On The Mountain

Jim Green fumbles with his crampons outside the Camp Muir bunkhouse. The 2am chill isn’t as bad as the weather reports from the ranger station suggested, but it contributes to his shaking nonetheless. His slender pale fingers struggle to get the black strap through the final loop to secure his feet to the metal spikes.

“Happy birthday, Jim,” calls a voice from behind the rock wind break. 

Jim looks up, his breath creating a fog in the light of his headlamp. 

“Sure you don’t want someone to celebrate with at the summit?” 

Hal Rutherford emerges from behind the wall. A black balaclava is pulled over his immense beard but Hal’s yellow parka is permanently burned in Jim’s eyes.

“Put that away,” says Hal, swatting at Jim’s light as if it’s a swarm of flies. “It’s blinding. And you have the full moon tonight.”

“Sorry Hal, I thought I was alone out here. And that’s how I plan to spend my birthday.”

Jim switches his lamp to red and his irises take a moment to adjust to the new light. Hal watches Jim secure the strap of his crampons and pulls tight. His gear is well worn.

“Alright, well make sure your beacon is on. We’ve had some unusually warm mornings for this early in the season.”

Jim grunts as he stands up. He takes his parka off and stuffs it into the top of his pack. 

“Be bold, start cold,” he says to Hal smiling.

“Not in this weather! Have fun up there, Jim. And Happy Birthday”

Jim dons his pack. Thirty pounds feels heavier with every year. His knees squeak a bit. He takes his ice ax in hand and nods to Hal, walking around the windbreak and toward the icefield. 

“Thanks, Hal. I’ll see you on the way back down.”

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Jim Green takes a final bite of hard cheese. Some crumbs scatter in his lap, which he promptly brushes away with his bare hand. He feels a bead of sweat slowly trail down his back. Be bold, start cold, he thinks to himself, and takes his parka off. He looks uphill. The silhouette of the mountain looms directly above. He knows the Ingraham Glacier stands in front of him, its hundreds of crags and crevasses rippling across its face, but in the dark they stay hidden from sight.

Jim’s knees scream as he stands up, sweat sticks to his back from the weight of the pack.

That report could not have been more wrong, he thought to himself as he began to trudge across the snow field to the base of the glacier. 

A path has been carved into the snow and ice from the group climbing expeditions. Short bamboo posts mark the way where turns have been created. The path meanders back and forth across the glacier, finding the safest spaces to cross the snowbridges upward across the vast chasms below. In a few weeks the path will be rerouted to a rockier route as the crevasses will be too wide to cross. The chance of rockfall will be dangerous but pale in comparison to falling to the depths in the ice.

Jim snakes his way up the path, switching the ice ax between uphill hands as he turns at every bamboo stake. The sun still has four hours until it will peek over the Cascades but the sweat continues to dribble down Jim’s back. 

At this rate the Ingraham Route will be closed next week, he thought. 

The hardened snow crunches beneath his crampons. One hour in and he approaches his first open crevasse. His light catches the blue ice walls across from his precipice. He looks down and the light of his headlamp fades into darkness below. He looks up and turns his head for a marker. Ten yards down is a snowbridge, likely three feet thick. Certainly enough to hold his weight. Jim trudges toward the marker and crosses the bridge safely, slamming his feet into the snow to create a new path for others to follow. 

Back on the path, Jim looks up the glacier. He can’t see in the darkness but knows he has another hour to the ridgeline where the summit cap meets the glacier. He decides to catch his breath.

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Hal Rutherford awakes from the noise of the expedition groups preparing for their ascent. He  pokes his head out of the cabin door.

“Best of luck up there, Eric,” he says to the nearest climb leader, “it’s a warm one this morning. I doubt Ingraham will be open by June. Should make for some easy climbing up but the way down will be wet.” 

“We’ll have full attendance at the summit, see you on the way down.”

Hal closes the door and heads to his cot for another two hours of sleep before the sun rises. 

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Jim Green’s steps are more deliberate. He takes long, full breaths in and exhales quickly, imagining a shotgun expelling birdshot while doing so. His feet feel heavy and the pack is not lighter despite drinking most of his water. This is not the hardest climb he’s done, in fact, he’s done this route at least a hundred times, but his age is starting to show. He is nearly to the top of Ingraham Glacier after snaking his way up and around the many crevasses crossing the ice. He plants his ice ax in the snow for support but there is little resistance. He sees a bamboo stake in the snow and turns. Before him are the early rays of sun finding their way over the Cascades. The glacier below him is covered in cracks and chasms and ridges. Jim Green steps on a bare patch of snow while taking in the first light of day on his seventieth birthday. 

The snow gives out from under Jim’s feet and he plummets into the crevasse. His head slams against the blue ice wall and all goes dark as his headlamp shatters. 

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Hal Rutherford emerges into the early afternoon sun from his hut at Camp Muir. He sees the first of the expedition groups filing into camp triumphant from their successful summit attempt. 

“Hey Eric, how was the climb? Not too difficult with this weather I assume?” he called out.

“Plenty of reroutes!” responded Eric, “We’ll have to shut down Ingraham any day now. I counted at least three fallen snowbridges.”

“Did Jim find his charcuterie board at the top?” 

“He must have missed it, it was still there when we started our descent.”

Hal frowns and looks up at the summit of Mount Rainier, making for the ranger station.