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The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier
“With distinctive wit and uncommon intelligence,” a Seattle writer offers a “provocative, highly original” profile of Mount Rainier—capturing the majestic beauty and deadly allure of one of the largest active volcanoes in the U.S. (Jon Krakauer, author of Into Thin Air )
Mount Rainier is one of the largest and most dangerous volcanoes in the country, both an awesome natural monument and a formidable presence of peril. In The Measure of a Mountain, Seattle writer Bruce Barcott sets out to grasp the spirit of Rainier through an exploratory, meandering, and deeply personal journey along its massive flanks. From forest to precipice, thinning air to fractured glaciers, he explores not only the physique of Rainier but the psychology and meaning of all mountains—and the deep connection that exists between humans and landscape.
What he finds is a complex of moss-bearded hemlocks and old-growth firs, high meadows that blossom according to a precise natural timeclock, sheets of crumbling pumice, fractured glaciers, and unsteady magma. Rainier’s snow fields bristle with bug life, and its marmots chew rocks to keep their teeth from overgrowing. The mountain rumbles with seismic twitches and jerks, seeing one-hundred-thirty earthquakes annually . . . Rainier is an obsession, a temple that attracts its own passionate acolytes—from scientists and priests to rangers, and mountain guides—as well as a monument to death. Referred to by locals as simply “the mountain,” it is the single largest feature of the Pacific Northwest landscape—provided it isn’t hidden in clouds. Visible or not, though, Rainer’s presence is undeniable.
Filled with adventure, poignant personal reflections, and fascinating mountain lore told by Indian chiefs, professional guides, priests, and scientists, The Measure of a Mountain is one man’s stirring quest to reconcile with a dazzling creation of nature, at once alluring and sometimes deadly.
Mount Rainier is one of the largest and most dangerous volcanoes in the country, both an awesome natural monument and a formidable presence of peril. In The Measure of a Mountain, Seattle writer Bruce Barcott sets out to grasp the spirit of Rainier through an exploratory, meandering, and deeply personal journey along its massive flanks. From forest to precipice, thinning air to fractured glaciers, he explores not only the physique of Rainier but the psychology and meaning of all mountains—and the deep connection that exists between humans and landscape.
What he finds is a complex of moss-bearded hemlocks and old-growth firs, high meadows that blossom according to a precise natural timeclock, sheets of crumbling pumice, fractured glaciers, and unsteady magma. Rainier’s snow fields bristle with bug life, and its marmots chew rocks to keep their teeth from overgrowing. The mountain rumbles with seismic twitches and jerks, seeing one-hundred-thirty earthquakes annually . . . Rainier is an obsession, a temple that attracts its own passionate acolytes—from scientists and priests to rangers, and mountain guides—as well as a monument to death. Referred to by locals as simply “the mountain,” it is the single largest feature of the Pacific Northwest landscape—provided it isn’t hidden in clouds. Visible or not, though, Rainer’s presence is undeniable.
Filled with adventure, poignant personal reflections, and fascinating mountain lore told by Indian chiefs, professional guides, priests, and scientists, The Measure of a Mountain is one man’s stirring quest to reconcile with a dazzling creation of nature, at once alluring and sometimes deadly.
288 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
About the author
Bruce Barcott
9 books12 followersBruce Barcott is an American editor, environmental journalist and author. He is a contributing editor of Outside and has written articles for The New York Times Magazine, National Geographic, Mother Jones, Sports Illustrated, Harper's Magazine, Legal Affairs, Utne Reader and others. He has also written a number of books including, The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier (1997) and The Last Flight of the Scarlet Macaw: One Woman's Fight to Save the World's Most Beautiful Bird (2008). In 2009 he was named a Guggenheim Fellow in nonfiction.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 77 reviews
June 1, 2019
William Peter Blatty once wrote of a mountain hanging over a city "like a benediction". Ever since I read it I have associated it with Mt Rainier, though it is in no way the mountain Blatty was referring to. Mt Rainier is such an icon in the Pacific Northwest that it is easy to believe that it blesses us all.
I love our mountain and I loved reading about it. If the author had stuck solely to Rainier I would have assigned 5 stars. This rambles a bit, but still is well worth reading.
I love our mountain and I loved reading about it. If the author had stuck solely to Rainier I would have assigned 5 stars. This rambles a bit, but still is well worth reading.
March 18, 2022
I liked Bartcott’s writing. The parenthetic side comments remind me of my inside voice. His description of the Rainier summit climb with RMI brought back memories of my accent. I still remember the route and the views that Bartcott describes.
The book gives a nice history of Mount Rainer and the efforts to change the name to Tahoma. Knowing pieces and having some familiarity helps appreciate the back stories.
Bartcott also explores the motivation of the world’s great climbers with stories of local climbers like Jim Wickwire, Lou Whittaker, and Scott Fischer. We read summaries of accidents on Everest, K2, and elsewhere.
This is neither a focused book on any particular mountain climb like Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mount Everest Disaster, accidents or tragedies (though several on Mount Rainer are covered), nor a history of the formation of Mount Rainier National Park. What it is is an amalgamation of these topics with the personal experiences of Bartcott. I liked it but it might not be for anyone less familiar with the mountain. A strong 3.5 but not enough for me to put it in the fourth category.
