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Trip: Olympic National Park - Mt. Olympus Traverse: East Peak, Middle Peak, West Peak Trip Date: 08/01/2021 Trip Report: Mt. Olympus Traverse: East Peak, Middle Peak, West Peak Climbers: Adam “Mo” Moline - Sacramento, CA Emilio Taiveaho - Saxapahaw, NC Gregorio “Brosi” Scott – Minneapolis, MN Summary: Day 1 – Hike to Lewis Meadows Day 2 – Hike to Glacier Pass Day 3 – Summit Push: East, Middle, and West Peaks Day 4 – Restorative climbing/Choss worship at Glacier Pass Day 5 – Hike out Seeking sweet sweet choss, a return to the Olympic Peninsula was in order. In 2020, Adam and I (emilio) climbed the West Peak in a three-day push—an adventure that left us hungry to explore more remote areas of the park and spend some time on the dense and complicated glacier system skirting Mt. Olympus. As this trip marked Gregg’s first backcountry experience, we pursued a comfortable line full of loose rock and crevasses, giving him a delightful taste of the proverbial “freedom of the hills.” Day 1: Our pilgrimage to Sunh-a-do began at the airport, as Adam and Greg picked me up from Seattle on Monday morning. Running low on sleep, I was full of nervous anticipation having just completed a run up Gannet Peak a couple days prior, climbing the South-East Couloir in a twenty-two-hour push. Although my legs were tired, my spirits were at all time high and I was eager to rest my legs by walking alongside the mossy delights of the Hoh River. We made good walking and camped at Lewis Meadows, this being the only site with open campsites along the developed trail. We had a leisurely afternoon spent reading Deleuze and Guattari by the river and beginning to contemplate how to make ourselves bodies without organs. Day 2: After a full night of rest, we began our hike up to Glacier Pass. Soaking in the sights and feeling healed by the forest we had no trouble getting up to Glacier Meadows. Auspiciously, on our way up a smiling mustached old-time climber yelped: “The Ice is great! You won’t even need a rope!” Once at the Blue Glacier, the leisurely walking continued. Crevasses were easy to spot and the ice was solid, so there was no need for crampons. After a good day of walking, arriving at our camp felt like a true treat—we were welcomed with open arms by the mountain. The afternoon was spent staring at Hermes and the Hoh Glacier, basking like lizards under the Washington sun. Day 3: On our third day, we woke up early with our objectives in mind. Descending class 3 rock to the glacier, we put on our crampons and headed up the Hoh towards the East Peak. The Hoh Glacier was in lovely form and we heeded the old climber’s advice, seeing no need for ropes, and made good time negotiating crevasses. Once at the rock, climbing was straightforward, class 3 and 4 to the top. We all took slightly different routes to the top, but found no summit log there. We descended the way we approached, getting back on to the Hoh Glacier in order to approach Middle Peak. The route up Middle Peak was marked by solid snow and heavenly sights. Getting onto the rock was straightforward. The route up was chossy class 3, maybe 4, with a couple cerebral moves. Here, we found a true summit register with a handful of entries—mainly from groups traversing the Bailey Range, which will be an objective in the future. Looking over at the West Peak and getting hungry for more climbing, we decided it was a good idea to rap from the top in order to make good time, traversing onto the Blue Glacier. We were moving fast now, downclimbing class 4 choss after a 30 m rap, when I was frozen by the sound of falling rock and the sudden mushrooming of a cloud of pure dust. This was Gregg’s first time climbing in the Alpine and he had expressed some fear, so my mind immediately rushed to the worst: he had fallen and broken a limb… or worse. Rushing to see what happened, both Adam and I found Gregg suspended by his fingers and toes, having caught himself on a solid jug after a bloody, chossy, bruising rock slide. Seeing he was okay—just a little shook up—made me think of Jean Afanassieff’s legendary words “This is the fucking life! No?” Thanking our lucky stars and bowing to the greatness of Mount Olympus, who humbled us yet kept us going, we made quick time across the Blue Glacier and arrived at the West Peak, troubled only by our own internal agitations and “what if” scenarios. Needing a respite, Gregg waited for Adam and I at the base of the climb as we scampered up the back. It was easy, class 4 climbing with a couple class 5 moves for good taste. At the top, we came across some mountaineers who had spent the last hour watching us cross the glacier. After some good conversation about the beauty of the Picket Range and this summer’s adventures, Adam and I headed down to Gregg, whose nerves were calmed and mood once again elevated. We followed our tracks on the way back and found climbing Middle Peak from the west a welcome breeze. A single rap brought us back to the Hoh Glacier and with soulful bounding leaps, we navigated our way back to Glacier Pass. It’s true what Japhy Ryder says in The Dharma Bums, “You can’t fall off a mountain!” There are times when this adage is felt and its truth shines through—this is something that can only be experienced, description lacks what only the body relates. Food tasted particularly tasty back at camp, where we were greeted by water and the sight of a fleeting hummingbird, attracted to our prayer flags and the vibrant colors of our jackets. That night was filled with a spilling milky way, stars as choss populating my deep sleep. Day 4: The next day we awoke to make coffee and stretch, having carved out a day to rest and recover. Soaking in Glacier Pass without determinate plans we ate a meal of morels and other dried mushrooms, and decided to have a day full of turmeric, ginger, and meditative bouldering. Devotees of the lazy lizard school of hedonism, we worshipped the choss and spent a day on the rocks, singling out Hermes just across the glacier, and living on Big Rock Candy Mountain. That evening, a small black bear crested Glacier Pass not realizing we were there. Upon hearing and seeing us, the Bear raccoonned down the Blue Glacier, moving quickly and lightly back down the glacier. The night was filled with signs of inclement weather—it was clear we were going to be greeted by rain in the morning. Day 5: After another night of deep sleep, we woke up to morning rain and shifting clouds at our Glacier Pass Eden. We packed our gear and a steady glacier walk brought us back to the trail. Our boots guided us back to the trailhead, adorned by a couple water breaks. Near the end of our hike we came across a beautiful flush of Chicken of the Woods, and Adam gathered some for dinner. We are thankful, and will be back for you, Hermes. Gear Notes: Light rack, some cams and nuts. Approach Notes: Smooth Big Rock Candy Mountain Walkin'

Trip: Mt Shuksan - Fisher Chimneys Trip Date: 08/23/2021 Trip Report: At around noon on Monday the 25th of August, my friend Matt and I began our two-day summit attempt of Shuksan via the Fisher Chimneys. Faint hopes of blue skies and dry rock, dampened somewhat by our cloudy arrival at the Lake Ann trailhead, were dashed completely as we descended into the valley between Shuksan Arm and Kulshan Ridge. Drizzle turned to shower as we hiked along the valley floor. With miles to go before the entrance to the Chimneys, we were both already fretting over steep scrambling on slippery rock. At one point, Matt replied to a hiker that we “were” going to climb Shuksan, a slip of the tongue that indicated our growing pessimism. But, we hiked on through Ann Lake and up through the switchbacked entrance to the Chimneys, determined to at least see the rock for ourselves. Around two and a half hours in by this point, the rain had died down, but visibility remained poor. The first of the Chimneys went smoothly. We had trouble figuring out where the second Chimneys began at the end of the last talus field you cross. Beckey anchors the entrance at a “large boulder”, so through the fog we warily traversed the talus to what looked like, at least to us, a pretty big rock at the mouth of a large gully. The rock in the second Chimneys had fortunately been mostly guarded from rain and appeared to be climbable, so we began ascending. The climbing through the beginning was mostly 3rd class with the occasional awkward and exposed move. The way was much less obvious than we had expected, but we eventually reached a position that allowed us to look back on a well-defined trail that had gained elevation much closer to the entrance. Had we sidestepped the entrance to the second Chimneys? Confused but relieved to find better-trodden trail, we continued in a more straightforward manner up 3rd class rock. Both of the Chimneys had taken us a little more than two hours. We then hopped over to Winnie’s Slide, which this late in the season was now mostly ice topped with a thin layer of snow that had been deposited the night before. Being novice ice climbers, both Matt and I expected this to be another crux in our approach, but our combinations of a hybrid ice axe and an ice tool each proved to be more than adequate, though we didn’t break any speed records gingerly soloing up the steep ice. We camped just past the top of Winnie’s slide at the western edge of the Upper Curtis beneath a towering rock wall after around six hours on the move. There were at least four good tent spots in that general area, and runoff from a small glacial pool just ten yards away provided crystal clear water. The clouds began to clear, and patches of blue gave way to broadening swaths of green and red and orange, yielding beautiful views of Baker and the Upper Curtis bathed in sunset light. We woke up before dawn to a clear and moonlit sky and took our first step onto the Upper Curtis at around 6:20. The snow had frozen into a grippy crust overnight and allowed for easy traversing around clearly visible crevasses to the entrance to Hell’s Highway. Having talked to a guide we had camped close to the previous night, we already knew that the standard ascent towards the left was too riddled with gaping crevasses to go, so we instead gained a windblown, sharp-edged ridge that stood to the right and above these huge rents in the ice. There was a small bridge we were able to cross to get to the bottom of the ridge, but I suspect that this will soon melt out and make Hell’s Highway