So, I recruited Daniel and Ari for the mission. At the last moment, Daniel was unable to go so I was left wondering if this would be a good idea just as a party of two (where filming isn’t as convenient). When I looked at the situation and realized that this particular weekend was probably my last until late August, we decided to go for it. To maximize the best weather, we actually decided to leave Sunday morning with the hopes that we’d be fast and that we’d storm the mountain, returning to camp by early afternoon and thus back to Seattle by late evening on Monday morning. Things were not to go as expected.

Click here to view the embedded video.

We arrived at the Roger’s Pass Visitor Center (below photo) quite early, around 4pm, I believe. We’d left early so as to get the requisite passes on time. I’d read on the internet that the Visitor Center closed at 4:30, but found myself questioning that as we approached – it was the middle of summer; it doesn’t get dark until quite late. Why would they close so early?

Sure enough, the Visitor Center does close quite late (8:30) and we got started hiking sometime around 4:30 or 5pm. The hike to the meadows beneath Sir Donald was thankfully straightforward and easy, with a nice river and greatly receded glacier providing views along the way. Most of the time, the foreshortened view of Sir Donald is on the horizon to the left. From here, it didn’t look too big. “Hmm, mabye we’ll be down by noon”, I thought. Then we turned left and started up a steep, gravelly trail that deposited us in a small basin beneath the west face where we set up camp. It was nice to have arrived early enough to allow for adequate time to relax before going to bed. A few drops of rain fell on us, nothing significant. There were mixed clouds as we went to bed.

The next morning was quite cloudy and the summit of Sir Donald was hidden in clouds. We began hiking up talus along the way to the the Sir Donald – Uto col. After 30 minutes of rock-hopping, we were on a comfortable trail that led to the col. Another party was up here and another showed up…both of them were on their way to Uto. No one was climbing Sir Donald today. It was understandable: though the pictures don’t show it, from the col, Sir Donald is a sobering sight with it’s long northwest ridge steeply climbing into the sky. On top of that, the col was very windy and the summit was still engulfed in lenticular clouds, an indication that the winds were even worse high above. Ari was visibly disturbed at the sight of the route. I practically had on every piece of clothing as we headed off. We could always turn around.

We started off on exposed 4th class grasping cold limestone as we pulled ourselves up the mountain. Not to far along, we encountered a party descending the route – two older gents who had spent the night on the route. They were in good spirits at least having talked about passing the time in a reasonably comfortable space that was protected from the high winds. We continued on. I wanted to solo as much as possible for the sake of speed, but we didn’t get too far. We doubled the rope and I grabbed the rack and headed off intent on lots of long simul-climbs. I went for long distances placing very little gear. The general consensus on the description of the route was 5.5 steps with lots of 4th class. I thought it was a little more than that. 5.5 was a reasonable ranking, but there was a lot more 5.0 terrain that I was expecting. It was all there and mostly solid, but simply a lot more 5th class than I thought. Assiniboine, having a similar description, was a simpler climb.

The “steps” weren’t very short either. At one point a high steep wall was in front of me which was easily overcome by a left-trending crack that led to a wider crack trending back to the right that I was able to hand-traverse up. Eventually, I spotted one of the rappel stations that marks the descent that was set up in 2003. If you’re wanting to climb this route, be sure that you go to the Roger’s Pass visitor center and get the description of the descent; it will save you a lot of time.

Continuing on, we followed lots of blocky terrain with an occasional slabby section where the climbing felt “real”. I tended to favor different sides of the ridge depending on how I was feeling physically – left for sun and wind, right for cold rock and shade. The exposure is great on both sides, but the air really tugs on the right side over the west face. If the rock looked slabby with cracks, I’d favor the right; otherwise, I’d take a little mental break and go left. It felt like we were moving slowly though. Eventually, I arrived at less steep ground and could see the summit, or what I thought was the summit, fairly far away. It was a steep, sharp, and intimidating pyramid. Well, it usually looks harder than it really is. “Another hour to the summit,” I thought? It would be more than that. At this point, we were on bona fide 3rd class terrain – the first 3rd class of the climb. Ari went lead off for this part. We thought about unroping, but it would have been a pain to coil it, uncoil it and put it back on, etc. At the end of his lead at a nice rest spot, he wisely insisted on taking a break to eat since the summit would probably be exposed to the wind. Ari looked mentally drained. After eating, I took the rack and headed off again. At the top of the steep pyramid, I saw that I still wasn’t at the summit. Another 15-20 minutes. We finally arrived on the summit and I wasn’t keen to linger at all. It had taken us over six ours to climb the route – quite pokey. In order to get down in time, we couldn’t afford to dilly dally. Strangely enough, I still had hopes of driving back this afternoon.

