Caverns in the Clouds: The 1870 First Ascent of Mount Rainier

The Great White Monarch of the Sound

In the summer of 1870, the Pacific Northwest remained a vast, sparsely mapped frontier of ancient temperate rainforests and colossal volcanic massifs. Dominating the eastern horizon above the wooden houses of Puget Sound was Mount Rainier (4,392 m), known to the native Yakama, Nisqually, and Cowlitz peoples as Tahoma or Takhoma, meaning the mother of waters.

No European or settler had ever stood upon its summit. Rumors of failed attempts by army officers and trappers in the 1850s were common, but the mountain was widely regarded as physically inaccessible, guarded by impenetrable cedar tangles, yawning glacial crevasses, and volatile volcanic weather.

In the territorial capital of Olympia, two men formed a bond over their shared fascination with the great mountain: General Hazard Stevens, a battle-hardened Civil War veteran and Medal of Honor recipient, and Philemon Beecher Van Trump, private secretary to the territorial governor. Neither possessed formal mountaineering training, yet both were endowed with iron frontier resolve.

Sluiskin’s Warning at Timberline

Stevens and Van Trump departed Olympia on horseback in early August 1870, navigating dense river valleys to the homestead of James Longmire. There, they hired Sluiskin, an experienced Yakama hunter, to guide them through the roadless wilderness to the alpine meadows beneath the Nisqually Glacier.

On August 16, as the party established a base camp in the wildflower-filled parklands near Paradise, Sluiskin observed the climbers preparing their ropes and iron-tipped alpenstocks with mounting dread. Sitting cross-legged by the campfire, Sluiskin delivered an impassioned oration in Chinook Jargon, warning them that an evil spirit dwelt within the fire-mouthed summit of Takhoma. Sluiskin insisted that no mortal human could enter the clouds without being hurled into the bottomless crevasses or suffocated by fiery winds, pleading with them to turn back.

When Stevens and Van Trump calmly replied that they intended to climb regardless, Sluiskin wept, demanding that they leave their paper notes and watches so he could return them to their grieving families in Olympia.

The Ramparts of Gibraltar Rock

At six o’clock on the morning of August 17, 1870, Stevens and Van Trump set out across the crunching summer ice of the Nisqually Glacier. Moving upward beneath clear skies, they climbed steep snow slopes toward a colossal, imposing volcanic fortress rising 1,200 feet above the glacier: Gibraltar Rock.

To reach the upper volcanic dome, the climbers were forced to navigate a narrow, slanting ledge cut into the vertical flank of Gibraltar. The rock was intensely fractured and crumbly, showering them with volcanic debris at every step. Below their boots, the cliff dropped thousands of feet into the gaping chasms of the Nisqually icefall.

Working with meticulous care, gripping loose handholds and testing every footing with their alpenstocks, Stevens and Van Trump gingerly edged past the ledge and gained the steep, frozen snow chute above. After hours of relentless climbing on wind-scoured ice, they cleared the final bergschrund and stepped onto the crater rim of Mount Rainier at five in the afternoon.

Bivouac in the Caverns of Steam

Standing upon the volcanic caldera, Stevens named the southern rim Point Success, observing the sweeping panorama that reached from the Pacific Ocean to Mount Hood and Mount Adams. Yet their triumph was instantly tempered by mortal danger. A ferocious gale began howling across the summit, dropping temperatures far below zero as twilight gathered.

Descending the loose, disintegrating ledges of Gibraltar Rock in freezing pitch darkness was impossible. As frostbite gripped their extremities, the pair discovered a miracle of geothermal nature: inside the western rim of the snow-filled crater, steam vents were hissing from fissures in the volcanic rock, melting subterranean ice domes and carving hollow caverns beneath the summit snowpack.

Diving into a steam vent, Stevens and Van Trump huddled in the cramped darkness. While their backs froze against the sub-zero ice walls, the sulfurous volcanic vapors scalded their boots and coats. For eleven agonizing hours, choked by bitter fumes and shivering violently, they waited out the night.

At sunrise on August 18, bruised, smoke-blackened, and frost-nipped, the climbers emerged onto the sparkling snows of Mount Rainier and safely descended to base camp, where Sluiskin greeted them with stunned reverence, believing he was gazing upon ghosts returned from the realm of the spirits.