August 13, 2000/Day 8 
The most powerful winds thus far hit the summit last night. This tent is flimsy when compared to the Jansport China-Everest I used on the other three peaks. Since they have been discontinued for some reason, and my last one was destroyed atop Mount Adams last summer, I will need to have another tent custom-made for the next summit expedition. This particular brand reminds me of something Napalese children might use while practicing for the real thing. It has already gone almost flat on me in 50 - 60 m.p.h. winds, and we're just getting started here! 

A group of climbers reached the summit this morning. I thought I caught a glimpse of fear in the expression of one of them as they passed me by - I have been unable to purge that 'look' from my mind. It made me wonder if her concern was for herself, or for me? One year ago today I saw the same thing in the eyes of a young climber who had made camp with a friend the day before, near my tent at the third highest point in the Cascade Range. An uncompromising storm had set in over Mount Adams. They departed before sunrise while the mountain was in a bad mood. Before giving me his thermometer, Patrick Boys Smith informed me that the temperature was -4 degrees Fahrenheit. As kind a soul as he is, I wondered for whom he was worried - him or me? 

Clouds have risen late this afternoon and provided me with the first whiteout of the expedition. Before engulfing the summit entirely the clouds rose and fell and whirred about in random motion. The tent is really banging around now; perhaps I should have buried it half way with soft snow while I had the chance. Now, it is all frozen solid. The good thing is that the 24" anchors are likewise frozen into the glacier - the whole thing would have to tear away for there to be a catastrophic failure of this equipment. 

No heavy onshore flow is forecast for the next few days, so I should be all right until it warms up, or until some snow comes to the hilltop. Nevertheless, had I used this tent on Mount Adams, I would have probably died in the first big windstorm. 

August 15, 2000/Day 10 
Last night's sunset was as splendid as it was brutal. Freezing northwesterly currents swept up the glaciers and over my perch, and into every bit of loose clothing on me. Before leaving here at 7:25 p.m. I hadn't been out of the tent for 24 hours. This left me with a sense of detachment as I stepped up onto the ledge - like walking out of a space ship and onto the surface of another planet. 

Bland shades of white and blue filled the lowlands, accentuated by the occasional jagged black peak. Then the sun seemed to sputter out completely on the horizon. 

August 16, 2000/Day 11 
I will never forget my predawn walk this morning; photographs were less important than the experience. The sky was still muted by CO2 as I hiked across the glacier. A paper moon hung as if suspended by an invisible, Heavenly string. Led Zeppelin's 'The Song of Evermore' played over the radio. I've always loved that song - but it has never sounded so beautiful as this, and what timing! It was eerie how the words suited the moment. 

After setting up the camera gear I found a nice alcove in a clump of rocks above a cliff overlooking Chocolate Glacier, where I could get out of the wind until sunrise. I had arrived there too early, as usual. With the help of a few pads in my nest, I soon dozed off to sleep. Like the sun this morning, I came around slowly . . . wind through the crags below gently brought me awake. As I opened my eyes onto a green, blue and white landscape below, fear quickly yielded to a sense of open spaces. But the view took my breath away at first.

Like an exposed sheet of paper developing in a darkroom tray, this image turned to a reverse plate of the real thing. Dodge and burn, toss up day and night; many of us landscape photographers are chasing the ghost of Ansel Adams.

August 17, 2000/Day 12 
This morning I was maneuvering around inside the tent with only the upper part of my body poking out of the sleeping bag, transferring white gas from a primary can to one of my fuel bottles. I happened to spill some gas in (on the snow of) the cooking vestibule. This started a comedy of errors, which seems more comical now than it did then. I sealed the large can and went to set it out the other door. The wind was gusting strong and it was bitterly cold. In the process of opening and closing the tent door, I zipped up a wad of hair and tore it right out of my head. Then as I lit the stove, it went POOF! Fumes from the spilled gas exploded in a fireball, torching my eyebrows, beard, and what was left of my poor hair. 

All I could do at that point is laugh. I have just had a really 'bad hair day.' 

August 18, 2000/Day 13 
A low pressure center crept in from the Coast last night as I took a series of photographs from Glacier Peak's highest point. Temperatures rose as a dark band of clouds moved in and the last shades of color faded to black. A storm set in at 9:04 p.m. High winds are still rocking the tent at 9:30 a.m. Hail and sleet blast the summit in fierce turns - it's fascinating to me how death is so close, divided only by one layer of tent fabric. 

By that time in the expedition my food supplies consisted of little more than a bag of instant potatoes and some bacon bits. 

Lest I ever forget how tough this is, here are some notes regarding my daily routine: 

1) Get out or reach out of the tent. 
2) Chip ice from the glacier (or use last night's batch). 
3) Place in pan. 
4) Preheat stove in the tent vestibule. 
5) Light stove. 
6) Melt snow into water. 
7) Pour majority of water into 1 gallon bottle. 
8) Wait until the rest boils. 
9) Wash hands, then face. 
10) Pour water into Thermos with coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. 
11) Place instant potatoes in bowl and mix with remaining hot water. 
12) Set pan on stove. 
13) Spray corn oil into pan and cook bacon flavored soy bits to a golden brown. 
14) Dump potatoes back into pan, and fry with cooked soy. 
15) Flavor with Mrs. Dash. 
16) Dump it back into the bowl. 
17) Force down throat. 
18) Repeat two times daily. 

I usually finish my business with a zip lock bag early in the morning, sometimes before dawn. This morning wind slammed the tent relentlessly, as it often does. You can't afford to miss the bag, nor can you ignore accurate paperwork afterward. Then you must reach out of the tent and store the smaller package inside a garbage bag. 