The first part of the descent involves descending down the opposite side of the summit block. This is mostly third class, sometimes loose, that leads down to a broad scree face. We followed cairns and ledges to a pathway that lead under the summit and back to the ridge. At the ridge, we opted to solo down instead of rope up. The climbing was easy but there were moments when the heart pounded extra as we made exposed moves around bulges or thin ledges. The description of the descent talked about “easy descending on the ridge leads to the first rappel station.” It was quite a way before we arrived at the first rappel station. We made two rappels on slings and downclimbed a lot before arriving at the first station. Because we went so far, we were wondering if we’d missed the first one. But, once we got to the end of the second official rappel and saw the characteristic easy downclimb to the third rappel, we realized we were on route. At the end of the fifth rappel, we arrived at the station with the yellow tailings indicating it was time to go down the face. These rappels went quickly. Arriving at the base of the gully, we still had a good amount of downclimbing in front of us. We walked down more ledges with occasional 3rd and 4th class moves to the part labeled “4th class on the descent topo”, which was actually a steep section of polished slabs. Fortunately, I found another new rappel station (not mentioned on the info at the visitor center but obviously installed by the same team). There were two rappel stations that took us to the steep moraine which we followed back to camp just as the sun was setting. There was no real thought of hiking out tonight; that would have been crazy. We just had a meager dinner, a lot of water, and went to bed.

The drive back the next day was pleasant. Ari basically slept the whole way and I drove in silence for 8 hours enjoying the views, never once getting bored. We were one day overdue, but had successfully climbed Sir Donald, which I’d wanted to do for a long time. To those wishing to climb the peak, the only advice I could give is to not underestimate the length of the ridge. Be prepared to solo much of the route or simul-climb efficiently. There’s no way to climb the route in a day if you pitch the whole thing out. Also, more importantly, expect that you will be mentally drained by the constant exposure. If you’re not accustomed to this, it can really sap your will.  Have fun!

Click here to view the embedded video.

We could see the first party above us, scurrying around at the base of the route.  On arriving, we found out they were still trying to find the beginning of the route.  Pointing out to them where it was, they were on their way.  They promised to be quick, which they were.  Aidan then began our climb with the lead, grunting his way up but doing so in great form.  I had always looked forward to just seeing this view of the northeast ridge, but actually standing beneath me had begun to put me in a careful mood.  The first pitch also set the mood.  I began the first couple of moves hesitantly.  Before I was even 15 feet off the ground, I felt like I didn’t have my best mindset or my best skills available to me.  Aidan hollered down, “You’ve got to commit to the lieback!”  I am not a fan of liebacks, never have been.  I found myself trying to avoid doing the lieback moves.  With Aidan’s instruction, I committed to the lieback and started moving up.  I found myself not concentrating as I should, and before I could say anything, my right foot slip, the lieback fell apart and I took a fairly long follower’s fall, puncturing my middle and ring fingers on my right hand and bashing my left knee.  OK, this was not a good start and I found myself in a spooked mindset for most of the climb.  It wasn’t until the fifth pitch that I felt confident enough to take over the lead.

The second part of the first pitch was a hollow flake that required lieback moves the entire way up.  At least I was concentrated more and made the moves without problems, but nervously.  Many other climbers think the crux of the route is the traverse move near the top of the first pitch.  I did not find this hard at all.  I guess this shows me that if I want to be a complete rock-climber, I need to get more comfortable with liebacks.  OK, maybe it’s time to do laps on Godzilla back at Index.

