Mount Rainier: DC Revenge Tour

Mount Rainier. Tahoma. The Mountain. Its prominence outshines every other mountain and volcano in the range. There is nothing quite like the first time you lay eyes on this behemoth. Whether it be from a distance in Eastern WA as you approach the West, or up close at Mount Rainier National Park, it is mesmerizing. The most glaciated volcano in the lower 48 leaves jaws on the floor as one absorbs the sheer scale. There’s a reason it draws an audience.

Wildflowers going off at Paradise. The mountain doesn’t hide from you down here.

July 12 to 13, 2026

Beta

• Peak: Mount Rainier (14,411 ft), Columbia Crest, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
• Route: Disappointment Cleaver (DC) from Camp Muir. Roped glacier travel, a ladder crossing on the Ingraham, and short-roping on the cleaver.
• Grade: Grade II to III glacier climb. Crevasse rescue skills required.
• Distance: ~18 miles round trip (per GPS)
• Elevation gain: ~10,000 ft (Paradise ~5,400 ft to the summit)
• Time: Two days. Camp Muir on 7/12, summit push from Muir at 2330, summited 7/13 around 0830, back to Camp Muir ~1330 (just under 13 hours round trip from Muir).
• Trailhead: Skyline Trail at Paradise (~5,400 ft)
• High camp: Camp Muir (10,188 ft). Note the shelter is closed for maintenance for the foreseeable future. Plan on camping outside in a tent.
• Conditions (as of 7/13/2026): Wind was the whole story. 95+ mph clocked at Camp Muir the night before our approach, and the forecast dropped into the 40s for our summit push night. In reality, winds were clocked at 65+ mph at Camp Muir during our ascent, then back over 100 mph the night after we were down. Warm and hot on the descent. A new ladder was installed on the Ingraham glacier around 11,400 ft. Loose rock and icefall on the cleaver and the bowling alley.
• Permits: Federal climbing fee, now $82 per climb as of this year, paid through pay.gov. That money goes directly to the MRNP climbing rangers program. Plus a Camp Muir camping permit from the ranger station and park entry. TODO: link the separate permit write-up.
• Gear: Full glacier kit. Rope, harness, crampons, ice axe, pickets, crevasse rescue gear. TODO: gear list.
• GPX: Cleaned GPS track available to download on this page.

The peak that kept turning me away

I have technically made 3 previous attempts on the DC route, 2 actually on route. One was a drive-up, then a decision to redirect to Glacier Peak (Glacier Peak: The Redirect).

One attempt was in mid August 2023, and the weather was far too warm. Bridges were melting out, ladder crossings were huge, and the cleaver was not generally simple to get started on by this time. We opted to turn around at the bowling alley.

Another attempt, a year later in early June, faced the opposite problems. We felt like popsicles and hiked up to Camp Muir in a white out (against better judgement). Upon arrival, we had phenomenal conditions from 10,000 ft. My team wasn’t doing well, however, and showed early altitude symptoms. Appetite and thirst were forced, and they slept while I photographed the sunset. I didn’t get much sleep this night. I felt fine with the altitude, but holy smokes I was cold. Either way, I knew we’d be sweating once we got started. When we did, it was all for nought. As we approached the cathedral gap, teams were already returning. Yeah, we didn’t get far. Teams notified us there was a massive wind slab avy problem from the whiteout storm the day before. Passage was impossible, with one team even venturing into the slab to try and get through in chest-high snow. No luck, and we turned around just after gaining the cathedral gap/Ingraham glacier. Bummer.

In 2025, I helped lead a team of 12, 4 leaders and 8 students, with the Mountaineers Org. Despite the greater odds against us, the entire ensemble of 12 climbers summited. We faced all kinds of issues along the way, but everyone powered through. It was one of my prouder mountaineering successes, and the students really showed up to get it done. I intend to backlog the trip report for that climb, my first official summit of Mount Rainier. The catch, however, is this was a 3 day trip on the Emmons route. The DC route still eluded me.

The plan

Now, in 2026, I received a request to do a DC climb. The climber reaching out was experienced, had summited Rainier previously guided, and could get it done. We needed more people though, and she had some friends in mind. This was months ago, and I thought whoever works, as long as they have been through a crevasse rescue clinic. My only stipulations were some mountaineering experience and crevasse rescue skills. I could handle the other technical details.