The book gives a nice history of Mount Rainer and the efforts to change the name to Tahoma. Knowing pieces and having some familiarity helps appreciate the back stories.
Bartcott also explores the motivation of the world’s great climbers with stories of local climbers like Jim Wickwire, Lou Whittaker, and Scott Fischer. We read summaries of accidents on Everest, K2, and elsewhere.
This is neither a focused book on any particular mountain climb like Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mount Everest Disaster, accidents or tragedies (though several on Mount Rainer are covered), nor a history of the formation of Mount Rainier National Park. What it is is an amalgamation of these topics with the personal experiences of Bartcott. I liked it but it might not be for anyone less familiar with the mountain. A strong 3.5 but not enough for me to put it in the fourth category.
September 28, 2016
Learned more about this massive mountain than perhaps I really wanted to, but there was a lot of good information. Geography, religion, Native American, park preservation, volcanology, history, and other angles taken to flesh out the story of the iconic massif. I love reading about climbing, but I am not crazy enough to attempt it myself. Can you imagine the damage I could do to cities below if I ever fell? Anyway, there were times I had trouble focusing on the text, but still I thought it good.
July 17, 2019
(This is a re-post from a review on my blog: https://www.samritchie.io/book-the-me...)
Last Spring, while preparing for my attempt on the Rainier Infinity Loop, I bought two books on Mt Rainier... and failed to read either of them. My invite to that adventure had come out of nowhere; I knew nothing about the park, the area, the mountain or its history, and it felt important to develop some sense of the mountain I planned on running over and around.
So I bought The Challenge of Rainier, a collection of trip reports by Dee Molenaar, and The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier, by Bruce Barcott, an environmental journalist from Washington. They lived on my desk for months, untouched. I contemplated bailing on the trip - I wasn't prepared! I was only running a few times a week! Actually reading the books represented a commitment I wasn't sure I wanted to make.
With two week's notice I decided to go, had a hell of a time and generated this trip report. A year later, here in July of 2019, I finally read The Measure of a Mountain, and wish I'd done so before my trip to Rainier.
The book comes in two parts, interleaved; the first, the book's center, is a series of essays about the mountain's natural and human history, its geology, its incredible allure and danger. I loved each of these, and I'll summarize and talk more about each. The second part is a memoir of Barcott's experiences living near the mountain and building up his courage to go attempt to hike around it, and, eventually, to make a (guided) attempt at the summit. I'll cover these in order.
The essays start with the history of the mountain's name, and the battle to restore its original title. Why Rainier? What about the original "Tahoma", or "Tachoma"? Rainier seems to have won in a way that "McKinley" hasn't in Alaska over the beautiful "Mt Denali".
Next, "Aerial Plankton" covers the incredible number of bugs that blow onto the mountain's shoulders from the farmland below, feeding a huge number of birds and mammals that live in the rocks of the upper mountain and sustaining life far higher than you might expect.
Edwards once calculated that on a given summer day - mid-June is usually the peak - a standing twelve-ton crop of desiccating insects sits on the mountain's permanent snow. (p. 54)
"Grind the Mountain's Shattered Bones" is about the glaciers that cover Rainier. The melting ice is constantly raining rocks down on climbers and filling the rivers with milky rock dust. Why do we use the phrase "glacially pure" about the clearest water? Glaciers are full of dead insects, rock, decaying plants, filthy dust and dirt packed between layers of ice. It makes no sense!
Then "Volcano", about what might happen if Rainier explodes, and a startling account of the thousand foot thick mud flows to the ocean that the last big explosion wrought on Washington. The mountain might have been as high as 16,000 feet, almost 1,600 feet higher than its current elevation of 14,411 feet above sea level. The top blew off just under 6,000 years ago and buried forests under a massive mudslide on its way to the ocean.
Barcott is building up his nerve to climb the mountain himself, or think about climbing it, as he moves into the chapters about his fall and spring hikes on the Wonderland trail ("Mountain Dreams"), and about the death of Scott Fischer, a climbing guide he met while researching the book. Scott died on Everest. During their one meeting, Scott waxed eloquent to Barcott about his "theory of choices", the idea that people die in the mountains exclusively because of preventable human error. Now he's dead.
I could relate to Barcott's fear and confusion about the whole mountain thing, here. I love to go run around the mountains, but the idea of going into the high alpine for weeks at a time just seems insane and risky. What is there to find up there?
"Cliffhangers" is about that question, about adventure memoirs, about the shifting focus of adventure stories over the years as the obvious frontiers disappeared and all the mountains were "conquered". Note the curious lack of self-awareness; Barcott doesn't see himself in this category, I don't think, or doesn't realize that the open disdain he heaps on this style of writing applies to his own book's endcaps.
"Camp Muir" is about the scene at the halfway point of the mountain, about Barcott's trips up and his thoughts about maybe climbing the mountain, someday, with his father; then "That Hell-Tainted Air" about what happens to the body up high, and the human history of various cultures trying to figure out why people get sick in the mountains. Spirits? Poison in the air itself?
