Mt. Olympus

August 3-5, 2024 

This huge, glaciated peak had intrigued me for years, especially after my buddy Buzz did it in a single day, and then even more so when I got interested in climbing the ultra proms (peak with a prominence of at least 5000) feet (shoutout to David “Sometimes Swiss” Alexander for turning me on to this new mountain list.)

This was one of a trio of objectives we’d hoped to do on our trip to the Northwest. But who is this “we” I speak of? That would be Homie, Derek, and I for all three, but Sheri was joining for ideally two of them, with the most important being Mt. Rainer, as it was the only 14er in the lower 48 states that Sheri hadn’t done. But then a huge serac fell and wiped out the Disappointment Cleaver Route on Rainier. We were planning on doing the Emmons Glacier route (just because Derek and I had already done the DC), but this raised Sheri’s already high anxiety levels. She looked into our route and found sagging snow bridges and huge crevasses. She was out.

So, we headed to Mt. Olympus, which I expected to be fine. Heck, it’s been done in 10+ hours, roundtrip. Certainly, we could do it in three days. Just some easy glacier walking and a bit of scrambling, right? Easy peasy. Or so I thought.

Homie drove up, bagging Kings and Borah peaks on the way up. Sheri and I flew to SeaTac, rented a car, and rocketed out into hours of horrible traffic. Eventually, we drove through Olympia and headed for the Olympic National Park to climb Mt. Olympus, while the Olympics were taking place. Nice.

We all met at the Hoh River Trailhead, with Derek arriving at 11:30 p.m. after rescuing a toddler from the middle of the highway! He was driving along a 2-lane highway at the speed limit of 50 mph at dusk when he saw what he thought was a pylon in the middle of the road. He slowed, thinking maybe there was construction ahead, and then realized it was a 2-year-old boy. He immediately pulled over, jumped out of his car, ran to the kid, and scooped him up and off the road. The kid couldn’t talk very well and would only say “Truck”, when one passed by. Apparently, he came out to the road looking for them. But where did he live?

Derek put him down and held his hand, as they walked 50 yards along the highway to a yard where a woman, the kid’s mother, was riding a lawnmower. She saw Derek with the kid and dismounted and asked Derek where he found him. When Derek told her, she started crying and hugged Derek. Derek, most likely, had saved this kid’s life. The mom said that her boy was inside with his dad but must have wandered outside without him noticing. That’s terrifying. I hope that he lives long enough to know better. 

Homie got to the trailhead first and he did the short hike of the Moss Giants (or something like that) and recommended it. Sheri and I were amazed at the sizes of these trees. The Sitking Pine can grow to over 300 feet tall. The other giant in this forest is the Douglas Fir. These trees are massive. We have nothing remotely like them in Colorado. They are also all covered in moss (duh). The moss and other plants growing on the giants are not parasitic. They are “air plants,” deriving all of their nutrients from the air!

These humungous trees have shallow root systems — the ground is so moist that there is no need to go deep for water. Of course, deeper roots would add to stability, but when these trees topple they form a key part of the environment. The big trees themselves have a hard time competing on the ground floor of the forest. They frequently get their start atop the downed trunks of “nurse trees”, as the fallen giants are called. The roots of the tree go around the trunk and into the ground. Once the trunk decomposes these trees look like they are on stilts.  

We were hiking the next morning just before 8 a.m. We had a permit to camp at Elk Lake, 15.5 miles away. We took our time on the approach with frequent breaks. The entire hike only gained 2500 feet and most of that was in the last three miles. This isn’t a hike for a mountain person, as pretty much nothing changes in your view for the entire hike. You start in a dense rainforest and you end in one. You see trees and almost nothing else. The one view we got on the entire hike was crossing the High Hoh Bridge, which hangs hundreds of feet over a tributary of the Hoh River. 

We found a nice campsite and set up our two tents. After filtering plenty of water, we cooked dinner and retired with a 3 a.m. wake-up time. We carried a single 30-meter rope. Sheri and I carried LaSportiva Trango GTX boots, but Derek and Homie were only shod in their running shoes. We all carried Kahtoola 10-point (no front points) crampons and ice axes. Only Sheri brought a helmet. In retrospect, it was embarrassing that the only one with good judgment was the least experienced climber. We didn’t have any incidents, but if you are carrying an axe and crampons and are going to be roped together, a helmet is a no-brainer. The only excuse is laziness and that’s not one to be proud of.

