know this height has never been ex- 
ceeded on the northern slopes of 
Rainier, primarily on account of the 
appalling danger from rock and ice 
avalanches on its extremely precipi- 
tous slopes. 
OWEVER, from the viewpoint of 
a competent mountaineer a height 
of about 11,000 feet can be attained 
without any particular danger, al- 
though somewhat above this point the 
risks over which one has no control 
are unwarrantable. The Carbon Ridge 
borders the eastern edge of the Carbon 
Glacier and terminates in the eastern 
precipice of the great cirque. The 
lower reaches of the ridge are rather 
monotonous but from an elevation of 
about 8,000 feet it commences to make 
height rapidly and there is some in- 
teresting scrambling over steep rocks 
of gigantic size. The 
view to the north and 
east becomes magnifi- 
cent, range after range 
of mountains in the 
Cascade plateau far 
and away to beyond 
the Canadian border. 
To the west, Puget 
Sound (“Whulge”) is 
a tortuous river wind- 
ing through the sum- 
mer haze. Hanging 
high on the _ horizon 
are the snowy saw- 
teeth of the Olympics 
with perhaps a glint 
of the Pacific between 
them. The stillness is 
unbroken save by the 
low rumble of stones 
coming down the moun- 
tain, and you fill your 
pipe and lean back 
against a rock with a 
feeling of quiet content which comes 
seldom in a lifetime. The sense of iso- 
lation and disentanglement from the 
cares and worries of the world below 
is complete. The mind contemplates. 
The Ascent of Ramier 
The fitting climax for such a trip 
should be an ascent of Rainer from 
the northeast and a descent to The 
Inn at Paradise Valley on the south. 
This constitutes a real alpine “trav- 
erse” of the peak and is of sufficiently 
rare occurrence to render it notable. 
It should not, however, be attempted 
in the absence of at least one experi- 
enced climber, nor without plenty of 
seasoning for the whole party. The 
hardships encountered may often be 
very severe—in 1913 I made the trav- 
erse with a single companion, and we 
spent a total of fifty-four hours above 
470 
timberline, including a night on the 
summit. With a larger party and fa- 
vorable conditions of ice and snow the 
traverse from Moraine Park to Para- 
dise Valley might be made in from 
forty to forty-five hours, but it would 
be wise to make preparations on the 
basis of from eight to ten hours longer. 
The pack sack should be reduced to 
the barest necessities of food and cloth- 
ing, for every pound makes itself felt 
acutely in high altitudes. Enough food 
for two hearty meals per man should 
be carried to the first night’s camp at 
an altitude of about 9,000 feet, and 
raisins, chocolate, and a can or two 
of tomatoes for the balance of the 
climb. In the absence of an alcohol 
stove, firewood must also be packed 
to this camp. 
The best route of ascent from Mo- 
raine Park follows the Carbon Ridge 

Upland wiid flowers. 
to the extreme upper limit of timber- 
line, then bears due east over broken 
shingle and snow slopes to the upper 
Winthrop Glacier. The descent to the 
Winthrop at this point is very precipi- 
tous over a snowfield sloping at an 
angle of forty-five degrees or more. 
The rope is here invoked, partly for 
the experience and partly for safety’s 
sake. The leader carefully kicks out 
capacious footholds, and the rest of 
the party follows in his steps, the al- 
penstock or ice-axe held diagonally 
across the front of the body with the 
point in the snow slope above. When 
the staff is held in this manner it can 
instantly be used as a brake under the 
body, should a fall occur, and it will 
also be able to arrest a slight slip. In 
case of a fall the cardinal rule of the 
mountaineer on a snow slope is to 
turn-instantly on to the face and use 
the staff as a brake, with both hands 
under the body. On a steep traverse, 
the natural inclination is to place the 
staff below one, where it is absolutely 
useless. A second important rule for 
roped parties on steep slopes pro- 
scribes that only one man shall move 
at a time, the others remaining an- 
chored and the nearest one taking up 
the slack in the rope. 
(CARB attention to such points 
as these marks the difference be- 
tween successful, happy trips and 
those which are marred by accidents, 
too often of a fateful character. The 
mountains exact full payment for care- 
lessness and negligence. 
The route now lies straight across 
the Winthrop to the lowest point, St. 
Elmo’s Pass, in the range of rocky 
peaks on the other side. The ice de- 
scends in an unbroken sweep from the 
summit plateau of 
Rainier and _ splits 
northeast and east 
upon a_ sharp, high 
prow of rock which 
constitutes the south- 
western end of the 
range of mountains on 
the far side of the 
Winthrop. This prow 
of rock is called the 
Wedge for the reason 
that no other term so 
perfectly describes it. 
From a sharp, almost 
knife-like terminus 
(the Prow) it widens 
rapidly to the north- 
east, its base opening 
into the White River 
valley. The route 
which we chose in 1913 
lay diagonally up the 
back of the Wedge, 
across the face of a 
very steep body of ice called the Inter- 
glacier, to a camp near the top of the 
Prow. It gives me a chill merely to 
think of that camp! As we lay hud- 
dled in our blankets on that bare, bleak 
rock, with the icy winds howling over 
it in a furious crescendo, and our teeth 
chattering like castanets, we vainly 
searched our minds for a name for 
that camp which adequately described 
its miseries. We couldn’t think of one, 
and we haven’t been able to yet! 
[cate route across the Interglacier 
from St. Elmo’s Pass to the top 
of the Wedge was selected in order to 
avoid the badly crevassed ice which 
barred the more direct path up the 
edge of the Winthrop to the foot of 
the Prow. If the ice looks feasible, 
however, it will pay greatly in time 
and fatigue to choose it in preference ' 
(Continued on page 502) 
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