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Colchuck Peak – Northeast Buttress

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We’d been dealing with a wet Spring.  The weekend before, Michael and I drove out to Mount Shuksan for an attempt at Fisher Chimneys, but as soon as we turned in, the clouds opened up and didn’t let up until early morning.  We couldn’t do much but drive back home.  The following weekend, we were set to go again, despite a questionable forecast.  This time, we’d roll the dice with the Alpine Lakes.  Colchuck was the next logical major mountain in the area for us to climb, and by an appealing route:  the Northeast Buttress.

We left Seattle on Saturday at 11am where we cragged on Castle Rock before heading to an outstanding German meal in Leavenworth.  Later on, we turned in at our secret spot near the Colchuck Lake trailhead.  I shut my eyes while the sun was still up to the white noise of nearby creek.  The next thing I remember was Michael saying, “Hey Theron, it’s 4:15!”

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dhwq6GlCcYY

It seems like every time we’ve gone up this trail, we’ve been in bad weather:  Argonaut, Stuart Glaicer Couloir, and Dragontail.  This morning, as was on Dragontail, was bright and clear.  We made quick time up the trail arriving at the lake somewhere after an hour or two.  The only hiking I’d done all year was one time a week or two ago up Mount Si.  I could certainly tell I wasn’t as fast as normal and Michael was consistently ahead of me.  Beyond the lake, we saw we had a slog up talus (at least it wasn’t thinly veiled in snow) before we reached the glacier.

At the top of the talus, we stopped for food, talk, and video.  The route, lying in plain view in front of us, looked great – the rock, especially solid.  We set off again up the glacier and soon arrived at the base of the Kearney description of the route.  There was a nasty looking moat barring the way though.  I saw a potential snow bridge to cross; Michael headed up a little looking for a spot to cross, eventually conceding that this route wasn’t possible.  Instead, we headed up the left side of the buttress looking for a spot, passing one that afforded an an easy pass but had smooth slabs above it.  We eventually settled on a much steeper section festooned with solid looking cracks.

Michael led off on the first pitch – a rather stiff 5.8 crack climb on golden granite that was thankfully solid and a lot of fun.  I then led out along a wide and loose ledge to another section of golden (Michael later confirmed it was pink – a color I have a hard time seeing) granite.  It looked so easy but as I started up, sections of the right side just started pulling off like potato chips.  This section was awful and was obviously the section that the Beckey route warned about.  After trying a little more, I began to realize this was a foolhardy endeavor and carefully backed down.  OK, I’ll take hard 5.9 any day over that scary loose 5.0 stuff.  This section is distinct from below – a large swath of the lightest color of rock near the base.

After that jolt, Michael opted to lead the next pitch up some hard-to-protect slabs and then through a goofy chimney (was this the chimney?), up another ramp, and over a hard boulder move (until you saw the trick) that gained another ridge.  We simul-climbed again along a wide ledge past some snow.  The route became a little confusing again along some smooth but solid golden granite.  At this point, we were directly above the loose section.  Michael opted to downclimb around a tree and then emerged onto another ledge at the base of a vertical but solid looking chimney.

It was my turn to head out.  This was most likely the 5.3 Beckey chimney.  It turned out to be a super quality pitch, and except for some minor looseness again on the right side, was very solid and enjoyable.  The holds were right where you needed them to be.  I would have rated this section a 5.4 with one 5.6 move.

“Michael, this pitch is great!”, I shouted.

“Well keep going then!  Let’s simul-climb and make up some time.”

“OK!”  So, I unclipped from the slings thrown around the base of a tree at the top of the chimney.  I made a 5.6 move to get up into a crack that traversed rightward the smooth face.  If that chimney was good, then this was even better -  an easy climb on an exposed face in a grand alpine setting.  OK, the climb was finally starting to turn quality, we both later confessed to thinking.

I ran out of slings at the large ramp that traversed left up the buttress.  Heck, it looked easy; let’s keep going!  The Beckey description talked about following the ledge 160 feet to it’s end at the base of a twin cracks pitch.  We did stop somewhere around here after rope drag prevented any more creative gear placements.  We stopped at a perfect place for lunch and admired Dragontail in the distance.  Serpentine Arete, which we’d climbed the year before, looked menacing.  Wow, and this was harder, at least for route-finding.

In retrospect, maybe this was the spot where we were supposed to pick up the twin cracks, but the description also said to go to the ramps end.  Michael led off and by the time we were at the “end”, we must have gone a full 300 feet or more.  At this point we started climbing up the “cosmic slabs” which featured some tough climbing.  Good thing Michael was leading; I would have opted to bail and try an area that looked a little easier below.  Michael plugged doggedly ahead and after some debate, he brought me up.  The climbing was nice and easy at first but it required some 5.9 face climbing to arrive at the two-nut belay on a tiny slanting ledge.

From there I spied a potential route to go up.  I didn’t have my nerves with me at this point and happily suggested that Michael should go.  I did see a way that looked like it would go at maybe 5.8 or 5.9 again.  At least, that’s as hard as I remembered it looking.  When Michael said, “Ok, that was 5.11″, I remember thinking, “Oh great!”  On following, I found it quite hard as well though I somewhat mockingly downgraded it to 5.10c.  It was quite a delicate move though that I accomplished by pressing hard into a tiny corner while carefully shifting my hand positions upward.  Soon enough, it was over and I was in the steep crack.  Oh thankfully some hand jams!  “Would I have said that last year?”, I asked myself.  Nope, probably not.  The jams were only occasionally good as the crack varied in depth.  Still, if the hand jams weren’t there, the foot jams were and the crack felt like a pleasure after the hard face climbing.  At another marginal belay, Michael sent me off to continue the crack, which was now easier though still steep and exposed.  The protection was good though and I got up a full rope length to another tree belay where we swung the lead again.  Michael led us over more moderate terrain to the ridge crest.