"Meadow Stomping" is a wonderful chapter about the conservation efforts going on in the various meadows around Rainier. These are unbelievable, gorgeous meadows full of the most colorful shocks of flowers you can imagine. It only looks like this now because of the heroic conservations efforts of the staff that work the greenhouse at Paradise are taking to grow seedlings over the course of years and then carefully transplant them back to the exact environment they came from. The meadows need this help because of the decades of stomping and smashing of tourists that destroyed everything beautiful within any reasonable distance of a road or campground.
"We Go to the Mountain" is a blow-by-blow report of how two young men, inexperienced, died trying to set up a bivy for a climber with a broken ankle on the Emmons glacier. The errors are always so clear in retrospect, but the difficulty of communicating and moving around on the mountain makes it so hard to tell when an emergency is developing. At the end of this chapter, all I could think was, "fuck the mountains." I'm so glad I don't have an obsession with steep, icy peaks, like so many of my friends here in Boulder.
A chapter on "The Constant Presence of God" on spirituality in the mountains seemed like a throwaway for the author; closer to home, for him and for me, was the chapter on quitting, on bailing, "Naught Without Prudence", on how when things don't feel right you need to buck cultural programming and get the hell out of the mountains if you're lucky enough to be in a situation where you still can.
Now, my summary of, and reaction to, the adventure memoir portions of the book.
Barcott gets his ass kicked by the Wonderland trail. He goes out to backpack the 93 mile loop in rain and fog and the beginnings of snow, suffering from soaked boots and soaked pack, and gives up after four days. I loved the descriptions of various points on the trail that I recognized, but I was uncomfortable, as I am more and more, with the suffer-porn feel of the trip report. To be fair, the weather sounds miserable:
At Mowich Lake, four days into the journey, I quit the mountain. The inexorable moist had crept into the cells of my sleeping bag. I could have filled a bath with the water from my wrung-out socks. My boots were terminally damp. I no longer bothered to hang my wet underwear in the tent, because the cotton absorbed more dew than it shed... I retired for the winter, beaten. (p. 33)
But then, after a year of preparation and training for the summit attempt Barcott knows he's going to have to make and include in the book, he seems to revel in how brutal his final two-day push feels.
We smiled for the camera but not for ourselves. I found myself caring about nothing except the rudiments of survival: warmth, water, and food. My mind had entered a latitude of apathy and despair. Hiking to the register seemed a ridiculous waste of energy. I was here; would my signature prove anything more? (p. 245)
Stressing the misery of his first trip to Rainier, to Wonderland, is fine. But by the time he takes on the summit, Barcott's been to Camp Muir (halfway up Rainier, above 10,000 feet) many times and is visiting Rainier constantly, so much so that, according to the book, he's jeopardized a new relationship with his obsession.
Camp Muir to the top is about the same distance and elevation as Paradise (the trailhead) to Camp Muir. Why not go to Camp Muir and back a few days in a row? And if you don't complete the training that is so obviously required, why write a trip report that celebrates how miserable and hard the hike was, without acknowledging that maybe you'd have enjoyed the view a bit more if you'd romanticized the experience less and prepared?
In the middle of the book Barcott comes down hard on a particular style of adventure writing:
The climbing memoir seems particularly well suited to egobiography, that self-help tale wherein the hero, through luck, pluck and a good therapist, finds happiness in self-acceptance. (p. 129)
The suffer porn of the final chapter feels like a parallel genre, where the author fails to prepare, and instead of noting that there are lots of other people that did prepare, and, surprise, had an easier time - externalizes all the difficulty onto the landscape and goes on about how hostile and horrible the experience had to be.
How can I enjoy reading about pride in a total lack of preparation?
I'm not proud of my reaction to stories of sufferfests that just don't have to be that hard. But, wait... in this case, could these feelings be linked to my annoyance at my own lack of preparation on Rainier, which led to my own experience quitting on the second ascent of the mountain during the Infinity Loop attempt? Well, let's not look too deeply into that!
Still, I can't resist saying that I wouldn't recommend reading this book as an adventure memoir. There are plenty of people who are very comfortable hiking long distances in all weather on the Wonderland trail. Let yourself be seduced by Barcott's descriptions of the trail, its meadows, it's ethereal views of Rainier, the objective danger that its remote feel and weather offer. But go! Go to the mountain! Experience it for yourself. And train a little before you go.
As I noted above, I wish I'd read this book before attempting the Infinity Loop. We go to the mountains to generate stories, and I think it's important to frame those stories in the larger history of the place where they're occurring, if not within the history of all of the other trip reports of those who tried similar adventures before. Why is this mountain covered in glaciers? Who's been here before? Who built this incredible trail, and what did it take to get it built?
Grab a copy of The Measure of a Mountain and book yourself a trip to the Cascades.
Last Spring, while preparing for my attempt on the Rainier Infinity Loop, I bought two books on Mt Rainier... and failed to read either of them. My invite to that adventure had come out of nowhere; I knew nothing about the park, the area, the mountain or its history, and it felt important to develop some sense of the mountain I planned on running over and around.
