Maybe I should have known better, especially after hearing one ominous story after another about the wind, whiteouts, rock slides, gaping crevasses, altitude sickness, hypothermia and last, but not least complete exhaustion.Despite all the warnings I still wanted a first hand account of a true mountaineering experience from the point of view of someone or, in this case, a group of not-quite-ready for prime time climbers.

The elusive goal was to reach the summit of Mt. Rainier at 14,411 feet. I had done some climbing in the Cascades and high altitude climbing in the Colorado Rockies, but none of these experiences prepared me for what was to lie ahead as my ignorant six-member expedition team began our assent.

With the exception of Eli and Harvy, our superhuman guides and myself, the team coincidentally consisted of a doctor (Richard Lorber), lawyer (Tom Criminsky) and an engineer (Patrick McShane). With a group like this it occurred to me that just about every contingency would be covered. Medical help – no problem, equipment failure – got that covered too, and best of all an opportunity to buy that dream home after my lawsuit for allowing me on that crazy hill.

What was to become one our most serious setbacks of the entire trip began within the first 15 minutes. Four out of six of us had rented the same brand and model of boots. These boots would have been great if they were intended for some new form of capital punishment, but we had to rely on them to climb the 9,000 feet from the Paradise parking lot to the summit and back. And with signs that our heels would soon look a lot like lean ground beef, we knew we were in trouble.

Throughout the course of the trip we tried moleskin, duct tape and bandages to cover our wounds, but at least in my case nothing could resist the friction inducing boots from hell.

But the pain would have to be locked away as best we could, because our journey had only begun. Paved trails, gravel trails, terraced gravel trails, a stairway disappearing into the heavens, and then through a creek (yes you get wet), more trails, over rocks, and then finally into the alpine were still to come!

Words can hardly do justice to the vast landscape of snow fields, glaciers, icy blue crevasses, endless waterfalls, cliffs, gravity defying spires of rock, and rock bands (no Pearl Jam here, but definitely a taste of Nirvana). With each labored step the panorama of white above and green below unfolded. Other prominent Cascade peaks also rose into striking view.

First I noticed the gaping maul of Mount St. Helens and how much more attainable its summit had been when I reached it a few years earlier, compared to the one that now rose above me. Then to the southeast the serene snow draped cone of Mt. Adams at 12,450 feet pierced the sky unmistakably in stark contrast to the devastated remains of Mount St. Helens. It wouldn’t be until a day later that the near perfect spire of Oregon’s Mt. Hood would make its presence known by coming into view like some sort of mirage taking its place almost dead center between its Washington-based siblings.

Unaware of exactly how much farther I had to climb just to reach Camp Muir, I became ignorant of the fading light. I knew we had a late start and that at I personally wouldn’t be breaking any speed records, but it didn’t occur to me that our goal for the first day wouldn’t be attainable before dark. Bringing up the rear several minutes behind the rest of the group, I was relieved to find camp construction well underway. It wasn’t Camp Muir, but I didn’t care, for me it meant relief. But relief wasn’t going to come easily. Well after I had finally come to a halt, I was still out of breath and the water I was drinking while quenching my thirst, definitely wasn’t doing my already queasy stomach any favors. Suddenly relief came in a big way. Yeah, the kind of relief we have all experienced. The kind of relief that forces us to do to our best impression of world famous super geyser, Old Faithful! After such a great performance I was bound to get the attention I deserved.

Fear of hypothermia swept the camp. With direct orders from guide Eli Whitman to get warm fast, I thought hey who am I to argue? Into the tent and into my mummy bag I went. Yeah, it felt wonderful, but I have to admit I felt a little guilty and embarrassed having my teammates wait on me, but like any great team they all pulled together without complaint and made sure I had everything I needed, including dinner. My stomach was less cooperative, and after taking my first bite of Chinese rice and chicken, I decided that it would be even better for breakfast.

The dawn of a new day, and a chance to start over with a semi clean slate renewed my optimism. The sky was blue and Camp Muir was just over the horizon. As my destination approached, the sound of rock slides became more frequent. Fortunately for us we were far out of harms way, but the eerie noise made me pause just about every time.

Finally Camp Muir was at hand, and after a quick rest it was time to set up our little tent on the glacier. After building a foundation into the snowy slope we managed to erect the tent in fairly short order.

Snow school began after another period of relaxation. The school is necessary for the basics of safe mountaineering. For example, any climbing above Camp Muir requires an ice axe rather than our trusty ski poles.

The first part of the school focused on the best way to “self-arrest” or to stop your self should you fall and begin to slide. The best way to use your axe depended upon the position of your body while sliding. During the school we practiced self-arresting with just about every type of fall imaginable. Although extremely serious business, the snow school was actually a lot of fun. It gave us a chance to fling ourselves down the mountain with little risk of injury.

Then it was time to learn the ropes – as in how to properly rope up with the other members of the group. Equally important was ensuring that our harnesses were also properly fastened to our bodies. Missing one pass of the belt through the loop has been deadly, so we checked and rechecked to ensure everything was secure.