impassible. We soloed this moderate pitch of ice, which was about as steep as Winnie’s but shorter, though the runout was a little more unnerving. Once we gained the Sulphide, navigation over the lightly dusted bare glacier looked like it would be a piece of cake, and we decided that we could leave our 48m twin rope in the bag. In no time, we had meandered through the large crevasses on fresh bootpack up to a notch at the Southeast Rib of the Summit Pyramid. We took our boots and crampons off and donned rock shoes. The Rib itself went smoothly, and with the exception of one deviation down into a gully climber’s left, we ascended the rocky spine, which was mostly 4th class with perhaps one or two low-5th moves that made me pause for a second. We had decided we would rope up if things got too spicy, but before we knew it it was 9 o’clock and we had reached the summit, rope still stowed away. The views of Baker under a now nearly cloudless sky and the setting moon were stunning, and I also enjoyed looking upon Ruth Mountain, whose early-season ascent I made last summer I consider to be the true start of my mountaineering adventures. We didn’t spend much more time on the summit, and after just a few minutes we began downclimbing one of the large south gullies. After an uneventful downclimb and descent off the Sulphide, we were back at Hell’s Highway. We soloed the descent of the sharp, icy ridge, with every step and stick being made very carefully to ensure our first ice downclimb wouldn’t potentially be our last. Two and a half hours after our summit, we were back at the campsite. We packed up and soloed yet another slow but secure downclimb of Winnie’s Slide, passing a guided group who were making their way up. At the bottom, we encountered yet another party, one of whose members had taken a spill and sprained their ankle. Soon we were at the upper exit of Fisher Chimneys, and the bright sun and bone-dry rock made for a descent much more cheerful than the ascent, though the rhythmic thumping of nearby helicopter blades reminded me to keep paying attention. After running into three more parties on their way up, we eventually reached the point where the day before we had joined what looked like a much clearer trail through the Chimneys. Taking the well-traveled trail down to an unfamiliar steep dihedral corner, it was clear that we had bypassed a large chunk of the second Chimney the day before. For the only time during our trip, we pulled out the rope, deciding to rappel down the feature rather than downclimb. Soon we had reached the bottom of the second Chimneys, and without the fog of the previous day, it was clear that the “large boulder” south of us on the rock field that we thought we had entered by before was a pipsqueak compared to the massive unit we now stood by. We made our way across the talus field on what was now a clear trail, and as the adrenaline wore off making our way down the mellow first Chimneys and the switchbacks back to Lake Ann, the fatigue began to set in. At around ten hours in, we made it to Lake Ann and took a quick breather, relishing in our success and overall luck with the weather, but ready to zip through the remaining four miles of trail back to the car. The next couple of hours flew by as we chatted and took in the expansive views we had missed the day before, and after a brief 800ft climb at the end were back at the trailhead, content with our completion of the diverse and stimulating Fisher Chimneys route. Gear Notes: Helmet, crampons, hybrid ice axe and an ice tool each, single 48m twin rope, rock shoes, standard climbing gear (harness, belay device, carabiners, slings for rappel extension, etc.) Approach Notes: The boulder that stands guard over the entrance to the second Chimneys is marked with a white arrow. There is also a cairned trail that leads to it across the talus field. There should be pretty clear trail almost immediately upon entry into the second Chimneys. If you doubt that you are in the right gully at the beginning, you probably aren’t. There is ample water up to the top of Winnie’s Slide. We did not see any water past the small pond at the campsite here, so fill up here before you make your bid for the summit. Winnie’s Slide and Hell’s Highway are pretty much all ice this late in the season, especially with it being such a hot summer. Two ice tools felt necessary to us, though your mileage may vary. The standard climber’s left ascent of Hell’s Highway was crevassed and wouldn’t go; gaining the sharp ridge to the right (beta we got from the guide at our campsite) was the move. To get onto this ridge, we had to descend onto and then climb off a small snowbridge that may be difficult to cross soon. Rock shoes were great for the Southeast Rib. Like the two ice tools, they may have not been necessary, but they gave us some additional security that we might have otherwise sought with a rope.

Trip: Tyler Peak Crags - various Trip Date: 08/23/2021 Trip Report: I don’t see any TRs for this spot so thought I would post a quick blurb. Rolf and I set out for a weekend of cragging when a less-than-stellar forecast and a glancing mention of devil’s club and slide alder in a previous TR inspired us to alter our plans for the weekend, as our recent outings have left us both with a desire for a weekend involving less walking/bushwhacking and more climbing. Tyler Peak delivered both, although Sunday was cut rather short by “stupid rain”–that rain that isn’t even really rain, just a thick drizzle/mist that is enough to get you and the rock wet, but which keeps you thinking that you can wait it out. However, yesterday was beautiful and allowed us to tick off the one multi-pitch, Junior’s Farm, a 7-pitch 5.8. Pitch 6 is the most fun: steep pillow lava up an exposed arete with jugs everywhere. Note that there are several “scramble pitches” interspersed with the “real climbing” pitches that have fixed lines; that may detract from the aesthetic qualities of the route for some. We ignored the fixed lines and just climbed the rock, but they’re still hanging there in your line of sight. Beta for the area can be found on mountainproject. The rock is shockingly solid for the Olympics, and steep, well-featured walls make for really fun climbing. There are a few camping options along the road past the trail up to the crag for those coming from further away. Definitely worth a visit. Note that helmets are a good idea: I managed to pop one handhold and one foothold off the wall over the course of the weekend and anyone climbing or just walking along the trails at the base of walls above you could easily send something down. Also watch out for bees: we found a nest in the ground and its denizens were not pleased with our intrusion. Gear Notes: rope, at least 12 QDs (we used more when we ran some pitches together), a few cams/nuts if you want to ignore the fixed lines on Junior's Farm Approach Notes: see mountainproject

Trip: Pik Pobeda, Kyrgyzstan - Abalakov Trip Date: 08/09/2021 Trip Report: Pik Pobeda (24,406ft) via Abalakov route (VI,5.6,WI2/3,60 deg snow) Pik Pobeda viewed from South Inylchek basecamp (note the big avalanche on the north face) Highest Mountain in Kyrgyzstan Aug 9, 2021 Eric Gilbertson and Andreas Ritzau Aug 6 – leave bc climb glacier in snowstorm to 5200m Aug 7 – climb left side of triangle over massive 50ft cornices, 5.6 mixed rock ice pitch and ice pitch to 5800m passing Russian team on their descent Aug 8 – climb more huge cornices, rock pitch, ice pitch, dig platform under serac at 6600m Aug 9 – tough steep trailbreaking in snow then ice climb to summit ridge and true east summit. Descend to 6600m camp in wind and whiteout Aug 10 – rap and downclimb to 6000m in extreme wind Aug 11 – rap, downclimb cornices, descend all way to BC by 10pm Aug 12 – helicopter out, ride to Bishkek Our route I originally posted a call for partners on cc for this trip, so figured I'd put up a report for it now that I'm back. Pik Pobeda is considered the northernmost 7000m peak in the world and the most difficult of the famous snow leopard peaks (the five 7000m peaks of the former soviet union). Pobeda has notoriously bad weather and all routes to the summit are technically difficult and dangerous. The peak lies on the Kyrgyzstan-China border near the Kazakhstan tri-border point and is affected by the weather of the Taklamakan desert to the south and glaciers to the north. The normal route on Pobeda requires climbing over technical terrain to 7000m on the west ridge and then following the ridge for a full 6km to the summit, then returning the same way. The technical sections up to the ridge are usually fixed each year so don’t pose problems. But the 7000m ridge is quite dangerous because it could take all day or multiple days to move along the ridge and back if snow conditions are bad. If the weather deteriorates, which is common, retreat is very difficult. Route overview (photo by Markus Gschwendt, summitpost, some camp locations different than ours) An alternative route, and the route of the first ascent, is the Abalakov route. This route follows a steep and more technical ridge up the north face directly to the col between the west and east summits and allows nearly direct access to the true east summit. This route has two main advantages. Most important is it does not require a long and dangerous ridge traverse because it is so direct. Thus, if the weather turns bad on the summit it is easy and quick to bail to a lower elevation. Second, it allows direct access to the true eastern summit, with no temptation to bail early on the false summit. Helicoptering to basecamp Andreas and I were in Kyrgyzstan climbing snow leopard peaks and our top priority for the summer was Pobeda. Pobeda itself is not a great peak to use for acclimation so we started the summer with a three-week climb of Lenin Peak, a relatively easy 7000er. Next we helicoptered to south Inylchek to climb Khan Tengri, another 7000m peak and the highest mountain in Kazakhstan. By climbing two 7000m peaks with low altitude Russian rests in between we hoped to be very well acclimated for an attempt on Pobeda. We arrived in south Inylchek base camp in late July and by August 2 had climbed Khan Tengri and made it back to base camp. By then the first few teams of the season had just started up Pobeda. Interestingly the season for Pobeda tends to be very short. Teams generally don’t start up til early August (having spent July acclimating on other peaks), but then by