A Week Among the Clouds

INTRODUCTION

Liberty Ridge. The classic Grade III/IV snow-and-ice route on the insidious North Face of Mt. Rainier has earned innumerable superlatives; many consider it among the best climbs in the Pacific Northwest. An equal number of others, of course, dismiss it as overrated.

Featured in Roper and Steck's prestigious Fifty Classic Climbs of North America, the ridge splits the rarely climbed Willis and Liberty Walls, providing a relatively safe line to the summit at the cost of an arduous approach across the Winthrop and Carbon Glaciers, sustained steep snow, at least one pitch of alpine ice (often more, as our team would discover) and an alternate descent route requiring climbers to carry heavy packs up and over the 14,411-foot summit.

North Face, Mt. Rainier

Immediately after summiting Rainier via the standard Disappointment Cleaver route in July 2012, I e-mailed my regular climbing partners about a big trip in 2013. The responses varied. As usual, however, Rob Jansen and I were on the same page. We knew it would take a year’s worth of dedicated training to make ourselves worthy of the challenge, but Liberty Ridge became the object of our obsession.

Sadly, Rob passed away in late August 2012 in a rock slide on Hagerman Peak before the trip progressed beyond the planning stages. At the time of his death, we'd climbed more than 25 mountains together in a mere 10 months. The loss of my close friend and No. 1 climbing partner shook me to my core. His father told me during the memorial service to keep "carrying the torch" for his son, and I knew that meant going forward with our mutual dream of ascending Rainier via our dream route.

James Graham and Darrin Nicholas were my mentors as I transitioned from East Coast beach bum to 14er finisher, and I count both among my closest buddies. It was a special moment for me when they invited me to join their own Liberty Ridge attempt a few months later. I readily agreed.

The reality, however, was that James is a good deal heavier than us, and the crevasse danger on the Carbon glacier is real. Darrin and I might have had problems if James took a fall. For that reason we added a second rope team to the party, consisting of three other climbers: Nao Takano, Keegan Young and John Fatseas.

I applied for and was awarded a Live Your Dream grant from the American Alpine Club for the climb, and without such support this trip wouldn’t have been possible. A huge thank you to everyone at the AAC for allowing me to live not only my dream, but one which Rob and I shared. I'm also indebted to Eddie Bauer/First Ascent Park Meadows, which let us demo a First Ascent Katabatic when we needed a second three-man mountaineering tent.

Climbing expeditions rarely go as planned. The trip I'd imagined as we boarded our plane on the morning of Saturday, June 8 was vastly different than the trip I’d experienced by the time I was on the return flight Sunday, June 16. I can say without a doubt, however, that the vacation was a success for our entire six-man team, and everyone made the correct decisions for themselves. We came home alive, we came home friends and we came home with summits.

MT. RAINIER - LIBERTY RIDGE

Weather windows in the Pacific Northwest are rare, especially in June, and we were graced with a beautiful one. Sunday and Monday were mostly sunny with no chance of precipitation during our approach, and Tuesday, our summit day, called for partly sunny skies with a small chance of precipitation toward the evening. A minor storm was forecast for Wednesday and Thursday.

The ranger at White River told us to bring snowshoes, which caused a communal groan heard as far away as Paradise. Previous parties reported chest-deep snow followed by bare ice from 12,500’ to 14,000’. The ice beta proved accurate, but the snowshoes stayed on our packs for 98 percent of the trip.

Setting off

The meandering trail from the White River Campground switchbacks ever upward, crossing streams and offering fleeting views of Rainier’s upper reaches. We started encountering snow around 6,000’ and finally popped out above treeline onto the Inter Glacier after 2.5 hours of hiking.

Some donned crampons here, while I opted for snowshoes because I figured the heel lifts couldn’t hurt for the slog up to St. Elmo’s Pass. We entered our own little worlds and formed a strung-out line on the crevasse-free Inter Glacier, ascending at various paces. Gaining St. Elmo’s Pass meant traversing onto the Winthrop Glacier and the removal of ~10 pounds each worth of ropes and hardware from our packs. Motivation came easy.

Roped to Keegan and Darrin and followed by Nao, John and James, we set off across the glacier. The Winthrop is hideous up high, but our line stayed flat and angled slightly down toward Curtis Ridge. We crossed our fair share of crevasses, maybe a dozen, but all were less than a foot wide that early in the season. 

