So remember that great hike I did up Mailbox Peak? The one where I finally felt like all of my hiking skills clicked? Turns out that when you are hiking alone it's easy to decide you are awesome. And that one hike, (even a great one) does not mean you are ready to walk up Mount Adams (at least, according to people who are not me). But since the people who are not me have actually climbed mountains before, I decided to take the advice and try my first hike in snow.
Camp Muir is on Mount Rainier, it's around 10,000 feet up the 14,400 foot mountain and where the climbers attempting to summit Mount Rainier stay the night before they head the rest of the way to the top. It's a weird little place, but I'll wait to tell you about it until we get to the top (or bottom for you, since you are scrolling down the page).
For me hiking to Camp Muir required finding a friend who knew what they were doing (thanks Matt!), road tripping two hours south, and taking another random Tuesday off work. Oh and a bit of mental anguish worrying about if I was in fact capable of making it to the top without embarrassing myself. But what would be the fun of the adventure if there was nothing to overcome?
Having friends who hike is actually really useful as a new hiker. Did you know you are supposed to eat 100-200 calories of sugar an hour while you hike to make sure your body has energy to burn? Or that you need to bring 3-5 liters of water with you depending on length of hike and temperature? I did not. But luckily I was saved from making miserable mistakes on mountains from those who had come before me.
The hike up to Camp Muir starts at Paradise Lodge, a popular tourist destination in the park, but we were there bright and early and didn't see many people as we passed through. The first mile is mild in the scheme of the hike, a winding trail through lush green fields, wildflowers (!!), streams and boulders. It's incredibly picturesque and I can see why so many people come to wander around it. Despite the 'mildness' of the incline I was not used to the altitude. Paradise is at 6,000 feet, already higher than I'd ended on Mailbox and I'd just started. I was panting embarrassingly, but decided it was better to breath heavily and actually get oxygen to my body than to breath shallowly, look cooler, but pass out on the mountain (these are real thoughts guys, it's rough out there).
After the first mile we crossed a stream, which we did at random and managed not to get wet, although I imaging earlier in the spring that would be pretty difficult to accomplish. Right after the stream the snow field begins (look at me sounding all technical). Now I had read reviews of people who had been up recently and they wrote about not needing micro-spikes (little spikes) or crampons (big spikes) so I wore only my hiking boots. In retrospect it probably would have been easier with micro-spikes to get a better grip on the snow, but mostly I was able to walk up by stepping into Matt's boot steps without too much trouble.
It wasn't easy, I went slow and steady, counting steps in my head when no other thoughts would keep me company. By the end counting to anything above four was a stretch, so I just repeated one, two, three, four about a thousand times and eventually instead of digging into snow, my foot hit rock. Camp Muir.
I told you it was a weird little place. It reminded me of what a settlement on the moon would look like. There were a few out buildings emerging out of the mountain, made of scrap metal and stones, clinging to exposed rock. There is enough foot traffic there that the snow has melted so there were exposed boulders along brown dirt paths. A bit farther were three or four large tents pitched on dirty snow. It was decidedly glamorous, an atmosphere built for the hard reality of what it would take to make it to the top of the highest mountain in Washington.
Luckily for me, we weren't going any farther up. After a brief rest, and playing photographer for a group of 12 year old school kids who had clearly staid the night (total bad asses, I wanted to go back in time and be that cool), we headed back down. We tried to glacade down (if you don't know what that is just wait for my post about Mt Adams), but the snow was pretty melted so I mostly took giant slippy steps down (kind of like moon walking!). I wasn't prepared for the melty snow so I ended up soaking wet, but that was okay, by the time we got to the bottom it was hot enough to dry me out.
Having proven that I could handle both Mailbox's steepness and Camp Muir's elevation, I had convinced myself that climbing Mt Adams might actually be possible. Which was good, because I was headed up it in just a matter of days.
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