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Like most good climbing plans, I was told that the idea for the Climb for Five was hatched in a pub a while back. Already involved in the St. Baldrick's Foundation, a volunteer charity that raises money for childhood cancer research, the three climbers came up with the idea of tackling serious mountaineering objectives in an effort to raise money and awareness for St. Baldrick's by using the metaphor of climbing to illustrate the challenges and trials children go through while battling cancer. Hence, on Sunday September 18th, Patrick, Eric, Jon and I gathered under a thick layer of grey and drizzly clouds hanging over Rainier BaseCamp to tackle Mt. Rainier over the course of a 5 day Expedition Skills Seminar - Camp Muir. The days of near fifty degree temperatures and rain, coming down in sheets at times, did not do much to instill confidence in the conditions above. Yet within a half an hour of leaving the trail head at Paradise the clouds thinned and by the time we reached 7,600' on the Muir Snowfield we were standing in the sun above the low-lying maritime clouds. Above us Mt. Rainier stood proudly with a fresh layer of snow from the recent storm blanketing its' slopes. During the rest of the climb to Muir, Patrick further explained the concept for Climb for Five to me: St. Baldrick's chooses five Ambassador Kids every year, representing that for every 5 children that get childhood cancer only 4 survive. The Climb for Five honors those Ambassadors; each day of the climb is chosen to honor one of the kids and the climbers carried keepsakes from each of the kids with them throughout the climb. After a full day of training, learning the fundamentals of safe climbing and glacier travel techniques, exploring the Cowlitz Glacier outside of Camp Muir, and preparing ourselves for the climbing above, we set off on our summit bid under a beautifully starry sky early Wednesday morning. The new snow on the mountain smoothed over the rocky sections of the mountain and we made good progress across Cowlitz and Ingraham Glaciers and onto Disappointment Cleaver. Just before sunrise, breathing hard from the exertion at those altitudes, we reached the top of the Cleaver and added more clothes to fight the biting predawn winds. Continuing above the Cleaver the sun finally began to break above the horizon of eastern Washington and gave way to one of the most beautiful sunrises I have ever seen on the mountain. The unsettled layers of clouds filtered the light such that shades of pink, red, yellow, orange, green, and blue were simultaneously covering the mountain's glaciers and the surrounding landscape below. The array of colors around us contrasted sharply with the traditional monotones of high alpine environments of rock, ice, and snow. Unfortunately, those same unsettled clouds soon overtook the sun and by 13,500' we were enveloped in a cloud cap, covering us in a thick layer of rime ice and blowing just enough to add to the challenge of making the final 900' of climbing to the summit. Standing on top, buffeted by the wind and precipitation, Eric and Patrick unfurled the St. Baldrick's Banner and then pulled out a few keepsakes in memory of Arden, the Ambassador Kid for whom we were climbing that day. We then turned back and set our sights on descending. Like children battling cancer, reaching the summit is only half of the battle - the road to recovery once defeating the cancer is as long and as challenging as retracing one's route back down the mountain. We carefully picked our way back down Mt. Rainier's flanks, weaving our way amongst the seracs and around the gaping late-season crevasses that cover the mountain back to camp. The winds from higher on the mountain descended not long behind us and continued to blow for the next several days while we finished the rest of the Seminar: building snow anchors, practicing the rigging systems needed for crevasse rescue, and ice climbing on the Cowlitz Glacier before descending back to Ashford on Friday. Taking part in the Climb for Five was a special experience for me and I feel fortunate to be involved. Having lost a sister to cancer as a kid, I share the same with the climbers of the Climb for Five and the entire climb struck a chord with me and I look forward to future climbs with this team. Thanks to Patrick, Eric, Jon, and St. Baldrick's for pursuing this endeavor, RMI is proud to be a part of it. RMI Guide Linden Mallory

The Four Day Climbs August 7 - 10 led by RMI Guides Casey Grom and Ben Ammon reached the summit of Mt. Rainier this morning.  As of 7:30 am the teams were at 13,100' on their descent. They will return to Camp Muir for a short break before continuing down to Paradise.

