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The void at the center of the human condition will never be filled with climbing (at least it wasn't for me), but it is a fun hobby. Glad you survived unscathed to continue your quest! The Polish route has always looked burly, and this TR confirms that it isn't to be taken lightly...

Trip: Colfax Peak - The Polish Route Trip Date: 02/09/2025 Trip Report: "ILLUSION OF CHOICE" Kulshan and it's trusty sentinel. I stared at the line, tracing every section, noting unique features on the ice, taking inventory of everything I would need to pull through. The obsession was predictable. The route pulled me in singing a siren song of steep ice, promising views, and unbelievable positioning. It overtook me in a way I couldn’t quite articulate, in the way that only something brutally difficult and just within reach can do. I always want what I can’t have. I had been to the base of the climb two weeks prior and watched another party live out my dream. The climb was right there in front of me, but I was unable to interact with it. I lived the following weeks in its shadow, playing through the moves in my head instead of sleeping, going through my gear in the evenings like some sacred ritual. I had studied everything there was to study, I knew all there was to know about it - Nothing remained, except commitment. The alarm ruptures the stillness, a violence in the dark. I fumble for the headlamp, hands still clumsy with sleep. The air inside the truck is sharp and crystals glisten on my sleeping bag from the condensation. I briefly question the sanity of crawling out of the bag. I force down half a frozen donut with a caffeine pill, choke back some icy water, and tighten by boots with fingers that are already stiff. The first steps are always slow, heavy with doubt, the mind still tangled in the warmth left behind. The woods engulf me and Murray, our torch beams carve tunnels through the void, giving us a path to follow. Deadfall crunches beneath our feet and the glacier waits patiently. The woods release us and we weave through crevasses and serac debris. The stars burn above, unfeeling to the smallness of our effort. Pitches 1-2. Credit: Murray P. The first pitch was a wake-up call. Brittle and unapologetic; it kicked back harder than I expected, forcing me to fight to get purchase in the alpine ice. I didn’t believe the stories from the people that had climbed this before, about how variable the ice is up here. ‘How hard can vertical ice be?’ I naively thought. It was brutally violent to get a good stick and even harder to get decent screws. I lost count after five hollow screws and starting clipping them anyways. Part of me didn’t want to give Murray the impression I was struggling up here and the other part of me felt that if I fell, I deserved the bergschrund. It’s the flavor of climbing that demands you stay calm even when you feel the weight of the runout beneath your spikes. I was relieved when the rope came taught, signalling i could stop climbing and build an anchor. Share the burden, share the psych, and get a much-needed mental break from leading. Pitches 3-4. The Crux. Connected...still hard. A couple pitches later, the upper pillar arrived like a slow, inevitable tide. It was always there but now it was within reach. I could feel its gravity as I racked up. The lower ice appeared fat, but revealed itself as unreliable. I'd strike it and watch the fractures spiderweb outward, the sound hollow and unconvincing. Squeak, squeak, squeak, when I pried them out to retry for another swing. No easy way through. My calves were screaming, my forearms red hot. I knew I had to continue, I wasn’t even at the difficult part, yet my body was begging me for respite. I charged and got a stance below the crux, much needed rest...finally. The curtain hung over me like a guillotine, reminding me of the seriousness. Crux looming. Pitch Four. No hands rest. Our Skis visible on the glacier. I tossed aside any remaining fear, threw up the horns at Murray, and quested up the wild three-dimensional ice. After a couple body lengths, the familiar fire crept back into my arms. I wanted to climb it clean, I wanted to send, but the ice didn’t care. Pride is a useless currency up here, so I swallowed it whole, and clipped a tool. I hung there, weighting it just enough to drill a screw, and try to get the lava in my forearms to subside. My arms burned, but the pit in my stomach felt worse. I came here to climb, not to dangle like a tourist. But I wasn’t quitting, I wasn’t wasting this chance. I kept moving. I tried to keep my breathing steady, not letting the tension in my mind translate to my body. But the moment came—a simple shake out on a matched tool, something I had done hundreds of times before. In an instant I was airborne, cursing before the rope broke my fall. I slammed into the curtain, my right hip taking the brunt of it. I hung there for what felt like an eternity, choking down the frustration and stunned at how careless I was being. A fall on ice is a cardinal sin, and to do it in the alpine – unforgivable. I was disgusted with myself for not being stronger, not working harder in the months leading up to this, for tainting our send with a fall and clipped tools. I was ashamed but also guilty; I had taken the lead from Murray and made a mess of it. No time to cry…the sun was getting lower with every excuse I uttered aloud and to myself in my head. I pulled the rope back in and reset my feet. Swing. Placement. Breathe. Swing again. My tools vibrated in the curtain after every solid stick. I fought for every inch on the pitch and eventually when the angle eased, I was treated to some glorious neve. I only had two screws left so I pushed to an ice blob where I could bring Murray up. I could feel my heart pounding in my fingertips. I wanted to let out some kind of battle cry, but I knew better. This was just a small win, if you could even call it that. The route continued upward, unaware of my private hell. Hero swings above the crux. Credit: Murray P. We finished out the last 2 ice steps, quickly, but in the dark now. We coiled the rope and made a break for the ridge line, treading carefully in the unprotectable steep snow. We both stared at the summit. It’s only a short hike up and back, but I knew we weren’t going there—we couldn’t. It was dark, It was cold, and we needed to get off this thing as soon as possible. We traversed right past it and continued towards the planned descent. The cold sun had left us and the mountain reminded us who was really in control. Hands freezing, toes numb, and blanketed in the fresh moonlight, we hastily dropped back towards our skis. Our ticket home. Dusk on Lincoln Peak. Credit: Murray P. The silence at the base was heavy, the kind that only manifests after pushing yourself past the limit. This had been everything I wanted. This climb had consumed me, occupied my thoughts for weeks, dictated my training, my sleep, my diet. And now it was done. I should have felt something. Pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief. Instead, there was nothing. A quiet, empty space took hold where something should have been. And maybe that was worse. Because if this wasn’t it—if this didn’t fill that void—then what would? Maybe if I had climbed it in better style, or made better time, or hadn’t screwed it all up with a fall, it would’ve been enough. I’ll never know that answer. I clicked into my skis and took one last look at Colfax. The frozen waterfall was dancing in the moonlight, but it was already fading away. With every second, the climb became more memory than experience, a tale that gets told rather than an idea living inside me. The melancholy quickly retreated after the first few powder turns and didn’t return until I got a ski stuck in a creek bed a couple miles later. Gear Notes: 14 screws, 12 draws, 1 picket, Rack o Nutz. Approach Notes: Drove to the last pullout before the Heliotrope Ridge Trailhead, bathroom still not blocked in. Booted a mile or so on the summer trail then transitioned to skis and continued on the CD route until reaching Colfax. To descend, we traversed eastward along the North flank of Colfax, eventually reaching the Kulshan-Colfax col and could drop back down to the glacier.