I refused the second pitch as well, which was a good bit easier, but still steep and challenging.  The route climbs up a dike of granite flakes forming numerous short cracks.  Unlike the first pitch, there is plenty of opportunity for good protection.  The third pitch begins with a fifteen foot down-climb from the top of the dike to a depression which leads steeply up and rightward across the face to gain the true ridge.  This pitch is sensational.  Nicely exposed and with thin holds, but at every place that you’d want them.

The third pitch leads to a comfortable belay at the base of the fourth pitch, which is a long skyward reaching corner that leads off steeply and slowly eases in angle. This pitch starts off with an awkward, but not hard, move and then follows the corner for sustained but pleasant climbing up the corner. There are several sections of liebacks, but nothing as hard or as sustained as the first pitch. At the top of the fourth pitch, a 5.6 pitch up another steep, but shorter, crack system led to blockier ground and a long, low-angled chimney. Aidan again asked if I wanted to take the lead. I opted to this time, thinking it would help me clear my head. It did. We simul-climbed a bit and then I brought Aidan up to another good belay somewhere within the chimney and then headed out again.

Aidan took the next pitch, which, if I recall, was a steep face climb with good protection. At this point the pitches started blending together. I don’t recall if it was the same pitch or the next one that we encountered another 5.7 section that was supposed to be a little burly. It wasn’t. The move was short, over a small bulge – nothing as challenging as the opening pitch. At this point, we were nearing the north summit. A steep gendarme blocked the way and we opted to make a difficult and constricted rappel down the east side to easier ground where we could traverse back on to the ridge. We then followed a knife edge to the summit. Beyond, on the traverse to the true summit, the south summit, was more fun knife edge walking. At one point the exposure over the east side is completely sheer – a straight drop down to the Crescent Glacier. In front of us were easy slabs below the north summit, which we traversed around to a large wall. We then headed up the north side of the south summit, following solid finger cracks.

I was relieved to be on the summit. I was definitely ready for the climb to be over. I remarked to Aidan that I thought this was harder than Slesse and that the opening pitch was harder than any pitch on Slesse. Aidan thought me crazy and wisely pointed out that it was due to the mental state. That was true; evaluating the two climbs pitch for pitch, Slesse is a much longer and sustained climb, with more difficult pitches. But, truthfully, I didn’t feel it. But, I did my best to keep my head in the moment. Leading those few pitches helped a lot, but not as much as having such an excellent climbing partner.

The climbers below us, Carl and Tom, soon appeared and we enjoyed our short summit moments together. Then we decided to stick together as we began the descent of Bugaboo Spire. We had read so much about the difficulty and complexity of the descent and Carl backed the story up. I suppose this helped prepare us for the descent, because it didn’t feel nearly as hard, to me, as it was made out to be. It was complex, granted, but not bad at all. The part where we had to pay the most care was locating the rappels. The second, right before the famous gendarme was fairly tricky – a committing and extremely exposed rappel over the east side. From about 3/4ths the length of the rappel is a large notch where the third rappel is. Getting to it requires an easy but exposed traverse while still on rappel.

Beyond the rappel, more exposed knife edges finally led to terrain where we could unrope and down-climb. There’s plenty of 5th class down-climbing but it slowly relents to easy 3rd and 4th class terrain. After hearing the horror stories of the descent, I had likened the descent to the awful on on Slesse. Because of that, this one seemed easy and soon enough we were back at the col. We waited a bit for another party to rappel down the col before beginning our loose descent. It’s almost impossible not to knock rocks down the chute; all it take is vibrations to get rocks moving. Each party absolutely has to wait for others to descend, otherwise it’s quite likely that someone will get hit. At the base of the bergeschrund, we quickly put on our crampons and headed down the ice.

While we were on Bugaboo, Colin and Ross were out climbing the Beckey-Choiunard route on South Howser Tower. They hadn’t returned by the time we got back. Aidan was getting a little worried about them but only a few minutes after dark, after we’d turned in, they showed up. Aidan and I were both very tired, but Colin bounced around camp and chatted as if he’d had a rest day. Ross, on the other hand, hit the hay. Earlier, before going to bed, Aidan and I talked with the campground custodian. He mentioned that weather was most likely moving in tomorrow. Both Aidan and I did not have the desire to do another big rock climb, and were a relieved at the justification of hiking out due to a storm.

