Extreme Ironing
::: captioned-image-container
Written in September 2018. Reposted April 27, 2026.
On September 24, 2018, my friend Derek and I celebrated his birthday by taking my ironing board to Camp Muir on Mount Rainier. According to wta.org, the hike is 8 miles with 4640 feet of gain, about a third on very steep snow.
I left at 7:00am to meet Derek at his home at 7:30am. He fed me breakfast while his girlfriend Britta slept in, having taken ill. We didn’t hit the road until 8:00am. We had hoped to hit the trail by 10:00am but it didn’t work that way. Aside from morning rush hour traffic, we pulled off to get headlamps which we had forgotten—a good idea but REI wasn’t open at that time. We pulled off again for gas and again for food but never got headlamps. At Paradise, Derek hit the restroom and we went back to the truck a couple of times, not hitting the trail until after 11:30am.
The hike starts in the park’s 5.2 mile Skyline loop. We chatted with many people and park rangers through this section, gathering speculation about why I was carrying an ironing board, including a photo tripod, lightning rod, or snow sled. At 1.6 miles, the trail to Muir forks off with a long series of granite steps. Maybe a mile further, the trail gives way to steep snow fields, which were soft by that time of day but eventually required crampons to avoid slipping, especially with the added weight of my ironing board. It was on the snow fields that our fun really started.
Derek started falling behind and was visibly struggling. He had multiple gear problems through the day, losing a glove, breaking a hiking pole, and struggling with his crampons. I waited for him multiple times but as it got later, I started getting worried about nightfall. I considered turning around and asked some hikers to tell Derek to do so. This was my big mistake—I should have either turned around myself or waited for him to discuss my concern about his pace leaving us on the mountain in the dark. I did not do that, instead forcing on to Camp Muir and taking some #extremeironing photos with a jubilant crowd before heading down to meet Derek, all as quickly as I could.
It got really weird when I met up with Derek around 4:45pm. He was still ascending and was angry with me, accusing me of leaving a soldier behind, which is a travesty to a vet like him. He said he would never talk to me again, not on the mountain, not ever and advised me to leave him and get down on my own. I estimated he would need at least an hour to reach Muir at his pace and realized we would be forced to finish this hike in the dark. At best we would get beyond the snowfields before nightfall. I should have discussed this concern with him and convinced him to head down right then. His pace worsened. He dropped his pack and finished the ascent to Muir without it. I stood there dumbfounded and frightened that we would die on the mountain that night.
I headed up to get his pack, meet him and make a plan, possibly staying overnight at the camp. Three hikers heading down offered to take one of our packs but I advised them to take care of themselves. This proved a good choice because my pack had much of our remaining food and Derek’s had more water. When Derek limped down from the camp and met up with me, I apologized profusely, knowing I would need his cooperation to get him down safely. There was clearly something very wrong with him. He’s done this hike multiple times before and is currently training to summit Denali. Our speculation is that he has had pneumonia and was able to manage it until exerting himself like this.
We started our down together around 5:45pm with sundown expected at 7:00pm. It was critical to keep Derek as healthy as possible, so I gave him my poles and took his pack doubling my 30+ pound load. Derek hiked very slowly and started getting delusional, calling me Tony more than once. He was nauseous and tried vomiting multiple times. His gait was erratic and he wanted to sleep. I kept him talking and barked orders at him regularly as he hesitated or fell behind.
It took me about five hours to get to the top, Derek another hour past that. Strong, healthy hikers would normally take half that to get down. I repeatedly emphasized to Derek the goal of getting off the snowfields before dark. This kept him focused but the real reason was that I was worried he would stop, unable to get moving again, and freeze of hypothermia before I could get help. I made a backup plan to ditch the bags to support him down. Fortunately, we didn’t need it.