The next morning we were hiking at 3:50 a.m. — later than we had hoped, but we were fed and caffeinated. 

We climbed steeply for 2+ miles to Glacier Meadows — the usual base camp for Olympus ascents as it is the last camp before the glacier. Then we climbed another steep mile to the Glacier View, which was indeed spectacular. Below us was the Hoh (?) Glacier streaked with ribs formed from nascent crevasses (possibly ogives). Further up were impressive icefalls of chaotic seracs and crevasses that was reminiscent of the Price Glacier on Mt. Shuksan. Looming above it all was the rock spire of Olympus and its satellite Middle and Southern summits.

Sheri, Derek, and I geared up here, atop the ridge, while Homie descended hundreds of vertical feet of steep, loose terrain. Sheri and I pulled on our boots and gaiters. Homie and Derek had gaiters but their feet would be totally soaked before we got to the summit. We put on harnesses here, too, just to be ready for when we needed the rope.

We regrouped at the start of the glacier and proceeded out onto it. It was pure ice, but at a very gentle angle so that our crampons allowed us to walk very securely. The micro-route-finding consisted of following and crossing these tiny ridges. On the crossing, we navigated by streams of meltwater, tiny pools, and moulins, which are portholes of cascading water that plunge down into the glacier. We occasionally had to step across crevasses that were deep but very narrow.

This was Sheri’s first time on a glacier since 1993, the year we got married. We traveled to Ecuador for my brother’s wedding and climbed Cotopaxi. That was the last time she put on crampons; the last time she gripped an ice axe. And this was probably only the third time she’d ever used both. She was most undoubtedly unsure of herself on such terrain and quite fearful of it. But she had three guides to take care of her.

Our route headed across this wide glacier and then up onto a rock rib. Just before arriving there, snow covered the glacier, filling in and concealing the crevasses. We deemed the risk was too great to continue unroped and pulled out our 30-meter cord. Roped up, we were shortly across to the rocks and pulling off our crampons.

Here at the rock rib, we caught a group that we’d seen from the overlook. We thought they were two teams, one of five members and one of four, but later we found that this was one group of ten, with one turning back upon looking down at the glacier. We’d trail this group clear to the summit. We seemed to be moving marginally faster, but we took more breaks to pull crampons on and off.

Above this first rock band was a snowfield and then another rock band that led to a shelf just before the steep climb up the Snow Dome. We’d been unroped since the first rock rib and continued up this, unroped. Derek was leading and carrying our rope, then Homie, then Sheri and I was in back. 

The slope started at a gentle angle but continually got steeper. The climbers above us followed a switchbacking track and we followed suit. At the steepest section, we found ice just a couple of inches below the snow and Sheri slipped a couple of times. Her stress level jumped, clearly detected in her voice. I immediately called up, “We need a rope.” Derek stopped immediately, placed the sole picket he carried, whipped the rope off his shoulders, and sent one end down to Homie, who sent it down to Sheri and me. In just a couple of minutes, we were all roped together, protected by our single picket, and moving on. 

Above the Snow Dome, once again on a glacier, the terrain flattened out. We weaved around a couple of huge crevasses, first to the right, then a hard traverse back to the left to a notch behind a rock spire. Here we passed through a tiny col on dirt and down forty steep feet to regain another glacier. Once again we trudged up a long snow slope, crossing one last crevasse. Here, Sheri was pushed nearly to her limit. She lamented the never-ending climb and that we didn’t appear to be getting closer. She’d been doing great, closing on this big team of 20-something guys, but now she called for a couple of breathers. Derek was out front setting a great pace — slow and steady. But now it was a bit too steady for Sheri. I was sweating profusely as the cloudless sky and snowy glacier allowed the sun to hit us from all angles. Even Homie would confess some fatigue on this climb. 

We persevered to the top of the slope and had to scramble up a steep rock section to a notch. The view from here was daunting and it broke Sheri, at least momentarily. We were looking at a steep, loose descent on rock to the base of what looked like a vertical wall of snow, capped with an intimidating rock tower. I was taken aback myself. The final rock climb was supposed to be only 5.4, yet it looked vertical. 