This was months ago, and the slot for this attempt was quickly approaching. I checked the forecast about a week out. The sun, temps, clouds, and precipitation all looked great. Bingo. This was why I had recommended this week for the climb. Oh, but wait, no. The wind. The doggone wind is always the catch. Showing a forecasted 75+ mph at the summit the night before our climb. 60+ during our climb. Back up to 70+ the night after our climb. Yikes. Two of these girls had flown in, so our window was restricted to this shot. Sunday-Monday was our best bet. No point in doing 3 days, we’d just be getting beat up in the wind for 24 hours at Camp Muir. I really didn’t want to climb in high winds. That hazard combined with heavy rock and ice fall on the DC route is not a good combo. Don’t forget all the other climbers, experienced and not. I lightly pushed towards considering other climbs like Glacier Peak or Baker. The group seemed unphased. Days went by, and the wind speed predictions increased. Sheesh. But one glimpse of hope, our specific summit push night declined slightly. 45 mph winds on Mountain Forecast. This is still higher than I’d like to push with people I don’t really know and haven’t climbed with. I brought up my concerns to the group a couple more times. They said they at least wanted to try, basically no matter what. I respected the commitment. But wanting it badly isn’t a plan, so we made the call the way any good rope team should. We’d go up, but with ground rules we all signed off on: firm turnaround times, hard eyes on the wind and the cleaver, and anyone on the team could call it, at Muir or anywhere above, no questions asked. If we could do it safely, we would. If not, we’d walk. With that agreed on, I was in.

I drove up to Paradise the day before to pick up our Camp Muir permit. We had all purchased our federal climbing permits as well (more on this in another write up, if you are curious about the Mount Rainier climbing permit process). It has changed from recent years. When I arrived to the ranger station I began filling out the form and asking for beta. This wasn’t unusual territory for me, and I understood the process. They began to give me the full breakdown. 95+ mph winds predicted for that very night. Our push window the next night still read in the 40s. Then back over 100 mph the night after that. Those numbers were sobering, but the big ones were for the nights on either side of us, not our push window. That gap was the whole reason we’d picked this narrow shot. I wasn’t locked into summiting no matter what. I was locked into going up to look, ready to turn us around the second the wind or the cleaver said no. Dog with a bone, but a bone I’d drop the moment it got stupid.

We met up at Whittaker (RMI) that same afternoon for some carb loading and gear rentals. Georgia also had the high IQ move of buying an XL pizza, and we all split it for lunch the next day on our approach to base camp. Super clutch and delicious move. We set off for Paradise at Mount Rainier National Park. It’s just above 5,000 ft, and I figured car camping nearby would be a good way to begin acclimatizing the group. We settled in, and everyone was buzzing to begin our trip early the next morning.

The approach

We started from the Skyline Trailhead around 0800 after everyone had coffee, breakfast, and was ready to begin. This first mile isn’t one to underestimate. It’s on steep pavement, and it’s pretty relentless. You gain a good amount quickly, and the mountaineering boots don’t feel lovely on the pavement. It’s a gritty start, but eventually you roll onto some more gradual incline and get incredible views of the mountain. The thick clouds had blown away in the night, and Rainier welcomed us. A good sign for sure. The mountain always has the final say on your ascent and your descent.

Grinding up the Skyline pavement to start the day.

Heavy packs and high consequences, but the team was cruisin’.

The girls began to play some game called contact 1, 2, 3. I felt like Alan Turing trying to break the Enigma code. I spent idk how many minutes trying to understand how the game worked in my own bird-sized brain and finally asked. They very diligently explained the rules, of which I’m not sure I could reiterate. One person has a word, they slowly spell it, the other two have to do a contact 1, 2, 3 and then say what they’re thinking, if it’s the same… no, honestly, I can’t explain how on Earth that game is played. It is like trying to explain to someone how to play Euchre. No shot that happens without playing the game. I was cooked. I’m not sure if anyone ever won. In the many minutes trying to understand and ponder how old I was getting thereafter, we were knocking out good chunks of the approach route.

We were making good time, and we switched out who was in front frequently. The pace was nice and slow, just how the approach should be. We eventually made our way past Pebble Creek, and up onto Muir Snowfield. Here we stopped for a pizza and water break. We were honestly crushing. Around 3,000 ft was done in under 3 hours. We started plenty early enough to get up there and set up camp to rest, so there was no rush. We set forth to claim the last 2k ft and drop our weight at Camp Muir. I couldn’t wait to take a nap.

Georgia’s XL pizza on the Muir Snowfield. Best logistics call of the trip.