late August the season ends with the last scheduled helicopter flights out. Good views of Khan Tengri from the other side of camp We talked to lots of other climbers over a few days at the dinner tent and I came away with the impression that almost everyone there is some sort of elite athlete. There were Piolet D’or winners going for a new route on Topographers Peak, the president of the Moscow Alpine Club who’d already climbed Pobeda twice, K2 guides, the owner of Summitclimb guiding company, Swiss guys who’d skied Dhalguiri, and I’m sure everyone else had crazy mountaineering resumes too. We spent some time hanging out with an Iranian team planning to climb the normal route on Pobeda, and a Hungarian team working to fix lines up Dicky Pass. Over the next few days while resting we watched two teams on the Abalakov route through a telephoto lens and saw them get above 6000m on the ridge. All teams are required to check in with Dima every two hours on the radio for status updates. I could listen in on my own radio but unfortunately all other teams generally speak Russian so I couldn’t understand what was going on. But we talked to Dima and he said the teams on the Abalakov route reported stable snow and they planned to summit on Thursday Aug 5. The teams on the normal route were a bit lower still at 6400m. We planned to take the Abalakov route, given the safe snow conditions reported. Our meteorologist friend Chris Tomer was sending us daily weather forecasts and it looked like Monday morning would be clear with low wind. That could potentially be perfect timing if we left soon. Hiking up the Zvezdochka Glacier looking back towards basecamp Aug 6 Friday morning we were packed and moving by7:30am. Out of camp we followed a decent trail through the moraine marked by cairns and flags. Our packs were pretty heavy since we were carrying our big Olympus mons 8000m boots and hiking in our smaller hiking boots plus a week of food. After a few hours we reached the edge of the glacier ice and stopped for a break. We switched into our Olympus mons boots and glacier gear and our packs got a bit lighter. We hid our small hiking boots under a rock and were soon moving on the glacier. The route was icy and a bit tricky to follow. Unfortunately the fresh snow from a few days earlier had melted so it was hard to see tracks, and the occasional flags en route had all fallen over. In general we crossed to the west side of the Zvezdochka glacier, then followed it due south. We wove around quite a few crevasses and eventually climbed high enough to reach fresh snow and find some tracks to follow. We soon reached a flowing meltwater stream to top off our nalgenes, and then the intersection where our route diverged from the normal route. Looking towards the apron on the left From there we headed towards the northwest corner of the big apron at the bottom of the Abalakov ridge. I could actually barely make out the tracks from the Russians on that corner. That was kind of surprising since it had been a week since they’d gone up, but I guess it hadn’t really snowed much in the past week. I could also make out an old avy crown on the broad north face of the apron, but the route avoided the face and looked safe. We stuck to the icy melted out section of the Zvezdochka glacier for a while, then jumped a melt stream. From there we postholed a short ways then met up with the Russians tracks. The tracks were badly melted out and in the heat of the afternoon we still sunk through them but they at least provided a little support and helped us navigate. It looked like they must have triggered the top few inches of snow to slide off from there tracks but it was very stable by now. Climbing up to the pedestal in a snow storm We marched up steeply with Andreas breaking trail first then me taking over. As predicted by mid afternoon the clouds rolled in and it started snowing. Our progress was a bit slower than hoped for with the soft conditions but finally by 5pm we crested the flat plateau (the “pedestal”) at 5200m that is the traditional camp location. We found a flat spot that looked like it was the sight of the Russians camp and pitched our tent there. At 6pm I radioed Dima and asked if he knew where the Russians were. I was surprised we hadn’t seen them coming down. But he just said “problem” and wanted us to get off the radio so he could talk to other teams. (I would later learn the Iranian team on the normal route had lost a climber around this time and the Russian team had had an accident and Dima probably wanted to hear updates from them – see article with full details on Iranian climber accidents https://explorersweb.com/2021/08/12/pobeda-peak-fatalities-timeline/.) Camp 1 at 5200m the next morning, looking up at the triangle Aug 7 The next morning we started up at 8am under sunny skies. From 5200m there are two options – you can either go up the right or left edge of the giant triangle to gain the narrow Abalakov ridge in the middle. Markus on summitpost recommends the right side but this is steeper and looks more prone to slide. The Russian tracks went up the left (east) side, which looked narrower and more technical but probably safer from avalanches. We followed the Russians route, reasoning that they reached the summit so their route must work. As we wound onto the ridge the tracks soon disappeared, covered by the previous night’s snow, and trailbreaking became difficult. We also started to get a bit more intimidated by the route above us. The ridge was covered in massive cornices bigger than I’d ever seen before. Some were at least 50ft tall and must have taken years (decades?) to form. Climbing the left side of the triangle One section was so steep, though, no cornices covered it and it looked like a rock cliff we’d need to climb. This looked a lot tougher than the right side but we continued, reasoning it must go and be safe if six climbers just made it up a few days earlier. They would certainly have implicitly tested snow and cornice stability by their passage, so following their route was probably one of the safest ways up the mountain. We took turns breaking trail steeply up the cornices, trying to stay in the faint traces of the old track. It’s a tricky balance – we wanted to be far enough from the left edge to not risk breaking it off, but far enough from the right edge not to slide off the steep slope. We were generally able to find a safe balance and eventually climbed to the base of the rock cliff. Breaking trail up the cornices (photo by Andreas) There it looked like two tent platforms dug out on the ridge. Maybe the Russians had had even more challenging trail breaking conditions than we did if they had only made it there after camp 2. We stopped at the platforms to assess the cliff. It was about 30m high, nearly vertical rock, luckily with plenty of cracks for me to get gear in. There was a rotten ancient fixed rope in the middle that likely wouldn’t even hold body weight which I didn’t plan to touch. At the top of the cliff was a small broken cornice and what looked like a thin, unprotectable snow climb about 30m more back onto a deeper snow ridge. Climbing the rock pitch (photo by Andreas) It looked doable, probably around 5.6, and I was encouraged by the gear options, so I decided to give it a go, but it would be tough. I’d be climbing around 18,000ft in crampons and gloves in single digit temperatures, carrying an ice ax in one hand and a week of supplies on my back. And the exposure was about 3000ft. I decided to first lighten my load and give Andreas a few heavy items since he’d be on toprope for the climb. Then I pounded Andreas’s ice axe and picket into the snow to make an anchor and he put me on belay. I tiptoed out on a small snow finger then reached my left frontpoints out to balance on a narrow ledge. I quickly got in a small cam before looking down at the immense exposure under my legs. From there I delicately worked my way up, balancing frontpoints on thin ledges and hooking other ledges with my ice tool. I got three solid cams in before reaching the ridgecrest and the end of the rock. There I crossed to the other side and carefully made my way up the thinly snow-covered rock. Luckily there was a patch of ice I could get a screw into, but that was my last gear option. Near the top I made a tricky move over a rock bulge then finally reached lower angle deeper snow. I was at the end of the 60m rope by then so dug down to firm snow and made an anchor with my picket and ice ax. Approaching the mega cornice I belayed Andreas up and we were soon both on flatter ground. The terrain eased considerably above the rock step and Andreas took the lead breaking trail. The cornices soon ended and we spent the next few hours working our way up to 5700m. We eventually reached the top of the triangle where the east and west routes converge, and then the route got difficult again. A mega cornice blocked the route with a wide vertical ice cliff spanning the width of the ridge. The one weakness was a steep snow ramp led up to the left to meet the wall where the vertical section was only about 10ft tall. We kicked steps 2/3 of the way up the ramp, then I had Andreas pound his ice tools into a solid snow section for an anchor to belay me up higher. I kicked steps up to the wall but then realized the wall was actually dense snow, not ice. Camp 2 at 5900m This made things a bit more difficult. I couldn’t get ice screws in and tool and crampon placements would be less secure. I managed to get a solid picket placement halfway up the wall but it was so steep and my pack so big that I kept rotating off whenever I stepped up. Finally I just pulled out 15ft of rope, tied a bite in it, then took my pack off and clipped it to the bite. I then wriggled and kicked my way up the wall without wearing the pack. There was a ton of slack in the rope but that was the only way it would work. Once over the lip I dragged the pack up, then kicked steps a bit higher in the low angle deep snow. I then built an ice ax and picket anchor and started belaying Andreas up. I looked up then and saw the team of six russians coming down. This was great news for us since it meant a freshly broken trail above us. The first man built an anchor near mine and started belaying the others over. I asked him about the problem Dima mentioned and he just said one person had fallen but there was no problem. Everyone seemed to be doing fine so I guess there was no problem. We continued up and made camp at 