The program will conclude this afternoon at Rainier BaseCamp.

Congratulations to today's climbers.

We had a restful night at Torres Central. No discotheque last night. Our hike took us on the first part of the “O” circuit through former estancia fields used to graze sheep & cattle. The trail then wound through a nice forest with a canopy that provided some relief from the sun and intense heat, abnormal for this area. Eight miles puts us in Seron camp at a former ranch cabin. The team got out of the sun and since we are experiencing a heat wave we took refreshments down to the Paine river, “Paine” meaning blue in the language of the original inhabitants of this area. The river is a pastel green from the glacial till and a little cold for this Florida based crew. I got a few of them in the shallow river for a quick swim by setting the example, leading from the front and all. The remainder waded in to soak sore feet & knees. With the swim counting as a shower and laundry we are sitting down for some Chilean wine and cheese before dinner, quite civilized. Tomorrow we hike to Lago Dickson, hoping for some respite from the heat but if not we have a lake to plunge into.

Thanks for following along.

RMI Guide Mike King

RMI invested with a local solar outfitter a few years back, and as you can see by the picture we are charged up! At the start of this season we used a generator to jump start the batteries, but since then its been all sun. On cloudy days we have to be a bit careful on how much power we use from the bank of six good-sized car-type batteries but usually plenty of juice. Without it, tough to send out this dispatch and even the best generators are too loud. The other photo is of one of our star players here at Base Camp, Raju, who is at the watering hole of choice for now. The staff makes lots of trips to this spot daily with five-gallon plastic jugs to keep us full of that most important beverage. As the glacier moves throughout the season, so will we and the watering hole. With all of the human impact over the years we will boil all of the drinking water. Not yet there with the solar so we do use kerosene for cooking here at Base Camp. We have a most wonderful on-demand gas-powered shower tent that we try and not overuse, which you can imagine on a warm day is so fantastic it is hard to convey. A bit different nowadays since my first trip to Everest in 1990. It was 72 days between showers. Hey, we did what we could, but that first shower was a good one! Dave Hahn is at Camp 1 and a link to his audio dispatch is below. That's all for today from RMI's Everest Expedition. RMI Guide Mark Tucker

Your read that right, round 2 for RMI Torres del Paine Trek. Our team flew into Puerto Natales on the 19th. We spent the 20th getting gear ready and getting adjusted to the time zone change. Today our shuttle picked us up at 5 am and by 7:30 we were walking up hill. Our first day is up to see the Torres (towers) that the park takes it’s name from. Three granite spires that rise out of a alpine cirque that has a receding glacier and provide great views. It’s a tough day to begin our eight-day trek: 13 miles with 3,500’ up and back down to Torres Central. There was hardly a cloud in sight, no wind at Windy Pass and the heat was not what we’d have expected in Patagonia. Thankful for the shade we got from the forested trail while it lasted we enjoyed a good day and are now back at the Refugio. Tomorrow we’ll hope for some cooler weather but regardless head for Seron Camp over a short four-hour day. Thanks for following along.

RMI Guide Mike King

Greeting everyone,

When on trips like this a team develops routines. Our daily routine begins with copious amounts of tea and coffee. The favorite flavor thus far is anything lemon ginger. After our bodies were filled with our hot beverage of choice, we hit the trail. Before we got too far into the trail (all a few hundred feet) we stopped at a bakery. The apple strudel has been said to be the best a team member has had outsode Austria. Loaded up with goodies we begin our journey for the day. We followed crystal blue water as we made our way uphill. Long bouncy cable bridges zig zagged us across the river. The stretch of the trail should be called the trail of stairs since we climbed what seemed endless amounts of them. But with every step we took we went higher and got closer to the mountains. Halfway through the day we got our first glimpse of Everest...man is she beautiful. This sneak peek gives the team motivation to push uphill.

