully evident.

We stopped at a Burger King for dinner, and continued in several vehicles to the Longmire ranger station where we would be interviewed by rangers. While driving to Longmire the enormity of the news coverage became evident. The burly helicopter pilot who had plucked more bodies off of more mountains told the story, "some guy's girlfriend in San Diego calls channel 8 News, who calls Mt. Rainier who says "what rescue?" Mike's girlfriend Nicole had a friend at channel 8 and pushed buttons to get results. Mt Rainier is very sensitive to these things as they have had at least three fatalities this year already, and they haven't even found 2 of the bodies and the families are all over them.

When we arrived at Longmire they spied a TV crew waiting. I tried to trade places with one of the guys to no avail. A bright light was shown in my face and a microphone shoved toward my mouth. I don't remember what I said. Mike's parents and girlfriend were waiting there. Originally they had thought the situation might be far worse. The ranger asked us to pinpoint our snow caves on a picture and then asked us to jot down a summary of our trip. He agreed that backing off of this route from our position was "not an option." The guide book simply says that it would be an extremely hazardous thing to try.

On the flight back to San Diego I twice explained the big scab on my nose to the flight attendant as due to sunburn. He laughed both times because he wasn't going to ask anyway. True to form, Nicole parked in the loading zone for 20 minutes as we picked up our luggage.

In the aftermath, we were both relatively unscathed, although I had a bad sun burn on my nose which scabbed up for three days. Worse, however, I evidently managed to get mild frostbite on my feet. When I first took a shower after the helicopter flight my feet swelled up like balloons and became numb. They hurt so much I could not sleep that night. Four days later the swelling had largely decreased but the numbness was lingering. There was no discoloration except near my right big toe. This could possibly be attributed to mechanical trauma from extensive front pointing the last day of the climb. I wonder if my failure to remove my boots during the two night stay in the first snow cave had not caused the problem. In that snow cave it occurred to me that my right foot was getting somewhat numb but I ignored it. At the second bigger snow cave I took my boots off and as my feet warmed in the sleeping bag shared with Mike I experienced pain in my right foot. Ironically, I was raving about my Montrail single leather boots on the second day of the climb. I elected to use them in lieu of double boots as the anticipated temperatures were not very cold.

The story was followed in both the Seattle and San Diego papers, as well as on television. My neighbors were interviewed by the television people. Tracy's mom in North Carolina called in her condolences, so it made the national news. Friends from all over the state sent me e-mails. One could watch us climbing near Liberty Cap on the internet. People we worked with heard about us via the news media. What great fortune when some woman had the presence of mind to hold up I15 with a hand gun, upsetting a large portion of San Diego and helping to obscure our notoriety!

Editor's note: Larry Sverdrup is a major contributor to North American Classics.