Entries By avery stolte

The Five Day Climb led by Will Ambler and Avery Stolte reached the summit of Mt. Rainier this morning and enjoyed a bit of time in the summit crater.  They started their descent from the crater rim shortly after 7 am. The teams will have a short break at Camp Muir and then continue to Paradise later this afternoon.

Congratulations to today's climbers!

RMI Guide Avery Stolte and the Four Day Climb August 15 - 18 reached the summit of Mt. Rainier this morning. It is a beauitful day with clear skies and the team enjoyed some time in the summit crater before starting their descent to Camp Muir. Once back at Camp Muir the team will get a quick break before descending the final 4,500' to Paradise. 

Congratulations to today's climbers!

Avery's team made it to the summit this morning around 11 am after a rainy day yesterday we woke to clear and beautiful night and perfect climbing conditions. We cruised to the top and walked all the way out to the trailhead today. 

We took off from the trailhead last night around 11 pm - the smoke had cleared up North and the stars were incredible! We walked in the darkness for around 5 hours until the light hit us about halfway up the glacier. It was a beautiful morning to summit Mount Baker and now many hours of walking and snacks later we are back at the cars and on our way home with tired but happy legs.

-RMI Guide Avery Stolte

Yesterday, July 31st, RMI guide Avery Stolte and her team summitted Mt Shuksan via the Fisher Chimneys. They descended back to the trailhead today. 

Congrats on a successful trip! 

The Custom Four-Day Climb was unable to climb due to deteriorating route conditions. Instead, the enjoyed a beautiful sunrise at Ingraham Flats. They are currently at Camp Muir. They will descend back to Paradise later this morning and be back in Ashford this afternoon. 

After a hot and hazy day yesterday, two four-day climbs led by Dave Hahn and Tom Skoog reached the summit of Mt. Rainier this morning under beautiful skies and improved air quality. The teams reported good route conditions on the DC and winds of 15-20 mph. They began their descent from the crater rim at 7:00 a.m.

After a short break at Camp Muir, the climbers will continue down to Paradise. To conclude their journey, we'll welcome them back to Ashford this afternoon.

Great job, climbers! 

Tuesday, June 30, 2026 - 9:37 pm PT

Hey daily blog readers,

For whoever you are reading this blog for… well now is the time to call them. Ring them. Yes now. 

They have a story for you. 

Thanks for following along ✌️

That’s a wrap. 

❤️

RMI Climber Devon Levesque

Monday, June 29th

It’s been 3 days since we touched the summit of Denali. Yesterday we dreamt of burgers and beers in Talkeetna—we should be sitting at the bar right now. But today it is still a dream. 

Last night we left 14K camp at 8pm to make the 12-hour descent to the glacial airstrip at 7K, where we hoped to hop on a 9am plane to Talkeetna this morning. The same frozen airstrip we landed on nearly 3 weeks ago; though 3 weeks of warm summer rain have surely changed the shape, image and safety of the Kahiltna glacier. 

By 2am we made it to camp 1 at 7.8K feet, where we first slept on June 11th, still 5.5 miles and 4 hours away from the airstrip. It was a total whiteout in a freezing rain storm. Navigating was nearly impossible and the temperature was too warm to cross the lower glacier due to the risk of breaking through a crevasse. 

Our guides made the right decision to bunker down and pitch our tents for a few hours, with the hopes of waking us at 5am, giving the glacier a few more hours to refreeze. Warm whiteout conditions persisted all night and all morning. I write this at 3pm, weary, wet, dehydrated and tired; we’ve been resting and waiting in the tents all day. 

Last night’s march from 14K to 7.8K was a true test of patience, resilience and will. We each pulled heavy sleds and carried heavier packs loaded with 3 weeks of gear, garbage, extra food, dirty clothes and full poop buckets. Freezing rain stuck to our glasses and made the trail hard to navigate in our snowshoes. The snow was deep yet our steps felt firm and slippery; it was too wet to make a snowman, but not yet slush. The night was dark and white. We wandered in procession, 11 people deep, for endless hours. Our spines ached, our shoulders burned, and our toes tried to punch through the front of our boots. I must say, the air tasted delicious, heavy, and nourishing. Though it felt like we’d never reach our destination. 

