A Christmas on the Ice King: The Climb That Saw Rainier Smoking

This expedition was undertaken to ascertain the cause of the apparent changes in the contour of the summit of Mount Rainier, as seen from Seattle, and to determine whether there had been any recent disturbance of a volcanic nature.

We left Seattle at noon, Monday, December 17. Our first stage was made at Puyallup. There we secured seven tried and true homing pigeons from Mr. Fred Meeker. These pigeons were to be the medium of communication from us to our anxious friends. Two much cannot be said of those trusty messengers: messages were conveyed from the highest point in less than three hours.

At Wilkeson we secured pack horses to take our supplies to Carbon River, a distance of eleven miles. The packer refused to go farther on account of the bad condition of the trail up the river. We reached Carbon River at 2 p.m., December 18, and camped for the night.

On the morning of the 19th the provisions, tent, guns, cameras, birds, etc., were apportioned as nearly equally as possible among the members of the party. Each man’s pack, including his extra clothing and blankets, must have weighed at least seventy-five pounds. With light hearts and heavy packs we started up the river. For most of the distance our course lay along the bed of the river, but occasionally, to avoid fording the main stream, the trail changed to the woods skirting the banks.

At dark we found ourselves entangled in the underbrush near a branch of the river, tired, wet and hungry, with no good camping place in sight. In desperation we plunged into the ice-cold stream and soon reached an island with a level place of sufficient size to suggest a bed for six. An ineffectual attempt was made to find wood for a fire. We pitched our tent, sought its shelter and the warmth of our sleeping bags for the night. It was unanimously agreed to call that place “Dismal Camp.” At the first streak of dawn I ventured forth to find wood for a fire. A log of Alaska cedar cast upon the bank by high water rewarded my search, and we soon had a fire to dry our clothing and boil our coffee.

Breakfast over, we began our third day’s march. The mishaps of this day were numerous and interesting to the spectators. Russell took a header into the invigorating waters of the Carbon to recover a camera that had slipped from his grasp; Sheffield followed suit by taking an involuntary bath in the same stream, not forgetting to take a second camera with him. It is hard to tell which suffered the more, the men or the cameras. On account of these involuntary baths, we concluded to make camp early, and when Sheffield, who was very anxious to keep up a lively pace, announced a cabin in sight, we at once made for its friendly shelter. This cabin is situated near the mouth of Canada Creek, from which someone has proposed that Tacoma shall bring her water supply. We spent a fairly comfortable night at this place, called “Miners’ Camp.”

Friday, the 21st, found us again fording branches of the Carbon, following blind trails or making new ones. There was considerable snow at this point, but not of sufficient depth to use our snowshoes. After several hours of hard work we decided to make camp and send a party forward to reconnoiter. Dr. Lessey and myself volunteered, and after a brisk walk of one and one-half hours we came in sight of the much-wished-for Carbon Glacier. Returning to our companions, we found them prepared to pass a comfortable night, tent pitched and fire burning brightly.

Saturday, the 22d, dawned upon us with a cloudy sky, and soon the crystalline snow began to fall. Before starting out a snowshoe drill was ordered. It was entirely successful; after we had been on them for a half-hour we felt that we were experts. The distance covered this day was not great, on account of having to ford the river several times and the great roughness of the river bed. It was quite dark before all the party reached our destination, “Camp Mountain View.”

Sunday, the 23d—It was decided to make Camp Mountain View our base of supplies. Accordingly, five days’ rations, ten pounds apiece, were issued, and preparations made to ascend the glacier. Sunday was also stormy, and our progress up the glacier was much hindered thereby. At dark, after the hardest day of the trip, we made camp upon an island in the glacier. The snow was from eight to ten feet deep. By much hard work we excavated a cave in a steep bank of snow among a stunted growth of fir and hemlock. We succeeded in reaching the ground on the up-hill side, and on the bare spot built a fire. This camp was called “Congo Shivers.”