Crossing the Winthrop Glacier

The lower slopes of Curtis Ridge are wide and deceiving. To make matters worse, a cloud-and-fog layer rolled in and obscured our views. Time and time again, we thought we’d reached camp, only to see more ridge awaiting ahead. The best advice I can give to prospective parties is when in doubt, angle down (right). The best campsites are around 7,200’ to 7,400’. The Carbon Glacier is easily accessed by a 50-foot scree slope lower on Curtis Ridge, but you’ll become cliffed-out by ascending too high.

We pitched our two three-man tents in the only flat spots we could find. The fog occasionally gave way to teasing glances of Liberty Ridge above. Every time we climbed a nearby cliff to scout a safe path across the Carbon, clouds reappeared. The routefinding would have to wait for morning. Our bellies full and snow melted, we crashed as soon as we could, with alarms set for 4:30 a.m.

Curtis Ridge Camp, with Liberty Ridge partly shrouded behind

Cue the best sunrise I’ve seen in my life. It took a full 20 minutes longer than usual to get ready because I couldn’t pick my jaw up off the talus. Finally ready to move an hour and a half later, we were ecstatic to find the short scree slope onto the Carbon Glacier within a stone’s throw of our campsite. The early morning light on Liberty Ridge revealed our beta was accurate: everything above the Black Pyramid was a shimmering field of ice.

Liberty Ridge

Some consider the Carbon Glacier the most dangerous section of the entire route. It’s Rainier’s thickest, longest and most active glacier, with a reported depth of 750 to 900 feet. Massive crevasses yawned everywhere. The morning quiet was interrupted at regular intervals by the gunshots of collapsing seracs. A 30-second waterfall of rocks fell from the toe of Liberty Ridge itself, and hundred-foot-wide avalanches swept silently down the Liberty and Willis Walls, threatening anyone who got too close. It was time to focus.

Despite the surrounding dangers, we raced across the Carbon. The flat, middle part of the glacier was remarkably lacking in open crevasses. Above the 7,600’ level or so, the routefinding became more tricky. We routinely had to step over foot-wide crevasses, including one on an uphill slope that required the solid placement of an ice axe pick for most of us, and another that was actually two crevasses with a thin intervening platform. We also trod through a small icefall, weaving around seracs and over a wonderland of snow formations. It was dangerous, sure, but my God was it beautiful. Even now I smile in reflection. 

Onto the Carbon Glacier

Above the icefall, the glacier once again flattened out and we stopped for a break. The entrance to Liberty Ridge was less than an hour away. Another serac collapsed on the Liberty Wall, starting a minutes-long avalanche that appeared close enough to touch. We started again, but stopped a few hundred feet later to have a group meeting that would change the course of my week.

Break time on the Carbon

For several valid reasons, James expressed that he was throwing in the towel. The rest of the group wanted to press on, including myself. Backtracking over the wicked Carbon and the milder but still broken Winthrop was inarguably roped-up terrain. James walking out alone, especially with the day heating up, would be taking an enormous risk.
 
I wanted the route more intensely than any I've attempted in my life and I couldn't have felt stronger. I'd trained hard, given up drinking for months, learned a ton of new skills, read and re-read trip reports and route beta, sought grant opportunities with the AAC -- it's not an exaggeration to say Liberty Ridge dominated nearly a full year of my life.

I searched inward. This climb, for me, was as much about remembering my friend Rob as achieving personal success. Every step was one I should have been taking with him. I began to wonder what Rob would do in that situation. He was one of the most selfless climbers I ever met, and there on the glacier I recalled a memory I shared during his memorial service. Long story short, he once told me, “You’re my friend, and I’d do anything for you.” James is one of the better friends I have. I understand how cheesy it sounds, but my choice was suddenly made for me. With only a touch of reluctance, I opened my mouth and told James I'd head down with him.

Before another half-hour passed we had the ropes reordered, the gear redistributed, and the respective teams of four and two were ready to go their separate ways. Darrin was already ahead, but as John, Keegan and Nao trudged by, I shared a moment and a hug with each of them. I wished them sincere good luck and lent John my camera. Then, it was time to go down. 

