The height of Mount Rainier, as estimated by triangulation, is 14,444 feet. This height was verified by barometer in the hands of one party that reached the summit in the month of August of the present year. From many points of view it appears a single peak; but in reality it is composed of three peaks of nearly the same height. These peaks may be designated as northern, crater and southern. They are not in direct line, but occupy apexes of an obtuse-angled triangle. The northern peak is a cone, with its apex about two miles from the summit of crater peak; the southern peak is somewhat flattened on top, and is about one and one-half miles from crater peak. Crater peak, as the name suggests, has two large craters, with well-defined rims—one sloping slightly towards the northeast, and the other towards the southwest. The culminating point of this peak is a sugarloaf-shape mass of pure snow, about one hundred feet above all adjacent points. The northern and southern peaks are inaccessible, except from crater peak, owing to the precipitous condition of their sides, which are so steep that snow will not cling to them except in small patches. Down these sides, during some seasons of the year, avalanches go thundering almost hourly with a roar that makes the tourist shudder with fear.
The volcanic condition of Mount Rainier is everywhere apparent. For miles before the base is reached vast quantities of ashes, forming the greater part of the soil of that region, plainly tell of extensive eruptions; the immediate foothills are covered with masses of red and black lava; while pumice is found in great abundance upon some of the ridges. All these evidences suggest that, long ages ago, Rainier was the scene of volcanic activity of immense magnitude. Ascend to the top, behold the two well-defined craters, with their rims perfect; descend those walls, and try to count the many jets of steam constantly puffing forth their sulphurous odors, and one is led to believe that Rainier has been active at a comparatively recent period.
Mount Rainier, with its many glaciers, is the source of the principal rivers of Western Washington. From the summit of the three peaks the snow forges its way downward until it is compressed into ice; the ice in turn is compressed until it assumes that peculiar blue tint that characterizes ice under great pressure. These ice streams move slowly down the valleys, about one foot in twenty-four hours, conforming to their beds. Where the bed is inclined, the glacier breaks into innumerable masses, somewhat regular, with great yawning crevasses between. While crossing one of the White River glaciers below an ice-fall I had to stand clear of a dozen bowlders that came rolling down from the brink, telling very forcibly that the glacier was moving. These glaciers plow their way down the valleys to an elevation of between 3000 and 4000 feet, and there dissolve into water. Some of them terminate in a gentle incline; others present a high wall of clear ice, with the river issuing from an immense cave; still others deposit vast quantities of stones and earth, forming what is called the "terminal moraine." The glaciers of the northern peak, five in number, form the Puyallup and its principal tributary, the Carbon; the twelve glaciers of the eastern slope of crater peak yield the icy waters of the White and Cowlitz; the glaciers of the southern peak form the several sources of the Nisqually. The glaciers are from one to two miles in width, and from six to twelve miles in length. Like the rivers which they form, they themselves have tributaries. When two glaciers unite, their inside lateral moraines join and form a medial moraine.
The ascent of Mount Rainier is difficult and dangerous. Three different parties have reached the summit from the south side—namely, Hazard Stevens and P. B. Van Trump in 1870; P. B. Van Trump, James Longmire and Mr. Bailey, in 1883; and a party of seven, of which the writer was the projector, in August of the present year. A party of three from Snohomish claim to have reached the summit by the northeast side in the summer of 1884. Several others and myself have made two attempts to reach the summit from that side, but came to an impassable crevasse at an elevation of about 14,000 feet on both occasions.
On the morning of the 10th of last August a party of eight gentlemen left Seattle for Yelm with the necessary equipments and provisions for a two weeks' sojourn among the eternal hills. At Yelm we secured the necessary horses to convey our outfit to the snow line on the south side. The day at Yelm was clear and beautiful—Mount Rainier never looked so grand before. Its three peaks stood out in bold relief against the sky, while its walls of ice sparkled with resplendent beauty. During the morning and evening the play of colors around its base, extending in graduated bands far towards the zenith, made our artist groan aloud because of his inability to transfer them to canvas. It took us three days from the time we left Yelm to reach the Longmire Mineral Springs. These springs were discovered by Mr. James Longmire in 1883. They number twenty-five or more, and are heavily charged with carbon dioxide and other gases that combine to make the water a very pleasant drink as well as a health-giving beverage. Around each spring is an incrustation of soda compounds deposited by the water. One spring, over which a rude bath-house has been constructed, pours forth a large quantity of water at a temperature of 85° Fahr. A bath in this water is pleasant and invigorating. The view from the springs is very beautiful. On the right is the swift flowing Nisqually; on the left, a solid white wall of basaltic rock rises to a height of nearly one thousand feet; while in front, seeming only a mile away, Mount Rainier stands in silent majesty. There were several visitors at the springs. In the near future these springs will be sought by hundreds of invalids. We would gladly have remained at the springs for several days, but, with the old monarch so near, we could not delay. The next day found all of the party but two on the tramp. That day's work was to ascend to Camp of the Clouds, distant about five miles from the springs. It was no small task. The trail is steep and rugged, and has been traveled but little. About three miles from the springs it crosses the Nisqually. From that point for a mile it is one of the steepest trails I have ever traveled. When the top was reached we were regaled by the sight and odor of flowers that surpassed description in odor and variety. From this point to Camp of the Clouds, two miles further on, our path was literally strewed with beautiful flowers. This entire region is a paradise for the botanist, and the flowers deserve a much fuller description.
