The rain finally slows its relentless pattering on the roof of the tent a little after midnight. I’ve always loved sleeping to the sounds of the rain, but nervous excitement prevents me from getting a good rest. Around 2:45 I hear the unzipping of tents as someone is getting up to check the weather, whispers between our instructors are followed by tent by tent wakeup calls — we have our window, its summit day.

Getting ready is quick, our gear has been packed since the night before, it’s just a matter of squeezing my poor, deteriorating feet back into my boots and selecting appropriate layers for pre-dawn glacier hiking. Shiela and I step out of our tent to the rest of the group going through the same ritual; a small squad of down-and-headlamp-clad climbers strapping down axes, tying laces, stuffing pickets, and scarfing whatever snacks are available and thawed enough to safely chew. Zach and Stephen announce it’s time to get moving. More weather will be rolling in by the afternoon so we have extra incentive to get up and down as fast as possible. We sling on our packs, set the lengths on the single hiking pole each of us will carry, and begin trudging through the snow. The cold of the early hours melts away after about 10 minutes of walking, it can’t be much above freezing but it is getting HOT as we move. The sky begins to lighten well before the sun is going to come up for the day, we’ve been marching over easy terrain but after about a mile it’s apparently time to rope up. Thank god, I think, as I get a chance to drop a mid-layer while we dig out crampons and ice ax—- where the fuck is my ice axe?!? I remembered distinctly strapping my Black Diamond ice axe to the back of my Black Diamond backpack using the Black Diamond designed ice axe holders, but somehow the fucking thing escaped. Zach and Stephen confer over what to do about their idiot charge that can’t keep hold of their ice axe and decide Stephen will run back to the group following behind us to see if they’ve seen it or if its somewhere between there. Had I kept the leash on it, maybe it would have snagged on the pack straps and merely whacked my leg… Stephen comes back, no axe. More conferring. It is decided that since the snow is super soft as is, and only going to get softer as the day wears on, I can probably just climb with my hiking pole.

My pride and self confidence whither and die on the vine as we begin moving in 4 person rope teams up the glacier. Zach and Stephen point out crevasses hidden below thin layers of snow, letting experience tell them how one spot of snow apparently looks different than the others around it and is therefore dangerous. I try to see what they see and decide there’s a reason entire courses are devoted to avalanche safety and reading snowy terrain, I’ll just follow the rope and hope I don’t need to arrest a fall with this flimsy pole. Luckily, sort of, the snow is super soft and we are post-holing our way up this mountain. Every step sinks at minimum halfway up our shins, often going above knee height, requiring us to waste energy high-stepping to get free to the next sinking step. The walk up to the crater is labor intensive, but not particularly difficult from a technical perspective. The snow on the glacier is far easier to move over than the scree and talus from the approach to Liberty Bell. The biggest hurdle of the day is layering. Every break lets the wind whip through you and everyone pulls packs off to grab a layer. After ten minutes back moving we stop again to remove that layer. Somewhere around the 3 mile mark we reach the crater, the sulfuric smelling clouds drift across span and block our views, but looking back down the mountain the views of the Cascades are amazing. Mt. Baker is lower in elevation than Mt. San Jacinto in southern California, but looking down at the tops of dozens of snowy peaks makes it seem so much higher than the views into the dusty valley of the Inland Empire.

After eating our last snack we begin the final push to the summit, going up the steep as shit Roman Wall. The months of box step ups are paying off as I can picture episodes of Seinfeld in my head, pushing out the white snow of the slope. After a few self directed switch backs we make it to the extremely flat (when compared to the idealized mountain top we imagine) final “football field” as it is usually described. It is an easy walk to the final little bump that is the peak of Mt. Baker. We drop our packs at the bottom of the hill and begin the last little ascent of the day, and as a group, reach the summit.

Everyone gets their pictures done as quick as possible, the wind moves fast and cold over the top of the mountain, and clouds are coming in. I wonder briefly if anyone ever just spends a couple hours at a summit, allowing themselves to truly enjoy the surroundings and the achievement, or if it is always a rush to turn around and get back to some semblance of comfort before the weather closes in, or the warmth of the day makes rockfall and avalanches a more pressing concern. Is reaching the summit like that one-too-many roadside attraction on a road trip? Where everyone jumps out of the car, keys still in the ignition, to snap a quick photo in front of the Largest Office Chair in the Lower 48? The euphoria of the moment and time for reflection are over as I wolf down my half of the summit chocolate bar, an easier to carry and eat replacement for Shiela and I’s blossoming Summit Sandwich tradition. We re-rope and begin our descent. Going down the Roman Wall is the first time I really wish I had my ice axe as I rely on my crampons and brute force heel digging to stay upright.

We arrive back at the crater and the snow is getting softer, the trail deeper, and the effort greater. My heels are getting a break as the rubbing has shifted to my shins on the downhill. I’m not sure if there are blisters forming or if the tongues of my boots have skipped that and just started wearing holes in my skin. I settle into a sort of step and slide, letting gravity and the preformed leg-shaped snow chutes to do as much work as possible. We’re a little over halfway down when I realize my knees haven’t so much as bothered me, let alone screamed out in agony or blown up completely. Maybe I don’t have bad knees, maybe I’ve just spent my whole life with shitty lower body training. The snow is so slushy lower down that we take off our crampons, there isn’t anything solid to dig into to make them useful at this point in the early afternoon. The clouds are rolling back in and it starts to sprinkle as we get back to camp. As Shiela and I approach our tent, there, maybe 5 feet away from the fly, is my ice axe. It must have flung off of my bag when I first slung it on my back in the morning. I sigh, chuckle, and collapse into the tent.