MT. HOOD 

Mt. Hood, South Side

The plan was to take a rest day or two while waiting for John, Darrin, Keegan and Nao to come off Rainier and join us for an attempt on Mt. Hood. Unfortunately, the other members of our party ended up having such an epic on Liberty Ridge that they decided against any more climbing and caught early flights home. James and I headed down to Hood on our own. We were joined by good friend Bill Wood, who found a cheap last-minute flight from Denver to Portland.

While Mt. Hood’s standard Hogsback route pales in difficulty compared with Liberty Ridge, the highest point in Oregon is no slouch. Hood, simply put, is aesthetic. It’s often said that if you ask a kindergartner to draw a mountain, the picture you’d get in return is Mt. Hood. The slopes sweep upward from all directions to reach a perfect pinnacle, eternally capped with snow. From certain angles the mountain calls to mind Wham Ridge blanketed in white.

After waiting out a few days of imperfect weather, Friday promised to be better. It didn't seem that way when our alarms went off at 3 a.m. Outside the Best Western, the world was shrouded in mist. A startlingly chill wind whipped us from all directions. Regardless, we were there, we were awake and this was our one shot. We piled into the rental car and drove up to the trailhead at Timberline Lodge.

I was on a mission. Most parties hit the trail closer to midnight, but we cocky Coloradans were lazy and aimed for a 4 a.m. start, which in actuality became 4:30. I was concerned about being forced to turn around by late-morning falling rocks or ice, or the cloudlayer rising with the day’s heat. As has been proven in tragedy after tragedy, the upper slopes of Mt. Hood are no place to be caught in a whiteout. Though we carried ropes and a small rack as a precaution, the likelihood of needing them was nil. I bolted for the summit as fast as I could manage, with the mutual understanding I’d stop to wait for James and Bill if conditions warranted.

Sunrise over a cloud layer on Mt. Hood

My personal goal was to top out by 9 a.m. Maybe it was my Colorado acclimatization, maybe it was my fear of leaving the Pacific Northwest without a summit, or maybe I was simply channeling my inner Rob Jansen (he was an exceptionally fast hiker and finished 33rd in the 2012 Leadville Marathon), but I was shocked to find myself on the summit at 8:30 a.m., four hours after setting out.

The first 2,500’ of the route is as boring as snow climbing gets. One literally walks up a ski slope, using a chairlift as a guide. The views we had that morning made even that portion enjoyable. The entrapping cloudlayer leveled off at about 6,000 feet, the same elevation as the trailhead. We were soon above it. Sunrise hit early because of our late start, and it presented an astounding scene coupled with the low clouds, nearby Mt. Jefferson and Hood’s own mountain shadow.

Hogsback and Mt. Jefferson

I caught a large group of several parties at the Hogsback, where everyone stopped to put on crampons. Here, only 700 feet from the summit, the route becomes spectacular. Fumaroles spewed wisps of steam that polluted the air with sulphur, singeing the nostrils; a single crevasse known simply as the bergschrund gaped wide; the Hogsback provided an aesthetic line of ascent and the final push beckoned as a fine snow-and-ice climb.


In years past, the Pearly Gates -- a direct line from the top of the Hogsback to the summit -- was the standard route. Recent shifts in weather have made this section steeper and icier, so most climbers traverse left to a snowfield known as the Old Chute. Now ahead of the masses, I took the middle ground, up a narrow tunnel of hard 45-degree snow called the Two o’ Clock Couloir, embraced on all sides by towering rocks armored in rime ice. The other parties, including a family of skiers from Aspen, followed up the same route.

Two o' Clock Couloir

The top of the couloir revealed the summit ridge and views unlike any in Colorado. It was the Blanca Group on steroids. Mt. Hood, an ultraprominent peak, offers incomparable scenery in every direction. Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams rose proudly to the north, while Mt. Jefferson and the Three Sisters were only slightly less impressive to the south. The neutered mound of Mt. Saint Helens was a harsh reminder of the fate awaiting these active volcanoes. 

Summit ridge

After turning around on Liberty Ridge, my chest swelled with the elation of success. I put on my puffy and was soon joined by the other groups, including the Aspenites, who skied from the summit. Bill and James arrived a short while later. Standing at the apex of a mountain like Hood is an awesome personal accomplishment, but it wouldn’t mean nearly as much without friends such as these to share the victory. I spent a few minutes gazing longingly at Rainier, though I didn't dwell; I was happy where I stood.