Sheri said she was out; she didn’t want to go any further. I knew this was a combination of severe fatigue, we’d covered more than 6000 vertical feet since starting that morning, and intimidation. I recalled one of my favorite Vince Lombardi quotes: “Fatigue makes cowards of us all.” At least half of her fear came from that fatigue. I also knew the snow wasn’t as steep as it looked. Face-on walls always looked steeper than they were and we watched the young guys climbing it, seemingly with ease. So, I pushed her. “You can’t quit here. You’re too close. This won’t be any harder than what you’ve already done.” She remained quiet, with tears in her eyes. “You’ll be great on the rock climbing,” I assured her. Sheri is very uncomfortable on the snow/ice, but quite experienced with moderate rock climbing. 

Reluctantly, she proceeded down the rocky slope to the start of the snow. We took a break here. Sheri dropped her pack. She hydrated and ate a bit, but she wasn’t hungry. She was fearful. I didn’t let her pause for long. The longer she looked at the slope, the less likely she’d try it. I didn’t ask if she wanted to continue. I told her to get up and start moving. And she did.

Again, Derek led the way with me taking up the rear. The snow slope wasn’t icy and there were good steps. It was no problem and over quickly, as it was less than 100 vertical feet. At the base of the rock tower were five of the guys, and the leader hadn’t started up yet. Four more were over at the saddle, perhaps waiting for their turn, I thought. Actually, they would skip the summit. Though the leader was quite competent once he got going, it wasn’t hard to tell that the rest of these guys were not rock climbers. At least it wasn’t hard to tell afterward, but when I arrived at the base, I just assumed so. And I knew I couldn’t wait for five of them to get up this thing. Homie informed me there was a route around to the right, though much looser and possibly harder. I was committed to at least trying that route.

I plunged my axe into the snow and started pulling off my crampons. I asked Derek, “Are you going or am I?” We were clearly the only two that would lead the rock climbing. Homie is quite capable on rock, but Derek and I are more capable and more experienced and with the complication of the other team, we just wanted to be efficient. Even after reaching the top, we had a long, dangerous way back to camp.

Derek said, “I assumed you’d go, but I can if you want.” This is normal for us, too. Derek is a much stronger sport climber than I am and probably a stronger trad climber as well, given straightforward placements but leading up loose, alpine 5.8 is really my specialty. I’m not that strong of a climber these days, but I can handle any type of 5.8 climbing and I usually can tolerate serious runouts and questionable rock at that grade. In this terrain I have a lot more experience than Derek, so, once again, playing to our strengths as a team, I took the sharp end. 

I had to clear the boys out of my way, but started up within a couple of minutes of arriving. Derek handed me our rack: two cams, and four slings. I started up, testing every hold, and finding plenty of loose ones. I traversed right and then headed up into some questionable terrain. Too much of it was loose and a bit steep for Sheri. Homie said it looked better further right and indeed it did, but I couldn’t get there from my position. I continued up, unprotected, to a good ledge with a solid crack. I put in both pieces for a bomber belay. Since I hadn’t placed any gear, I could flip the rope around to the easier gully as Sheri climbed up, next on the rope. Derek followed directly behind Sheri, tied in only six feet behind her. He coached her every moment, pointing out holds and giving her confidence and encouragement. Sheri did great on the traverse and then easily scampered up to my belay. Homie was tied into the end of our short rope and was making fast progress.

I pulled one of the belay pieces and headed up the last section to the top. Here I encountered a couple of tougher moves, maybe 5.6 or so. Sheri hadn’t climbed in a while and she was in her mountain boots (actually, my mountain boots), but I knew Derek would get her up it. I placed my one piece just before the crux and got to the rappel slings (just short of the summit) just after Max, the other team’s leader. He was really nice and very chill. I slapped my Micro onto the belay slings and belayed the others up. Sheri did very well on this tricky section and when I praised her at the top she said, “I pulled on that piece. Derek said it was okay.” I love that. “Derek said it was okay.” Hell, yes, it was okay. This was alpine climbing. Anything goes. As soon as you’re pulling on an ice axe, anything goes in my book. Yes, I know my book might be unique, but I’m no elite alpinist trying to “free” mixed climbs.