5900m. Good views towards Khan Tengri the next morning Aug 8 We hoped we were past the technical crux of the route but knew there was still some rock and ice climbing above us. Our goal for the day was to skip one more camp and make it to the highest camp at 6600m to put us within striking distance of the summit for the monday window. Breaking trail up more cornices Unfortunately it had snowed and been very windy overnight, and the russians tracks had filled back in, so we had more tough trailbreaking on cornices to a rock step at 6200m The ridge soon narrowed and we were in a similar situation of traversing massive cornices. We stayed on the traces of the russians tracks, striking a balance not getting too close to the cornice edge but also keeping distance from the steep snow slopes to the right. We occasionally had to kick steps and use ice axes on steeper sections, but then the ridge broadened and flattened again as we reached a big rock step at 6200m. I decided to scramble to the edge of the rocks to meet the russians route halfway, then climb the snow slope. Trail breaking was tough, but I eventually reached the rocks. I scrambled a brief 4th class section to the snow above, then belayed Andreas up on an ice ax anchor and broke trail to the top. The ice step I knew there was no rock climbing above this point so clipped my rock rack to the anchor to retrieve on the descent. We broke trail a bit higher and soon reached the base of the serac ice climbing section. Unfortunately I’d only brought four ice screws and hoped it would be enough. I started kickng steps in the steep snow, then soon got to continuous ice. I got my first screw in there, then climbed up another 20ft for my second. The grade was WI 2/3 ice and it was very brittle since it was glacier ice. I made it up higher and the difficulty dropped as snow started mixing with the ice. I had to run it out a ways on steep snow before getting another screw in, then traversing hard left. By the time I ran out of rope I’d reached continuous snow and dug down to make a solid picket – ice ax anchor. Camp 3 at 6600m above the ice step I belayed Andreas up and the terrain looked much easier above us. Andreas broke trail up varied snice and powder terrain to around 6600m. It was apparent there was no level terrain anywhere, as Markus reported, so we stopped below a big serac to look for camp. I noticed the wind was generally out of the west, but that if we went to the side of the serac we could find some shelter. We ended up digging out a big platform in the leeward side of the serac and pitching our tent there. We went to bed early that evening in anticipation of a big summit push the next morning. Aug 9 Based on our trailbreaking speed the previous few days we estimated a pace of about 100m elevation gain per hour. The wind was supposed to be lowest (15-20mph) in the morning increasing by late afternoon (30-40mph) and the temperature at the summit starting at -13F rising to around 0F by early afternoon. We decided to leave at 4am to reach the summit around noon to have a compromise of navigating mostly in the light and not too cold summit temperatures and not too strong winds. We were up at 3am and soon moving under clear starry skies. I would end up leading the way most of the day on the ascent. I picked up a faint trace of the russians tracks going up the left side of the serac but it soon got into steep ice climbing terrain. So I backed down and found a lower angle route on the right side. The route still briefly required climbing with two tools but was short enough we didn’t bother pitching it out. Looking back towards Khan Tengri Above the ice the skies got brighter and we could see a very long but gradual snow slope above us. I broke trail slowly and meticulously, saving my energy in anticipation of many hours of that. I would sometimes sink to my shin and sometimes to my knee and it was quite tiring. There was no trace of the track from the russians. I eventually hooked right around a serac and kicked steps left to a weakness in the s-shaped rock band at 7000m. There we easily crossed over to the left side and took a break. It had been five hours of challenging trail breaking to then with me in the lead the whole time. Andreas took over as the slope steepened. We generally hugged the left side of the narrow rock band kicking steps steeply up the snow towards the summit ridge above. It was amazing getting a brief break but after 30 minutes I took over again. As we got higher the slope got steeper and I was comforted that the russians had tested its stability just a few days earlier. Crossing over the rock band At the steepest section we found traces of the russians tracks and followed those up. That steep section at 7200m was some of the most difficult trailbreaking I’ve ever done in my life. I was basically swimming uphill with no purchase on my feet. It didn’t help that I was totally worn out and there was hardly any oxygen in the air. When I finally crested a small ridge I found a small flag left by the russians and laid down to pant like a dog. It was surprisingly difficult to catch my breath but I eventually relaxed enough to get back up. From there we could see tracks all the way to the summit ridge and the snow looked firm enough to require minimal trailbreaking. We could even see a small flag planted at the ridge. It looked like we were almost there! Andreas took over the lead and we decided to ditch our second ice tools there to save weight. We continued up toward the ridge, but after an hour I noticed the route was just a thin layer of snow on top of ice, with decent exposure below. The terrain sketched me out and I didn’t feel comfortable proceeding without pitching it out and climbing with two tools. We regretted leaving our tools but we couldn’t proceed without them. We turned around to see if we could find a way around the ice patch but it appeared to span the whole face. The thought of bailing crossed my mind but there was still plenty of daylight left, so we decided to go get the tools and continue the route. We dropped back down, picked them up, and returned to the edge of the ice. We’d lost two hours from that error but hoped we could still beat the wind. I put a screw in and clipped Andreas in, then he belayed me as I led up. I got two more screws in as I did a rising traverse, then I reached the end of the ice and hit continuous snow and snice. I belayed Andreas up on a picket ax anchor, then he led an easy section to a boulder and body belayed me up. Hiking to the east/true summit Andreas then body belayed me up another rope length as I kicked steps up the steepening slope. Then I belayed him from an ice ax anchor as he crested the summit ridge at the flag. We soon both made the ridge at 4pm and luckily it wasn’t too windy. It was also still sunny and we were poised to tag the summit. We had topped out at the col between the east and west summits and luckily we had had done our homework to know which one to tag. The east summit is the true summit. Most climbers on the normal route stop at the west summit simply because that’s the first one they hit and it is significantly farther to get to the east summit. But the east summit is slightly higher and thus the true highest point in Kyrgyzstan, so we turned east. (We had read that famous mountaineer Denis Urubko made sure to go out his way to tag the true east summit after his Piolet D’or – winning climb of the dollar rod route on Pobeda in 2011.) Andreas led the way staying clear of the cornices on the north side of the ridge. Luckily the snow was firm and travel fast. We were walking directly on the Kyrgyzstan-china border and I noticed the slope looked much gentler on the china side. But I’m sure it got more difficult lower. The ridge eventually got very narrow and rocky, and we passed what looked like a jumbled up old tent on a ledge. By 4:45pm we crested the summit. It had been a tough morning and I immediately laid down. The skies were sunny, wind low, and views were amazing to china to the south and kygyzstan to the north. We could see basecamp way below on the south inylchek glacier. We quickly snapped a few pictures and videos. I had planned to send an inreach message and take out my sight level to measure the height difference between east and west summits, but it was just too cold to want to take my hands out of my mittens. We were also much later than hoped for and wanted to get down as soon as possible to beat the incoming wind and darkness. Heading back So after about 3 minutes we started down. We carefully followed our up tracks back to the place we’d gained the ridge. It was steep enough to warrant rappelling off the ridge but I didn’t really want to leave any gear. I already had plans to leave our pickets lower down for other rappel anchors. So I ended up belaying Andreas as he downclimbed, then he built an anchor and belayed me down. We inch wormed down this way, then simul downclimbed the ice section until we were back to snow. Light was fading and clouds rolling in and we were happy to have our tracks to follow in the waning visibility. As a backup I had also recorded a GPS track on my watch in case our tracks got blown over. We quickly simul downclimbed the snow, reaching the rock band at sunset. By then we were engulfed in clouds and stuck in a whiteout. Unfortunately the wind had filled in our tracks below there with snow and navigation became difficult. I was able to follow our rough route, verifying on my watch every few minutes that we were still on track. By the time we reached the ice section just above camp we finally needed to turn headlamps on. We each got our tools out and very carefully downclimbed the ice. It seemed more challenging this time and we probably should have rappelled it, but we were soon down and back to the tent by 9pm. We radioed Dima and he sounded relieved we were back at camp. It was my turn to melt snow that night so I stayed outside another hour. I think we were both dehydrated that day and appreciated chugging a bunch of warm water. Aug 10 The wind picked up significantly soon after we got to camp and didn’t relent all night. This made sleeping difficult. To save weight we had brought Andreas’s tent, which lacked a vestibule. But this meant to get any ventilation we needed to unzip the door. With all the wind , snow invariably blew in all night. The result was I got hardly any sleep. Another consequence of the wind was snow was drifting up against the tent all night, and