After sharing the trail with fellow hikers, mules and zyopkyo (half cow, half yak) we arrived in Namche. Colorful buildings and stone walkways greet us. Souvenirs outside the store front capture our eyes. Puppies scamper about. Namche has a majestic feel. Hotel camp de base welcomes us with more tea, snacks, and Wi-Fi. The team has earned them all. Naps and shopping occupied our afternoon before sitting down for dinner with not tea this time but hot cocoa. Tired eyes and bodies are welcomed by comfy beds as we settle down for the night.

Today has been a good day. Tomorrow brings more adventure and more pictures. 

Goodnight, all,

RMI Guides Casey, Hannah, and Team

The Four Day Climb June 5 - 8 was unable to make their summit attempt.  Strong winds overnight at Camp Muir kept the climbers safely inside the hut.  RMI Guides Mike Haugen and Josh McDowell reported sustained winds of 50 mph with gusts in the 60's.  The winds have decreased enough to allow the climbers to ascend above Camp Muir to check things out.  After their walk, they will return to Camp Muir and then make their descent to Paradise.  We look forward to seeing the climbers at Rainier BaseCamp later this afternoon.

“You can't win if you don't play” is dubious encouragement often doled out by Las Vegas casinos and the like—but it is solid counsel in the world of alpine climbing. I can't tell you how many times I've plodded through a milk puddle of clouds on the Muir Snowfield only to rise above it all upon reaching Camp Muir. Indeed, even in the face of slim weather odds, you've got to at least put yourself into position for success and be ready to maximize it should those slim odds work in your favor. Time and time again that alpine advice held true during my recent American Mountain Guide Association (AMGA) Alpine Guide Exam (AGE). Arriving in Seattle in mid-September for my 10-day AGE, I stared at the bright screen of my smart phone and steeled myself for the grim weather forecast it proposed...my First Ascent BC-200 had seen me through many a maelstrom on Rainier, but ten days of that? Like any climber of peaks like Rainier, Denali, Cotopaxi, or Orizaba, the wheels on this particular bus had been set in motion many, many months before and there was far too much invested to pull it over to the side of the road due simply to predictions of a deluge. The AMGA is the premier training path for America's professional climbing guides and the 10-day AGE is the culminating exam that guides take in order to become Certified Alpine Guides. Along the way toward that test, hopefuls must first take a 10-day Rock Instructor Course, a 9-day Alpine Guides Course, a 5-day Ice Instructor Course, an 8-day Advanced Alpine Guides Course, a 3-day Alpine Aspirant Exam, a 6-day American Institute for Avalanche Research and Education Level 3 Course and Exam, and a then—finally—the 10-day Alpine Guide Exam. In case you weren't counting, that's 41 days of training in all—and that doesn't even begin to include the climbing resume you have to develop in between courses. All in all, that's a triple wallop of a lot of tuition, a lot of travel costs, and a lot of opportunity costs in the form of lost wages. Fortunately—and very, very thankfully—RMI, Whittaker Mountaineering, and Eddie Bauer/First Ascent helped to take some of the sting out of the tuition costs, but that aside, there was still no way I was going to let a grim weather forecast rain on my parade! Now the only problem was: “Would the grim weather forecast rain on the whole AGE parade?” You see, in order for an AGE to be valid, the examiners need to see you in a variety of terrain and situations—and if the weather doesn't allow those windows to open... Fortunately, time and time again, in the face of doom, gloom, cats, and dogs we put ourselves into position for success and just barely, and just somehow, squeaked it out. For the first few days we enjoyed the relative “rain shadow” that the Washington Pass area of the North Cascades provides. Washington Pass doesn't allow for glacial travel though—an integral part of the AGE—so after two days we had to leave that safe harbor for the shores of Mt. Shuksan. We arrived in the Lake Ann/Fisher Chimneys trailhead in a steady drizzle. By the time we packed up, things had improved, but the rest