Michael led out on the easy ridge.  To the right was the throat of a steep and scary couloir; and the left was a sheer drop straight down to the glacier.  Great exposure gave this pitch a its deserved exhilaration.  We continued simul-climbing and began traversing beneath the steep walls under the summit.  At this point, we were perhaps only 200 or 300 feet below the summit but the way was still convoluted.  Michael headed around a corner out of sight.  Not liking what he saw, I was able to persuade him to downclimb and continue down to a grassy ledge.  Would this way go?  At the base, Michael answered “yes”.  Whew!  So, I carefully downclimbed the steep and awkward pitch and headed out.  After negotiating another off-balance downclimb by jamming my feet in ice and kicking steeps in snow, I headed off horizontally on slick mossy rocks.  At the base of another ledge with a large snowdrift, I set up a belay and started to despair.  “Arr, no more hard pitches, please!”, I thought.  But in front of me I saw a sheer black wall.  Though it was crisscrossed with narrow grassy ledges, it was quite smooth and was glistening black from moisture in the occasional sun breaks.  Michael talked some optimism into me (thanks!) and headed off.  After a thin move on a smooth face, he was able to gain the ledges which were, sure enough, quite easy.  We were on our way again -  a testament to positive thinking!  I led the final long simul-pitch which was easy except for 3 or 4 crux moves, some with snow and ice again and others with short moves on thin holds.  Finally, however, we topped out between the false and true summits.

If the ascent of this route was quite complicated (and it was), the descent was anything but.  We bounded down the Colchuck Glacier and down the trail arriving at the car sometime around 10pm, seventeen hours later.  We’ve started the season with a bang.

Tomyhoi Peak

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After a full day of looking for the trailhead for Mount Rexford and being intimidated by dark stagnant clouds when we finally did find it, Michael and I decided on a simpler alternative: the southern route on Tomyhoi Peak. The day before was almost comical. We’d relied on incorrect elevations, but more damningly, I had somehow come under the impression that the turnoff for the Rexford trailhead was the second left turn not the right. To make matters worse, at that second turnoff, the incorrect elevations were right on. “The trail should be right here! Here’s the hairpin turn and we’re at 2820 feet of elevation. Where is this trail!” We also ended up biking (thankfully we used bikes on the long washed out logging road) into the U.S. in our search for the trailhead. In the end, we chalked it up to experience. At least we now know where all these trailheads that we’ll be using in the future are.

After a nice dinner at Pizza Hut in Chilliwack, we drove back through the border (and I lost my passport – I still don’t know how), got on to the Mount Baker trail and headed for the Twin Lakes road and the Tomyhoi Peak trailhead. We were following the Beckey guide which mentioned 2.4 miles and 2460 feet of elevation once turning onto the road. Well, we passed that seeing no signs of a trailhead. Here we go again. “We’re going to have all our trailhead troubles rolled into one trip this weekend”, we thought. We continued on and soon were at the trailhead for Tommyhoi Lake, Gold Run Pass, and Yellow Aster Butte, well beyond where Beckey’s book described and the trailhead that I’d remembered from my infamous trip to American Border Peak. We decided to at least pull over and throw the bags down and get some sleep and then try to find the trailhead by light in the morning.

We awoke to a clear morning, though we had big dropplets of dew all over our bags. This morning was significantly colder than previous summer mornings. Fall is on the way. We calculated the distance to the rumored trailhead in reverse, hopped in the car, and headed out. At the exact elevation, we saw an abandoned road that turned into a trail. Our mileage, however, looked to be a little off. With self-doubts magnified after the previous day’s difficulties, we still decided to try it. The trail soon constricted down to a small path and then became enveloped in brush, wet brush at that. I took the lead blasting through wet blueberries, ferns, low-growing evergreens, and other typical Cascadian foliage. After twenty minutes of this, I stopped just before a set of soaking bushes, reluctant to go on. Michael expressed his doubts. I didn’t want to turn around and try yet another trail. Instead of giving up, we pressed on and vowed to make it to old growth and out of the brush within 10 minutes or call it a day. I did feel confident that this trail would lead us somewhere. After all, due to our mileage calculations and the fact that we were trending east a good bit, meant that we must at least be between the desired trail and the Gold Run Pass trail. If anything, this trail ought to lead us somewhere. So, we would continue on or die in the process.

Well, within a minute we were indeed in old growth forest that started climbing steeply. The trail was easily travelled. We learned later that this route has been abandoned (duh) and all trails start at the Gold Run Pass trailhead. We pressed on, only losing the trail once in a section ripe with many “green spirits”. Back on a solid trail in deep forest and after passing a few small creeks we suddenly emerged onto a heather meadow with small ponds. At this point we knew we were on the right track. Maybe we could indeed salvage a good weekend after this incredibly bumpy start and our climb off Tomyhoi would not be a “Tommy Boy”. We continued on passing a rocky cliff on the right and ascending steeply until we emerged onto the lovely Yellow Aster meadows. Across the vast expanse to the northeast, we could see the bulk of American Border Peak and straight ahead of us, we saw Tomyhoi. Behind us, the views are expansive. You can see Mount Baker and Mount Shuksan in all their alpine glory. This is a great spot to just hike to, perhaps stay the night, and then head back. There were people up here doing just that – we saw three tents scattered around.

A trail before us wended its way steeply up the base of Tomyhoi for about 400 feet. The slopes then became more gentle. The Tomyhoi massif is very large and resembles a Colorado Peak in some ways. It was a nice change of pace – for once we weren’t hauling a rope, gear, shoes, helmets, and so on. Our day packs were very light, holding a little more than food, water, and a jacket. As we climbed higher, the views opened up even more. We could see to the Cheam range in Canada and southward to the Pickets where we’d been three weeks earlier. The trail meandered along and we passed a large flock of ptarmigans. Careful counting revealed no less than eight around the trail. Higher up, we had to drop down the first and most significant notch. We dropped perhaps 300 feet then climbed steeply up to slopes that were more broken and covered with scree. The trail continued to be in great shape. Below, we were able spot at least two other climbers on the mountain. We could see the summit in the distance. As we followed the trail up to the ridge, we encountered a party of three who gave us route information. We couldn’t stay on the ridge crest since it cliffed out. Instead, we’d need to climb along the top of the bergeschrund. Well, we had no ice axes or crampons. We’d have to see how this would work out.