Sure enough, in the middle of the night, the wind started picking up. We hadn’t bothered securing the Beta Light with lines, but each corner had a large rock to hold it in place. That didn’t stop the wind from loosing two of the corners of the tent in the middle of the night. It sounded like a near explosion and we were suddenly awake with the tent ends flapping in our faces. We jumped up immediately and secured the tent, finding extra large rocks to secure the corners and went back to bed. I slept well, though I recall waking several times to the roaring of the wind. Aidan, on the other hand, admitted to barely sleeping a wink. Instead, he’d periodically grab the pole next to us, holding it in place for fear of it being knocked over again.

We lounged in the noisy tent the following morning before getting up. Colin and Ross decided to not go for another climb as well and we all decided to hike out together. We took our time getting ready. I headed out before everyone else because I tend to hike a little slower on the descent, not to mention that Colin and Ross are very fast. Soon enough, they caught up with me and we hiked together for a while. After a bit, I got tired of the speed, let the others get ahead and took out my mp3 player. I enjoyed the tunes all the way down and stopped several times for more pictures, ones that I couldn’t get on the hike in because of the low light.

It was a long long drive back, but more rap and hip-hop entertained me. We arrived back in Tacoma around 11pm and Aidan’s mom treated us to some excellent grilled chicken pasta, salad, and fresh peaches. Feeling like a refreshed flower, I opted to drive home since the traffic would be much better this time of night than the following morning. All-in-all, despite the exhaustion, this was a fantastic and memorable trip. Thanks for coming along, Aidan. It was a great way to end the summer.

We took the Kingston Ferry at 7am and then drove southward down the eastern slopes of the trailhead and up the Hamma Hamma River road until the very end – the Mildred Lakes trailhead.  For the most part, the trail was easy to follow.  However, we did note that parts of the trail became semi-obscured in the forest and that it would be hard to follow in the darkness.  So we set a turnaround time so we’d be back at Mildred Lakes around 6:30, which should give us enough daylight to hike out with relative ease.

We caught our first glimpse of Sawtooth Ridge and Mount Cruiser before having to descend down to the lakes.  It sure did look like a long way to go for such a small point.  The mystique of Cruiser prodded us forward down to the lakes where we began searching for the non-existent climber’s path.  We headed across the lakes at a log jam, where Robert completely dunked his foot into the lake, completely soaking one boot.  We went up through timber that gradually steepened with flies and mosquitos perpetually buzzing around us.

The bushwhack up to alpine didn’t seem too unreasonable.  It was certainly preferred to the awful descent that we made.  Soon enough, we were at snowfields where we had some water and food and continued up along the ridge.  We were on the other side of Alpha from Cruiser.  We had the option of doing a new route on the north side of Alpha, but it honestly looked like junk.  So, we bypassed Alpha on the left, downclimbing loose chossy gullies.

We ascended back up towards Cruiser over talus and snow.  At this point, the hike was qualifying for a pain-in-the-axe slog.  We down-climbed to the base of Cruiser into a thin seam where we had the option to climb the 5.4 route which followed a dead vertical crack/chimney system.  Much of it looked mossy so we climbed down a chockstone and traversed over the lower part of the face.  Soon, the climbing became more serious and exposed and we were unroped.  Robert tenuously climbed up to a belay point and threw a rope down to me which I tied around my waist.  I headed straight up which became dead vertical and downsloping – definitely not good climbing.  A large chunk of rock pulled out (I wasn’t testing each hold well at this point) and the rope caught me – it reminded me of the seriousness of climbing, to say the least).  From here, Robert led up to the belay point beneath the final classic pitch.

Click here to view the embedded video.

We decided to at least climb the 5.7 route on the right side.  Robert led off again.  I didn’t feel too much like leading after the shock of pulling that loose hold out.  He headed out and later called back down telling me how good the pitch was.  Indeed it was – near vertical but full of good holds.  Protection was a little sparse.  At one point, I found a natural connecting pocket in the rock where a sling could have been girth-hitched.  Robert used a thin bolt cleverly by looping the end of the wire on a nut around it and cinching the loop with the nut itself.  The pitch is a full 60 meters and after maybe 45 meters of face climbing, the pitch finishes on the narrow ridge to the top.  The summit itself is tiny, one of the smallest summits I’ve been on.