even on the slope above the tent. By 7am a small sluff released above the tent and slid into the side of the tent. It wasn’t dangerous, but I was still startled enough to immediately jump out of the tent and start digging it out with my bare hands. It was still extremely windy as I was digging and this would not have good long term consequences for my fingers. With the continuing wind we didn’t feel safe staying where more snow could accumulate and slide. It would have been great to just ride out the storm in the tent, but we reluctantly started packing up. We then roped up and started looking for a new spot. Unfortunately there was zero shelter up there at 6600m. Behind the serac had been the only sheltered spot, but that likely contributed to the snow drifting there. We knew it would likely be sheltered lower below the ice pitch, so we started descending. We made it to the top of the ice but then I noticed Andreas was missing a crampon! This had happened on Khan Tengri and I’d fashioned an extra strap to keep it on but it had fallen off again anyways. This was a big problem with so much ice to descend. We started back up to look for it but with so much deep snow we’d descended through we eventually decided it was futile. Andreas would just have to try to get down with one crampon. That meant I’d have to lead the way making good steps and setting good rappels on the icy sections. At the top of the ice I found a V-thread anchor left by the russians and backed it up with a screw. I belayed Andreas down to the anchor, then I rappelled first. Luckily the doubled 60m rope was just barely long enough to get down to continuous snow. Andreas followed and we were soon roped back up descending the steep snow. We descended through deeper snow, needing to break trail in many places. We soon reached the top of the rock step and I retrieved my stashed rock rack. I then rigged up another rappel at the slung horn and descended 30m down the steep snow slope. At the bottom I slung another horn as Andreas followed. From there we rapped over the rocks to a boulder sticking out of the snowfield. We then roped back up to downclimb the snow. With all the wind overnight I was a bit concerned about shallow fresh windslab on the slope, though, so I looped the rope over a rock to belay Andreas. Indeed, once he got 10ft out he triggered the top 6″ of slab to slide off. He managed to jump out of the way and I also had him on belay so there was no real danger, but it was certainly startling. With the slope now stable we easily marched across. At the bottom of the slope around 6100m we found a broad flat area far from any snow slopes and decided to pitch camp there. The weather was supposed to improve the next day and we thought it best to ride out the wind in the tent and save the big descent for better weather. We quickly got the tent up and started melting snow. Once in the tent I realized I had been neglecting my hands all day and my fingers were all numb. I guess I had been so concerned with setting up good rappels quickly and making sure Andreas could get down safely with one crampon that I had just ignored my cold hands. I knew there was a risk of them getting cold again the next day, and refreezing is the worst thing you can do to cold hands. But leaving them cold all night seemed like a bad idea. So I stuck them in my arm pits to rewarm them and vowed to keep them warm the next day. The wind picked up that afternoon and night and we had a lot of trouble keeping the stove going outside. I really wished we had a vestibule. As a result we probably didn’t make as much water as we should have. And, like before, snow was blowing into the tent all night through the small opening we needed for ventilation. As before, I got very little sleep that night. The forecast was for dry weather the next day, but then storms rolling in the next day. We definitely wanted to make it the whole way back to basecamp Wednesday if possible. Aug 11 By morning my hands were mostly warm though still a little numb. The morning was clear but cold and we got moving by 9am. Unfortunately I needed to lead to kick Andreas good steps, and needed to hold onto my cold ice ax since the terrain was very steep. I found it very difficult to keep my hands warm and for the most part they just got cold again. Unfortunately this would have bad consequences later. Below the rappel down the mega cornice We downclimbed the steep cornices, vaguely seeing our old tracks sometimes but mostly I had to break trail again downhill. This was surprisingly difficult. We soon reached the mega cornice we’d need to rappel, and unfortunately couldn’t find any anchor from the russians. I suspect they rapped off a picket, but it had since been buried in new snow. So near the lip I built a picket – ax anchor, then rapped over the edge. Andreas then removed the ax and rapped off the picket, which we left there when we pulled the rope. I had my email written on it so maybe someday someone will return it to me (but not likely). Downclimbing the cornices (photo by Andreas) We belayed each other down the rest of the snow slope in case of a slide, then I continued breaking trail down the ridge. We soon reached the top of the rock step, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a fixed rope there! I was prepared to leave a picket and sling a horn to make multiple rappels down, but apparently the russians had decided to leave a 60m rope there for all 6 of them to make a single full rappel. We backed up the anchor with a picket and I went down first. Unfortunately the rope was about 5m too short, so at the bottom I had to detach myself and downclimb the final snow arete unprotected. But then I made an anchor and when Andreas reached the bottom I threw him the end of my rope and belayed him to safety. Downclimbing the last of the big cornices From there I led the way across the final lower cornices. I tried to follow the vague hints of the russians tracks though mostly I couldn’t see them. As before it was a balance staying as far from the edge of the cornice as possible without getting on too steep of a snow section on the left. There were a few steep downclimbing sections but we eventually made it below the triangle at 5300m. We then breathed a huge sigh of relief because we were finally below the danger zone and could rest easy for the remainder of the descent. Since it was no longer steep and didn’t warrant crampons I finally took a break from leading and let Andreas lead. It was then I realized how truly worn out I was. I think breaking trail 90% of the way on summit day had taken a lot out of me, and leading the way and breaking trail all of yesterday and all of today had zapped my remaining energy reserves. I really needed a break. It was great to have Andreas breaking trail down, but by then I was only moving half his speed at best. We made slow progress down, by now following the visible tracks of the russians. By 4pm we reached the flat icy section of the Zvezdochka glacier at 4500m. We radioed Dima and he told us congratulations. He knew we were past the danger zone and now had a relatively easy walk back. Interestingly, the russians tracks seemed to simply disappear in the middle of the glacier. Unfortunately we later learned they had had an accident up on the cornices Aug 8 and a helicopter had to come evacuate them there lower on the glacier (see full account here https://explorersweb.com/2021/08/19/how-valentin-mikhailov-died-on-pobeda/). I led the way on the ice weaving around crevasses until we met up with the normal route. It was pretty hard to stay on the route since most of the flags were missing, but I eventually found it and followed it back to the moraine. In the last few hundred feet I had to belay Andreas a few times on ice screw anchors so he could get through sections without a crampon, but we eventually got off the glacier. We found our stashed hiking boots but someone had stolen Andreas’s stashed hiking pole! I’m not sure what would possess someone to do this. I suspect it is the same person who stole the crampons a hungarian team stashed nearby also. We were soon changed into our hiking boots with our Olympus mons strapped to our pack and started hiking out. In general it was straightforward following the cairns out, but got more difficult when darkness set in. I was still moving extremely slowly, and I can never remember ever being that worn out from a mountain. Luckily Andreas was nice enough to slow down and hike with me. We actually got passed on the way by the Piolet D’or team coming back from stashing gear for topographers peak. By 930pm we finally staggered back to camp and let Dima know we were back. Luckily the generator was still on and the cooks had saved some mushroom pasta and corn for us. Some of our friends – Paul and Felix – were still in the dinner tent, along with two new climbers Jon and Rob. They all congratulated us for our climb. At dinner I finally dared take off my gloves to survey the damage to my hands. It was bad. Most of my fingers had blistered and they were all numb and tingly. I knew I had frostbite. I kicked myself for taking such bad care of myself. I’d been so focused at having efficient safe rappels and getting down quickly that I hadn’t bothered to take care of myself when I was doing so much cold ropework in my liner gloves. It had also been very cold and windy at high altitude, which certainly didn’t help. Luckily everyone at the dinner table had experience with frosbite and gave me good advice what to do. Jon was nice enough to bring me to the basecamp doctor, who gave me some medicine and had me soak my hands in warm water. Then Paul, Rob, and Felix helped me bandage up my fingers to protect them. I talked to Dima and he said there was a helicopter the next morning we could get on so I could visit a hospital as soon as possible. We all went to bed soon after. Aug 12 The next morning we had breakfast and Dima said we were officially the 13th and 14th summitters of Pobeda this season. (I think 6 russians did the abalakov route, then 3 Iranians and 3 ukrainians did the normal route before us). Afterwards we hung out with Rob and Jon, who had just arrived to basecamp after guiding K2 and were waiting for a window to climb Pobeda via the normal route. Pobeda is Jon’s last snow leopard peak so I hope he makes it! The helicopter came on schedule at 10am and we had a spectacular ride out to karkara, then shuttle back to Bishkek that night. Link to more pictures: http://www.countryhighpoints.com/peak-pobeda-kyrgyzstan-highpoint/ Gear Notes: Rock rack to 1", four screws, two pickets, two tools, overnight gear Approach Notes: Helicopter to South Inylchek basecamp