Climbing along the bergeschrund was actually tricky without crampons or ice axes. It would have been easy just to scamper along the crest, but we had to scoot and stem our way along with rock on the left side and snow on the right side with a hole in the middle. It wasn’t too hard, just more annoying knowing that without the gear it was so much slower. The end of the snow scrambling featured a steep finish to level snow. There were big cups in the snow which made it much easier than where we’d just come from. Continuing to stem on rock and snow got us to the top without incident. Here we could get back up on rock and scramble up to the ridge 40 feet above. We cut along the back (left) side of the ridge on a nice trail along a ledge to another notch. An easy downclimb got us to the base of the final scramble. It looked steep but turned out to be easy 3rd class scrambling (maybe 4th if you’re using the Colorado standard – OK, enough jabs). We then were looking for a fifty foot gable. “Just what exactly is a ‘gable’?”, we asked. We knew it had something to do with a house (siting “The House of the Seven Gables”) but were a little embarassed that we didn’t know. Well, it turns out we correctly identified it. We travelled along the right side of a small formation that resembled a long roof. In fact, the definition of a gable is: “n. the vertical triangular end of a building from cornice or eaves to ridge.” And that’s the story of how we learned the meaning of “gable”. Above the gable, at a prominent ledge, we got on the ridge crest and scrambled easy slopes to the top.

We enjoyed great views around. To the rugged beauty of the North Cascades to the south to the logging roads and clear cuts of British Columbia to the north. We could see our original objective, Mount Rexford and the Nesakwatch Spires, in the distance. I think this view made Michael more excited about them. Perhaps we can hit this area in October if we’re lucky enough to get a spell of Indian Summer the way we did last year on West McMillan Spire. After a long lounge on the summit, we headed down. We were debating which way to go on the return. We could do a little extra and hike out Yellow Aster Butte trail to the trail head that we slept at and hitchhike down to our car below. We did see a trail that no doubt led there so we decided to give it a try. We were moving pretty fast and still had a good amount of daylight. We decided to throw in a quick hike up Yellow Aster Butte as well, which gave us good views down into Tomyhoi Lake. The return trip along the trail the runs into the main trail just below Gold Run Pass was a delight. The trail is a fun and gentle path along open slopes affording excellend views the entire way. When we arrived at the junction, we decided to run up real quick to Gold Run Pass. Heck, why not throw in a couple more hundred feet of elevation! It was all just for another view! On the way down, we stopped and chomped on some excellent huckleberries. Some fishermen passed us along the way and we struck up a conversation. They kindly offered to give us a ride back to our car. The hike out was uneventful other than it was extremely FAST. Those fishermen could move! Though travelling at top speed, I got left behind by about a minute or two. We enjoyed a bumpy ride in the back of a pickup down to the abandoned “Keep Cool” trailhead where our car was parked.

Pickets Traverse – Day 6

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Of the three awesome mountains we climbed, I was most eager to climb Mount Terror.  Something about the name, it’s location, and the remote north buttress culminated in interest I’ve had since coming to the Pacific Northwest.  Today was the day.  Another unknown for us was how to get down to McMillan Cirque.  We certainly couldn’t descend straight from Picket Pass since it was typical ridiculous steep terrain.  The opposite side of the pass, however, was quite accessible from Goodell Creek.  We had argued about just where the pass was.  I guess if the definition of a pass is “the way through either side”, then it would have to be a very wide pass.  We had an idea from a photo that I’d taken from the top of McMillan Spire the previous year that we could ascend about 40-60 feet beyond the low point of Picket Pass and make a steep descent down ledges and gullies to McMillan Cirque.  We decided to try it and it ended up going, but not after more interesting terrain at the very bottom that we only could shake our heads and fists at yet again.  We were blocked by a slabby cliffy area and opted to throw the rope around a sturdy tree and rappell down.  I volunteered to go first and got down pretty far, but not the entire way.  We still had some interesting scrambling to get down.  I can’t remember the details of how Aidan and Michael negotiated it, but my technique was to lower my pack so that I wouldn’t have that weight throwning me off.  Indeed it was an easy scramble without that extra weight, but exposed, and we were soon down at the glacial slabs.  We began our traverse under the Mustard Glacier to the base of the north buttress.

Traversing the slabs was awesome.  There were lots of uninterrupted water streams running down the polished slabs that gave the area a distinct zebra effect.  Further beyond we pass by large ice blocks that had recently broken off from the glacier above, some as big as coolers, others were as big as cars.  We got on to the glacier and continued to traverse to the buttress.  There was a distinct snowfield near the bottom of the buttress that we dubbed “the kitty”.  Our plan was to get on to the buttress below it and traverse underneath quickly, then cut back up the face above it.

We had to retrace our steps and downclimb the glacier a bit due to some unreasonably steep ice.  The climb back up to the buttress stepping point was again steep but thankfully made easier by large cups in the snow.  We placed an ice screw to belay Michael from.  It seemed like forever before I was allowed to move (I was in the back), but at least we all got on to the buttress safely.  We quickly switched into rock shoes and packed our boots as compactly as possible.  Aidan took off for the first two pitches.  These two pitches covered enormous amounts of easy ground.  We quickly made our way under and around the kitty snowfield.  The climbing started to become more challenging near the end of the second pitch.  It was also very solid thus adding to the enjoyment.  I took off for the next two pitches.  From here on it, it was all 5th class terrain until we got high on the north buttress where the long thin snowfield cuts laterally below the false summit.  I felt really good leading however on my second lead, I ended up picking a poor route, ignoring an obvious dihedral.  I thought it would go, but the face started to blank out on me and steepen.  Before too long, I was fuddling around not making any progress when Aidan and Michael shouted up that I should either lower off or downclimb.  Well, I wasn’t about to lower off if I could but I certainly didn’t want to continue up.  So, I made a careful downclimb then got into the dihedral which was fun 5.6 climbing.  It felt a little acrobatic to me, but Aidan and Michael made short work of it as I brought them up.  I had made it to the buttress crest.