of the day was something of an ongoing “fashion show” as we put on a rain shell, took it off, added a warmth layer, and tried to predict what the weather would look like in five minutes. And in the backs of our minds all imagined how things might unfold. Happily, we were most certainly rewarded for our efforts: By the time we topped out on Fisher Chimneys and rolled into our bivvy site, we were high above the roiling sea of grey valley clouds. So often it's the case on Mount Rainier that we'll radio down to Ashford and hear that they're thick in the rain while up at Camp Muir we're above it all. Such was the case on Shuksan, and the next day we managed to circumnavigate the Upper Curtis, Sulphide, and Crystal Glaciers and climb the summit massif's Northeast Ridge—my first time doing that particular route and highly recommended! As the forecast shifted from grim to grimmer, we again decided to head over to Washington Pass. Driving over Highway 20 toward our meeting point at the Cutthroat Peak trailhead, my windshield wipers clicked a steady rhythm in time with the electronic music I was listening to to try to psych myself up. I arrived early at the trailhead and the rain continued. I cranked more psych music as I attempted some gear-sorting-inside-the-car-yoga poses. Then, miraculously, it began to clear. Not the swift and sure kind of clear that let's you know a new weather attitude is on the way—more like the resistant backing away of an angry dog that's just been called by it's owner, but enough to make a climb seem viable. We racked up, packed up, and headed for Cutthroat Peak's South Buttress. While it is true that “you can't win if you don't play”, it's also true that it's a bad idea to climb yourself so far up an objective that retreat becomes untenable. Fortunately, the South Buttress offers plenty of bail options, so with one eye on the clouds and the other on my rope coils, we moved upward, steadily gaining another plum Cascade peak. By then, we'd heard reports from a group of Advanced Alpine Guide Course participants that the Boston Basin area (home to West Ridge of Forbidden, Torment-Forbidden Traverse, Sharkfin Tower, and Sahale Peak, among others) had already received six inches of the new winter's snow. Fresh snow poses it's own set of problems in the alpine world, but deciding that fresh snow was more palatable than dealing with the reported dousing on the way, so up we went! These days, I'm climbing on snow for at least a part of almost every month of the year, but it's not often I'm dealing with fresh snow in September. Skis or snowshoes weren’t a part of our packing list, so lift-kick-step-sink-lift was the interminable process as we moved up through the now 10 inches of fresh snow covering the Quien Sabe Glacier. A circumnavigation/summit of Sahale Peak was our goal, and we eyed the valley clouds warily as we proceeded in dogged pursuit. Soon the clouds enveloped us and in between breaks we attempted to plot the best path ahead. After some steep, snow-laden slopes, a bergschrund crossing, and the final rocky summit scramble we were on top of our last AGE objective, Sahale Peak! By day's end I was back in a Bellingham motel room, enjoying the comforts of a shower, eat-in Thai Food, and 581 channels. On every weather channel, stoic looking forecasters delivered the report with the delicacy of a cancer ward counselor: the patient's condition was not improving. I spooned the last bit of tofu out of my box of green curry and grinned: For the last ten days we'd prevailed in the face of such gloom and doom forecasts, and now, with the AGE wrapped up I was much more than just a survivor, I was finally an AMGA Certified Alpine Guide! Achieving AMGA Alpine Guide Certification only occurred through a lot of support. Thanks to RMI/Whittaker Mountaineering/Eddie Bauer-First Ascent for their solid support of guide professional development. Thanks to all of the RMI guides who, through their sharing of skills, techniques, and approaches, have honed my own alpine guide skills; and particular gratitude to Andres Marin, Geoff Schellens, Jake Beren, Levi Kepsel, Eric Frank, Leon Davis, Elias De Andres Martos, and Rob Montague who shared with me their time and talents in the field as I worked toward this goal. - RMI Guide Kel Rossiter