Trip: Buck Mountain - Northeast face Trip Date: 08/11/2021 Trip Report: Summary: I climbed Buck via the seldom-used northeast face above King Lake, then descended via the long standard route to Buck Pass, tagging Berge, Cleator, and Rally Cap along the way. This isn't anything groundbreaking, but it's an interesting line on a peak whose standard route(s) can be a bit of a slog. 26 miles, 10,000 feet of climbing, ice axe and probably crampons required. And if your dad left his axe up there, you're welcome to it: (Original TR here: http://www.drdirtbag.com/2021/08/12/buck-loop-ne-face-to-buck-pass/) Summitpost describes Buck as "one of the man-mountains of the Washington Cascades." Though only three miles from the Trinity trailhead to its southeast, and only class 2-3 from the southwest side, a high and rugged ridge extends north and south from Buck, and there is no road or even trail up the lower Napeequa River to the west. The "normal route" is therefore shockingly roundabout, approaching the peak's west side either over Little Giant Pass to the south, or on a high route from Buck Pass to the north. There is also a direct class 3 route from the east near Alpine Creek, involving a river ford and a savage bushwhack through steep and brushy forest, that is recommended for descent but can of course be done both ways. The Summitpost page also mentions that the northeast ridge is "class 4 or 5," which sounds like my kind of route. With these options in mind, I made the long drive up the Chiwawa River Road to Trinity, and started off around dawn planning to do at least one of these routes. Passing the place for the Alpine Creek route, I decided that I did not want to do that to myself. I continued after the split toward Buck Pass, finding that the bridge was not "out" as advertised, but was probably no longer suitable for my horse. Nearing the turnoff for King Lake and the northeast face, I entered the burn area for the 2016 Buck Creek fire. The forest was in a near-perfect state for cross-country travel, with the trees and underbrush incinerate, but the nasty things that follow a fire not yet established. The main type of plant was fireweed, a bush that is easy to whack. I contemplated the route while I ate a sandwich, then took off across the wasteland. The first obstacle was crossing Buck Creek, but I found a perfect log bridge almost exactly where I needed it. There was even a sort of tunnel through the otherwise-impenetrable alders. Beyond, I followed various deer tracks up the burn, staying on the left side of the drainage and well away from the unburnt alders to the right. I eventually entered steep woods above the burn, and the deer trail faded. Not sure what to aim for, I decided to traverse right to reach open terrain I had seen from below. This turned out to be a savage hell-schwack, variously fighting my way through alders, steep scrub pines, and cliff bands littered with fallen burned trees. After avoiding some of these cliffs, I realized that the rock was fairly solid with a grain that worked well for climbing this way, and simply headed up some class 3 crags, grateful to finally be making upward progress again. Reentering the woods higher up, I found myself on the left side of a deep cleft with a healthy cascade running through it. This was rocky enough to discourage the plants somewhat, so I stayed near the edge as I made my way upward, hoping I could cross the cascade easily higher up. I saw what I thought was a cairn in an open, slabby section, then a few cut branches and a bit of boot-pack higher up. Success! I lost and re-found the ancient fisherman's trail a couple of times, taking my time and eventually ending up in an open, grassy ravine leading easily almost to the east side of King Lake. I have no idea what this "trail" did lower down, and that part has been obliterated by the fire, but I was grateful for what I found. King Lake proved as spectacular as I imagined it would. Buck's small northeast glacier sits perched in a bowl above the lake, sending cascades of milky melt-water down the cliffs that ring the lake to its southwest. I found a couple of fire rings with fresher-than-expected ashes in them, but I can't imagine this cirque sees much traffic. Making my way around the lake's north side, I climbed rubble and easy slabs to the toe of the glacier, putting on crampons to cross one hard snowfield. I avoided the snout and broken-up lower glacier to the right on decent rock that became grittier as I progressed, then returned to the glacier where it was a bit more continuous. The travel was mostly easy, but it was surprisingly possible to fall in a crevasse if one were oblivious, as opposed to having to find one and jump in it. The top of the glacier is separated from the mountain's east ridge and south face by another wall of cliffs, the only potential exit being at the upper right side. I made my way for the highest tongue of snow, passing someone's father's ice axe on the way. This tongue probably used to extend into the gully above, but it was now separated by an expanse of steep dirt and scree. I sketched my way up this, aiming for the obvious gully to the left. The gully was made a bit more obvious by an ancient piece of tat, originally yellow and now bleached completely white. I was once again annoyed at Cascades mountaineers for leaving garbage on routes (who would rap this?!), and at myself for not bringing a knife to remove it. There was a bit of easy fifth class to pass the webbing, but above it looked like the angle eased. If only... Earlier in the season this would probably be a steep snow climb to the summit ridge, but now it was wet gravel, choss, and gritty slabs that often angled in the wrong direction. I worked my way up the right side of the gully, using the wall for handholds or to stem against the dirt. After a failed attempt to exit early to the right, I exited out the top, making a few wide stems against some reddish rock. Above that, I finally managed to traverse right on improving rock, and soon popped out between the north and south (true) summits. The south summit looks incredibly imposing from this saddle, showing only its narrow east-west profile. I scrambled up the layered slabs to the summit, where I quickly pulled the register out of a cairn guarded by flying ants, then sat a safe distance below to look around in the remarkably clear air. To the west were recently-climbed Clark and Luahna, along with the rest of the Dakobed Range, showing the glaciers that clearly make them a better ski than scramble. North was Berge, across a weirdly broad and flat saddle. I also had great views of the Entiat peaks, Bonanza, and even Baker and Rainier at the far ends of the range. Descending from the summit, I crossed the small, flat glacier nestled between Buck's summits, then descended toward the saddle with Berge, entering a surreal landscape of pumice and larches. As this region demonstrates, the Cascades' geology is incredibly complex. Between Buck's ancient dark rock (schist?) and Berge's Sierra-esque white granite lies a small region of pumice reminiscent of a recent volcano. This is presumably from the same event that created Glacier Peak, but does not seem to connect in an obvious way. Through this section I began picking up bits of use trail, leading more or less where I wanted, toward Berge's northeast summit. Most maps incorrectly label Berge's southwest (easier) summit as higher, but as seems clear to the naked eye, and as Eric Gilbertson demonstrated with a surveyor's level, it is not the highpoint. I tagged both for good measure, finding the northeast no harder than class 3 and reminiscent of the Sierra except for the green things between the granite boulders and the deposits of black lichen on some aspects. Berge's north and west sides are cliffy, so it is necessary to circle southwest to a saddle and descend west before circling back around north. Fortunately I had downloaded some other climbers' tracks, as otherwise I would have dropped all the way to the valley bottom instead of making the improbable high traverse. I finally reached a trail in this Sierra-like basin, with its clear, shallow lake and white granite, and from there it was a short hike to High Pass. The trail from these lakes to Buck Pass is one of the most scenic and runnable I have found in my years in the Cascades, reminiscent of nearby White Pass but lacking the PCT hordes. I had miles to go before home, but they were all downhill and easy trail, with clear views of the glacier-y sides of the Dakobeds and Glacier Peak. With time and energy to spare, I decided to tag a couple of easy peaks along the way. The first was Mount Cleator, named for Trinity local Cletus McCoy's tabletop D&D character. Cleator met his untimely end when Cletus' cousin Brigitte "Berge" Hatfield made him promise to give up his boozy Friday gaming sessions as a condition of their engagement. Despite its unfortunate genetic consequences, the union was a key step in reconciling their feuding branches of the family. Mount Cleator has two summits, a grassy walk-up separated from a fierce crag by a steep notch. The grassy one looks a bit higher and has a register, and I did not have enough curiosity or energy to try to reach the other. I returned to the trail after Cleator, then took a side-trip to Rally Cap on the way down to Buck Pass. I pulled out my map to find my way through the mess of trails here, but eventually got on the popular Buck Creek trail. I am not a trail runner, but I had been enjoying my jog from High Pass, and the Buck Creek trail was pleasant in its own way, smooth and gently-graded, with good shade and frequent water sources. I started to feel pretty run-down once the trail reached the valley bottom, but managed to mostly hold it together and maintain a jog back to the car. According to my phone, the whole excursion was about 26 miles with 10,000 feet of elevation gain, all in a bit under 12 hours. It was a satisfying use of what may be my last (smoke-free) day in the Cascades this year. Gear Notes: Ice axe and crampons for short glacier crossing Approach Notes: There's a fisherman's trail leading to King Lake, but you probably won't find it until quite a ways up. The 2016 fire has made travel easy lower down as of 2021, but it will only get worse.