At this point, Michael took over and led us up increasingly hard terrain.  Some of the books say there is a 3rd class route on this north buttress, but I no longer believe it.  Even if you could find a 3rd class route (you’d have to be an elite routefinder to do so), the exposure is still fierce the whole way.  After long sections of nice white gneiss, the route was starting to darken slowly with lichen and become a little more loose.  Michael led a hard and scary traverse move that he rated 5.8 (much scarier with a full pack).  I was able to bypass it by continuing to lieback a corner up the ridge.

Steep terrain continued on Michael’s second lead.  We left the crest of the buttress and moved back on to the face before ending at an awkward stance before a chimney.  Aidan led up through the chimney.  He soon reached the snowfield that led upward to the false summit.  We didn’t need to touch the snow, but it was nice to know we’d be on 2nd and 3rd class terrain for a while.  Michael and I followed up the fun chimney.

We followed the easy terrain up to a large level area where we took of our packs and casually walked around.  The huge face below had me not desiring any more rock climbing.  It was afternoon by now.  We had been on the buttress for a long time.  It was hard to tell which way to go from here, but Michael spotted a cairn off to the left.  We scrambled around to the left over exposed terrain to an obviously belay station.  Above it was a flaky chimney.  It was my turn to lead so I headed up.  More horns to sling…my favorite.

At the top of the fun chimney, I began traversing and slightly trending upward.  When the rope drag became too difficult, I stopped, slung a horn, and brought Aidan and Michael up.  Michael was anxious to lead again so we let him go.  He ended up leading us up one of the best pitches of the route – A long, continually solid and fun off-width crack.  At the top of this awesome pitch, we arrived at the big blocks underneath the false summit.  The true summit was directly in front of us as well.  But there was no bypassing of the false summit on the left, we had to go up and over it.  There was no point in bypassing on the right since it was a long and gentle slope.

Michael led off again on another fantastic pitch.  Was this one the best?  Hard to say, but it was awesome.  Aidan likened it to Mathis Crest in the Sierras, something I’d like to do someday.  The pitch was basically another solid and fun one, this time a hand traverse of sorts.  Still, at the top of the false summit, I was glad the rock climbing was done.  We down-climbed some 4th class terrain to get on the “standard” west ridge route.  We then dropped our packs and scampered up 3rd and 4th class terrain to the top.  Awesome!  We got climbed all of the mountains we set out to climb.  It was great being on top of the last big mountain with such excellent gentlemen as well.

We couldn’t stay on top long though as the sun was already threatening to drop soon.  We scrambled back down to our packs then down a little further then back up onto the main part of the ridge (I suppose this actually terminates in the false summit) and down to the rappel point.  We threaded the rope through and Michael headed down.  Unfortunately, the rope didn’t reach the entire way (it was a 50m rope) and we had to spend more time devising another rappel that got us down to the horrid gully between Mount Terror and The Rake.

At this point, I’d like to recommend that folks not even bother climbing Mount Terror via the “easy” west ridge route.  The hike in is so long and the climb consists of a wretchedly loose gully and then a relatively loose scramble up to the top.  If you’re going to take the time, do the north buttress.  If you’re not up for the north buttress, do West McMillan Spire instead.  Anyway, back to the story, we delicately made our way down the gully knocking all sorts of rocks down.  About a third of the way down, the route is blocked by a huge chockstone which must be miserable to pass in the opposite direction (another reason to not to climb that route).  We took the rope out AGAIN and rappelled as far as possible down the gully, then slipped and slid our way into Crescent Creek basin.  The late afternoon light was now bathing the basin in orange so we knew our campsite tonight would be on the glacial slabs of Crescent Creek Basin.  The actually campsite was to be near the Chopping Block, not too far away, but too far for today.

Before our last meal of the trip (sniff), Aidan decided to dunk himself in the glacial pool next to our camp.  I’d already put in my feet and hands to wash up and I knew I wanted no part of it.  He quickly waded into the center then slowly sat down as he went into these hilarious convulsions…I still laugh to this day recalling the funny episode.  We enjoyed our last meal (oh man, that mashed potatoe, broccoli, and cheese dish was excellent!) and then turned in.  I teased Michael and Aidan as we went to sleep with each of my shooting star sightings.

On to day 7.

Pickets Traverse- Day 1

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Intro:  This is a tough trip report to write, not due to the length but my inability to sufficiently capture just how great of a trip it was.  This was indeed a trip of a lifetime.  I almost feel like I can say I could happily retire from climbing now!  As we thought, the trip included exciting climbing, great unknowns, exhausting hiking, spectacular scenery, and welcomed comraderie.  We each also experienced our own stresses at different times.  For these times we were thankful for the comraderie.  Like the Ptarmigan Traverse last year, we planned the individual camps and stuck to them, for the most part, with satisfying consistency.  Of course, this traverse was much more serious than the Ptarmigan.

Almost immediately after the Ptarmigan Traverse, Michael and I proposed the idea of traversing the Pickets.  A few months before the trip, we finalized the plan:  We would hike from Hannegan Pass to Whatcom Pass, over Whatcom Peak to Mount Challenger, descend into the remote Luna Cirque and climb Mount Fury’s north buttress.  From there, we would descend the south side of Fury to the Picket Pass/Mustard Lake area and ascend the north buttress of Mount Terror.  From there, we’d descend the standard route and hike out Terror Creek to Goodell Creek, possibly climbing The Chopping Block on the way out.  This plan was set until the last week when we decided for a hike in from Big Beaver Pass.  One compelling reason for this change was that our car shuttle would suddenly be much simpler.  We’d also be gaining a nominally shorter hike with less elevation gain.  Our price was adding extra bushwhacking, up to Wiley Ridge, to the trip.  The car shuttle argument won out.  Also, during the last week, we added a third member, Aidan Haley, who was a most welcome third member of our party.  On a trip such as this, a third person really made the party complete, certainly he didn’t make it a crowd!