Monday morning, the 24th, dawned upon us bright and pleasant. The north side of the mountain, crowned by Liberty Cap and flanked by Observation Point on the right and Elysian Fields on the left, lay before our admiring gaze, apparently but a mile away. We were able to trace the path of great avalanches down the mountain side to the glacier below. Walls of ice and snow hundreds of feet high, far up the mountain side, showed where they had broken off. Great cracks in the snow showed where others were about to start. In fact, while trying to sleep at Camp Congo Shivers, we heard the thunder of descending avalanches.

Upward over blind crevasses and pinnacles of ice we pressed our way, till the glacier became so broken and steep that further progress was impossible. We turned our faces upward, and after ascending a bank fully high and nearly perpendicular, found ourselves on the border of Elysian Fields, at the head of Pleasant Valley. It may be remembered that these names were given in the summer, when that snowbound region was a mass of wildflowers. From this point our course lay southward across Elysian Fields, now down. At times we had to take off our snowshoes and wallow arm-deep in the snow up some spur, but the height gained was temporary.

Our hunger, thirst and fatigue were forgotten in admiration of the grand panorama around us. Distance reduced Puget Sound and the Straits to seeming at our feet, while the Olympics stood out in bold relief from their southern limit to Cape Flattery. To the eastward we beheld the Cascades, lesser peaks sinking into the sea of hills, while Baker, Shuksan, Garfield and the higher peaks flashed white in the upper sky. The day was worth the fatigue of the trip twice over. A warm spring, rising from the hillside but refusing to submit to the ice king, gladdened our hearts and quenched our thirst.

After going about a mile farther, rounding the foot of the great spur of rock dividing the Carbon from the Winthrop Glacier, I looked upward and saw the eastern rim of the crater, bare in summer, but on this occasion covered with spotless snow. Curling slowly upward from within the rim of the great crater, I saw three jets of steam, white against the cloudless sky. The sight was sudden and unexpected. Only on one other occasion had I seen jets of steam while on the mountain side. That was while making the ascent on the south side, at a point much nearer the summit than on this occasion. Looking to the right in the direction of the smaller crater, I beheld what I have never seen before, either when upon the top of the mountain or climbing its sides—a column of dark smoke slowly ascending. I excitedly exclaimed to my companions: “See the smoke! See the steam!”

For fully five minutes we gazed at the pearly white columns of steam on the left and the ebony black column of smoke on the right. Our haste to press onward would not allow us to linger, and we soon lost sight of the crater by passing behind another spur.

Christmas Eve was spent at an altitude of 7,500 feet, far above tree or shrub. Protected by a perpendicular wall of rock on one side, from which gushed a stream of water having a temperature of 84 degrees Fahrenheit, and a great bank of snow on the other, we dug a cave in the snow and lay down to rest. The sky was aglow with purple, green and gold. Above, a distant snow-capped mountain slowly rose; Hesperus, the evening star, took no great flight of fancy to see in her the counterpart of the star that rose above Bethlehem’s hills 1,900 years ago. Higher up the Pleiades glistened with light; Orion claimed our admiration, too, and the Dipper made half the circuit of the heavens, with the “pointers” always true to the pole, before a roseate morn dimmed the resplendent scene. Our bodies gained no rest, but our souls gained an inspiration on this Christmas Eve that will blend forever with our existence.

On Christmas morn we descended from our exalted camp to the Winthrop Glacier. From the Winthrop Glacier we had a clear view of the upper part of Blaine Glacier to the summit. Much to my disappointment I saw that the mountain at that point presented its usual steep surface. I had hoped that the deep snow had filled the crevasses so that an ascent on that side might be safely undertaken. It took us three hours to cross the glacier and climb St. Elmo’s Pass. From the pass we obtained a view of Inter Glacier and Blaine Glacier. To the east and south, as far as the eye could see, a vast ocean of clouds covered everything except the summits of the highest peaks. The indications were that a great storm was approaching. Feeling that it would be foolhardy to go farther, I reluctantly gave the word to turn back. Every member of the party would have continued the ascent under my leadership, but I felt the exposure and danger too great to ask them to follow.