We realized we didn’t have time to hang out on the summit so we rappelled down and began the exasperating descent.  Instead of going back the way we did, which would have involved climbing back up loose gullies, but at least descending reasonable terrain, we headed straight down the talus.  Eventually, the bugs returned and tormented us all the way out.  I got some of the most irritating mosquito bites that I’d ever had in the Cascades or Olympics.  For a few days after, I’d wake up in the early morning scratching my legs.  No, we didn’t bring bug juice.  What a mistake.  In addition to the bugs, we eventually ran into the cliffs.  We navigated slowly down these using a combination of cedar branches and tarzaning on the rope.  Once we finally got down to near lake level, we were able to make reasonable time down talus and snow.  At the base of the lake though, the bushwhacking started again and didn’t let up for most of our circumnavigating of the lake…and it’s a big lake!  Crawling over logs became frustrating and I was getting irritated at having to go down to the base of the lake only to ascend up a hundred feet or so, crawling over logs, pulling up roots and branches, descending back down to the lake.  We were very late, way beyond our 6:30 arrival time at the lake.  I think it was around 9pm.  We realized we had no time to stop and eat.  If we didn’t want to risk getting lost, we had to cover as much ground as we could now.

I was near exhaustion at this point and couldn’t keep up with Robert.  I did catch up to him in the forest where he was dealing with blisters from his wet boot.  I took the opportunity to eat a Goo packet and a Snickers.  About 10 minutes after that, I came to life.  It’s amazing what a little energy food can do for you.  From then on, I could easily keep up with Robert.  We both put on our mp3s for the march out, but, of course, my batteries gave out not long after I started listening.  I pounded out the silent dark miles behind Robert.  We lost the trail a couple of times in the darkness, but fortunately were able to follow the trail without too much trouble.  We got back to the car around 11, I think.  We decided not to risk missing the 12:15 Monday morning ferry and went all the way around the Sound to the south through Olympia.  It was a long night.

Don’t climb Cruiser from Mildred Lakes!  The memory of the sight of the nice trail from Flapjack Lakes continues to haunt me.

Rating – three pipes!

We returned in early July, this time accompanied by Daniel’s brother Mark and Ari Lazier.  We planned on doing it in a day so decided to at least bivy on the picnic tables at the Cascade Pass parking lot.  I don’t recall exactly when we got up, but we hit the trail in nice daylight around 5:30 in the morning.  I’ve learned to be thankful for nice trails and the trail up to Boston Basin certainly qualifies as “nice trail” and we made quick time up the 3rd class tunnel, past the various stream crossings, the avalanche debris, and so on.  We were in the alpine slopes of Boston Basin in around two hours or so, maybe a little less.  One of the niceties of the east ridge is that you don’t have to deal with anything like the couloir on the way to the route.  At the base of the route, we roped up and I volunteered to take the first pitch.  I figured that I’d lead the first few pitches and Daniel would finish off the last few.  Well, I ended up leading the whole thing which was fine with me.

The climb is consistently 5th class, unlike the west ridge.  In fact, this route is not just “a little harder” than the west ridge, it’s a good bit harder.  Last year, I think we climbed the west ridge in 30 minutes or so, basically two simul pitches.  The east ridge is more serious and sustained.  None of the pitches are really “hard”, but they require care.  Being riddled with gendarmes, the climb is subject to rope drag and I wore my shoulders out by hauling in two lines on each belay.

There’s a nice section of knife-edged ridge mid-way along the route.  It was easily climbed by hand-traversing on the south side of the ridge.  Both Ari and Mark, despite being super strong rock climbers, were relatively new to alpine climbing and were raving pitch after pitch.  The east ridge was a perfect intro.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Somewhere after the knife edge pitch was the second crux of the climb – a vertical wall on the north side of another gendarme on the ridge that leads to a small notch.  At the notch, I was back on the ridge proper and climbed the gendarme, then descended – more rope drag.  The short wall crux wasn’t as technical as the true crux near the end of the climb, but it’s a good bit more exposed.