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Day 1:  The hike to Beaver Pass

The standard route to Beaver Pass is of course from Big Beaver trail.  One can hike to that trailhead which is over 7 miles from Ross Lake.  Or one can pay $25 to have a water taxi ferry them and their gear the seven miles in about 15-20 minutes to the Big Beaver trailhead.  It was no contest, we’d take the water taxi.  After parking Michael’s car at the tiny Goodell Creek parking, we left my car at the commodious Ross Lake parking lot, readied our packs, double checked everything, then made the approximate mile hike down to the lake.  From there I used the Ross Lake Resort phone to call the water taxi.  I had to try no less than twenty times until I got the busy line to ring.  We lolligagged around the dock for a several minutes before the water taxi showed up.  We threw our gear on and handed the boatman $25 and were on our way.

The taxi quickly dumped us on the remote shore and sped off.  “Savor it, boys.  There’s no turning back now…well, except for hiking back 7 miles, but forget that!”  It was 11:20 AM and now fourteen miles of forest and 2000 feet of elevation gain (mostly at the end) lay between us and our camp.  We should be able to make it by nightfall easy, we thought.  Thankfully, the trail is excellent the entire way.  We only got confused once when we took the trail into the horsecamp.  I guess we should have noticed the horseshoe on the trail marker.

The path was wide and gentle and we made good progress.  For the most part, our packs were no bigger than they were for the Ptarmigan Traverse, maybe even smaller.  We were going very light.  Our only shelter was a Black Diamond Betamid, which would be pretty crowded if all three of had to fit in.  Our forecast, however, looked perfect.  Apparently, the day before had been quite wet.  There were still some lingering wet clouds to prove it.  But thankfully, the trail and foliage was dry.  Little did we know that two parties ahead of us had absobed much water earlier in the day.  The sun, I suppose and hope, evaporated the rest.  Good thing the only remaining reservation was 11AM.  What serendipity – good fortune that followed us for the entire trip.

The trail was delightful and at the same time claustrophobic.  We only rarely got glimpses up valleys and only at the end of the day, as we were ascending the switchbacks to the pass, did we see sparse views of Luna Peak and the Northern Pickets.  At least that was something.  The hike went quickly for me; I broke the monotony with a little entertainment from my mp3 player.  I felt pretty good though when we arrived at the turnoff for Luna Camp though – the ten mile point.  Progress was coming along quite reasonably and we would easily make Big Beaver Pass well before the sun went down.  The break at Luna Camp was most welcomed.  Aidan’s boots were already giving him trouble (a common malady that he’s used to dealing with).  A couple of small blisters were forming.  By the end of the trip, he would have many.  How many was it?  At least ten, I think.

After enticing views of the Northern Pickets along the switchbacks, we pulled into camp.  We passed a duo at the glorified lean-to that is Big Beaver shelter who were set on climbing Challenger on our same scedule.  Next to our camp was a party of five that was planning another ambitious trip:  a climb of Challenger as well, then moving across the valley to climb Luna and Fury and then out through Access Creek.  The camp was still a little damp and dimly lit – the late afternoon sun could barely penetrate the boughs of the massive evergreens.  After a satisfying meal, a quick cleanup, and some conversation with our neighbors, we were ready for a good night sleep.  I opted to sleep out under the stars, or rather the pine boughs, while Aidan and Michael slept in the Betamid.

On to day 2.

Johannesburg Mountain

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We picked the hottest weekend of the year to climb Johannesburg.  But, what was more important was that we chose a weekend with a perfect forcast.  Good choice – I would never want to be stuck up on this route in bad weather.  After climbing this dubious route on this monster mountain, the words of Robert hearken back:  <paraphrasing> “Every Cascade climber should experience Johannesburg – but just once”.  I’m proud I finished the climb and I’ll never do this one again.  The upper part of the climb was asoundingly alpine and the thought of imagining myself in such an outrageous setting only added to the grandeur.  The lower buttress, on the other hand, was atrocious, with its continuous steep and brushy cliffs.  On top of that, protection is sparse.  The safest part of the climbing is in the dense timber where you can sling big tree branches clinging onto cliffs.  The cliffs themselves are exceptionally stingy with protectable spots.

We drove up Friday evening for a car camp at the Cascade Pass trailhead.  A few weekends earlier on a climb up Sahale and Boston basin, we had to hike the road three extra miles to this location.  Thankfully, it was fixed now.  If you wish to climb Johannesburg, the least you can do is allow yourself the luxury of a 20 minute hike to the base of the climb.  We pulled into the moderately crowded parking lot late and set up our sleeping bags on level picnic tables.

I awoke the following morning and looked over to Michael’s table to see no one there.  Where’d he go?  A rustle of the grass behind me caused me to turn where Michael approached with a big smile.  The “Calm Before the Storm”, I called it.  We both knew we’d be in for an exceptionally strenous day.  We set off by walking around to the point in the road that was closest to the snow runnoff from the Cascade-Johannesburg (CJ) couloir, downclimbed to the small creek and up over talus to the snow.  We saw another party in front of us, intent upon the buttress as well.  There’s a prominent snow finger that appears to easily access the buttress, but it’s unfortunately surrounded by large moats.  Not finding the potential jump savory, we found a preferable crossing above it.  A simple jump, accompanied by a distinct sense of one-way, got us on the route.  “So it begins”.  We set off as the other team belayed each other up onto the route.

We traversed along steep ledges.  Almost immediately though, the brush and direct steepness starts.  We climbed a long section of it unroped, allowing us to get a lot of space between the other party who were still belaying below.  The climbing quickly became too steep for unroped climbing and we stopped to rectify the problem.

Our first goal was to get up to a prominent snowpatch that marked a distinct point where you could either take the western or eastern variation on the Northeast Buttress.  Our plan was to take the western variation.  A lot of ground lay between us and the snowpatch though.  Looking back, the scariest climbing was certainly on the lower part of the buttress before the snowpatch.  At one point, after a few pitches of steep brushy climbing where we adopted the habit of grasping at branches and bushes to help us up, we entered a brushy gully with a rocky bottom where we could cover ground more quickly.  I recall wearing my leather gloves for sections of the gully where I was breaking devils club to clear a way and using the lower branches as handholds.  We continued to follow this gully steeply up.  Occasional 5th class moves allowed us to gain shelves where we could see ahead.  The angle only increased.  Michael led one pitch up that turned out to be too steep.  A dicey lower off a sling fastened around a shrub prompted us to turn left and exit the gully.  There was virtually no protection here and the natural protection, the brush, was spotty at best.  To the left, we could enter timber.  After leading us out of the gully and up on border of the gully, Michael took off for a pitch that eventually opened up into thick huckleberry bushes on moderate ground.  A hundred yards or so through the brush deposited us at the welcomed snowfield where we took our first break.

