Thirty years ago, my friend Jeff and I set off to climb the north face of Mount Rainier (14,411 feet) via Liberty Ridge — a narrow rib of snow and ice more than 5,000 feet tall. Our divergent schedules and the weather forecast allowed us just one shot to climb it together before a significant storm was predicted to move in. We foolishly figured we could beat the storm.

If any of this rings a bell you may have read my column in January 2024, about my nearly catastrophic winter ascent of Mount Rainier back in 1994. I wish I could say I’d since avoided similar misadventures, but apparently my youthful optimism and naiveté remained a dangerous combination a year and a half later on the very same mountain.

Our problems began at the trailhead on June 2, 1995, when we realized we’d forgotten the pump for our stove. Without it we couldn’t melt snow for water, so we drove back to Seattle, got the pump, and drove back — a journey that cost us four hours. We didn’t start hiking until after 8 p.m.

The following day we traversed a high pass and two glaciers to the base of Liberty Ridge, where the sun-soaked snow had turned to mush. We post-holed up 2,000 feet of steep snow to Thumb Rock (10,750 feet), where we set up camp in the afternoon. While feasting on a smorgasbord of delights, cirrus clouds — the harbingers of unstable weather — quietly formed.

By 2 a.m. a light cloud layer obscured the stars. We climbed together by headlamp, unroped, over 45-degree snow and ice. As we gained elevation the clouds thickened and snow began to fall. By 8 a.m. the breeze had intensified into a frightening wind; the storm had arrived early, and we had nowhere to run. Before long, a whiteout obscured our visibility and we were forced to hunker down. We pitched our tent on an exposed ridge about 600 feet below Liberty Cap, Mt. Rainier’s north summit.

The snow remained heavy throughout June 4 — the day friends expected us back at the trailhead (this was before cell phones and pocket-sized satellite communication, so we had no way to contact anyone). Feeling desperate the next morning, we broke down the tent and packed up, but extreme wind, cold and blowing snow compelled us to re-pitch the tent.

Snow blasted through the tent zippers as our nylon shell shuddered in the gale. We shivered inside, huddled close, with no idea how long we’d be trapped. Thus, we rationed our remaining food and each savored a single packet of instant oatmeal. By 6:30 p.m. June 5, we’d been tent bound for 33 hours.

At midnight, a brief lull in the wind beckoned us to move. We roped up, climbing steep ice with goggles, dim headlamps, and frozen backpacks. I moaned uncontrollably in the cold. Gusts knocked us over atop Liberty Cap, so we set up our tent again in the most exposed position possible. The next 24 hours proved the scariest of my life as the awful roar of the hurricane-force winds threatened to rip our shelter to shreds — or blow it off the mountain with us inside. My journal had morphed into a goodbye letter to my then girlfriend.

Meanwhile, our disappearance had become big news. A massive rescue operation had been set in motion, with multiple ground crews and a helicopter on standby. To the horror of friends and family, the front page of The Seattle Times ran the headline: “Rescuers Losing Hope For Two Local Men Lost On Mt. Rainier.”

After another fearful and interminable night, we heard the thunderous propellors of a Chinook helicopter somewhere beneath the clouds. This buoyed our spirits tremendously: If the chopper was flying, the weather had to be clearing. With renewed vigor we hastily packed up and stumbled down the Emmons Glacier on wobbly legs. Weaving between large crevasses, an ecstatic sensation overwhelmed me: I became warm for the first time in three days.

Eventually, we broke through the clouds into a world of brilliant sunshine, where Jeff and I whooped with laughter and intense relief. We understood then, at long last, that we would survive.

Contact Chris Weidner at cweidner8@gmail.com. Follow him on Instagram @christopherweidner and X @cweidner8.