Liberty Ridge in 3 days

We woke just after sunrise to a bluebird sky, light wind over the Cap, and cold temps. Our altimeter watch claimed a temp near 10 F in the tent, so we put the outside temp at single positive digits. After breakfast, water bottle filling, and packing, we were ready for the last push: up over the Ice Cap, down between the Cap and summit, and then up the summit cone.

We stepped out from our bivy spot at 13,900' onto the top of the Ice Cap, and into the Jet Stream. Once on top of the Ice Cap, we could not stand up without both ice tools planted. From talks with the Rangers at Paradise after we got down, we heard the wind speeds were sustained 80 mph, gusting to over 100 mph. Walking across the Ice Cap, we were being tossed about, blown to the ground, and struggling to make quick progress. After a particularly brutal spate of wind gusts, our fearless leader came back to check on us, claiming "we can't stay out here"; we were now firmly into failing upward to just get off the mountain alive. Not what you expect when the sky is TOTALLY clear of clouds, and the sun is shining.

After passing the word to the last man on the team that we needed to move, and keep moving, we walked down off the Ice Cap into the saddle between the Cap and the main summit. The mountain tried to kill us a second time.

While walking along, we were caught by a sudden blast of wind that made us all feel, and I do not lie, light. As in, near free-fall, nearly flying kind of light. Since the wind was pushing us towards the top of the chute between Liberty Ridge and Willis Wall, which ends over 3000' below us, this lightness was not good. All the terrain at the top had been blasted clean; we were walking on ice, not squishy snow. Falling into a chute would make it nearly impossible to self arrest, and we would end up falling all 3000' onto the glaciers at the bottom, falling through a constant shooting gallery of rocks falling from Willis Wall, and even if we lived, we'd be on the wrong side of the mountain. Fortunately, the gust was short, and we didn't stumble.

Once on the bottom of the summit cone, we realized we had 800' of vertical up thin ice over gravel, with open gravel patches in places. We also realized the howling wind was now coming straight over the top, and straight down the cone, into our faces; the wind carried ice and gravel. It was just like looking into a sand blaster. We huddled off to a side to contemplate what to do. None of us still felt the need to reach the top, if there was any easier way off the mountain. As we looked around, all we saw were serac fields, ice falls, and steeep terrain. We decided, screaming in the howling wind, that our best choice was straight up, right through the teeth of the gale. Upward we went.

Roughly 500' from the bottom of the cone, with only 300' (maybe less) to go, we got our third try for death. We were (literally) crawling up on front points and ice axes, roped together, with no real gear out (nothing to place it in, of course). I stood up and went to plant a crampon, only to have the crampon spin off the boot; my skidding boot knocked my other (planted) foot out (by breaking the thin ice), and then both ice tools pulled as I weighted them. I skidded onto the rope, and immediately flailed off to the side onto a patch of gravel. Sitting on the gravel, with my ass and good crampon sunk into the slope, I could fix my problematic crampon. My partner below waited, watching intently. The leader, who had fortunately just planted all points for a rest, barely felt the weight on the rope. When I removed my heavy glove to fix the crampon, I dropped it for a brief second; it landed in Canada. I restored my strap-on crampon, using both hands to crank down on the frozen straps to keep the crampon in place for the rest of the trip. Note to self and others: step-in bindings are a god-send on multi-day expeditions where your crampon straps freeze overnight!

After getting back into climbing with 2 good, securely strapped, crampons, we continued up the last 300' or so. The leader reached the summit cone, and put us on a rock belay just in case something went wrong. We all reached the top shortly after.

Our buddy, who was still feeling very poor (but not getting worse), laid down in the dirt, with gravel blowing into his back, and declared "I can't stay here." Since we were only 80' of vertical from the very tippy, tippy top of the cone (but many hundreds of feet around the cone), we declared ourselves at the summit and ready to head down. We dropped down into the summit crater, traversed the snow, and popped out at the marked location for the Disappointment Cleaver route. Yes, we will take the easy way up, down.

We started down the DC route without trouble; wands marked the giant trough of a trail, and we had plenty of light at the top to see crevasses; we passed three in total, including an exciting jump across one. As we descended, we lost wind speed (Yay!), but gained thick clouds (Boo!). The lower we got, the more cloud and lower visibility. By the time we reached 11000' or so, I could hardly see due to fogging of glasses. After a scary fall into a hole, I removed my glasses and went the rest of the way down without them - blurry vision is better than a uniform grey!

Just below Cathedral Gap, we met part of a guided team that had turned around, and was headed for Camp Muir (same as us). They, however, were sitting by the trail waiting for a team that knew the way. Points for the clients knowing that they might get lost, and waiting for a team that knew the way rather than just trying to fake their way through! We continued down the route, with our three new additions on a second rope.

We reached Camp Muir (10,500') at around lunch time (1230 or so), in heavy cloud and strong breezes (call them 30 mph, gusting to 50-60). Blowing snow made it difficult to see beyond a few hundred feet. We had an excellent hot lunch in the public shelter, got an ego boost from other climbers noting that Liberty Ridge was "hard", and were able to put away the rope, second tools, harnesses, and crampons. After 3 days of constant crampon wearing, not having them on was rather nice.

After checking the route description for the correct compass bearings for Muir to Paradise (142 off magnetic north to Moon Rocks, 148 OMN to Paradise), we set off with heavier packs, but no rope, gear, or harness to slow us down! Our sick buddy was nearly recovered due to the lower altitude, but one of his crampons lost the nut, so when he took them off, they fell apart; since we were below the ice and glaciers, this was not much of a problem.

We reached Moon Rocks in good order, but with poor visibility. I suggested our leader (with the altimeter and compass) try my goggles, and he was suitable impressed at their improved visibility over glacier glasses in those conditions. We followed the giant trough down into the low snow fields without incident.

We reached Paradise at 1630 hrs, and met a worried wife. We took showers, ate an enormous dinner, and then got ready to drive home.

The next day, we drove back to SLC with no problems, just good stories.