We lingered on the summit until about 10 a.m., then started down. A combination of glissades and a good climber’s trail saw as back at the lodge before noon, with beers from Mt. Hood Brewing Company in our hands by 12:30. A toast to success! 

Mt. Hood summit

CONCLUSION

As I've said, the trip turned out very differently than I’d drawn it up. That doesn’t mean I’d change anything. With a team as strong as the one I had and as hard as I'd trained, I have full confidence I would have made it up Liberty Ridge. But as the cliche goes, the route will always be there. I gained more personal pride in helping a friend in need than I ever would have simply succeeding on a route. People climb mountains for many reasons, and I've discovered that I do it mainly for the camaraderie.

More philosophically, before the trip the prospect of succeeding on Liberty Ridge was almost a sad one. It was the last of many adventures I’d planned with Rob. Once it’s done, I have a feeling I’ll be a bit rudderless for a while. As long as Liberty Ridge remains a dream, something on the horizon and not yet behind, maybe I’ll continue to feel this strong connection to my friend. I’m sure I’ll be back one day. That trip will come when it will. Until then, I’ll continue living other dreams, remembering my lost compatriots in other ways and enjoying the friend that remain to me. 

Thanks again to the AAC for allowing this journey to happen. I'm truly living my dream.

My Happy Place

Everyone has one location that makes their heart sing, one place they return to over and over during daydream escapes from daily monotony. It could be a white-sand surfbreak, a sprawling desert maze, a West Texas ranch, an ancient European city, a high alpine basin, a Minnesota lake, a suburban home with a white-picket fence, a Gulf Stream fishing vessel or any infinite number of things. No one is better than another. It's up to the individual to decide what speaks to them, and for me, that place is the San Juan Mountains of Southwest Colorado.

Let's not beat around the bush. Most of the mountains in Colorado are nothing more than big, rounded lumps. That's not an insult. Those peaks are enchanting in their own right, and I always look forward to returning to the Sawatch and Front ranges. The San Juans, however, can be summed up in one word: inspiring. These dramatic peaks rise defiantly, thrusting skyward in jagged pinnacles and sweeping, aesthetic ridgelines. I'm rarely in a better mood than when I'm driving to the San Juans, and each time I lay eyes on them I feel born anew.

Staring at them on innumerable trips on U.S. 550 while I lived in Farmington, N.M., these are the guarded summits that dared me to become a mountaineer. The San Juans are my happy place, and to steal from a famous quote, to me they give lavishly. A day removed from a five-day Fourth of July vacation to SW Colorado with Kate, I feel rejuvenated, reinvigorated and re-energized. I'm not even sad the trip is over. Of course, that's mostly because I'm already planning a return over Labor Day...

I'm failing to find the words to describe this singular place and the ways it makes me feel. I'll quit while I'm somewhat ahead. Pictures can do a better job, anyway:

A Legend Passes

I'd planned on a couple of trip reports being my next blog posts, but the events of the past 24 hours take precedence.

Steve Gladbach, a preeminent Colorado mountaineer and by all accounts one of the finest human beings on the planet, was killed in a climbing accident on "Thunder Pyramid" near Aspen. The details are still emerging, and I won't speculate on the cause except to say "Thunder Pyramid" is regarded as one of the most difficult Centennial 13ers. It's infamous for its steepness, loose rock and routefinding challenges. Steve had summited the mountain at least once before, and I believe he'd done it twice or even several times.

Steve Gladbach (courtesy Facebook.com)

Steve, 52, was the quintessential role model for 14ers.com. If the website had a Mt. Rushmore, he'd be on it. He mentored wave after wave of novice climbers, and did so in such a way that everyone who had the privilege of meeting him felt a special bond.

His accolades as a mountaineer are staggering. He became only the fourth person in history to climb all 59 Fourteeners in winter, a quest he completed in 2011. He finished four laps around the 14ers and was only 12 peaks away from meeting his goal of climbing all the ranked, named AND unranked 13ers in Colorado. That's more than 750 peaks. Only one other person in history is known to have accomplished this feat. Steve was also trying to become the first person to summit the state's 100 highest peaks, called the Centennials, in winter. He put up several first and second ascents in pursuit of this dream.