At last, after four days of hard tramping, we have reached permanent camp at an elevation of about 6,000 feet. Here we unpack, pitch our tent and turn our jaded horses loose. Here we wish all our friends with us, and here we would gladly remain a month in deep enjoyment of the grandeur and beauty around us, but our time is limited and our friends far away.
Monday noon, August 14th, we carefully prepare for the ascent. It is light artillery now—a pair of blankets, a small supply of provisions, principally chocolate, and our Alpine staves complete the outfit. With cheerful hearts and steady nerves we begin the climb. It is our purpose to ascend to a height of about 10,000 feet and there make camp for the night. Soon we pass the timber line. Our pathway now lies over the eternal snow, broken only by a projecting spur of the mountain. After five hours of hard climbing, we come to a ridge covered with sand and pumice. From the presence of the latter we know it to be a spot comparatively free from wind, for, on account of the lightness of the pumice, it is easily blown away. Here we decide to camp. Two by two we go to work preparing our beds. This we do by clearing away the loose stones from a space about three by six feet, stirring the sand up with our pikes and making a wall of rocks around the cleared place. After a half hour's toil we declare our beds prepared. Hastily partaking of a little chocolate and hardtack, we "turn in," although the hour is early; but the wind is rising and the sharp, stinging cold is upon us. After passing a miserable night, we break camp at 4:30 o'clock. Throwing aside our blankets and part of our provisions, we begin the final ascent. Our course takes us along the crest of a rocky ridge and beneath a perpendicular wall of basalt over a thousand feet in height. Here the courage of one of the party failed him, and he concluded to go no farther. The most dangerous part of the ascent is along the base of this cliff. The earth pitches at an angle of 35° from its base, and at three particular places this incline is not over six feet wide, ending in a perpendicular jump-off of fifteen hundred feet to the Nisqually glacier below. After a half hour's crouching and crawling we get past this dangerous part of our undertaking. We must now ascend almost perpendicularly one thousand feet to the top of this wall. Ordinarily steps have to be cut in the snow and ice, but on this occasion the snow lay in little drifts that served as steps. Up this ladder of snow and ice, prepared by the winds, we climb, pausing every few steps "to take breath." The top is reached at last. Upon consulting our barometer we find we are 12,000 feet above the sea level. A halt is ordered to put six steel brads in the sole of each boot, to prevent us from slipping on the ice and hard snow that we must now encounter.
From the crest of this cliff the incline of the mountain to the summit is less than at any other point and consequently fewer crevasses, the terror of the mountaineer. Bracing ourselves for the final effort, we resumed the march. On account of the continuous ascent and the rarity of the atmosphere we have to rest every twenty or thirty steps. Still ascending, avoiding the crevasses by a zigzag path, we at last reach the last one, or what might more properly be called the first crevasse. This crevasse is formed by the first breaking off of the snow as it begins to slide down the mountain. The upper side is often a perpendicular wall of hard snow from ten to fifty feet high. This same crevasse, for it extends half way round the mountain, prevented our further progress on two previous occasions, when attempting to reach the summit from the northeast slope. Luckily on this occasion we found a bridge that afforded us a safe passage over. From this point we can see a clear path to the summit. Upward we climb to where the rim of the crater seems but a few hundred feet away. Look! there is a jet of steam right ahead; one grand effort and I sit upon the rim of the crater. I shout a word of triumph which sounds strangely shrill to my companions below, who, one by one, soon gain my exalted position. The feeling of triumph that filled the heart of each one as he gained that sublime height can be realized by no one who has not been in a similar position.
Space precludes an extensive description of the view from our elevated position; Washington, Oregon and the Sound and sea lay below us. A roll of clouds extending entirely around the horizon somewhat obstructed the prospect, yet added to the beauty of the scene. Mts. Baker, Adams, Hood, St. Helens, and Jefferson appeared above the clouds; the Cascade and Olympic ranges, Puget Sound and numerous river basins appeared below, while the smoke of distant cities completed the scene. Reluctantly turning from this grand panorama of nature, I gave my attention to an examination of the craters. There are two, elliptical in shape, and from one-half to three-fourths of a mile across. Their rims are bare outside, and in to an average depth of thirty feet from the crest. This is owing to the internal heat and escaping steam, which issues from a hundred jets within the circumference of the craters. The steam escapes in intermittent jets from little orifices about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. The walls of the crater in some places are quite warm, all of which plainly indicates that Mount Rainier is a volcano, not extinct but slumbering.
The amount of steam that escapes from the crater at any one time varies with the atmospheric pressure. In fact, Mount Rainier is a reliable barometer, foretelling a storm with certainty. Everyone who has noted the appearance of the mountain from time to time is familiar with the peculiar white cloud that is frequently seen suspended just above the summit, while no other clouds are in sight. This peculiar cloud, caused by the condensation of escaping steam, is called "Rainier's cap," and is the forerunner of a storm. There was considerable snow in the craters, but it had the appearance of having recently fallen. I believe, should it cease to snow for two or three months, the crater would become entirely bare inside; but this is not possible, for it snows on Mount Rainier even in midsummer.