But we pressed on, motivated by the dream of loading up the plane and flying toward a hot shower and cheeseburger. We had visions of beer and salads, clean clothes and haircuts, familiar routines and comfy beds. Unfortunately, that dream is delayed. For now, we sit in the tents in a white out and wait indefinitely. The seconds feel like hours and the hours feel like days. We’re munching on the stale snacks that we avoided eating for the last 19 days. We call this point of the trip our “Shackleton” era. This mountain is a mental battle as much as it is a physical one. Today might be the most challenging test yet. 

We achieved our goal, but our mission is far from complete.

A 5.5 mile, 4 hour trek awaits as soon as the weather gives us a window. We are ready at a moment’s notice. Then, shortly after we hope a plane can meet us at the glacial base camp and bring us back to the real world. 

We are close but we are not done yet. We miss you and we cannot wait to celebrate with you soon. 

Love from a rainy tent somewhere on the lower Kahiltna glacier, 

- RMI Climber Jimmy D 

Sunday, June 28 - 9:15PM PST

Sleep came easily for most of us last night. What had been a few hours at 17 was closer to 10 at 14, and we rolled like cats in the sun when Ben called us to breakfast at a leisurely 9am.

Rations have run low, and breakfast burritos are a distant memory. Faced with the choice between granola, oatmeal, and mountain house meals we swore to never eat again we chose freeze-dried, splitting biscuits and gravy and a breakfast scramble.

Kitchens are gathering places the world round, and here is no different. We lingered around the warm stoves and laughed about memories from the summit.

Soon it was noon and we gathered all of our remaining rations for a picnic lunch. Some were down to shredded pop tarts, others *cough Jimmy* still had ten pounds of food to spare. We traded, tasted, and Mike hoarded pounds of candy for the hopeful hike out.

Then games, music, movies and laughs as the snow gently drifted through the tent door. Ben told us the hope is to hike out through the night, but we’ll have to see about the weather.

That uncertainty has become the mark of this mountain and our trip.

There were a half dozen times as we pushed to the summit that Ben almost turned around. Avalanche risks were a-plenty, even 150 feet from the summit. If we did turn, that would have been the right decision.

So we could hike out tonight, or tomorrow. There may be more avalanche risk, or there may not. Our bodies could feel strong, or weak. The winds may be calm, or pick up. The glacier could be frozen when we cross overnight, or it may have cracks that add hours to rain at the airfield until the clouds clear.

This could be our last day eating gas station food, or it may be longer than that. As I turn 40 this year that’s the thing I keep thinking about - delays.

Many of us fashion our lives to take the straight line from this to that. We’re at 14 camp and thinking about Talkeetna. I often want to be someplace other than here.

The lesson I’m being invited to learn is that all of life is here in front of me. What’s more, the interruptions and detours are not only the spice but the substance of life.

(Please know - there is also tragedy, suffering, and injustice unequally distributed in the world. Those things aren’t fair and shouldn’t be wished on anyone).

But I do wish bad weather, on me and on you. That’s what refines our character, holds us still while our roots grow deep, and leads us from comfort to greater adventure. It can’t always be sunny out, we equally need the night.

I guess what I’m saying is that, while I need a summit (or airfield) as a heading, I want my heart to be where my feet are, especially when it’s not what I would have chosen.

That's the only way I would have learned that crampons can be trusted on ice. It’s how, as a 100-degree-Texan, I learned that life in the snow isn’t what I feared and that cloud cover keeps us warm. As an only-child and introvert, I learned that I can live in a tent the size of an elevator with two grown men for 20 days.

We should celebrate when life goes well and smoothly (like our first week here). And when our flight’s canceled, business slows, relationship ends, or we feel adrift I hope to remember that the interruptions, storms, and false summits have a gift that I wouldn’t find any other way That’s doubly true when you have a friend, sibling, spouse, climbing partner, or fellow guide to find the mystery in the moment.

I’m excited to get home, and grateful it will take a few more days than we expected.

 - RMI Climber Hudson