We sat and drank longingly for at least thiry minutes.  Then, I led off for the western rib variation.  There was a rocky cliff in front of us that looked a little intimidating.  “More sketchy terrain”, I thought.  Actually, it was quite easy; we headed to the right and traversed horizontally and then headed up through several steep timber pitches.  These pitches were mostly jungle gym style climbing where most of the holds were branches.  Protection was thanfully very easy.  All you needed was a handy sling.  There were more than enough stout branches to choose from.  We climbed and swung our way up the near vertical forest.  Michael ended up leading a pitch that took us up a cliff for about one hundred feet that then exited right into dead vertical thick brush.  This short section was the thickest brush of the entire climb and was almost like swimming.  Taking the dive was exiting the rock and clinging onto branches for dear life and pulling and tugging ourselves into and upward through the brush.  Many of the large branches grew straight down and we climbed them much as one climbs, or tries to climb, a rope.  Michael brought me up to a belay spot in the trees.  I took over and headed further to the right, trending up slightly.  I suddenly emerged onto the long-awaited heather slopes.

While the heather wasn’t an end to the thick brush, it was at least a different (and preferred) type of brush.  We were done with the devils club and the sappy branches.  After another break where we reapplied sunscreen and took in the views, we headed up.  The rock tower above us, where our bivy site lay, looked close.  However, it was much further away than it appeared.  We put away the rope for this section and wended our way up and around.  The steep heather and non-stop 3rd and 4th class scrambling didn’t relent.

The heather slowly started to give way to rock.  Our next target was the titanium pin that marked the potential rappel into the gully.  After a short knife edge section on solid rock, for which we roped up, we arrived at the titanium pin.  There were some old but reliable slings left here as well which we promptly claimed (we’d use them on rappels the next day).  Slings are valuable on this climb.  Our original plans called for going left instead of rappelling down into the gully on the right.  One look at the awful gully confirmed this.

Around the left was the “rotten chimney” as described in the “Selected Climbs” book.  Well, this was one “5.3″ that would stump us.  So, we went further left.  Michael accomplished this by a delicate move around a devious corner.  The pitch was short and I carefully swung myself around the exposed corner.  Some steep and exposed climbing got me up to the belay.  I led on up a steep step where I had to dig out a small handhold for my right hand.  Once on this, I moved left and trended upward.  Again, Johannesburg exhibited the dubious distinction of revealing little protection and I suddenly found myself on sloping ledges with nothing for protection.  Not happy at this prospect and realizing the downclimb would be worse, I carefully climbed up to another ledge where I thanked my maker for an anomolous horn on which I could place a reliable sling.  Higher up, I belayed Michael and then he left for the final two pitches that would lead us to the snowfield and our camp.  We pulled into camp at around 7:45.  I recognized it from some of Robert’s pictures.  Finally!  We took the time to have some dinner, clean up in the small snowmelt stream and let the anxieties of the day wash away.  The worst of the climb was over.

Michael woke up too early the following morning (5am) and goaded me to get up.  Arrr…  At least I’d slept solidly despite my concerns that the ground wasn’t entirely level.  I was worried about the exposure on the snow arete on the upcoming glacier section of the climb.  Although the pictures I’d seen of it looked reasonable, I read about “calm nerves required” and “exposure” and so on.  Well, it turned out to be quite an easy and enjoyable climb up the glacier.  I’d insisted on bringing pickets along but Michael had forgotten to pack his.  And, what’s worse, I’d left mine back at the car (and I realized after shortly getting on the climb the day before!).  Ah well, turns out pickets weren’t needed at all.  The snow arete was picturesque and alpine.  It was easy enough where my mind could wander and I could appreciate my location.  Beyond that, near the crevasses, we roped up.  A short and moderately steep headwall led us to level ground.  To our left was a large wall of ice which we comfortably passed under.  The exposure over the right side led to an ice fall, but the route never exposed us to that.  We continued to the opposite side of the glacier under the ice wall and hooked all the way back to the opposite side of the glacier once again before beginning the final bit of steep snow to a snow tongue between to towers, the right one being the true summit.

I was initially a little worried about the steep snow.  Something about steep Cascade snow lately has had me a little nervous.  Anyway, this too turned out to be quite easy.  I led out and ice axe placements were generously deep.  Michael swung out under me to lead the final piece of the snow tongue.  We entered the moat on the left side.  I felt snug between rock and snow.  At the top, we finally had the view southward to the Ptarmigan Traverse peaks and Glacier Peak.  We kept the rope on for the last bit to the summit and dumped everything else (except the cameras of course).  The pitch to the summit was easy – no rope required.  We arrived on top a couple of minutes later, about eight in the morning.

The summit register contained four rotten pages dating back to the mid eighties.  We found Robert and Jesse’s signatures as well as Colins.  Michael recognized other names as well.  I really enjoyed the rest up here.  I wasn’t as worried about the descent as I was the ascent.  We started off for what would be a long, arduous, but reasonable endeavour.  The first part was easy enough, albeit tedious.  We stayed on the south side of the ridge, maybe 100 feet below the top at most, on relatively comfortable ledges.  We crossed numerous ribs and gullys.  Once we topped out on the ridge and enjoyed a short thrilling walk on comfortable sidewalks in the sky.

We passed above a steep snowfield (I refused to climb any super steep snow aretes up here) and then further down along more ledges.  The descent became more difficult to follow and we had to start scouting ways around steep towers.  Eventually, this led to about 7 steep rappels with occasional 3rd class downclimbing to get to the CJ couloir.