Yet, his climbing accomplishments pale in comparison to his quality as a human being. His capacity to give was unmatched, and despite having earned several lifetimes worth of bragging rights, he was one of the most humble people on earth. That's a rare trait in high-level mountaineers. I can't even imagine how many messages he received on 14ers.com asking for advice or route information, and yet he took the time to reply to all of them in detail.

I first met Steve, who was already a rockstar in my mind, at the Winter Gathering he organized in 2011. It was my first snow-camping trip and only my third attempt on a winter 14er. Battling up the ridge of Mt. Columbia in winds exceeding 40 or 50 miles per hour, I considered turning around like most of my partners already had. Then I encountered Steve, who was on his way down with several others. He yelled over the blowing gale to provide much-needed support and encouragement. Steeled against the elements, I successfully made the top. I've always held the belief I couldn't have done it without him.

On our way to Mt. Lindsey in the spring of 2012, Rob Jansen, Greg Fischer and I stopped at Steve's home in West Pueblo. Fish was a school teacher, like Steve, and needed equipment for his fledgling high school mountaineering club. Steve was generously donating box after box after box of old gear. Once Fish had everything he needed, Steve offered to let each us take anything we wanted, as well. Greg ended up with a Grivel pack we immediately labeled "The Gladpach," which entitled the wearer to superhuman powers in the mountains. That's how we viewed Steve. He was our hero.

Steve was also a dedicated family man. He leaves behind two girls, who were absolutely the center of his universe. I was on Mt. Belford in spring 2011 when he was hiking the same mountain with his pre-teen, Alise. The first thing I noticed was how proud he was and how much he obviously cared for her. His facial expressions showed everything. When the pair glissaded away down the mountain, it was with unbridled joy. I'll always remember Steve as I saw him that day.

Rest in peace, Steve. Thank for your all your contributions to the Colorado climbing community. I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am without you. There are hundreds of others who would say the same.

The Training Is Over

I can't blame my 27-year-old knees for feeling double their age. Almost every hike I've done since the beginning of spring has been with a 40-pound pack, or heavier. The repeated strain, understandably, resulted in a touch of bursitis. This week will consist of nothing more than me sitting on my ass and resting. I did want to get some altitude one more time before Liberty Ridge, however, so last weekend Darrin and I chose a route that would keep us above 13,000' for a few hours without much strain: the Decalibron. Kate, Tyler and Kate's pup Remy decided to come along, and John was planning to join before getting back too late from a business trip Friday night.

Ecstatic to be carrying stupid-light packs loaded with only water, food and an extra layer or two, we more-or-less skipped up the trail beginning at 7:45 a.m. Saturday. The road was impassable about 1-1.5 miles from the summer trailhead at Kite Lake because of a snow drift. It was dry and 2WD-accessible to that point.

We encountered lots of the white stuff down low, but the cold weather of the night before and a stiff breeze resulted in a firm walking surface. No snowshoes were necessary, which was awesome, because we were lazy and didn't bring them.

Kate at Kite Lake.

The elevation gain passed rather quickly. We shared the majority of the ascent up Mt. Democrat with a guy visiting from London and what I assume was his daughter, a Los Angeles resident. We stopped often to chat and enjoy the splendid weather. The summit of Democrat was occupied by a pair of skiers, one of whom was 14ers.com member BAUMGARA.

Getting up Democrat and later Mt. Cameron was, as expected, the route's crux. It's the most strenuous part of the loop and held a lot of snow. Once on the summit of Cameron the ridge was mostly blown dry, and the subsequent climbs up Mt. Lincoln and Mt. Bross were lofty summer-trail jaunts with only a combined elevation gain of 600' or so. We made it from the top of Cameron to the top of Lincoln in a mere 14 minutes.

On the summit of Mt. Cameron, Remy keeps an eye out for Kate.

The S-Gully on Bross was one of the most fun 14er descents I've had the pleasure of experiencing. We glissaded nearly the whole thing, which has enough twists and turns to make it feel like a waterslide. We dropped nearly 1,500' in 10 minutes. The resulting walk out was equally pleasurable, plunge-stepping on perfect snow all the way back to the road.

My knees were thankful.

Mt. Lincoln.