I had opted to carry the rope up for the 5,000 ft ascent to Muir. This was for two reasons, for one I just wanted the workout generally speaking. We weren’t doing much the rest of the day after we got there. The other main reason was I wanted my team healthy. Extra weight at altitude kills you gently. Packs are always heaviest day one, and I’d rather carry a known quantity than have anyone dig a hole early. I packed as light as I could with my solo bivy and food supplies, so the rope was fine on my back for the first day.

Camp Muir

We arrived at Camp Muir without incident. Do make note that the shelter is closed for the foreseeable future for maintenance. You have a 100% chance of camping outside in your tent this season. The team went onto the ice shelf and began setting up their 3p tent while I looked for a tucked away bivy spot. I found a nice little perched bivy spot in the dirt high above the tents directly behind the Muir shelter. I stayed NE as I could of the shelter, as the winds were strongest from the SW. That paid off, as I didn’t really feel the wind at all in my bivy. Struggling a bit with the winds that were starting to pick up, the girls eventually got their tent anchored down and set.

The squad assembling their shelter at Camp Muir.

The big groups rolling in. The girls grabbed the last good spot, phew.

My cheeky little bivy perch, tucked out of the wind behind the shelter.

I had carried up a (heavy, but delicious) SweetGreen chicken wrap. I’ve learned the last few years that really good food goes a long way. For the mind, the soul, and the GI. I crushed through that and hydrated. I went down and chatted with the girls one more time, as I knew I was going to crash soon. We had done gear checks in the parking lot. I gave everyone the speech on the route, the dangers we faced along the way, making sure we watch out for each other, stay hydrated, stay eating, take breaks as needed. Avoid stopping in bad places like the bowling alley. Gain the cleaver, short-roping, and get the hell off the cleaver. Once we were in upper mountain glacier territory, it was a mind game against yourself.

Service at 10,000 ft. A rare luxury up here.

To our surprise, a party returned from a successful summit through the crazy winds the night before. In fact, they had opted to sleep in and it just so happened that timing worked out great for them. They missed the chaotic winds that turned every other party back, and they were able to successfully summit late in the morning/early afternoon when we were getting into camp. They made it back to Camp Muir at ~1630 that day. A very long day in the sun on a glacier, but they defied their circumstances and made it happen. Epic. And they dropped a key piece of beta for us all: a new ladder was just installed on the Ingraham glacier around 11,400 ft. As the rangers tell you, the route changes every day, every hour. You never know. And here we had it, a brand new ladder crossing during their climb. Fun!

With that, I went to bed. And I’ll admit, I slept like a rock. After 4 other summits in the last few days, I was smacked when I got to Camp Muir. My body was yearning for some rest.

Summit day

We had compromised on 2330 as a start time from Camp Muir, and we ended up getting on the route just before midnight. Good timing in my book. We beat the big crowds, but we weren’t going up first. We (ideally) were behind experienced teams not kicking rocks down on us, and we weren’t swallowed up in the sea of RMI guided climbs. Not that they’re really a problem, it’s just a lot of people. We had done well up to this point, but we had started moving pretty slow. I hadn’t wanted us to stop much in the dark along the way so far, there just aren’t very many safe spots to sit still. I knew this would hurt us a bit, but better hurt than hit by seracs and rocks. We had been getting hammered by the wind, and I knew it was going to get worse on the cleaver. We saw only a few headlamps ahead of us up above, good spacing. We gained the cleaver and began scrambling up, carefully and slowly.

Beginning the long track in the dark. Headlamps and good spacing.

Here we began to get passed by a rope team or two. We had been short roping the rock sections. I was trying to do it by-the-book as possible, so when I saw snow again, we stopped short roping. In hindsight, this was slowing us down. But I didn’t know the condition of the cleaver, and this was my first time actually getting this high up here anyway. Had I known it went rock snow rock snow rock snow, I would have just had us short rope the whole way. At any rate, a few teams passed us, and this began to concern me. I didn’t want hasty climbers above us moving quickly. I pushed the pace and stayed right on them. You can’t get hit (hard) by falling rocks if they don’t have much distance to accelerate on you. Laura was right behind me on the rope team. I knew she was feeling it, as she had expressed some nausea/discomfort on the cleaver and needed a minute. We took a rest to catch our breath, and eventually got moving and topped out the Disappointment Cleaver. A success milestone for sure, and everyone was safe. But at what cost? I was feeling it now too. We were sitting at 12,200 ft. I slowly led us over to where I saw a larger group moving from a breakspot off the route. It was actually a great spot. For whatever reason, we weren’t getting annihilated by the wind here.