So I bought The Challenge of Rainier, a collection of trip reports by Dee Molenaar, and The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier, by Bruce Barcott, an environmental journalist from Washington. They lived on my desk for months, untouched. I contemplated bailing on the trip - I wasn't prepared! I was only running a few times a week! Actually reading the books represented a commitment I wasn't sure I wanted to make.
With two week's notice I decided to go, had a hell of a time and generated this trip report. A year later, here in July of 2019, I finally read The Measure of a Mountain, and wish I'd done so before my trip to Rainier.
The book comes in two parts, interleaved; the first, the book's center, is a series of essays about the mountain's natural and human history, its geology, its incredible allure and danger. I loved each of these, and I'll summarize and talk more about each. The second part is a memoir of Barcott's experiences living near the mountain and building up his courage to go attempt to hike around it, and, eventually, to make a (guided) attempt at the summit. I'll cover these in order.
The essays start with the history of the mountain's name, and the battle to restore its original title. Why Rainier? What about the original "Tahoma", or "Tachoma"? Rainier seems to have won in a way that "McKinley" hasn't in Alaska over the beautiful "Mt Denali".
Next, "Aerial Plankton" covers the incredible number of bugs that blow onto the mountain's shoulders from the farmland below, feeding a huge number of birds and mammals that live in the rocks of the upper mountain and sustaining life far higher than you might expect.
Edwards once calculated that on a given summer day - mid-June is usually the peak - a standing twelve-ton crop of desiccating insects sits on the mountain's permanent snow. (p. 54)
"Grind the Mountain's Shattered Bones" is about the glaciers that cover Rainier. The melting ice is constantly raining rocks down on climbers and filling the rivers with milky rock dust. Why do we use the phrase "glacially pure" about the clearest water? Glaciers are full of dead insects, rock, decaying plants, filthy dust and dirt packed between layers of ice. It makes no sense!
Then "Volcano", about what might happen if Rainier explodes, and a startling account of the thousand foot thick mud flows to the ocean that the last big explosion wrought on Washington. The mountain might have been as high as 16,000 feet, almost 1,600 feet higher than its current elevation of 14,411 feet above sea level. The top blew off just under 6,000 years ago and buried forests under a massive mudslide on its way to the ocean.
Barcott is building up his nerve to climb the mountain himself, or think about climbing it, as he moves into the chapters about his fall and spring hikes on the Wonderland trail ("Mountain Dreams"), and about the death of Scott Fischer, a climbing guide he met while researching the book. Scott died on Everest. During their one meeting, Scott waxed eloquent to Barcott about his "theory of choices", the idea that people die in the mountains exclusively because of preventable human error. Now he's dead.
I could relate to Barcott's fear and confusion about the whole mountain thing, here. I love to go run around the mountains, but the idea of going into the high alpine for weeks at a time just seems insane and risky. What is there to find up there?
"Cliffhangers" is about that question, about adventure memoirs, about the shifting focus of adventure stories over the years as the obvious frontiers disappeared and all the mountains were "conquered". Note the curious lack of self-awareness; Barcott doesn't see himself in this category, I don't think, or doesn't realize that the open disdain he heaps on this style of writing applies to his own book's endcaps.
"Camp Muir" is about the scene at the halfway point of the mountain, about Barcott's trips up and his thoughts about maybe climbing the mountain, someday, with his father; then "That Hell-Tainted Air" about what happens to the body up high, and the human history of various cultures trying to figure out why people get sick in the mountains. Spirits? Poison in the air itself?
"Meadow Stomping" is a wonderful chapter about the conservation efforts going on in the various meadows around Rainier. These are unbelievable, gorgeous meadows full of the most colorful shocks of flowers you can imagine. It only looks like this now because of the heroic conservations efforts of the staff that work the greenhouse at Paradise are taking to grow seedlings over the course of years and then carefully transplant them back to the exact environment they came from. The meadows need this help because of the decades of stomping and smashing of tourists that destroyed everything beautiful within any reasonable distance of a road or campground.
"We Go to the Mountain" is a blow-by-blow report of how two young men, inexperienced, died trying to set up a bivy for a climber with a broken ankle on the Emmons glacier. The errors are always so clear in retrospect, but the difficulty of communicating and moving around on the mountain makes it so hard to tell when an emergency is developing. At the end of this chapter, all I could think was, "fuck the mountains." I'm so glad I don't have an obsession with steep, icy peaks, like so many of my friends here in Boulder.
A chapter on "The Constant Presence of God" on spirituality in the mountains seemed like a throwaway for the author; closer to home, for him and for me, was the chapter on quitting, on bailing, "Naught Without Prudence", on how when things don't feel right you need to buck cultural programming and get the hell out of the mountains if you're lucky enough to be in a situation where you still can.
Now, my summary of, and reaction to, the adventure memoir portions of the book.
Barcott gets his ass kicked by the Wonderland trail. He goes out to backpack the 93 mile loop in rain and fog and the beginnings of snow, suffering from soaked boots and soaked pack, and gives up after four days. I loved the descriptions of various points on the trail that I recognized, but I was uncomfortable, as I am more and more, with the suffer-porn feel of the trip report. To be fair, the weather sounds miserable:
At Mowich Lake, four days into the journey, I quit the mountain. The inexorable moist had crept into the cells of my sleeping bag. I could have filled a bath with the water from my wrung-out socks. My boots were terminally damp. I no longer bothered to hang my wet underwear in the tent, because the cotton absorbed more dew than it shed... I retired for the winter, beaten. (p. 33)
But then, after a year of preparation and training for the summit attempt Barcott knows he's going to have to make and include in the book, he seems to revel in how brutal his final two-day push feels.