As snow falls furiously outside, goose down is flying around in here from a tear in my sleeping bag, and sticking to my greasy hair. I decided to cook up my only Jiffy Pop to celebrate the half way point of the expedition. It burned. I'm a real mess in here, and loving every minute of this. As a song plays through the headphones, today is a time of play and replenishment of sleep in this wonderful environment. 

A fantastic storm has developed at 7:05 p.m. Ferocious winds are catapulting waves of snow and ice into the tent, bending and contorting my shelter. Deep in thought this evening, I am looking back on an incident from last Saturday. It was so strange and unpleasant that I haven't wanted to re-visit this, but here goes. 

About 5:00 p.m. on day seven someone walked up to the tent wearing crampons, tapping an ice ax on the hard snow. I thought little of it, although it was rather late in the day for someone to be up here. I was rather annoyed that someone would approach the tent so close before saying anything. When a woman said "Hello!" with a loud and very distinctive voice, I sat up as usual, got on my hair hat, and said "Hello" back. "So, how was your climb?" I asked. "And how is the route?" Nothing came in return. Absolutely nothing. There was no sound outside the tent. Finally it hit me like a ton of bricks that one was out there. Just to make sure, I unzipped the door and took a look out. My God, no one was there! Judging by the lack of prints on the snow, it was obvious that no one had been there. 

I sat here shuddering. The fear of that happening again was pretty intense after dark. Upon my return home I plan to look into the history of women climbers on this peak. 

August 19, 2000/Day 14 
Several feet of snow fell overnight. I awoke before first light with the tent in my face - at first I wasn't even sure where I was. Shoveling snow was a brutal experience this time around - it's strange doing so in summertime. Returning inside a second time in awesomely strong winds, my heart was in my throat - any sort of mistake up here could easily kill me. Reaching my limit I stored the shovel somewhere outside, got back in my bag and fell fast asleep. By the time I awoke after sunrise the shovel was gone, buried deep in snow. Without the shovel I could be done for - what a dumb thing to do! It took me nearly an hour to find it. In heavy snow conditions, second only to your tent, a stove and a pan, your most valuable possession is your shovel. From now on, at least when it's snowing, I'll be sleeping next to it. 

While I was out on another shoveling mission after sunrise, clouds cleared from the summit entirely for less than a minute and revealed a renewed, sugar-coated mountain. Then it all closed back in again with blasting snow and sleet. But it was nice while it lasted. Temperatures have risen dramatically at the noon hour and it's really quite warm - in the low twenties. I have one tent door open at the moment, watching snow fall as the wind has died to only an occasional gust. Scant amounts of snow are angling pleasantly over my Gore-Tex covered legs in stark contrast to last night's battle for the mountaintop. As soothing crystals fall across my burnt and blistered lips and face, fluctuations of light pulse overhead . . . it is as if I have passed through a veil and into another dimension, one devoid of the warmth of human companionship. 

Here I sit high above the cliffs and valleys of desire, longing for oneness with this mountain. In the world from which I am now so divided, rain will fall, children will play, and the echoes of their laughter may some day fill my ears. 

August 20, 2000/Day 15 
An intense storm hit at 10:20 p.m. As torrents of snow and hail pounded the campsite I became concerned when the tent bent close to my face in a prolonged wind gust. At this latest storm's height it would have been fatal for me to get out for whatever reason. Besides freezing to death I might have slid away and gone on an unscheduled, grand tour of the Cascades. My primary concern, though, was that the tent fabric would peel away and finish me off sitting right here. 

Other than that, it was a really nice night. 

August 21, 2000/Day 16 
Clouds cleared from the summit this morning at 4:30, ending an 81 hour storm. I felt like a rag doll as I emerged from the tent and made my way over to my favorite perch on the south cliffs. While changing lenses and a roll of film I became almost too light-headed to stand upright. My hands were shaking badly from eating little more than instant potatoes for the past five days. 

Returning to the tent I went ahead and opened the can of roast beef hash I have been saving and looking at longingly, for the past week. In a grocery store a few weeks ago I hardly gave it any notice. I'll divide that between tonight's dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hey, the French eat small portions, don't they? 

Late that day I hiked back to the West side of the summit dome for another photograph - but just one. 

A canvas of low clouds decorated the foreground; Mount Rainier and Mount Adams adorned the southern horizon. God's blessing was upon this, and all of majestic America. 

August 22, 2000/Day 17 
The bees are back! This is a sure sign that high pressure is in place. They tend to leave the area 24 hours prior to the onset of bad weather. One of them stopped by inside the tent a few minutes ago, not intent on stinging me - he just seemed curious. More likely, they had heard that there's something really stinky on top of Glacier Peak that's worth checking out! 

Last night I felt extremely ill with flu-like hot and cold flashes, but still in want of a good sunset. As I was really dizzy, it seemed reasonable that this was not a good time to be standing on the edge of a slippery cliff with a camera. 

The sky was draped in light of eternity. A spectacular meteor shower brought a flood of memories of walking under the stars with Trisha, Linda . . . Loneliness rules the night. 

August 23, 2000/Day 18 
This morning I blew a primary gasket in my lower back. I managed to dig a new platform from the headwall of Frostbite Glacier and was barely able to return to the spot later for pics. It all made for brutal photographic conditions. 

I was hurting badly by the time of my return. This is the first time this has ever happened to me in the mountains. I feel so weak and helpless right now, so far away from home - and yet still so empowered. This is, after all, my own game! I make and play by the rules up here with no complaints. 

Continue to Part Three

Copyright @2001 Glenn Williams