A quick rest topping out the cleaver, the masses behind us.

This is where I hit my low. Some questions started to pop into my head if I was going to crash and burn. I knew that pace sucked on the cleaver, but I wanted everyone to be safe. My hands were a little shaky. I felt fuzzy. I felt a couple waves of nausea. Wtf. This wasn’t like me. The team was quiet, and we needed a solid break here. I’m usually a chatterbox, but I was silent during this break. It finally dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten anything. I totally forgot my own rule of forcing food down. I got out my brownie bites and started shoving them down. I needed maximum calories right here and right now. Julia offered me some electrolytes when I didn’t have any words to speak. This made a big difference in my morale. The team was still alive, looking after each other, and keeping the fire going. The headlamps that passed us began to fade in the distance. No one was really behind us. We had hit a solid gap in the groupings again. The perfect rest stop. We sat for 10 minutes in parkas and puffies. I asked how we were doing. Julia seemed strong. Laura bounced back. Georgia was holding down the tail end. Okay. The mountain isn’t going to climb itself. Time for us to go.

Julia and Georgia pushing through the pain just above the cleaver.

The upper mountain

In my humbling low, I was not feeling much better when we began like I had hoped. But I’d rather puke on route at this point than stop, so I was going to keep us moving at the only pace I could move. Slow. And so we kept going. Light became visible on the horizon. Little Tahoma was shrinking away into a smaller and smaller peak. We looked down now at Adams. Crevasses the size of skyscrapers crashed deep into the glaciers and ice chunks high into the sky. We were in upper mountain territory now. In my final moments of needing the headlamp, I saw little Stella on the trail. Wagging that big fluffy tail and looking back to make sure I was still going like always. She guided me through the dark along the route for a bit. I barely remember this section for a brief time, but I know we were moving. I watched my feet, the terrain, clipped running belays where we needed, and placed one foot forward at a time with Stella in front. I know her spirit was with us, and I took this as another sign from the mountain that we were on the right path. The wrestling match of you vs. you was happening now for the four of us. Each one of us was fighting our own internal struggle, but moving forward obsessed on the objective. Stella was all I needed. The brownies kicked in. The calories were in my blood. The wind was beating down on us. A couple gusts knocked me back a step or two. Occasionally I had to lean forward on my ice axe into the gust’s force. But it was manageable. We could fight through the winds up high just as we had all night. We were going to finish this thing, one step at a time. One step closer.

Moving into the upper mountain, Little Tahoma shrinking below.

Sunrise breaking over monstrous crevasses.

More glacier, more purple hues. The light show did not quit.

The team turned into layer swapping pros. We had a 6th sense with each other of when we needed it, and stopped promptly to adjust. Freezing cold, blistering winds, blazing hot sun, no middle grounds, only extremes. It was that much more difficult, but we were patient, and we made it work. We were all feeling it on some level. We were close enough in my mind with less than 1500 ft to go to the summit that I was willing to take 15 more breaks if we needed to bc we would still make it. We made several stops, and that’s just the nature of the beast. The altitude was leaning on all of us by now. As another team passed us, Laura proceeded to lay down on the glacier with her ice axe. This along with her mentioning other AMS symptoms concerned me a bit. I would still turn us back if it was necessary. As another team moved forward, I went back to check on her. As I got near, I asked her how she was doing, and her eyes opened, bloodshot. She had fallen asleep for a micro nap. We were all taking short lay down moments with ice axes during breaks. Good for the soul. At the same time, however, she started to slide, and I grabbed her harness to prevent an incident. She dug her ice axe in. We confirmed she was stable, and I got back to the front after confirming Julia and Georgia were ready to keep moving too. The alpen glow in the upper mountain was legendary. The pink, red, purple, and orange hues were beautiful. The elegance and beauty of sunrise on our ascent was being matched only by the vicious, relentless bite of the increasing wind speeds.

A quick glacier nap. Good for the soul.

Navigating the upper mountain at sunrise, then a rest just after.