We smiled for the camera but not for ourselves. I found myself caring about nothing except the rudiments of survival: warmth, water, and food. My mind had entered a latitude of apathy and despair. Hiking to the register seemed a ridiculous waste of energy. I was here; would my signature prove anything more? (p. 245)
Stressing the misery of his first trip to Rainier, to Wonderland, is fine. But by the time he takes on the summit, Barcott's been to Camp Muir (halfway up Rainier, above 10,000 feet) many times and is visiting Rainier constantly, so much so that, according to the book, he's jeopardized a new relationship with his obsession.
Camp Muir to the top is about the same distance and elevation as Paradise (the trailhead) to Camp Muir. Why not go to Camp Muir and back a few days in a row? And if you don't complete the training that is so obviously required, why write a trip report that celebrates how miserable and hard the hike was, without acknowledging that maybe you'd have enjoyed the view a bit more if you'd romanticized the experience less and prepared?
In the middle of the book Barcott comes down hard on a particular style of adventure writing:
The climbing memoir seems particularly well suited to egobiography, that self-help tale wherein the hero, through luck, pluck and a good therapist, finds happiness in self-acceptance. (p. 129)
The suffer porn of the final chapter feels like a parallel genre, where the author fails to prepare, and instead of noting that there are lots of other people that did prepare, and, surprise, had an easier time - externalizes all the difficulty onto the landscape and goes on about how hostile and horrible the experience had to be.
How can I enjoy reading about pride in a total lack of preparation?
I'm not proud of my reaction to stories of sufferfests that just don't have to be that hard. But, wait... in this case, could these feelings be linked to my annoyance at my own lack of preparation on Rainier, which led to my own experience quitting on the second ascent of the mountain during the Infinity Loop attempt? Well, let's not look too deeply into that!
Still, I can't resist saying that I wouldn't recommend reading this book as an adventure memoir. There are plenty of people who are very comfortable hiking long distances in all weather on the Wonderland trail. Let yourself be seduced by Barcott's descriptions of the trail, its meadows, it's ethereal views of Rainier, the objective danger that its remote feel and weather offer. But go! Go to the mountain! Experience it for yourself. And train a little before you go.
As I noted above, I wish I'd read this book before attempting the Infinity Loop. We go to the mountains to generate stories, and I think it's important to frame those stories in the larger history of the place where they're occurring, if not within the history of all of the other trip reports of those who tried similar adventures before. Why is this mountain covered in glaciers? Who's been here before? Who built this incredible trail, and what did it take to get it built?
Grab a copy of The Measure of a Mountain and book yourself a trip to the Cascades.
March 28, 2022
A well-written, anecdote-filled account of Barcott’s traversing of Mt. Rainier as well as his interactions with iconic, but ultimately ill-fated Seattle climbing guru, Scott Fischer.
Bruce Barcott describes both the physical pain climbing involves, as well as the psychic need modern men and women seem to crave.
I found the book riveting and would recommend it to anyone contemplating a serious climb.
Bruce Barcott describes both the physical pain climbing involves, as well as the psychic need modern men and women seem to crave.
I found the book riveting and would recommend it to anyone contemplating a serious climb.
October 10, 2023
Oh my goodness, this is the most relatable story telling of a mountain experience and ascent I’ve ever read. The stream of consciousness that the author occasionally lapses into felt so organic to me, and I loved how he weaves in mythology, biology, personal anecdote, and great mountaineering stories.
I would recommend this book for anyone who thinks they might love mountains above all else.
I would recommend this book for anyone who thinks they might love mountains above all else.
December 7, 2020
This book was hit or miss. Some chapters were great, others weren’t. Sometimes the flow was really awkward between chapters. I struggled most with the authors personal account with climbing - he is so dramatic about the altitude in my opinion (I live and play at altitudes that he goes in about so I’m probably just not use to the struggles people face from sea level as camping at 10,000-12,000 feet is nothing big to me). Not exactly what I was expecting from the book, but still learned a lot. Made me want to climb the mountain even more.
June 26, 2014
Loved the beginning and certain sections of the book. Some places had an odd flow, but over all a nice picture of how people feel about rainier. I thought the section on mountain climbing and death in the middle was too long and drawn out as it didn't actually have much to do with rainier specifically and also didn't flow like the rest of the book. But once pat that section I enjoyed the rest!
October 20, 2015
Climbing Mount Rainier = most definitely not for me, in case I had ever questioned. Before reading this book I was like, "Huh. Climbing Mount Rainier? That's pretty cool!" And reading this I'm like "Wow, that's stupid! YOU COULD DIE."
Reading a book about Mount Rainier = definitely for me. Entertaining and enlightening.
Reading a book about Mount Rainier = definitely for me. Entertaining and enlightening.