By the evening of the second day we all had time to assess our physical and mental conditioning. Physically I knew I was going to be in trouble. Although I had trained for the climb, it had become readily apparent to me and everyone else that taking on the summit might not be a good idea. Combined with my hamburger heels it wasn’t a difficult decision to back out.

Although in generally better condition than me, the other members of the group also found reasons for passing on the summit. Perhaps they too felt they were no match for the much steeper and bulletproof glaciers above. So out of this agreement an alternative was born. Rather than just heading back down to Paradise the next morning, we all agreed on the much more attainable destination of Ingraham Flats.

A rigorous climb was still required to reach Ingraham Flats. With the bright sky and calm winds our two groups of three began our final assent. The climb to Ingraham Flats would yield the best views and also the most danger of the entire trip.

Beginning with the traverse of the Cowlitz Glacier began peacefully enough. Our first up-close encounter of the crevasse kind was found here. Looking into the rift, I could see the intensely icy blue walls descend into darkness. But just how far was hard to say, maybe 70 feet, 100 feet or more? We all made our leap of two or three feet to cross the gap. Sure, two or three feet isn’t very far, but getting a secure footing in the snow and ice for the jump makes one hesitate. One slip and the only distance that counts is below you, not in front!

To reach Ingraham Flats we would need to ascend through Cathedral Gap. The ridge was steep and although back on dry ground, the loose rock made me long for the snow below. Furthermore, the wind was beginning to pound us now, way before even coming close to reaching the crest. Concern about rock slides increased with the wind.

We all crossed without incident and continued in the direction of Cathedral Rocks, which cradled the far end of the glacier. As we approached we became fair game for rock slides, which were clearly a threat from above. With previous slides to cross we picked up the pace. This was no place for a Sunday picnic. The priority was to get out from under the over hanging rock fast.

The crest was finally ours, and I was more than ready for a rest. But the rest was not to be. We had to keep moving in search of cover. But the wind was relentless, and continued to chase us up the mountain.

Finally the moment of truth was at hand. In order to continue we would need to cross a narrow land bridge barely over two feet wide and spanning perhaps fifteen or twenty feet. As I crossed the bridge my adrenaline shifted into overdrive. On either side of me were seemingly bottomless cauldrons of rock and ice. If the view and the climb wasn’t enough to make me weak in the knees, hunching over in an effort to resist the wind made them even weaker. I made a feeble attempt to keep my eyes focused forward. I could barely keep my balance as I made my way to the other side.

Success! Now it was time for the second team to cross, but before they could do so, one of the members of the second group had a brush with reality and refused to go any further. Being as exhausted as I was, I welcomed the opportunity to swap places with Tom so that he could continue with a three-man team. But this meant that I would have to unrope and return to the other side with nothing to support myself except an extended ice axe held by Harvy on the other side. This meant that if I fell, nothing would stop me except my grip. I tried not to think of the consequences and made the few steps needed before I could reach the axe.

With my heart no longer in my throat, I decided to take a couple minutes to take pictures of the other group as they continued to ascend. This required lying on my stomach in order to steady the camera and my body against the wind. Concentrating on my shot and with the roar of the wind in my ear, I was oblivious to the pleas from my new team members to get out of harms way. I finally got the message and roped up for the descent. No time was wasted as we made our way back down the ridge, loose rock sliding below our feet as we went along.

Finally back on the relatively level Cowlitz Glacier we were able to relax a little and traverse our way back to Camp Muir.

Waiting for the other group to return gave the rest of us a chance to relax a while. Soon we would be breaking down our tents and stowing our gear away in preparation for the long decent back to Paradise. These were also our final minutes to take in the awe-inspiring beauty of a place few people have experienced.

Shortly after the other members returned to camp, we were ready to get moving. The sun had softened the snow enough to make our steps secure, but we were anxious to try body luging down the glacier wherever we could. It quickly became apparent that bending forward in order to keep my backpack off the snow was going to be necessary to prevent drag and thus stay in control and pick up speed. The slope that took hours to climb now blew past in seconds.

Sliding down these troughs, which were carved out by so many before us, was one of the highlights of the trip. It was a great reward for all the effort that came before.

Playing a human bobsled was not only fun, but it also brought us to the timberline and running water from Pebble Creek that thankfully didn’t require melting and boiling, but did require purification. After a short break we were all eager to get moving now that the snow had melted enough to expose the trail back to Paradise.

From Camp Muir and above it was easy to forget that you were in a popular National Park and not some remote corner of the planet, but as we descended it became obvious that we were far from alone. The great weekend weather had lured visitors by the masses. Ironically, the majority of our remaining obstacles consisted of dodging human beings.

Even upon arriving at the parking lot, pain relief wasn’t going to come easy. Sure removing my enormous pack and layers of clothes felt wonderful, but by now my feet were so thoroughly tortured I couldn’t remove my boots without reliving each agonizing step. Once the boots were removed in an almost surgical manner, I finally felt like the ordeal was officially over. Wrong! A full recovery required going virtually barefoot everywhere I went and no matter the occasion for several weeks thereafter. As I write this, only scars remain. They are a constant reminder that bad boots can be more destructive than nature. Well, this time anyway.

Yeah, maybe I should have known better, but we all know experience is the best teacher.