Trip: Mount Goode - Northeast Buttress Trip Date: 07/11/2021 Trip Report: David and I are highly skilled at turning classic, moderate alpine routes into masochistic adventures. You'd think we'd learn, particularly since we have over a century of outdoor experiences between us, but maybe the truth is that we like to suffer. Like many alpine routes, conditions on the NE Buttress of Goode are everything. Too early and the creek crossings are treacherous. Too late and the moat at the top of the glacier can be hard to cross safely. There's a third factor we didn't realize was important: water sources high on the route. That turned out to be the most memorable part of our trip, as you'll see. My biggest worry was the crossing of the N Fork of Bridge Creek. A week before our trip, during our record-breaking heat wave, a friend and his girlfriend had found the creek impassable and bushwhacked a mile upstream to find a safe way across, adding two miles of cross country travel to their trip. A day later, another party turned around entirely in the face of a raging torrent. But temps had dropped. Was the crossing better? I remembered there's a flow gauge on the StehekinIn River, downstream of the North Fork. The data were encouraging: the river was at 6500 CFS when multiple parties found the N Fork crossing impassable, and it had dropped to 2500 CFS at the time we were going. We were a go! The first ten miles on the Pacific Crest Trail went smoothly. It was fun to chat with PCT thru hikers just starting South on their journey. Just before the North Fork junction, we ran into four friendly climbers who'd just come off of Goode. They allayed my concerns about the crossing and gave us a key piece of beta for the descent. They gestured at my splinted thumb, which I'd jammed in the gym a couple of weeks earlier: "Can you hand jam with that?" "Should be OK", I said. Starting off the trip with an injury wasn't ideal, but I didn't think it would affect us much. Grizzly Creek was easily crossed on a log, and then the trail got a bit brushy. It was a warm day, but nothing too bad. When we emerged from the brush at the traditional crossing point, I was relieved to see that it looked pretty mellow. The whole route - 6000 feet from river to summit.- stretched up in front of us. Skies were clear, most of the seasonal snow had melted, and it was getting hot just in time for our steep ascent to camp. The river was just over knee deep. So far so good, but a hidden dragon was about to rear its head. David had spent the previous day on the Snoqualmie River with friends. He'd gotten quite dehydrated and hadn't really recovered. The afternoon heat was taking its toll on him, and his energy was waning just as we were about to start up 2500 feet of fairly steep terrain to our intended camp. Usually, David carries more shared gear as he's faster than me. Not today. He handed me the rope and we started up. There were a few sections of steep scrambling where a fall would be bad. My tolerance for high consequence terrain has waned in recent years, but this was still just third class. Lots of lovely waterfalls. Then there were two sections of holdless, licheny fourth class scrambling where a fall would be fatal. Being tired and having a heavy (for me) pack didn't help my confidence. David kindly trailed the rope on the second section and gave me a hip belay. Then the "Magical alder tunnel" began. The tent caterpillars had eaten almost every leaf in a long section, so there was no canopy to protect us from the afternoon sun. Eventually, we emerged onto a small ridge next to a snowy creek. It looks flat, but it's definitely not. The skies were mostly blue except for a funny looking cloud to the north...more on that later. We would head up to the sun/shade line and veer up and left to the 5600 bivy. In the hall of giants. I like to imagine Fred coming up this way on the first ascent in 1966, before North Cascades became a National Park in 1968, before the North Cascades Highway was completed in 1972, and before the Pacific Crest Trail was completed in 1993. Storm King David is a master of micro naps. If he gets 15 minutes ahead on the trail I'll find him fast asleep. I kept going, with the summit of Goode looming over us. We reached the bivy, ate, admired the sunset, and settled down for the night. No rodent visitors. A bright meteor flashed across my dreams. We were lucky. At dawn, it smelled like smoke. That funny cloud was smoke from a fire that would close Highway 20 during our trip. Would our egress be cut off? Who knew? For now, there was only one way to go: up. Smoky sunrise with a few mosquitoes photo bombing above my head. Paintbrush We moved right below a steeper section of glacier. The seasonal snow was mostly gone, and the glacier crossing was trivial. This three inch iridescent beetle was out for a walk, probably looking for tasty critters to eat. Approaching the toe of the buttress. l The moat, which can be treacherous late season, was very straightforward, thank goodness. Everything was going great... And then we had a kerfuffle trying to get over to the crest of the buttress. We knew the goal was to angle up and right to the crest, but we were turned back by several steep dead ends with absolutely atrocious rock. We backed off two lines before finally finding one that felt OK. No one else ever mentioned this section as a significant obstacle in the reports we'd read, so there was no beta. Oh well. Just keep trying. At the final lip, I was mantling over onto the crest, both hands pointed down, feet in the air, when I couldn't move. Something was holding me back. My last gear was 15 feet behind me. A fall would be ugly. Apparently a tricam on the rack dangling from my shoulder had lodged in a crack at the height of my knees. It cammed perfectly and set itself to prevent upward movement. Grrrr. I tried fiddling with it, blindly, with one hand while balancing on the other. No bueno. I had to reverse the mantle, find a stance, use the nut tool to clean it, and complete the mantle to gain the crest. F$%^ing hell! I was beginning to think the mountain was sending us a signal. We had finally gained the crest of the buttress after three hours of poking around on the choss in the sun. That certainly wasn't part of our plan. David and I both are very rational when it comes to sunk costs, and we had both internally come to the same assessment of our situation: Yes, it's a bummer that it's noon instead of 9AM, but we're here, we have plenty of water and gear, retreat would be very unpleasant, and we might as well just climb. So we put three hours of frustration behind us and started climbing. The route flowed pretty smoothly. We simul-climbed most of it, only stopping to belay three fantastic pitches that I got to lead. One was this nice arete feature. Shortly before the large bivy ledge, I looked down and saw a piton that Fred may have placed on the first ascent in 1966. We reached the bivy ledges in the late afternoon and decided it was best to stop as we didn't want to climb by headlamp, and we weren't sure if there was snow we could melt near the summit. As it turned out, there was only one small patch of snow left. It was about six feet long and a foot thick. We would melt most of it, but it wasn't as pure or tasty as we imagined. Step 1: bring snow over to our melting pot. Hey what are those black specks? Probably just lichen or dirt.... There sure are a lot of those black specks. We poured the water into my nalgene and David took a long drink. Hey, those black things look like pine needles - but there are no trees up here. They also kind of look like tiny worms. David looked down into the nalgene and the black bits swam away from him toward the bottom. AAAGGHHHH!!!! They're alive! And there sure were a lot of them. It's one thing to drink a pine needle or a piece of dirt. It's quite another to gulp down dozens of tiny, writhing worms eager to burrow into your brain. Actually, we reasoned that if they lived in snow they'd probably die quickly in our guts, but I didn't really want to test out that theory. David was patient zero. I've seen our local glacier worms. These were shorter. Maybe a larval stage? Or a different organism? My glasses and camera were not powerful enough to reallly see them, and I wasn't sure I wanted a clear picture of these critters anyway given that we'd be drinking this water in any case. I imagine that as the snow patch got smaller they packed tighter and tighter into the last remaining section. They seemed to sink. We tried decanting them and then wiping off the sides of the pot with a clean corner of my sock. Not very effective. So we filtered the melt water through a clean shirt as best we could. The host of worms that piled up was impressive. The filtrate was mostly clear, but it tasted like shrimp soup. I added Nuun and protein powder, but it still tasted absolutely vile. I almost gagged, and I'm not squeamish. This would be our only water until almost noon the following day. Drink up! We could only laugh. I laid out the rope for a nice nighttime nylon nest. Added my pad Testing. Testing. And ready! I really hoped we wouldn't spend the night fighting off a packrat (aka bushy-tailed woodrat). They are notorious for stealing belay devices, cups, lighters, and anything that might look nice in their midden, which is typically a huge pile of petrified poop and pee build up over decades under a large rock. I saw what looked like the main midden entrance and stacked some blocks in front of it in hopes of distracting the beast. We never saw hide nor hair of the vermin. The smoky sunrise was stunning. And some spectacular flowers caught the light just right. And then it was time to head for the summit. The last section was steeper than we expected but still quite moderate. Here is David coming up the last section to the summit, with our river crossing visible 6000 feet below. The views were great, except for the pesky smoke. We hoped we were heading away from it rather than toward it, but it was hard to tell. We'd heard there might be a snow patch in a notch just North of the summit. We found the notch, but it was bone dry. Good thing we stoped at the bivy ledge. It would have been a very thirsty night up on the summit. Wormy water is better than no water. We rapped down off the summit and belayed a