January 13, 2023
Bruce Barcott shares great information about Mount Rainer as well as other tall mountains across the world in The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier. His research, writing, humor, and personal experiences with Rainer are compelling.
Rainer is the largest and most dangerous volcano in the country. Rainer sits in the middle of the Ring of Fire chain of volcanoes. However, geologists are more concerned with Rainer collapsing rather than erupting.
Rainer has a Cheshire-like quality of appearing and disappearing at will. People in the PNW stop and stare when Rainer reveals itself. My daughter is a middle school teacher near Mt. Rainer and her classroom window has amazing views of this sacred, iconic mountain.
Rainer stands proudly at 14,410 feet above sea level and is the fifth tallest mountain in the US, except for Alaska. Rainer has 25 glaciers; there are 700 glaciers in Washington state. Rainer's glacial ice would cover the state of Tennessee.
An interesting piece of history---the first American climbers to conquer Mt. Everest trained on Rainer due to the similarities of massive ice flows and furious winds that mimic Himalayan conditions. Every year, over 600 inches of snow fall on Rainer. During the winter of 1971-1972, almost 1,200 inches of snow fell.
I live in the PNW and did not know that there was a debate on the name of Rainer that went on for over 100 years. Native Americans called it Tahoma, which ended up being pronounced Tacoma. It was called Mount Tacoma until 1899 when President McKinley signed Mount Rainer National Park into existence. In 1917, public opinion, including Helen Keller when she visited the area, wanted it changed back to Tacoma. In 1921, Civil War veterans wanted it renamed to Mount Lincoln. In 1924, the US Senate voted to rename it Mount Tacoma. The bill stalled due to the Teapot Dome scandal and then failed to garner enough votes.
Vulnerability sharpens every sense. We come to the mountain seeking both beauty and terror. The first rule of mountain climbing is that nothing counts if you don't make it down. Every climber has a set of Stay Alive rules. Your decisions have life or death consequences. Mountain climbing is a library of death. For every three climbers to make it to the top of Everest, one dies trying.
In 1981, an avalanche occured on Rainer's Ingraham glacier and engulfed 29 climbers; 11 perished. It is still the deadliest accident in American climbing history.
A year before, on May 18, 1980 Mount Saint Helens erupted and killed 57 people. During the eight weeks prior to the eruption, over 10,000 earthquakes were recorded. Now there is frequent tracking of earthquake activity to understand if it might be a precursor to volcanic eruptions.
Barcott shares that mountains are the nearest point between heaven and earth. The top of Rainer is a place of powerful spirits. The stars are so big that you think they are houses.
Barcott also recommended several other books including Mountain Fever: Historic Conquests of Rainier.
Rainer is the largest and most dangerous volcano in the country. Rainer sits in the middle of the Ring of Fire chain of volcanoes. However, geologists are more concerned with Rainer collapsing rather than erupting.
Rainer has a Cheshire-like quality of appearing and disappearing at will. People in the PNW stop and stare when Rainer reveals itself. My daughter is a middle school teacher near Mt. Rainer and her classroom window has amazing views of this sacred, iconic mountain.
Rainer stands proudly at 14,410 feet above sea level and is the fifth tallest mountain in the US, except for Alaska. Rainer has 25 glaciers; there are 700 glaciers in Washington state. Rainer's glacial ice would cover the state of Tennessee.
An interesting piece of history---the first American climbers to conquer Mt. Everest trained on Rainer due to the similarities of massive ice flows and furious winds that mimic Himalayan conditions. Every year, over 600 inches of snow fall on Rainer. During the winter of 1971-1972, almost 1,200 inches of snow fell.
I live in the PNW and did not know that there was a debate on the name of Rainer that went on for over 100 years. Native Americans called it Tahoma, which ended up being pronounced Tacoma. It was called Mount Tacoma until 1899 when President McKinley signed Mount Rainer National Park into existence. In 1917, public opinion, including Helen Keller when she visited the area, wanted it changed back to Tacoma. In 1921, Civil War veterans wanted it renamed to Mount Lincoln. In 1924, the US Senate voted to rename it Mount Tacoma. The bill stalled due to the Teapot Dome scandal and then failed to garner enough votes.
Vulnerability sharpens every sense. We come to the mountain seeking both beauty and terror. The first rule of mountain climbing is that nothing counts if you don't make it down. Every climber has a set of Stay Alive rules. Your decisions have life or death consequences. Mountain climbing is a library of death. For every three climbers to make it to the top of Everest, one dies trying.
In 1981, an avalanche occured on Rainer's Ingraham glacier and engulfed 29 climbers; 11 perished. It is still the deadliest accident in American climbing history.
A year before, on May 18, 1980 Mount Saint Helens erupted and killed 57 people. During the eight weeks prior to the eruption, over 10,000 earthquakes were recorded. Now there is frequent tracking of earthquake activity to understand if it might be a precursor to volcanic eruptions.
Barcott shares that mountains are the nearest point between heaven and earth. The top of Rainer is a place of powerful spirits. The stars are so big that you think they are houses.
Barcott also recommended several other books including Mountain Fever: Historic Conquests of Rainier.