The Cassin was planned for a different year. We climbed both Ham & Eggs and Shaken Not Stirred on the same 2 week trip. So we got a bump from TAT mid trip between the Root Canal and the West Fork. But we did have the Southwest Ridge of Dan Beard in our options. I also remember a team climbing good terrain up the valley behind and west of Peak 11300. I am not sure of the exact route though.

HowNOT2.com has a good gear shop and climbing advocate and would be a good location. contact@hownot2.com 1065 12th Ave NW, Suite E7, Issaquah, Washington 98027

Trip: Mount Harvey - North Face Ramp Trip Date: 01/25/2025 Trip Report: What a nice spell of climbing weather we had to start off 2025! I'm glad that @geosean suggested the NF ramp of Harvey, a climb I had done a couple of times before, but not for a long while. Last time I was on it, it was quite thin and sporty, but the word on the street said it was in fine nick and so plans were hatched to make a trip north and see if Canada was still allowing Americans to enter. @BrettS and Mike rounded out our team and we all met early in Bellingham Saturday morning. I think it only took about an hour and a half, including border crossing to make it to the TH from Bellingham- it is easy to forget what great options exist just a little bit north. The Trailhead was already filling up when we arrived a bit before 8 and we quickly paid the parking fee and started up the dry logging road at something like a dispiriting 650' elevation. It is a bit of a grunt up to the start of the route, but you get good views early on the hike in: In the 13 years since I'd last climbed it, the route has gotten mildly popular and there were several teams in front of us and at least one behind. A steady stream of ice and snow chunks rained down the ramp as we geared up and started off simul-soloing. We had the gear and rope ready, just in case, as @Don_Serl recommends in the link above, but they stayed packed away as we climbed higher and higher with perfect conditions and ample steps to draft off of. I was reminded what a great and pleasant climb it was, in a fine position! But almost too soon, the angle mellowed and we were at the top of the ramp, looking across the steep traverse that guards access to the easy ridge that finishes on the summit. Some times this portion is a crux, but not this day. It was practically a sidewalk and we enjoyed posing for some photos with dramatic views of Howe Sound below: And then we hit the final ridge, sun and views. @geosean walking just below the top: We stopped just short of the summit to eat lunch, take off the technical gear, and admire the excellent views all around. The Standard route on Harvey (our descent) is quite the popular outing on a nice winter's day and we didn't want to be in the scrum on the actual summit. This was a good call on busy Saturday, and we could look south to Baker, Puget Sound, and the Lions in peace: To the west were the endless Coast Mountains, Howe Sound, and Anvil Island: But, a winter's day, even a perfect one, is over too quickly, and we had to begin the descent before we tired of the views and position. The good thing is that the first quarter of the descent is almost as spectacular as the climb: And then it was back to the road, the car, beers, and chips. I think it was less than 7 hours car to car and was entirely one of the more pleasant winter climbs that I have done in years. I hope that it isn't another 13 years until my next visit! Gear Notes: helmet, axe, second tool, steel crampons. If it is in thin shape you may want a rope and some snow/ice pro, but it is also a comfortable solo for a lot of fatter winter conditions. If you need snowshoes it is probably not in great shape. Beware avy danger! Approach Notes: The Lions Trail. Arrive early to get a spot and don't forget to pay!