short section of exposed scrambling on the way to Black Tooth notch. And then we could see our destination far below: Park Creek. Only a vertical mile to go. And now the beta the four climbers gave us came in handy: on the second rappel, go straight down a full 30 meters. If you angle skier's left, as the terrain seems to suggest, you then have to pendulum along steep terrain to get to the right spot. After that it was several hundred feet of choss gully scrambling to a small trail veering out of the gully to the left. The South Face loomed above us. We finally reached snow around 7500 feet. A short bit of boot skiing ensued. Then we found water that was far, far better than that nasty shrimp soup we'd been drinking. I found some mysterious tracks. Five distinct toes with claws - so not a cat. Probably too small for wolverine. Probably too big for pine marten. ermine, or mink. Maybe a fisher? I don't know. You tell me. Here's the North Cascades mammals list: https://irma.nps.gov/NPSpecies/Reports/SpeciesList/Species Checklist/NOCA/1/false l Another alpine micronap with the Ptarmigan traverse on the horizon. Looking back toward the summit. Sporadic flower snapshots help fend off the double vision I sometimes get from relentless downhill pounding. The heather was stunning. But we were about to enter the dreaded burn zone. We made our way straight down the ridge but never saw a climber's trail. It got more and more unpleasant as we got lower. David's dehydration was catching up with him. By the time we reached a small creek a half mile above Park Creek, David was stumbling nearly every other step. The burn zone and eroding creekbed was the worst terrain he could remember, with rocks moving under him with almost every step. My experience wasn't quite that bad, and I know we've done worse together, so we decided his dehydration was turning into heat stroke, a potentially serious issue. The trail seemed to move further away as we drew closer, a cruel jest. Finally, we reached the Park Creek trail. David was spent. We poured a liter and a half of cold water in him, and he took a nap in the shade. That helped. I carried as many heavy things as possible on the last section down toward Stehekin. The Park Creek trail had some blow downs that were not fun. Several times I took off my heavy pack and dragged it on the ground while I crawled under a log. Once clear, I'd hoist it onto my back and start walking, only to see the next ball buster log just down the trail. I wasn't dehydrated or suffering from heat stroke, but I was pretty spent, and my lower left leg had some pain with each step. It was starting to swell. My pants didn't survive the trip. We crashed at the Park Creek campground near the Stehekin River and wrapped my rapidly swelling calf in a compression bandage. I slept with it elevated up on my pack, hardly notcing the few mosquitoes flying around. The long but easy march back to the car began at 6AM. Here we are tightening the bandage on my leg for the final few miles. Side note: on the first trip David and I did together, Slesse, we had some heinous bushwhacking, and I came away with a swollen lower leg. It didn't go down after a week, so my wife, who is a physician, convinced me to have it scanned to see if it was deep vein thrombosis (DVT), which can spin off clots that can bump up to your heart and kill you. It wasn't DVT, but ultrasound showed a three inch laceration inside my leg that was bleeding internally. It would take a month to heal. I wasn't sure what was up with my leg this time, but I could walk just fine. I made sure to get ahead of the swelling by compressing it during our hike. As usual, good conversation made the miles move faster. Flowers, butterflies, and views don't hurt either. Back at the junction between PCT and North Fork. The North Cascades in their summer glory. Seeds ready to ride on the wind. Distant peaks. The final stretch of trail. And the end of our adventure. Highway 20 was closed just East of us, but we could drive West. Beers were cooled. And we swam in the lake. Another moderate masochistic march in the books. As sometimes happens on our trips, the hard parts were easy and the easy parts were hard. My thumb and leg have healed, but I'm still traumatized by the shrimp soup we had to drink. I'll never again hear "pure as the driven snow" without thinking of those mysterious worms. Gag. Gear Notes: 60m rope, rack Approach Notes: Hwy 20 via Pacific Crest Trail

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Trip: West Peak (7365') of the Anderson Massif - East Ridge Trip Date: 08/14/2021 Trip Report: West Peak (7365')– Dosewallips River Trail Approach – Aug 14-16, 2021 (Sat, Sun, Mon). I climbed West Peak (7365') of the Anderson Massif over the weekend. I started the climb from the Dosewallips River Trailhead outside Brinnon, WA. I planned for 3 days with a possible bonus summit of Mount Anderson if time and conditions permitted. I wanted to get the hell out of the smoke and breath some fresh air, mission accomplished. Saturday: I caught the 7:10am ferry at Edmonds over to Kingston. I started out from the trailhead at 9:30am. I brought a mountain bike for the first 6.5 miles to the ranger station and for the return trip. I made it to the ranger station at 10:45am. Anderson Pass was reached at 5:15pm. I headed up the Anderson Glacier Trail to camp at a small lake at the top of the trail arriving at 5:45pm. The trail along the way was beautiful with great camping options every hour or so. Mileage was 6.5 miles by bike , 11.5 miles to camp hiking. Sunday: I left camp at 6:15am heading for Flypaper Pass. I crossed over Flypaper Pass (6500’) at 8.50am. Flypaper Pass is almost entirely snow free right now. The route up to the pass is steep, loose rock the entire way. Crossing this pass with snow covering the steep loose rock would be the way to go, earlier in the season. If I wasn’t planning to climb Mount Anderson also, I would have climbed over to the basin below West Peak instead, much better looking terrain. Once at Flypaper Pass I decided to climb West Peak first. I headed down the Eel Glacier to the base of the SE Ridge of West Peak. I reached the North Notch at 11:15am (7000’). I headed up the East Ridge to the Summit arriving at 12:05pm. The route is Class 3 & 4 rock with some decent exposure. Loose rock sections throughout the ridge. I climbed Mount Constance a couple weeks ago, going the standard route, and this route up West Peak is more technically demanding. I was eyeballing the Mount Anderson route the whole way up and it was not looking good. The steep snow that leads to the summit ridge of Anderson is now melted out to the blue glacier ice almost the whole way up. I had aluminum crampons and a standard ice axe so I decided against an Anderson summit attempt with the current conditions. If I was to do Mount Anderson now, I would bring sharp steel crampons and two ice tools for that slope, possibly some protection against a slip; Maybe try a different route up all together, avoiding the glacier ice. I headed back to Flypaper pass from West Peak summit arriving at 2:45pm. Going down Flypaper Pass sucked way worse than going up. Very loose and steep the whole way down. 5:00pm I arrived back at the small lake camp, packed up and headed down for a lower camp. 7:15pm I arrived at Diamond Meadow camp for the evening. Monday: I left camp at 6:30am. I reached the ranger station at 9:15am. I headed down on the mountain bike reaching the Trailhead at 10:30am. This was a great trip in a beautiful area with lots of excellent camping options. Some Tips and Notes: 1. The trail to Anderson Pass is in excellent condition, easy travel & beautiful. The trail to Anderson Glacier is also nice but less traveled. 2. Water access for the whole trip was great with water as high up as 6700’ on summit day. 3. If planning to climb Mount Anderson via the standard route, be prepared for glacier ice climbing. 4. Flypaper Pass is snow free, steep, loose rock currently. I would recommend an alternate route. 5. The East Ridge of West Peak is exposed class 3-4 with sections of loose rock. 6. Bring a mountain or cyclocross bike for the first and last 6.5 miles, it will save you a lot of time. Travel Time for reference: Saturday: Car to Camp – 8.25 hours. Sunday: Camp to Summit to Camp#2 – 13 hours. Monday: Camp to Car – 4 hours Total Mileage: about 42 miles Total Elevation Gain: about 7100’ Gear used: Trekking Poles, Helmet, Ice Axe, Crampons. The trail in is really nice. Small lake camp at the top of the Anderson Glacier Trail. On the way to Flypaper Pass. Easy going until you reach the base of the pass. Rock at the base of Flypaper Pass, it is steeper than it looks. Loose class 3. Looking down the route traveled from Flypaper Pass. Looking across Eel Glacier from Flypaper Pass to the SE Ridge & East Ridge of West Peak. I went straight across to the snow finger at the base. Looking back across the Eel Glacier to Flypaper Pass from the SE Ridge of West Peak. Rock along the East Ridge of West Peak. Summit of West Peak from the false summit. Kind of spicy with a naughty runout. Summit view looking back at Anderson. Anderson route with lots of steep glacial ice. I'll stick with the expose rock ridge climb thanks. Looking back at the terrain traveled. I saw nobody summit day, I had the whole mountain to myself. Hard to believe with the amount of people at the trailhead. There are great camping spots all along the area surrounding the big lake. I haven't spent much time in the Olympics until this year, mostly because of all the red tape that is the usual for this area. With all the park service hiding from the Boogeyman Virus, you can experience the mountains the way they were meant to be, pure & free from bullshit. Gear Notes: Gear used: Trekking Poles, Helmet, Ice Axe, Crampons. If Climbing Anderson via the Eel Glacier Route bring sharp steel crampons and ice tools, you will be dealing with rock hard, steep glacial ice Approach Notes: Dosewallips River Trail Approach & Up the Anderson Glacier Trail.

Thanks all, my ankles are finally healing up after I stupidly wore high-top boots and low-top socks on the climb. Someone ought to put a new summit register up there, and get after Tim's treasure trove of beers while they are at it!

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