There’s the option to climb a gendarme right before the crux and then rappel down to the crux belay.  We had some rain hit us on the middle of the ridge with more weather threatening and since the gendarme climb was only twenty feet or so, we bypassed it on the right to the base of the crux.  I offered the lead to Daniel, but he was happy just to let me keep going.  OK, no problem.  The pitch is a Cascade classic – it’s technical and easy to protect.  I pulled up on small crimpers to a huge horn that I was able to throw a sling around.  I pulled up one more move and realized I was at the 5.8 move – an overhanging section of wall with small features.  To the left was a perfect finger crack which took a small nut beautifully.  The protection was perfect and I pulled through the short moves to a jug where I let my feet catch some air high above the northeast face.  What a great feeling.  I think Daniel said that was his favorite pitch out in the mountains.  That saying somethin’.

All that remained now was a simul-pitch of 5.2 ridge.  Some more weather moved in and the clouds dropped around Eldorado and Boston, but Forbidden remained clear, although, I was now leading in swirling mist that only added to the awesome alpine ambience.  The summit was ours and we hung out and ate for a bit before heading down the east ledges.  We made 6 rappels, if I recall and then headed across the ledges.  We broke up into two rope teams.  I headed out first and placed gear as we simul-climbed.  Daniel unclipped the gear and left it for the second team who re-clipped and then cleaned.  Happy to be back at the ridged, we put on our hiking boots and headed down the slopes to Boston Basin.  We got back to the cars after dark, didn’t see anyone else all day.

After work, drive up to Snoqualmie Pass, hike in to the Tooth, climb it, sleep on the summit, rappel down the following morning and go into work.

Dang that sounded cool to me.  That’s almost like a free weekend.  We headed out around 4:30 or 5:00 on Wednesday, stopped for some food at Subway in North Bend (saving part of the sandwich for the summit), and continued up to Snoqualmie Pass.  From the parking lot, we hiked up the trail on snow.  Well, I hiked; Daniel brought his skis and skinned up.  Now, it was way back in November on Sperry Peak when I was last on snow and that was a postholing Hell.  This Snoqualmie Spring snow was perfect, well-consolidated, and sturdy.  I think I punched through once, and only then up to the thigh of one leg.  Pshaw.

We made quick time up the valley, passed an open slope, where beyond we turned leftward past a waterfall and made a steep ascending and curving climb to Great Scott Basin.  Within approximately an hour and a half we were near the Tooth.  The snow climb beyond the small tower which Michael and I dubbed “Baby Tooth” was straight forward.  At the very end, however, we did encounter a descent bergeschrund that required careful negotiation to safely squeak up and through in order to reach the small pass.  A few minutes later we were at the base of the Tooth.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’d never led the Tooth before so Daniel gave me the first pitch.  One long simul pitch later we were on the summit.  The climb itself was good easy fun, solid the whole way, consisting of easy climbing with sprinkled 5.4ish cruxes here and there.  The summit was surprisingly warm – mid to low 50’s, I suppose, with no wind.  After enjoying the second half of our subway sandwiches and some evening photography, we bedded down on two good bivy ledges and stared up at the stars.  Occasionally, I would turn my head slightly and look down on the cars travelling on I-90 far below.

I fell asleep fast and awoke sometime in the early morning hours to a bright three quarters moon hanging in the southern sky.  Sometime later, at 5am I heard Daniel moving about.  We lazed around and leisurely had a small breakfast and took more pictures and video.

We made one rappel off the summit and then decided to explore around the area.  Daniel led back up looking around for the “Catwalk”.  With no immediate pro available, we decided to just rappel all the way down and solo up “Baby Tooth” for some more photo opportunities.

Daniel skied out.  I glissaded and plunge stepped my way out.  We were back to work around 9:30.

The photos here were taken by Daniel.

Due to very slick snow, we had to park about two miles below the usual trailhead.  We brought snowshoes along for the basin below Headless Pass.  Our intention was to climb the south ridge.  We were hoping it would be dry from all the warm, clear weather that the mountains had been exposed to for the previous five days.

Click here to view the embedded video.