April 19, 2023
An extreme fear of heights became obvious when my dad and I rode the double ferris-wheel at a county fair. While he strained forward, gleefully enjoying the ride and the view, I desperately clutched the canvas safety strap that loosely encircled my ten-year-old tummy, mouth a rigid white line. Back on Mother Earth, my dad said, "I guess you don't like heights?"
I spent the next fifty years avoiding anything higher than two stories. I've never had much interest in mountains and I've never understood people who climb them, but eventually authors Claire Dederer and C.J. Box led me to Bruce Barcott. I started reading The Measure Of A Mountain as I was coming down a mountain myself: pneumonia & major surgery. It was the perfect book to lift low spirits out of an even lower sickness funk. Beautifully crafted sentences, smooth transitions, and a serious narrative sprinkled with enough wry irony to make me laugh out loud so often, my husband became intrigued. He'd read snippets when he found the book unattended and began to ask, "Are you done yet? Did he (Bruce) ever climb that damn mountain?" Even a chapter on bugs was interesting enough to keep me reading long past midnight, and didn't give me nightmares. The Measure Of A Mountain did give me a fresh perspective on mountains, and a new respect for people who need to climb them.
I spent the next fifty years avoiding anything higher than two stories. I've never had much interest in mountains and I've never understood people who climb them, but eventually authors Claire Dederer and C.J. Box led me to Bruce Barcott. I started reading The Measure Of A Mountain as I was coming down a mountain myself: pneumonia & major surgery. It was the perfect book to lift low spirits out of an even lower sickness funk. Beautifully crafted sentences, smooth transitions, and a serious narrative sprinkled with enough wry irony to make me laugh out loud so often, my husband became intrigued. He'd read snippets when he found the book unattended and began to ask, "Are you done yet? Did he (Bruce) ever climb that damn mountain?" Even a chapter on bugs was interesting enough to keep me reading long past midnight, and didn't give me nightmares. The Measure Of A Mountain did give me a fresh perspective on mountains, and a new respect for people who need to climb them.
September 22, 2024
At once both comprehensive and efficient, even lean, The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier by Bruce Barcott marks my first book read on the iconic Cascade volcano. I assume there will be more, as I contemplate attempting the climb myself. I hope to read and watch a great deal of mountaineering literature this fall and winter, in preparation for an intended hiking trip to Colorado next summer. Barcott’s book proved a great introductory choice to one of the most popular and imposing summits in the United States.
The Measure of a Mountain provides geological and historical chapters, passages devoted to hiking the surrounding countryside, and even political wrangling over the official name of the mountain. People looking for a non-fiction thriller may need to look elsewhere. That said, the book includes riveting chapters on some who met a tragic end, and a climactic chapter on the author attempting the summit alongside his father.
There is much heartfelt introspection and philosophizing, for which avid Everest readers like me have a taste. The prose is lyrical with a literary flare, even a bit indulgent and ornate in places. Yet, Barcott gets down to business and provides a useful primer on the mountain’s culture and features. It brings me closer to a possible day, perhaps in 2 or 3 years, when I may attempt Mount Rainier.
The Measure of a Mountain provides geological and historical chapters, passages devoted to hiking the surrounding countryside, and even political wrangling over the official name of the mountain. People looking for a non-fiction thriller may need to look elsewhere. That said, the book includes riveting chapters on some who met a tragic end, and a climactic chapter on the author attempting the summit alongside his father.
There is much heartfelt introspection and philosophizing, for which avid Everest readers like me have a taste. The prose is lyrical with a literary flare, even a bit indulgent and ornate in places. Yet, Barcott gets down to business and provides a useful primer on the mountain’s culture and features. It brings me closer to a possible day, perhaps in 2 or 3 years, when I may attempt Mount Rainier.
June 19, 2024
Aside from the interesting prose at the beginning, this is a great tale about a mountain told from many perspectives, presented in an accessible format (quick essays, short stories, excerpts from old tomes, etc.) that will keep you turning pages.
It's through the author's eventual infatuation with Tacoma (Rainier) that he shares his interactions with mountaineering experts, park rangers, wildlife biologists, botanists, volcanologists, geologists and just about every other scientist who studies mountains and their surrounding area, not to mention, many many trips to the mountain. It's packed full of history, publicitiy stunts, shrinking glaciers, timber and mining, the triumphant and tragic and Indigenous traditions and stories. It’s an endearing and enduring valentine to a peak many of us in the Puget Sound area, see daily. That is, if ‘the Mountain’s out’.
It's through the author's eventual infatuation with Tacoma (Rainier) that he shares his interactions with mountaineering experts, park rangers, wildlife biologists, botanists, volcanologists, geologists and just about every other scientist who studies mountains and their surrounding area, not to mention, many many trips to the mountain. It's packed full of history, publicitiy stunts, shrinking glaciers, timber and mining, the triumphant and tragic and Indigenous traditions and stories. It’s an endearing and enduring valentine to a peak many of us in the Puget Sound area, see daily. That is, if ‘the Mountain’s out’.