On most of the rappels, we couldn’t see the next rappel station, if there was one.  So, we spent lots of time looking left and right seeking out horns where we could place a rappel sling or the reassuring sign where someone else had placed one.  Once down to the couloir’s top, we felt very happy and relieved.  We were officially off of Johannesburg and all that remained now was finding “Doug’s Direct” route over Mixup Peak to the Cache Glacier.  First things were first though – we bounded down the gentle snowfield and made for a large boulder that marked an “idyllic brook where one could reconstitute oneself.”  Reconstitute we did.  We drank our fills and our cups ranneth over.  The break was welcomingly long and relaxing.

We traversed grassy slopes past Cascade Peak and the Triplets to the backside of Mixup Peak.  From here, we were able to put together landmarks seen from above to devise a plan that would get us to the suspected spot where Doug’s Direct lay.  There were three prominent snowfields on the left side of the peak that we would keep to the right of.  Steep heather slopes and mixed rock would get us to the ridge.  On the steep heather, we occasionally used our ice axe picks to dig into the roots and secure us.  We eventually moved onto firm rocks and scrambled our way to the top.  “How’s it look?”, yelled Michael when I topped out on the ridge.  “This will work!”, I responded.  I almost couldn’t believe it, but it appeared that this fabled “Doug’s Direct” existed as reported and would indeed save us the tedious and treacherous route over Gunsight Notch.

Mixup Peak is a long trending ridge with the summit being on the southeastern end.  Doug’s Direct is almost on the opposite northwestern end.  So, unfortunately, we couldn’t tag another summit just for fun.  No matter, it was enough to see that the descent would be a 3rd and maybe 4th class scramble to the top of the Cache Glacier.  While snacking on our last food, we spotted a lone traveller on the glacier approaching Cache Col, a little ant of a man.  I almost preferred to just rappel this terrain so we wouldn’t have to do any real thinking.  But, I yielded and we downclimbed to entire route to the glacier.  It went easily with only a few more careful moves.  We strapped on crampons for the last time at the top of the glacier.  While not steep, this location was thin and slick.  We then marched down the glacier and as the terrain became more firm, my energy increased substantially.  I suppose this jolt could be credited to a peaceful mind that knew that all the difficulties were over.  The remaining hike out was pleasant, and we’d have plenty of sun as well.  We took one last break at Cascade Pass set against the whoopings of hidden grouse somewhere in the foliage.  On the way down from Cascade Pass we ran into some goats – a mother and kid who opted not to move aside for us; we did instead.

Mount Stuart-North Ridge

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Michael and I planned on doing Mount Stuart’s classic North Ridge last year, but fires had closed access to the trailheads and thus we ended up going to West McMillan Spire.  Stuart would wait another year.  For a trip that had been discussed for a long time, it certainly began in a chaotic fashion. At the last minute, we ditched our weekend plans for a climb due to weather and opted to take off a Wednesday the following week where the weather window seemed to be at its best. We left later than planned on Tuesday afternoon but were soon on our way. Our original intent was to do the full ridge from the Mountaineers Creek trailhead but we dashed those plans again at the last minute when we thought the Sherpa glacier would be to difficult to descend. So, the plan was set during the drive out for an approach from Ingalls Pass.  Maybe that would work out well for us; every time I’ve been up Mountaineers Creek (three times), I’ve had cloudy weather.  Every time I’ve been up Ingalls Pass (once), I’ve had good weather. Ingalls Pass is now two for two.

On the way out, Michael made a quick stop at Albertsons to buy food for the trip. For dinner, he had some fried chicken which he kindly shared a tasty breast. We were soon on our way up Ingalls Pass and on to Ingalls Lake where we decided to ultimately camp. We’d talked about Stuart Pass or Goat Pass, but Ingalls Lake was definitely the best with its abundant supply of water and numerous choices for camping. Actually, you’re not allowed to camp at the lake, the sites we used were on rock a hundred or two yards from the lake. Thanks to the chicken down at the car, there was no need to bring cooking gear in. We had a small dessert and turned in.

4:15 came too soon for me (as always). But we packed up quickly (the quick packing job is key for an upcoming story regarding food) and were headed out by 4:45. The morning promised to be clear and warm. In the distance, we could see Glacier Peak in the sunrise. The trail dropped us down along the edges of a meadow then brought us steeply back up to the ridge and Stuart Pass. The trip over to Goat Pass went without a hitch and we were soon getting good looks at the north ridge of Stuart. Our trip to Goat Pass had taken much shorter than we had anticipated. We stopped to take a break and as I began digging in the top of my pack I uttered a disappointed, “Uh oh.” Michael was naturally startled and instantly worried since I have been known to forget important items from time to time. “I think I left my food back at camp”, I said. So, for the rest of the day, I shared Michael’s food. Well, at least I didn’t forget rock shoes, harness, or something like that. The climb would obviously continue.

We spotted another party at the bivy site on the Stuart Glacier and some steep but easy traversing on the Stuart Glacier brought us to the friendly folk. One had climbed the ridge five times, but never the Great Gendarme. We continued past them and got to the base of the ridge and decided that we’d better try to load up on water here. We found a good stream in a moat a hundred feet up the glacier that was easily retrieved. We then traversed along the top of the moat to the snow tongue that led to the ridge. The climb up was easy; I was thankful for the nice cup steps. The rock portion was rated 4th class, but in my suspicious eyes, it felt like easy 5th class to me. Up on the ridge, around 8 in the morning, the wind greeted us. We donned rock shoes and Michael headed off for the first pitch. The plan was to simul climb for as long as we could so that we’d have plenty of time to tackle the Great Gendarme.

The first pitch started out typical enough, but not classic: Moving along blocky exposed ledges, swinging around wide corners of 3rd and 4th class terrain. The first 5.7 pitch started as an “open book” complete with small grassy ledges. “Hey, this reminds me of something like the West Face of Sloan Peak. I want to get to the good stuff”, I thought to myself. Well, above the open book, Michael belayed me up and I got a look at some nice golden granite. I headed out for my turn at the lead. The climbing was still easy, mostly 4th class, until I got to a steep step. I brought Michael around a large corner to prevent rope drag and he then belayed me up the steep section. It was much fun, maybe rated 5.7 as well, I suppose. Beyond this, I could cover lots of ground. The terrain then turned to beautiful, super-clean, gray granite. We cruised along big solid granite flakes until I ran out of slings and brought Michael up and under a short Tarzan move to lead the third simul-climbing pitch.