In about six hours we covered the same ground that it took us four and a half days to pass over on our way up. We arrived at the foot of the glacier at 7 p.m.

During the tramp on the mountain the cooing of the pigeons carried by the major was a source of much pleasure, sympathy and comfort to the men. The birds seemed to enjoy the cold and could not get enough to drink. Part of the time the major wore mittens, and the falling snow on his hands proved quite an attraction to the birds. They would drink the water from melting snow. When the men discovered a series of warm mineral springs on the side of the mountain, they filled a cup with water and held it to the birds. The pigeons do not drink like chickens or most other birds: they simply dip their heads in the water, close their eyes, and drink it in swallows like a duck. The birds grew very tame from the continuous petting, and when liberated from the mountain view at the foot of the glacier, they remained an hour around the party, talking to the major. It was finally necessary to drive them away.

Three birds rose in the air and circled several times and then darted away. Only two got home. The third, bearing a message from the major to his wife, was never heard from afterward. It is possible that it fell a victim to some bird of prey while homeward bound. Another pigeon released earlier arrived at its loft with its tail feathers gone and the message missing. It was evident that the pigeon had had an encounter with a hawk or an owl, or some other bird of prey.

After leaving Camp Comfort, the trail seemed to Wilkeson, now only ten miles away, very plain, and each one set out for himself, all eager to reach civilization. Boyd’s feet were very sore, his boots having worn out, and his toes were frostbitten from wading in the ice-cold water. He made no effort to keep up with the rest and continued lagging until he was about a mile behind. When the others arrived at Wilkeson Boyd was not in sight. An hour passed and he did not arrive. Two hours went by and still no Boyd, and the major was seriously considering the advisability of sending out a searching party, but about this time the tall form of a ragged, dusty individual carrying in one hand a rifle, an alpenstock in the other and having a pack on his back hove in sight down the railroad track, approaching from the direction of Carbonado. Boyd had come to a place where the trail branched and, taking the wrong one, went to Carbonado instead of Wilkeson, which necessitated an additional walk of about five miles before rejoining his companions.

Dr. Lessey proved himself one of God’s noblemen, always ready and willing to do all the work in sight, and his answer “all right” to every move proposed will long be cherished by his companions on this trip. At Miners’ Camp, when the mercury in the thermometer was playing around in the vicinity of zero, the doctor was seized with the insane idea that if he had a bath he could travel easier, and so he immediately stripped to the waist and ran down to the river before breakfast and proceeded to make himself familiar with the water. He came back in about five minutes nearly frozen to death, just as the major was preparing to photograph him, having in mind a cut to be presented to the readers of the Post-Intelligencer labeled “Rainier baths.” The major suggested that the doctor go back and do it over again so that he could place the photograph in his private collection. Lessey said, “All right,” though with some hesitation, and he trotted back and once more showered the icy water over his body. This second experience was too much for human endurance, and two members of the party devoted the next half hour to bringing him around by rubbing him down, thus aiding the circulation. Unfortunately the photograph refused to develop and the major did not get the picture after all.

When the party arrived at Wilkeson on the following day they were a hard-looking set, and there appeared a disposition on the part of the landlord of the hotel to show the guests to the cellar, but he finally admitted them. A bath and supper improved appearances and all retired early.

When day dawned the doughty major awoke suddenly, and thinking he was still in the mountains, gave vent to his accustomed woodsman’s yell. The noise awoke everyone in the house and the startled landlord was soon in the hall with a frightened look on his sleepy face, very little on his body and a shotgun in each hand. The major did not repeat the offense and no one knew who the guilty one was, but the landlord swore he would lick the man if he discovered his identity.

Seattle was reached the same morning, and the men looked like Ward McAllisters compared with their appearance on the occasion of their arrival at Wilkeson the previous day. The return homeward was the signal for an enthusiastic reception, and the event of the expedition will be an epoch in the lives of the explorers which will never be forgotten.