There were a few tricky stream crossings before breaking out of the trees.  We picked a turn around time of two o’clock so we wouldn’t have to deal with the crossings in the pitch black.  Basically the entire theme of the trip was “step on the snow and fall in the hole!”  We must have punched through the snow a hundred times between the two of us.  Robert, I have to confess, did a much better job of preserving his dignity than I did.  Somewhere in the basin, I punched through to my chest.  It took me five minutes to dig my left foot out.  Landmarks slowly passed by.  I recall looking back on a small waterfall that I swore we’d passed about an hour before, yet it still looked within two minutes of me.  The frustration continued as we persevered up the slope to Headlee Pass.

I wanted to turn around numerous times, but I did manage to stay focused and trudge my way up.  The holes continued to suck me in and often I had to escape by simply rolling out and sliding off the slick lip of the cavity.  A small bergeshrund had formed near the top of the pass.  About 5 feet above the ’shrund, the slick snow caused me to skid again and I slowly and pathetically slid back down to the ’shrund, erasing my past few minutes progress.  As I began the ascent again, a hole claimed one of my trekking poles – the bottom third of the retractable pole pulled out leaving the locking mechanism behind.  It was now useless.  So, leaving both poles behind for the return trip, I pulled out my ice axe for a relative increase in stability.

At the top of the pass, the sun greeted us.  After a short drop to the other side, we were drenched in sunlight and the snow became even wetter.  By this time, our feet were sloshing inside our boots.  A few more tedious slopes saw us at the base of the second half of the route.  We’d skipped the lower part of the climb by not climbing directly from Headlee Pass.

We decided to drop everything and blast up to the top.  I was surprised at how big the rack was the Robert brought.  He headed up in one long simul pitch to the summit.  The beginning featured a short near vertical step, probably the crux of the route.  Higher on the ridge was some playful exposure over the east slopes, but for the most part, the route was 3rd class.  A little after 2pm, our turn around time, we were on the top.

I was actually surprised that we made it, given how many times I’d wanted to turn around and how painfully slow we were in approaching the peak.  I credit Robert with the tenacity to keep going.  We had about two hours to get down before the sun went down.  We decided to descend straight down the east face and traverse back across to the lower part of the south ridge where we’d rappel down to our packs.  We plunged stepped down steep snow, grabbing on to trees for leverage.  Sometimes we sped the descent by grabbing trees and swinging down, sometimes we slowed ourselves by catching the trees before tumbling down.  We descended quickly to a bench of snow where we’d begin traversing.  Right before we got there, I fell into another hole up to my shoulders this time.  The traverse, however, was relatively easy.  I almost could see us eating up time by wading through deep snow, but thankfully, we only had to deal with knee deep slow for the most part.  Our snowshoes were with our packs back at the spot where we roped up too.  Throwing the rope around a stunted pine, we rappelled back to the packs and began the frustrating slog out.

If I was frustrated on the way up, I was agitated and irrational on the way down.  I descended into hollering and cursing the snow and the holes, vowing not to come out again until May or June (OK, at least until the snow is well consolidated).  We ended up crossing the stream crossings in near dark, but the crossings were easy.  Robert lost a pole that he threw across the creek.  We arrived back at the car around 6:30PM in total darkness.  As I write this and reflect back on the day, I’m shocked to find myself thinking it was pretty fun.  Thanks for the suggestion, Robert.

The trail, which is well-defined, enters old growth forest after about 400 vertical feet and continues up very steeply for about 2000 feet.  Right in the middle of a conversation, somewhere deep in the forest, Aidan let out a yelp that indicated a yellow jacket sting!  He scampered upward as I hung in the back cautiously; fortunately, I wasn’t stung.  The lash came on his left calf and we took a short break for Benedryl and water.  After more slogging in the steep forest, Aidan got stung again!  He took off upward with even more resolve.  I fled the scene off trail to the left but wasn’t so fortunate this time, getting a sting on my right forearm.  Aidan, I think, took four more stings here.  Man, poor guy.  Michael escaped again.  Of course, he got taken to the woodshed last year with about fourteen stings on the flanks of Wiley Ridge approaching Mount Challenger.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The trail finally levels off a bit in the forest at a swampy area and the hiking becomes more sustainable.  We arrived at a wooded col, still with no views of the mountain, where we descended for a while and began climbing up to point 5,791 where we had the first real views of Snowking Mountain.  They were impressive to say the least.

