Mt. Rainier

I went on a day hike on Mt. Rainier with some friends on Wednesday. Our plan was to snowshoe around the ranger station, but our adventurous side got the better of us and we decided to attempt a trek up to Camp Muir, the high camp that serves as the launching pad for summit attempts.



Just a month ago, 3 guys like us were hiking to the camp when a blizzard moved in without warning. Apparently, the were caught in a white out and couldn't see more than 10 feet in front of them. After several hours of stumbling in circles, they hunkered down and tried to wait it out. By the time the storm cleared and rescue workers reached them, one of the guys had died.
And I was hearing this from the ranger right before we started off up the trail...

Some pics from the first 2 1/2 miles of intermediate level hiking:

Eventually, we stopped for lunch, spotted a ridge up the mountain, and decided to reach it before calling it quits and heading home. (The ridge was the snow line on the right edge of the picture below).


The ridge didn't seem far away, but after 2 continuous hours of hiking straight up the snowfield (there are no switchbacks to ease the effort out there!), we realized that we severely underestimated the difference - because of the vast expanse of the mountainside, there was nothing familiar to use as a distance-perception measuring tool. We thought it was "just right there" when in reality, it was over 2 miles, 2 hours, and 3000 feet of elevation increase away. But we kept thinking, "We've gone this far; we can't turn back now!"

But the views along the way were well worth the effort:

Mt. Adams in the distance; and I love that lone hiker climbing up the snowfield.

Our first sighting of the camp; the trail of hikers is heading right towards it.

By the time we reached camp, I was exhausted. The altitude, thinning air, depleting supply of water, and several hours of constant exertion were taking their toll, not to mention the thrumming drumbeat of blood pounding in my head. But those unpleasantries subside next to the euphoria of reaching a goal, especially a goal with views as spectacular as we had. From this high, we could even see Mt. Hood down south in Oregon!

Mt. Adams and Mt. St. Helens are the two mountains on the opposite edges of the horizon in this picture.

Camp Muir

Inside Camp Muir

I love being above (or in) the clouds.

Now, my enthusiasm for one day reaching the summit has peaked. From camp, the summit is a mere 4-5 hour climb away! I just need to pick up some crampons, an ice ax, and someone who has a clue what they're doing, and I'll be set to go!

I almost died laughing...

Ashley and I recently returned from our Southern Caribbean cruise with the Benedict family, and now I'm obsessed with cruises - great sights, great food, great service. There's nothing like being pampered for seven days as you sail through clear waters and enjoy the beautiful island scenery.

However, this great food does not always come without a price - and the price for me almost cost me my life.

On Wednesday evening, the family sat down for another remarkable dinner. We ordered several starters (as our custom had become), and I ordered 2 entrees (all the food is completely free, so why not?!). We enjoyed the food, we retold stories of the day, and of course, we were incessantly entertained by Ashley's brother Austin, who possesses rare comedic talent.

As the meal drew to an end, I placed the last bit of my salmon fillet in my mouth, and I began to move a small, neatly-tied bundle of green beans towards the near edge of my plate. Ashley curiously noticed the unique presentation of my bundled green beans and wryly remarked, "Why, you have a f*got of green beans on your plate!"

The wit of the remark, coupled with its unexpected nature brought a fit of laughter.

Unfortunately, it is not a good idea to mingle laughter with chewing, and without any warning, my laughter turned into a fit of coughing. After several violent coughs, I lifted up my head - it was then I realized something was wrong.

The entire family stared at me, waiting for me to say, "I'm fine. No problem. Wow, that was a vicious cough!"

But I could do no such thing. I could barely speak, and I also noticed that I could barely breathe. My past experiences with asthma assisted my mental state so that I did not panic. I slowly, yet excruciatingly attempted to draw in oxygen, but the supply was severely limited.

"Can you breathe?" "Are you Ok?" "I think he's choking" "Give him room." "Who knows the heimlich?" I could hear everything, yet it all seemed distant. For me, my unmitigated focus remained on the slow, strained breaths I was forced to suffer.

Within moments, my brother-in-law Brad, a dental student at the University of North Carolina, had moved around the table, was standing behind me, and had me on my feet with his arms wrapped around my chest.

This sort of commotion does not go unnoticed in a fine-dining establishment, and I was well-aware that all eyes were on me. I'll never know how I became aware of my embarrassment in those moments, but I know I wanted to hide.

One, two, three! The count preceded the first forceful tug underneath my sternum and into my rib cage. I doubled over and gagged. No air still.

One, two, three! Again, the discomfort of a fist lunging into my chest cavity resulted in me forcefully retching. Only this time, a little more air found a path into my lungs. Relief! It was so close at hand. I could think a little more clearly. The panic was subsiding. I stood for a brief moment and then motioned for Brad to follow me out of the restaurant. Something was still caught, and I did not want to vomit all over the table. The scene from "Stand By Me" replayed in my head, and I wanted no part of an infectious puking episode.

Once outside, we found a restroom where he performed the heimlich two more times. At some point, the salmon dislodged and air began to freely flow again. Our two waiters, the maitre d', my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and Brad all stood by with both panic, concern, and an evolving expression of relief on their faces. We waited for the ship doctor, who promptly arrived and pronounced that I should be fine - that Brad did everything he should have done. My throat was scratchy, which she said was normal due to the fact that a foreign object had been forcefully pushed through, but she assured me it would feel better by the next morning.

Brad was still concerned that the salmon may have fallen into my lungs, especially since nothing shot out of my mouth. But he considered the possibility that it came up and went down the correct pipe without me realizing it...How could I tell? Well, he said I'd probably develop pneumonia or something....

So far, I've felt normal again, so I'm assuming that salmon swam up the right stream afterall.