The Decalibron was exactly what the doctor ordered. The round-trip was approximately eight hours at a leisurely pace. We spent half a day above 13,000', and my knees actually felt better on Sunday, the day after the hike. I'm not sure how that's possible, but I'll take it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have lots of being lazy to do. Only five days until we're hitting the trail at White River! Speaking of which, the long-range forecast suggests we might get the weather window we've been anxiously hoping for:

.SUNDAY...SUNNY. FREEZING LEVEL NEAR 14500 FEET.
.SUNDAY NIGHT...MOSTLY CLEAR. FREEZING LEVEL NEAR 14000 FEET.
.MONDAY...MOSTLY SUNNY. FREEZING LEVEL NEAR 13000 FEET.

If that's accurate and the forecast holds into Tuesday, we couldn't ask for much better for June in the Pacific Northwest.

Climbing for Rob

Robert A. Jansen, Memorial Day 2012.

The Colorado 14ers are comparable to freshman year of college. Deciding to pursue them typically leads to a shocking change in lifestyle, a whole new circle of friends, newfound freedoms that weren't previously known to exist, penny-pinching for gas money and a fanatical infatuation with canned beer. The main difference is most 14er addicts prefer a good IPA to Natty Light.

Completing the 14er List is like becoming an upperclassman. You've completed the prerequisite courses with your horde of peers, and now you have to choose a major. Individuals who have climbed all the 14ers scatter into all sorts of specializations: ice climbing, trail running, trad climbing, hiking, family raising, thru-hiking, ultrarunning, ski mountaineering -- ad infinitum. It's surprising and somewhat baffling that few 14er finishers choose to continue progressing as mountaineers, chasing progressively higher and more difficult summits. Even those that do remain in the School of Alpinism rarely have similar goals. So many mountains, so many routes, so many countries, so little time.

That's what made my partnership with Robert Jansen special. It wasn't uncommon for me to mention a mountain, only to have him blurt out he'd been researching the same route earlier that day. When I queried a bevy of my regular climbing partners to ask about putting together a big trip for 2013, Rob was the first -- and as it turns out, the only -- person to respond seriously. As usual, we were on the same page. It didn't take long to settle on Liberty Ridge, with a warm-up trip to El Pico de Orizaba the preceding winter.

Shortly before he died in a rockslide in August 2012, Rob summed up his climbing ambitions in one poignant sentence.

"I just want to see how high I can go."

I couldn't agree more, bud.

Liberty Ridge will be an odd bookend on the shelf of my life; it will be the last climb I'd planned with my good friend. Nearly every major accomplishment I've achieved since Rob's death was something we were supposed to have shared: finishing the 14ers on Mt. Sneffels, the winter summits, Orizaba. I'm sure I'll remember and honor Rob for the rest of my days, but once Liberty Ridge is done, I can't shake the feeling that I'll be out there on my own, rudderless, instead of with him alongside me. It's an emotion difficult to put into words.

The climbers and friends who were close to Rob have memorialized him in myriad ways. Personally, I've carried a can of his favorite beer, Dale's Pale Ale, to several significant summits, and I hope to do so again on Liberty Ridge -- as long as I can squeeze it into my pack. Worst case scenario, it'll be the first beer I have once we're off the mountain.

Summit of El Pico de Orizaba, Dale's Pale Ale in hand.

Soon after Rob's death, his father encouraged us climbers to keep pursuing our passion, to "carry the torch" for his son. Those words have rang in my head ever since. I'm not a very spiritual person, but on several occasions I've felt Rob's presence as I worked my way up a peak, typically ones on which we shared a special memory. I have no doubt he'll be there on Liberty Ridge. Knowing he'll be by my side is an inexpressible comfort, and an honor of which I hardly feel worthy.

Climb on, Rob.

Rob on the summit of Mt. Massive, Feb. 2012.

Living My Dream

Liberty Ridge, Mt. Rainier (image courtesy summitpost.org)

It's impossible to avoid it now. After months lapping at the edges of my scattered brain, a dim intangible prospect not yet real, the climb of my life is less than two weeks away.

Liberty Ridge on Mt. Rainier has earned innumerable superlatives; many consider it THE climb in the Pacific Northwest. Featured in Roper and Steck's prestigious Fifty Classic Climbs of North America, the Grade IV snow-and-ice route on the insidious North Face of Rainier has captured the attention and imaginations of thousands of would-be alpinists since it was first ascended on Sept. 30, 1935. The ridge splits the Liberty and Willis Walls -- infamous playgrounds for massive avalanches and falling rocks that are rarely climbed -- providing a relatively safe line to the summit at the cost of an arduous approach, sustained steep snow, at least one pitch of alpine ice and an alternate descent route requiring climbers to carry heavy packs up and over the 14,411-foot summit.