September 25, 2022
Entranced by Mount Rainier’s magnetism or attraction, Bruce Barcott was eager to do more than hike through or camp in it’s beauty. This is a memoir of a man who desired intimacy with Mount Rainier. Yes he wanted to experience all the hikes around Mount Rainier and, yes, climb to the summit but he wanted more than that. He dug deep to fully know its legends, its history, its flora, its fauna, its entomology, its geology, its glaciers, its climate, its triumphs, and its disasters. In this pursuit he consulted specialist in each field of study who had zeroed in on Mount Rainier. Following this pursuit by reading The Measure of A Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier was not just informative and humorous, it was riveting.
August 3, 2019
An immense amount of research/knowledge has gone into this book and that is obvious. I picked it up because as a resident of Seattle, I wanted to learn about this majestic natural wonder and a bit of history around it. I got way more than I bargained for, and actually couldn’t keep up too well with all the names, facts and figures. I think the actual audience this book would appeal to are mountaineers or locals to the area. Not for me, but learned some interesting things along the way and reaffirmed to myself that I won’t be climbing it because I like the higher odds of surviving on flat land with all my oxygen :)
May 3, 2020
Mount Rainier fans will enjoy this book about humanity's relationship with the mountain. It's told in a first person account, bringing the reader along with the author as he speaks with and accompanies mountaineers, park rangers, and researchers (including one of my college professors). Plenty of personal touches, self deprication, humor, science, and history. The author bookends the informative chapters with chapters on his attempts at circumnavigation and summitting. Would like to see this book updated for the present day. 23 years isn't much in geologic time, but things have changed a lot in terms of management.
July 6, 2021
Narrative of the author's hiking adventures and summit climb on Mount Rainier, interspersed with thoughtful essays on its history, geology, climate, natural features, and flora and fauna. The biggest impact is his examination of the psychological impact of the mountain, both on Pacific Northwest culture and individuals. The writing is artful and meaningful, making it a book to thoroughly enjoy. Likely will only maintain the attention of a reader with a serious interest in Mount Rainier... I know I qualify after backpacking only a night at Glacier Basin. Even though I never saw the summit through the clouds, and it rained virtually the entire time of my backpack, the Wonderland Trail is definitely on my hiking bucket list.
October 20, 2022
“Like rain and rivers and trees, the mountain is a continuous presence in our lives, but in our psychological landscape it occupies a place separate and greater than the forests and falling water. We look at Rainier and feel love for a mountain, if such a thing is possible. The mountain inspires in us a feeling akin to spiritual awe: reverence, adoration, humility. We look at Rainier and regard the vastness of God; yet we look at it and claim it as our own. This strange relationship we have with the mountain is romantic, uninformed, even presumptuous. Rainier is a mountain few of us know.”
February 21, 2022
The Measure of a Mountain: Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier / Bruce Barcott. A gift from a friend because of our interest in Rainier, we were astonished at the quality of Barcott’s writing. It is little wonder that he later received a Guggenheim Fellowship. Many adjectives come to mind to describe this extensive 1997 history, personal and public, of the 14,000+ft. peak in Washington State: humorous, intimate, natural, engaging, tragic, poignant, eerie, ironic…. We loved it.
October 21, 2019
Great book about a man's desire to hike and climb Mount Rainier. Good story; kept me interested. It does include side stories about famous mountain climbers and tragedy on other peaks. I skipped over this to get back to Barcott's personal experience. And it includes history and geology of Rainier.
May 25, 2020
Fantastic writing.
Mt Rainer is explored so thoroughly in this book, this author doesn’t love the Mountain, he adores this mountain.
Really glad I read this book.
I wish there were more photos, maybe the print copy has photos, I read the kindle version.
Mt Rainer is explored so thoroughly in this book, this author doesn’t love the Mountain, he adores this mountain.
Really glad I read this book.
I wish there were more photos, maybe the print copy has photos, I read the kindle version.
October 19, 2022
A good dive into the natural and human history of Mt. Rainier. Prose is of good quality. The author really shines in his journalistic research and account of all topics addressed. Worth a read if you want to know too much about The Mountain or are considering spending too much time near or on it.
May 15, 2023
Having not yet visited Mount Rainier, Barcott did an excellent job providing a primer of the mountain. The blend of historical facts and personal anecdotes woven together in a delightful package made this a splendid read. I definitely intend to visit.
September 5, 2023
Mediocre. A few tidbits on Tahoma buried beneath a slog of uninteresting personal anecdotes and occasionally inaccurate information.
Tldr - White man interested in climbing, never actually learns to climb pays RMI to haul his ass up the mountain.
Tldr - White man interested in climbing, never actually learns to climb pays RMI to haul his ass up the mountain.
May 17, 2017
Made me want to climb it.
June 24, 2018
Not a traditional mountaineering book and, probably, all the better for it. It a book full of hard knowledge as well as intelligent, contemplative ruminations about our relationship with mountains.
August 24, 2020
A great read about someone who falls in love with Mt. Rainier.
October 14, 2021
This was just OK. The parts about Mount Rainier itself were a good introduction before our trip to explore the mountain…gave me at least some familiarity
December 2, 2021
The writing is lyrical and thoughtful, as the author takes you with him into discovering all the dimensions of Ranier.
December 14, 2021
A must read for lovers of Mount Rainier.
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