Today I could have died. Here is my story. Or, because I am a bit dramatic at times, skip to the bottom and enjoy the pictures:)
Bruce had a job at Sunrise on Mt. Rainier. He was saying how beautiful it was and that I should go hiking up there while he worked. Although I had a lot to do, I decided to go because (1) if Bruce says it's beautiful, it must be a sight,(2) I needed to get away from the things I "need" to get done, and (3) I could spend some time with Bruce and that would be nice :)
When we were driving to the top and almost at Sunrise Visitor Center, we turned a corner and "Aaaawwwweeee" (the musical sound you hear when you think of the clouds parting to reveal the sun). Beautiful is an understatement. Giant snow-capped mountain in the distance, green meadows and blue-blue skies made an amazing contrast in colors. The air was fresh and crisp. It was awesome.
Bruce suggested the hiking trail to the left of the parking lot because it looked like more my type of scenery. He was right. It was shady, sunny, lush and varied. I walked down the hill into a small valley passing blooming wildflowers, butterflies, chipmunks, streams, waterfalls, wooden bridges, patches of snow, and a lake. I was so refreshed and happy at this point.
When I got to Sunrise Camp I had to make a choice: I could have taken the short, easy trail back or take a more difficult, longer trail back. Guess which I chose. I had the time and the energy so why not take the longer trail?
I had to ascend again but it wasn't too bad. I had to cross some patches of snow and mud the higher I got. I finally made it to the First Burroughs, which meant the landscape was turning Arctic Tundra-like (I know this because the sign said so). This means lots of rocks and almost no vegetation. Although not a beautiful path, I had some pretty great views of the mountain range. After this sign, things got steep.
About 1/3 of the way up the really steep, like only for Moutain Goats steep, and I was sweating and cursing! I don't know if it was the elevation or just the steepness of the hill but it was kicking my butt. I asked the mountain to level off, just a bit so I could have a rest. The mountain said "no" so I continued on. I was getting so miserable I started running up the hill just so I could get it over with, but it was so far.
It finally did level a bit, but that was probably so a snow pack could form in the middle the trail and further deter me from reaching my destination. Sure, the snow made it so I had to climb up it about 15 feet on a tiny ledge someone had created at some point, but I trucked on. Freezing my hands and my side because I didn't realize I would be practically laying on the snow as I walked so I would plummet down the rocky hill without vegetation to catch me. I made it. The hill went up some more, of course, but not quite as steeply. Either that or my body was numb and didn't realize it was still so steep.
When I made it to the top it was like Julie Andrews was singing "The hills are alive with the sound of muuuuuusic". If I had the energy I would have pranced around twirling. 360 degree views and bluest blue skies will do that to a person, I guess. After some time to take it in, I had energy again. I looked at the Second Burrough route and said "No Thank you" - it was a longer way back and there was more up-hilliness to do. Yeah, no. I chose the route that was flat and headed back to my destination in a shorter route. (insert foreboding thoughts here).
As I walked, I came to another snow pack covering the trail. Of course. It's really high up and snow is scattered about. It looked a little longer than the one I had to cross earlier and it had less of a ledge, but why not. I was feeling invincible-ish.
(more foreboding) I just kept my head down, looking where I was stepping and as it got a little steeper, I would crouch a little lower. Something stopped me after a couple of minutes.
Not only was I no longer standing at all, I was practically laying on the mountain in the snow again, but my hand was gripping blood-covered snow. I looked up (remember, head down, just keep moving) and I saw blood marks all over- up and down from where I was crouching/laying. Then I looked around and I realized that snow can play tricks on your eyes. The snowpack now looks 5 times larger than when I was standing on solid ground because there were dips into the mountain that I didn't see. Also, and perhaps most importantly, there was nothing under the snowpack. I couldn't see where I would land if I slid off. This is becoming a distinct possibility because, at the same time I realize this, I realize this is more ice and I can't dig my fingers or my shoes into the pack anymore and I keep slipping as I try to get a grip. Now I know where the blood came from.
As I imagine it at that moment. The same thing happened to a person earlier. He decided he could go no further so he stopped and was killed by something more agile in the snow. His bloody bits were strewn about so nature could do away with the evidence. I couldn't let this happen to me. There was no way I could have gone further, but turning back was a scary idea as well. This was the only option, though. (I have no pictures of this part because people who may die if they make a wrong move typically don't take pictures of their ordeal. If they did, then they were dead).
Carefully I maneuvered my way back, but not before dropping down into a 3 foot hole in the snow. It was softer there and nearly under a ledge that I had to go around. "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." I made it.
Now that my life was no longer in danger, I was disappointed that I would have to walk back the way I came. Remember how steep the hill was coming up, you would think I was happy about going down but, no, it was rocky and crumbly and when it's that steep and you could plunge off the side of the mountain into nothingness, you need to be careful.
My legs were like rubber when I got back down to the little valley where I had to make the choice earlier in my hike. I was exhausted but I had to carry on because Bruce was finishing his job by lunch time. I somehow managed to make it back where I collapsed on a park bench and wouldn't move for 20 minutes. Exhausted but mentally so much better than i was just hours earlier. Totally worth it.
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