I feel ready. I've lived the past two months wearing a 45-pound pack, climbing to 13,000' or 14,000' nearly every weekend. I'm 12 days sober and don't plan on having another drop of my beloved beer until we're back down in the microbrew heaven of Seattle. (I might be more excited for that than the climb.) I've never felt so physically fit, and I'm raring to get on the mountain. On the mental side of things, there isn't a trip report or route photo on the Internet I haven't studied to delirium. When I close my eyes, I see Liberty Ridge.

The team, assembled by James Graham (aka Big Bird), couldn't be stronger. Two autonomous rope teams of three will travel together across the Winthrop and Carbon Glaciers, keeping in proximity to assist each other in case of a crevasse fall. Once on the ridge, the ropes will continue to work together as we assault the many formidable difficulties between us and the summit. Each rope has its own moniker that derives from our team name, but our crude sense of humor means I probably shouldn't share them publicly. For the purposes of this blog, we'll stick with Rope 1 and Rope 2.

Rope 1
-Darrin Nicholas, who has climbed all 58 Fourteeners in Colorado and Rainier via the Disappointment Cleaver route. The navigation expert.

-Keegan Young, Development Director for the American Alpine Club, climber of 57 of the 58 Colorado Fourteeners, Rainier, and much more. My partner during a Thanksgiving 2012 climb of 18,490-foot El Pico de Orizaba in Mexico.

-Jeff Golden, me, 14er finisher with summits of Rainier's Disappointment Cleaver and the Ridge of Gold on Orizaba.

Rope 2
-Nao Takano, climber of way too many mountains to mention, including Rainier via several different routes. Crevasse-rescue instructor.

-John Fatseas, certified mountain guide and the team's most talented ice climber.

-James Graham, organizer and leader. He's climbed all over the Western U.S., including a successful ascent of Denali. Proud new father of a beautiful baby girl.

Team ******* and *******, minus Nao. Left to Right: James, Darrin, John, Keegan and Jeff.

The crew has gelled during training climbs, dinner meetings and beer dates the last several months. Perhaps the most defining characteristic of the group is a wonderfully shared sense of humor. Success or failure, no matter how tough things get, I know these guys will keep me laughing and in good spirits.

I won't lie and say everything is rosy, that I don't have any concerns about the climb. I do. I also have faith that everything will work out for the best. I trust these guys, their decision making and their skill sets. All you can do is take what comes, when it comes. There's no point in worrying about scenarios that have not yet come to pass. If for any reason Liberty Ridge doesn't come to fruition, we have a plethora of backup options that will present comparable, fun and unique challenges. We have eight days to play in the idyllic Pacific Northwest and plan on maximizing our time there.

This climb wouldn't be possible without the support of a few key benefactors. The American Alpine Club awarded me a Live Your Dream grant worth $400, which provided much-needed relief for my meager bank account and helped with airfare, food and travel arrangements. The AAC runs the Live Your Dream program to allow amateur climbers to "fund unforgettable experiences that give you the skills and confidence to realize your climbing ambitions and allow you to dream even bigger next time." In layman's terms, the grant is for AAC members looking to push their limits and experience their dream trip. It's such a great program. I can't sing its praises loud enough.

I also must thank the Park Meadows location of Eddie Bauer/First Ascent for allowing our crew to demo a First Ascent Katabatic three-man expedition tent during the climb. We've used it on a couple training weekends and it's getting glowing reviews from the team. A day spent tent-bound on Rainier in that thing might not be so bad.

I start this blog with a bit of hesitation. Some of my well-meaning trip reports on 14ers.com have been misconstrued as attention-seeking ploys, which couldn't be more off-base. All I ever wanted to do was tell a good story, supply a little comic relief and provide timely, useful information. I simply and earnestly just love writing. At the urging of some of the dearest people in my life, I've decided to ignore the detractors and continue sharing my adventures, because I believe there's sufficient interest and it's what I like to do. I hope you'll enjoy taking the ride along with me.

I plan on posting to this blog before and after Liberty Ridge with detailed, personal thoughts and a thorough trip report. You can also follow me on Twitter, and I've created a SPOT Shared Page that I'll activate once we depart Saturday, June 8.