From this high point, it became apparent that we’d follow the ridge the entire way and not drop to Cyclone Lake and ascend the glacier, which was what the map suggested would be easiest.  We could, in fact, see a trail following the wooded ridge from point to point until the final ridge climb to the summit of Snowking.  This was already a pretty tiring ascent and I knew we wouldn’t enjoy retracing our steps as we lost lots of elevation on our way to the next point along the ridge.

Regardless of the disheartening elevation difficulties, the surroundings are impressive.  There’s a neat granite dike (or something) cutting through the ridge which formed a neat trough of rock and lots of neat outcroppings.  Also, we had an entertaining different perspective on the North Cascade peaks.  On top of all that, the views down in to the lakes to the west were probably the most impressive I have ever seen.  One of the lakes, Snowking Lake, was so turquoise that it looked fake.  Another, labeled “5442″ on the map, was very clear and the deepest blue in the middle that I’ve ever seen.  This is a place to come and camp and just relax!

After more ridge points, we arrived at a small basin just east of Cyclone Lake.  Here, there were lots of white granite talus boulders strewn around.  We stashed our packs, except for one which carried food and water and Michael’s fleece.  Our next ridge point would be the summit.  This ridge is a fun little scrambling playground and would be the home of some excellent climbing if it were between 40 and 70 degrees steeper.  There’s all sorts of fantastic splitter cracks and flakes that we had fun pretending to climb up (”Whoa, check out this perfect hand jam!”).  Michael did find a little 30 foot 5.6.  I can’t remember what he christened it.

Michael and Aidan were consistently in front of me.  This time, it wasn’t due to my videography or photography.  I was just plain tired and couldn’t keep up with their pace.  I guess I was about consistently 5 minutes behind them.  My legs just didn’t want to move that fast today.  Well, after calculating the total mileage and elevation, I don’t feel so bad, but I still wasn’t in as good shape as I was last year.  The views were impressive in all directions.  To the west, toward the Buckindy Crags, was a plethora of white granite slabs.  To the right, the awesome alpine lakes looked like jewels tucked away in the trees.  And behind us, we could see all the way from Baker, to the Pickets, to Cascade Pass, and the entire Ptarmigan Traverse.  The summit pyramid was an easy scramble.  I chose the easy way; Michael and Aidan took a 4th class route from the glacier.  On the summit we lounged around, partaking of horseplay and talk.  We ended up lying down.  Eventually, the conversation ended and I dozed off sleeping solid (even dreaming!).  Twenty minutes later, the chill woke Aidan up and we realized we needed to start heading down if we wanted to make it out without headlamps.  It was 4:05pm when we headed down.

We worried about yellow jackets on the way down.  Sure enough, they had their way with us even before the previous spot.  This time, just beyond the wooded col, I endured two more stings and Aidan got it twice.  I was behind the fellas again and I heard them yell, “Bee!!!” to warn me.  Well, it didn’t do me any good really…bee where?  I tried to be as quiet as possible; no good.  I heard a distinct Michael scream as well.  Though he wasn’t stung this time, he is wont to holler at the little beasts threats.  During the steep descent, we planned to stay as close together as possible and move quickly downward along the treacherous terrain.  We had memorized the elevation of where the attacks occurred.  We also had the hint of my trekking pole, which Aidan abandoned at the major sting site (3880 feet, I think).  When we saw it, we ran down frantically.  “Go go!!!  There’s one on me!”, I shouted.  “AAaaahhh!!!”, screamed Michael.  We made it safely through that gauntlet, but got tagged twice a hundred feet below.  Did they follow us?  We were standing around congratulating ourselves when Michael let out a scream that indicated a stinger had hit the mark.  “Go go!!!”  I felt another sting on my right arm as we bounded down.  Curse these vermin!!!  That was the end of it though.

At least we descended very quickly and arrived at the road literally one second before I said, “Guys, I think we should hit the road soon.”  The slog down the road was easy enough and it was certainly a pleasure to walk on near level ground again despite it being nearly dark.  We did have to use one headlamp to cross the big cleft in the road where we’d parked the cars.

Awesome trip, guys, despite the stings.  This was the most scenic trip of the year, I thought.

Stats:

• 17 miles roundtrip
• 8700 feet of elevation
• 12 yellow jacket stings