The third pitch was a classic, maybe the best (along with the 4th) climbing on the entire route. After a short offwidth section, the pitch became a long, steep, and exposed hand traverse. The most difficult part of the traverse only lasted for 150 feet or so then gave way to more moderate and enjoyable clean granite flakes. For the most part, the route followed the crest of the ridge and both sides fell away steeply – to the left, the Ice Cliff Glacier and to the right, the Stuart Glacier.

I don’t remember where the 3rd pitch ended and the 4th began, but the great terrain continued. The 4th pitch was the longest, I believe. At this point, I was having so much fun and feeling so confident that I was placing gear very sparsely. At the top of a tall tower, I downclimbed and arrived at the famous slab with the large crack. The slab was low angle and felt really easy. We cruised up it to the top of another tower where a downclimb brought us to the famous spot where the pictures are taken – the 5.7 hand traverse. OK, I need to place a piece of gear so I found an excellent cam placement and moved past the traverse to a delicate downclimb to a huge fractured slab that led up to the base of the Great Gendarme. I think I only had two more pieces of gear to use on this long stretch but I was able to find temporary homes for them. At the base of the gendarme, we had a bit to eat (of Michael’s food), a short rest, and then got ready for the first pitch of the Great Gendarme.

I’ve seen the first pitch of the Gendarme rated 5.8 and 5.9. Well, I thought it was pretty tough in any case! These were stiff ratings, no doubt – Index 5.8 and 5.9.  In fact, the Gendarme completely changes the nature of the climb.  I found it significantly more difficult than anything else on the lower route. The lower pitch consisted of three sections of downward trending liebacks – the kind where gravity can’t help you as much! From below, this pitch looked tough to me and I was glad to let Michael take the lead. It was definitely a strenuous move and Michael, certainly tired from the tribulations, belly flopped his way on to the belay station at the top of the pitch. I’m not a big fan of these liebacks (or offwidths) and had a pretty tough time with it – I was definitely breathing hard. I took one fall when I eagerly stood up too soon to grasp high for a solid horn at the top of the second lieback. Standing up meant my pasted feet had nothing to hold on to and just shot out from under me. OK, well at least I could dangle and rest a while. One more attempt got me to the top.

The marquis pitch of the Gendarme is the second – the offwidth pitch – arrr offwidth!!!  How about a perfect straight handrack?!?  Nope, not this time.  This pitch starts with a delicate rightward traverse off of the small belay tower.  Immediately, the exposure becomes great.  Not surprisingly, I found the offwidth challenging.  If I recall, the edges flared a little bit making a lieback difficult.  I was able to get one successful fistjam early but, being an offwidth, everything else seemed to slip away.  After a few rests, I made it over the initial 10 feet of the crack, the most difficult.  Higher up, the climbing became more reasonable, but still strenuous. We continued a long simul climb off the gendarme over easy terrain to the next 5.9 secion, a wall with a prominent offwidth in the center. Possible routes looked to be the center (the offwidth), to the left (nothing for feet), and a small crack slightly to the right. We chose the small crack. It was another hard 5.9. The crack was small and overhang a bit. I did my best to avoid another awkward crack and transformed the short crack move into a harder face climb. Michael had a good laugh.

Once on top of this, we had only a strecth of mostly 4th class terrain to the summit. There was an occasional 5th class move to keep things fun. At 3pm, we arrived at the top. “Not too bad”, we thought. We were certain we’d be back down to the car before the sun went down. How we underestimated the abject tedium of the Cascadian Couloir!  We walked the same long and tedious steps that we’d taken two months earlier when descending the summit after a climb of the Stuart Glacier Couloir. At least this time we weren’t continually punching through snow. We descended down the false summit again, following rock for as long as we could until we arrived at snow and then front pointed our way down slick snow to the base of the “couloir”. The Cascadian Couloir is a gently sloped and very broad couloir that was devoid of snow except for one patch about a third of the way down. At first, I thought the descent would just be one long slog. It turned out to be that until the trails faded and the sketchy cliffs appeared. Tedious downclimbing, too tedious to even recall here, got us down to solid grass but there was still steep descending to do, at least this time on a trail. Finally, on the Ingalls Creek trail we paused briefly, preparing for the three mile (at least) slog back up to our camp. There would be another 4+ miles after that. OK, this probably won’t be a hike out with light. Our goal was at least to get beyond the lake (the last of the tricky scrambling) before utter darkness moved in.

There’s not much else to tell other than we were really hungry by the time we got up to our camp. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the skeeters down here were vicious!!!  I usually can endure without repellent but this was utterly impossible.  I already had blood splotches all over my shoulders.  I easily could kill three of those damn things with each swat.  With repellent on it seemed like there were hundreds just hovering around me.  Anyway, I wondered if my food was eaten by local critters while we were away. I couldn’t find it when we arrived. “Oh no”, I said to myself again as I checked in my pack one last time, this time to the very bottom. There was my food. “Oops, sorry about that, Michael. Here have a Twix and some Nutella!” See, the problem was that I never pack my food at the very bottom. For some reason, at 4:30 in the morning, I did. Yet another lesson learned!  We succeeded at getting past the lake by the time it got dark and hiked the rest of the way by headlamp. We ended up taking the low trail unfortunately to get us to Ingalls Pass – the low road dropped us down at least 2-300 feet that we had to regain. At Ingalls Pass we took a nice rest before beginning the starry march out. We arrived back at 12:20. Wow, a 20 hour day. It was 9 hours after we’d left the summit! The memories of those clean granite flakes will fortunately stay in my memory much longer than the unpleasant descent. It’s already starting to dissolve!

As a bonus to this climb, two days later, when I took off for a trip back home, I had the pleasure of picking a seat on the north side of the airplane in anticipation of views of the North Cascades.  As we took off, I was able to identify close peaks like Mount Si and The Tooth as well as the usual familiars to the north.  But the piece de resistance was the direct flyover of Mount Stuart where I was able to look straight down on the North Ridge!  I had to really work to suppress my excitement to those around.  “Hey!  I was there just two days ago!”