My next fear after him freezing on the snow was us getting lost. Near the end of the snowfields, we followed the footprints and managed to hook up with the trail. This was critical, as we lost the trail in this part on the way up and scrambled over rocks to meet up with the snowfields. By this time, it was pitch black with no moon. We never did get those headlamps but Derek had obtained one from a fellow hiker before committing to his ascent. For most of the remaining hike, I went ahead, getting enough light from his headlamp to navigate the rocks and steps.
The night was magnificent. The clouds dispersed, with no wind and decent temperature. The stars were out and the mountain glowed from a full moon that eventually rose and lit the way without need for the headlamp. I gained in confidence because we were past the major risks, though we still had work to do. Time was no longer a factor, since we had established that we could hike in the dark and weather was not a problem. I was very careful not to lose the trail, stopping several times to survey and occasionally backing up after making a wrong turn.
Derek was a trooper. He was clearly in pain, coughing regularly, and dropping in and out of focus. At one point, he slipped and fell with the middle of his back landing with his full body weight on a granite step. His back was in spasms for the rest of the night. He kept asking to take his pack back, which I refused to prevent his condition from further deteriorating. He likes to talk and required minimal encouragement to do so, which I believe helped him stay conscious and moving.
Derek kept reminding me that it was critical that I stay healthy. I probably should have ditched the ironing board, which added weight and limited options for carrying his pack, which kept getting caught on the board as I shifted it between shoulders when they got sore. Fortunately that proved to be my only problem other than dehydration near the end. My energy held up well due to 3 liters of Gatorade and a dozen Clif Bars providing plenty of calories. My own body had bonked on a ruck a month ago, so I was quite surprised when it took this situation in stride. Maybe adrenalin kicked in.
As we descended in the darkness, we could see the headlamps from those three hikers ahead of us. When they got down, they informed folks at the Paradise Inn that we had an injured hiker and were still coming down the mountain. Martie and Audrey met us on the paved trail maybe 15 minutes from the Inn. Martie gave Derek a brownie and carried his pack while I told her our story. Audrey took over with Derek, observing him and keeping him talking. When we eventually reached the inn, they provided food, water, and painkillers. Rainier has no cell coverage or public internet, so they let us use the house phone to contact our families to let them know we were OK. I fetched Derek’s truck, loaded it, and drove him home. He stayed awake for the whole drive to ensure that I did. Conveniently, my car was parked at his place and I got home around 2:00am.
Derek is a fellow Landmark graduate, so we started reflecting on our communication and other failures before we even got down. That pattern of me hiking ahead was not new to me and I had recommended it to a couple earlier in the hike but failed to make that arrangement with Derek. As our morning drive kept stretching out and our hike didn’t keep our expected pace, I grew concerned that we would run out of daylight, but I did not mention these fears to Derek. I did not have the courage to get him to turnaround when we met on my way down, which would have left him in better condition and saved an hour of daylight. For his part, earlier that weekend, he had been ill and considered rescheduling but did not mention that to me. In that critical moment, he got angry at me and stubborn about getting to Muir. Throughout the descent and drive, Derek admitted he fucked up and continually expressed gratitude for me getting him off that mountain. He will post-mortem the whole affair with his Landmark coach and his girlfriend Britta.
I learned many lessons yesterday. My “act” showed up big time. I do many things alone to avoid letting less able or conscientious people put my goals or safety at risk. I am not used to someone having my back, having been taught fierce independence by my family and having my ex-wife grow distant exactly when I needed her the most. Being so conscientious of risk, I typically avoid them but this situation proved to me that I can take more risk and draw on my strengths to ensure things work out. I was physically strong enough to carry both packs down and mentally strong enough to do what was necessary to keep us working together and focused on getting down safely. Derek and my relationship deepened with this experience, we are brothers now.
I am grateful for the help we received from people and the weather. It is a clear triumph that this ended well, after mismanaging our gear and time that produced extreme risk. I was truly scared and am still a bit shaken by the experience as I write this. This was one hell of a way to celebrate a birthday.
Jeff
::: captioned-image-container