We all tagged the top and Sheri signed us into the summit register. While the others were doing this, I was negotiating our descent. We couldn’t really rappel the route we came up. We needed to go down the standard ascent. It turned out that Max was having trouble throwing the rope back down to his companions, so I offered that we could rappel this line and get the rope down to them. How nice of me. This removed the necessity of down-climbing part of the descent since the summit tower is about 100 feet tall and our rope was only 100 feet long. 

Derek rappelled down first, so that he could be there to receive Sheri and make sure she safely got to her crampons and axe. Then I lowered Sheri down (she never learned to rappel as she never really needed to). Homie went next and then I descended. We were all down in less than ten minutes.

I was so proud of Sheri for conquering her fears and her fatigue. Bravery isn’t about not being afraid. Brave people get afraid too, but they don’t let it control them. Sheri was in control and trusted herself and her companions. 

The descent was much easier than the ascent, of course, with one exception. We knew there was ice on the steep section of the Snow Dome and we only had a single snow picket, no ice screws (mistake! Carry at least one screw, just in case). Again, Derek led us and just as he sensed we were near the ice, he placed the picket and pounded it in with the shaft of his axe. He proceeded down, immediately hitting the ice. When Sheri got to that point, she slipped on the ice, fell, and slid down the slope. I was ready for this and caught most of her weight on my waist tie-in. Sheri also did an admirable job of getting into the self-arrest position and digging in her axe. She was shaken, though.

Derek climbed up and over to her. He felt no ice where he was and thought they could continue straight down, instead of the traverse we were on. Sheri balked at this. I was right by the picket, so I plunged in my axe as a second anchor and clipped into both. I then put Sheri on belay and just lowered her down the slope. At least until I ran out of rope. But she was with Derek and secure for the moment. Homie wasn’t psyched about the ice either. Remember he was in running shoes. I told him to just rappel off my waist. The slope was only 50 degrees or so, hence the force wouldn’t be too great. This worked great and once he was down, he unroped from Derek, Sheri, and I. 

I down-climbed to them using my axe and the picket and wishing for front points. I wasn’t concerned, though. I knew the snow got softer lower down and was very confident I could self-arrest if I fell. Once down to Sheri and Derek, I repeated the process of lowering Sheri. Derek unroped here as well, so that I could use all the rope to lower Sheri. I did this a few more times. I could easily descend down to Sheri facing out, but she was still intimidated. She could have climbed down, but this way was faster and she felt more secure.

Further down Sheri’s shin really started to hurt. So much so, that it was hindering her movement. I had her take a couple of Advils and that helped, but she was in pain. She had felt something coming on during the approach the day before and it (whatever it is, we don’t know at this point) had fully arrived. She hung tough, though.

We descended unroped from there to the final glacier where we roped up for the entire crossing this time. Derek did an expert job leading us across. At the far side we were so glad to finally stow the rope and pull off crampons and harnesses. A slow, loose trudge brought us back to the overlook and it was now just a trail back to camp, where we arrived 16 hours after we had left it. With no significant breaks. Our longest being maybe ten minutes.

I was so proud of everyone in my group. Sheri, of course, but Derek was amazing. His patience, his compassion, his care for his mom was impressive to watch. Homie was also very patient, very strong, ready with all the route information, and rock solid and efficient the entire day. He’s saved my life from mistakes at least twice in our long climbing partnership. To be out on a long adventure with people that you love is my favorite thing. My first criterion with climbing partners has always been character — do I like being with them? Climbing ability has always been further down the list. Nowadays it seems even more important. I want to be with people I love on my adventures. 

Sheri was pooped at camp and went straight to bed. I brought her a little something to eat, but it wasn’t much. She was too tired. Derek, Homie, and I ate heartily. The next morning, loaded with Advil, Sheri did okay hiking for the first six miles and then the shin reduced her to a limping shuffle. Derek had to get out and boogie back home for work. Homie went with him. Sheri and I continued on a slow, painful pace. Sheri has experienced non-stop injuries for a year now and I knew it had her depressed and worried about the extent of the injury. Plus, we still had nine miles to go. It was a rough time, but then she took more Advil and she regained her stride. The drugs only masked the pain, so it was a temporary bandaid to get back to the car, but it worked. At this point, we still don’t know what exactly is wrong, but we’ll figure that out and overcome it, just like we got to the top of Mt. Olympus.