I believed I'd imagined Kent Harvey's call to me at ten minutes to four in the morning. I didn't have any alarm set; it was a rest day coming on and I was sound asleep in my tent. So fully unconscious that Kent called me several times and when I finally responded, I had no idea where I was or what was going on. It was dark, and as he suggested that something had happened that I might want to be concerned with, I finished rubbing my eyes and zipped open my door. The beauty of the scene seemed unreal and impossible. The moon had set, and the sun wasn't close to being up, but there was starlight on the Khumbu Icefall, Nuptse and the great bulk of Everest's West Shoulder. Kent was saying that he'd just seen a fairly large avalanche come down the Shoulder-sending a cloud of debris across the Icefall-and he was concerned that climbers may have been caught. I listened to him, but I was having trouble taking my eyes from the bright planet perfectly framed above the Icefall and bracketed by the mountains. I did manage to look down and left enough finally to see several small strings of headlamps, just where I knew the avalanche had to have come down. I turned on my radio, taking a guess that my friends at IMG had people in the area. I listened to Mark Tucker calmly and carefully check in with his Sherpa team to find out that they were ok...another near miss; and his Sherpa team was able to tell him that the only other team in the area was also ok and that everybody was going on with their climb. I related this to Kent...stared at the planet again for some time and then went back to sleep in my warm down bag. In the morning, we all looked up at the troublesome serac on the West Shoulder to gauge its stability. The same huge fin of ice had been threatening all week. It had sent down the major avalanche we'd earlier reported which caught some of our team on their way to basecamp while I was pushing up to Camp II. In the morning light, it appeared hideously undercut and I don't believe any of us expected it to last through another day. I went so far as to take "before" photos of it. But to my knowledge, no Everest climbers did anything different yesterday morning because of the serac. It wasn't like the Icefall route would be closed by any proclamation; there wasn't some safer way to go instead. This isn't the only mountain we frequent that has chunks of glacier ready to fall, and I for one have mistakenly pronounced dozens of crazily tilted hotel-sized ice-blocks in danger of imminent collapse only to watch them hang on for months. But this serac sent down a handful of lesser slides as the morning progressed...enough to keep our attention focused...and our cameras ready. I wanted the thing to come down. I certainly didn't want to walk under it again in its decaying state. At 10:35 AM it did come down. I was sitting in my tent doorway, and I didn't need to fully look at Everest's West Shoulder to know that this was the big one. In this valley of avalanches, the quality of noise was easily different and distinct for this particular slide. I fumbled with my camera and began shooting. I didn't see the tiny dots representing climbers in the avalanche path. Partly because they may not have been visible down in the rough terrain of the Khumbu Icefall, and partly because I was totally mesmerized by the power and majesty of the white explosion I was witnessing. I kept taking pictures as the cloud engulfed basecamp. I knew it was only a cloud...we were nowhere near close enough to be hit with actual debris, but it was ominous and disturbing even so. It rolled over us like a volcanic ash-cloud, blotting out the sun and rocking the tents back and forth in its wind while pelting us with a "snow" of overly large ice crystals. And then, quite quickly, it was gone and what remained of any mist in the air was quickly burning off in the bright sun. I assumed that it had been a lucky day...that what needed to happen had happened and that nobody had been affected. It is possible that I went on in this belief for a full twenty minutes before word began to filter around that people had been caught in the avalanche. I began putting on my climbing boots and quickly loading my pack...by then, word had it that it was an acquaintance of mine of several years and many mountains. My friend had been caught along with his client and the Sherpa working with them. I saw Willie and Damian Benegas going past our camp, both speaking into their radios. There were a number of Sherpas moving toward the start of the Icefall route, including Tendi and LamaBabu from our own team. Seth Waterfall was ready before me and stood patiently as I finished up my climbing harness, then we started walking fast and I joined the ongoing radio scramble to get men and equipment to the accident scene. Since IMG's Sherpas and clients were descending the route at the time and were very lucky to come through unscathed, they were among the first to