At this point it was hard to tell where anyone was at, but we had some gain to go. I made use of about 6-8 running belay anchors guides had previously placed. Using every single one of these would have slowed us down more than it was worth. But there were some definite, icy, no-fall zones up there. A few of those spots I found worth protecting. One little slip, and the ride down would have been fast for all four of us in those areas. The team picked right up on my cue and followed in suit, clipping and re-clipping the rope. Dream team. Finally we took one last break. I saw some rocks. I hadn’t seen a rock in a while. I asked one of the descending teams if that was the crater rim. Indeed, it was. I looked back at the girls, stoic expressions on their faces. There wasn’t an ounce of quit in them. I was so proud of this team and how far we had come. It was a fight to get to this point for all of us. We had all resolved to success as the only option at some point, and it was now within reach. I yelled back, “That’s the crater rim, let’s go claim your summit!!”

Early morning Adams in purple hues.

That iconic summer alpenglow over Lil T.

Steep and icy, a quick rest below a towering serac.

The summit

We moved with precision on the yielding glacier incline. A few quick steps up and over a smoothed snow ridge. We were in the volcanic crater now. No familiar sulfur smell, but winds howling like you’ve never felt before. One short traverse across the windy crater, and up to the Columbia Crest. We dropped the rope and our packs. One of my favorite feelings. Victory. The rag tag team had done it. The winds weren’t done. At the true summit they were the strongest they had felt. Standing up from a kneel was challenging. The summit register was bolted down, but I feared opening it may cause the register itself to go flying. I carefully unlatched the lid, kept my hand inside, and had the team come ink their names on the notepad. What a triumph. We had all taken moments along the way to lay down, rest, and question our life choices. But we stuck together and supported one another all the way to the top. We took a very well-deserved hour rest at the summit. Just below the summit register dirt was out of the wind and warm. I laid down for five. We took lots of pictures and videos of course to mark the occasion. As I stood there on the crest doing photos, I could feel the wind in my nose and taste blood. They were really that fast, practically drying my brain out where I stood.

Into the volcanic crater at the top.

Summit success with Adams floating in the smoky background. And a couple got engaged up here, of all places.

The girls repping University of Wyoming at the top.

Smoke below and the gang kicking their feet back up top.

Wasted at the top, letting the blood flow back into my toes and fingers.

The team getting a well-earned rest up top.

After our mini celebration and recovery, we made our way back across the crater. I had one final objective for this ascent: Stella’s ashes. I had brought an earthly piece of Stella with us to the Mount Rainier summit. A place worthy for her to rest. I took a minute to myself to walk over to a cozy spot near the rim. I think she would have liked it. It had some nice shade and spots she would have loved to lay down in.

A worthy spot near the crater rim for Stella.

I poured some into the snow and rocks in this spot, and the rest free in the wind. Stella was always my buddy, never my property. She deserves to be free in the world even in death. I cherished the opportunity to put some of her to rest in another incredible location. She has now bagged two major volcanoes! Rest in peace, my girl. You earned it. I took a moment and returned to the group.

The descent

I tried to wipe away the emotion of the moment and get back to business. I still needed to be on my A game. After all, we still had only made it halfway. I gave them the grim reminder that 80% of accidents happen on the descent, so stay alert and focused as much as you can. We crushed a good amount of what remained of our snacks and set forth down the upper mountain. We started in full layers due to the wind, and with the sun beaming now, quickly began to shed a layer (or two for me) every 1000 feet or so. It was getting hot, even with the winds. We made it back to the dreaded cleaver, and I think the team together were all ready to get on and get off the cleaver asap. We stuck with crampons and short rope. Although I hit a point where I needed some calories so we stopped for a brief minute. It dawned on me we didn’t need our crampons at all at this point, so the team collectively removed and stashed them.

The whole squad chillin’ on the penitentes, cleaver descent.

We descended by some climbing rangers managing the route (thank you, MRNP climbing rangers!) Lots of big loose rocks were scattered about, and a huge ice chunk fell off near the path just next to us. Time. To. Go. We arrived at the bowling alley section (I lovingly refer to both the exit and entry onto Ingraham glacier as the bowling alley sections, but honestly this one feels way more consequential). We had run into a team that passed us during our break. They were stopped.

Running on low calories at this point, and my team feeling tired and ready to be back, I began to grow concerned with the hold up. We were standing behind this team for several minutes now. They seemed to just be chatting and looking at inReaches. My teammates are standing directly under loose rock with unsupported ice chunks and running water. I did a double and triple take to make sure there wasn’t anything actually going on. There wasn’t. I finally barked, “Hey I’m very anxious for my team standing here for no purpose, are you guys about to head out or can we go around you?” They took the cue and promptly got walking. I never want to be a bad vibe on anyone’s climb, especially after a successful summit, but wtf were we doing there? I felt like it was the right move for the safety of my group. My anxiety was legitimately beginning to peak standing there immobilized for no valid reason. I felt responsible for this team, and I wasn’t going to be midwest nice on this occasion. It’s arguably the single worst spot on the entire route/Mountain to be doing so. We gave them a few seconds of space, and quickly got back on the glacier.