report the situation via radio, and so all other teams migrated to the IMG frequency. This seemed right since Mark Tucker and Ang Jangbu Sherpa at the IMG basecamp had shifted into their familiar role in bilingual crisis management. Seth and I checked in and learned that HimEx was offering up a full rescue pack cached near the start of the route. Russell Brice came on the radio, directing us to the gear. We loaded up heavy packs full of oxygen, sleeping bags, medical equipment, and rescue hardware and began climbing. We listened as various expedition leaders, guides and Sherpas reported in and offered up a mountain of resources. This from supposedly competing companies-none of whom had any reason to think that their own staff or customers were involved or injured. We began to feel the sense of community that is so often overlooked or ignored in modern media coverage of the Everest "scene." And we began to feel the intense sun that we normally avoid working under at midday. The glacier surface was brilliant in its new coat of "snow" from the avalanche and seemed to be reflecting 100% of the sun's radiation onto the skin I hadn't had time to protect in my dash out of BC. Within minutes under the big packs, we were covered in sweat. It turned out that a descending Indian team was instrumental, along with IMG's Sherpas, in getting my friend and his client out of a crevasse that the avalanche had pushed them into, but now the radio chatter was focusing on the Sherpa that had been with them. He was missing. Willie and Damian Benegas (Argentinian-American brothers leading two different Everest teams) were among the first Western professionals on the scene, and we relied on their reports of the situation as we continued to climb. My friend, badly hypothermic and shaken, was being placed on a stretcher as Seth and I arrived in the blast zone. We dove into the medical supplies we carried in an effort to help stabilize him. Seth concentrated his efforts then on escorting the remarkably unscathed client down. Willie Benegas and a strong team of Sherpas worked to get the stretcher down, as I then went up to join Damian and perhaps 20 Sherpas who were searching for the missing man. After 15 minutes or so, I was encouraged to hear Willie describing my friend as "combative" enough that they could no longer carry him on the litter. He preferred to walk, as it turned out, and of course that was a fine outcome. At the "point-last-seen" I was amazed at the bravery and high energy of the searching climbers. Damian and a British guide were roped up and jumping crevasses in an effort to reach islands of glacier that might offer better views. The Sherpas had fixed ropes down a series of steep, debris-strewn ice gullies and were exploring every crevasse and alcove along their path. I kept looking up at the origin of the avalanche, where it appeared that a tooth had been broken from some massive jaw. Unfortunately, there were still other teeth, and the searchers were clearly in a terrible position should a second slide follow the path of the first. I checked my watch and my radio to confirm that two-and-a-half hours had passed since the avalanche. I began asking the team to suspend the search. The missing man's boot, with crampon still attached, had been found close enough to his last known whereabouts that we were each haunted to imagine the power of the wind that had hit him. His pack was eventually retrieved some 100 meters distant. The clues only made it more difficult to quit. The Sherpas all agreed that there was now no chance of finding a buried man alive. They agreed that it was time to quit and move to safety. But they wouldn't. Nobody wanted to be the first to leave. Tendi and LamaBabu continued to twist in ice screws and rappel into crevasses..."Just this last one." But they couldn't find the 31-year-old father of two. Knowing how many of them were also fathers, I insisted that they quit-eventually they listened to me, to their own leaders and their own valid concerns. We walked down through the ice rolls and ridges of the lower glacier without much talking. Dozens of good folk had come out from basecamp and stood on the ice ridges with water and tea for the search teams. Upon reaching basecamp, the teams melted back into a tent village composed of twenty different expeditions, but not without a number of quiet handshakes and a hundred expressions of thanks. To each other...to a missing man's sacrifice...to the good luck of survivors.

RMI Guides Casey Grom and Dominic Cifelli led their Four Day Climb teams for August 15 - 18, 2022 to the summit of Mt. Rainier today.  Climbers reached the summit around 5:30 am.  They reported an excellent climb and overall great day.  The teams are heading back to Camp Muir where they will take a quick break before continuing the remaining 4.5 miles to Paradise.  Their program will conclude this afternoon at Rainier BaseCamp.

Congratulations to today's climbers!