Standing in the bowling alley. Do not do this on the descent.

We could see everything now that we couldn’t in the night before. Large seracs above on the dilapidated Ingraham Direct (ID) route, car-sized chunks of icefall melting into the path, crevasses in every direction. It’s one of my favorite places in nature to observe. It’s incredible. The mountain is alive around you. We easily navigated the ladder back without issue, made it down to Cathedral gap, and down the sandy/steep bits. One last glacier ramp to Camp Muir. We did it. We made it back just around 1330. Slightly under 13 hours; we were right on time. We once again ditched the rope and the mountaineer gear. I began packing while the girls raced off to make phone calls and tell their families they were okay. What a feeling.

The team threading a big crevasse.

A huge icefall tearing through the route on our way back.

The deep blue guts of the glacier we couldn’t see in the dark. Crevasses in every direction, and the mountain alive around you.

The team heading for Cathedral Gap on the way down.

The walk out

We all went back to our spots for a quick rest.

An interesting phenomenon at Camp Muir: dozens of butterflies to welcome our safe return.

I had one more objective though, I wanted to bag Muir Peak. It’s a tiny scramble right next to Camp Muir. A marmot sat upon the summit rock. On my way bud. I climbed up and took a few pictures. The peak name was on the Caltopo map, so why not? 5 days, 6 peaks. I couldn’t have asked for better teams and scenarios. Everything played out how it was meant to.

A quick view of camp from the top of Muir Peak. Peak number six.

We recovered and got some strength back for the long haul back down Muir Snowfield and Skyline Trail. Packed up and ready to go about an hour or so later, we set off.

We took advantage of every possible glissade option on the descent, and it was great. It cut down on a decent amount of time, and everyone was smiling and laughing. Good vibes.

Julia with the rope on the last glissade.

Eventually we got back to the dirt, and then the pavement. Lots of Disney-like interactions from the critters begging for food along the way of course.

Marmot bro was lowkey not feeling my vibe on the Skyline exit.

The final descent on the pavement is one last kick to your knees if they’re already hurting, but who cares. The parking lot feels like you can reach out and touch it. And then, voila! We were in the parking lot and heading back to the cars. I had stashed a glass jar of my favorite local chocolate milk in my cooler, and I was ready to chug it. I quickly changed clothes to something slightly less sweaty. I could have crawled into my rooftop tent and passed out for 12 hours probably, but getting food right now was more important. We checked out the lodge, but the prices are stiff. I knew they had already spent a lot to get here and climb with the proper gear. We opted for burgers instead. We found a little dive bar on the way in and stopped through. The team bought my sasquatch burger, an extremely kind gesture (Thank you!!). I housed that and the fries with ease. Fatigue was now setting in, and I think the lot of us wanted to get going to wherever we were all headed.

We parted ways and began our drives back. The debrief with the team was great, and we were able to discuss things that went well, could have gone better, and how we handled adverse conditions as a group. It was really remarkable how well we performed as a team that hadn’t climbed before. We crossed off a summit of the lower 48’s most glaciated peak, another 14er, the WA highpoint, and the Cascade range’s biggest volcano. Sweet Stella was along for the whole ride, and helped us through. A perfect PNW adventure. Onward.

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One last look.

Afterword

On July 19, 2026, a sustained, large rockfall event occurred on the Disappointment Cleaver. It is unclear to me at this time if it is at the bowling alley section of the lower third of the cleaver itself. This incident caused 1 death and 3 injuries, requiring helicopter evac and recovery. My heart goes out to the friends and family of the deceased climber. It is impossible to tell if the rockfall was caused by other climbers or natural causes at this point in time. I’d like to believe the latter.

The DC route, although “the standard summit route,” is quite dangerous. It is always falling apart. Rockfall up there is an objective hazard, and it does not care how strong, experienced, or careful your team is. In light of these events, I feel even luckier that my team was able to ascend and descend safely without harm. This may be the last time I venture onto the DC. The Kautz route has been calling my name for some time, and I fear the DC will only continue to deteriorate.

I very respectfully hope the friends and family find some peace in that the deceased may have passed doing something they loved. I wish for a speedy recovery of the injured folks. Stay safe out there, everyone.