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Trip: Ingalls Peak - East Ridge Trip Date: 04/13/2025 Trip Report: Ingalls Peak: East Ridge. 04/13/2025 Gear Notes: 2 technical tools each 70 m rope Cams 0.2 – 3 with doubles 0.3-0.4 Hexes. Work well in icy cracks Nuts 6 60 cm slings, 2 120 cm slings 2 240 cm cordelettes for protection on horns Approach Notes: Skis or snowshoes

Trip: Ingalls Peak - South Ridge Trip Date: 04/21/2025 Trip Report: Been getting out a good amount but mostly ski-mountaineering. Since this was a more climbing-y thing, I figured I’d post it on here. With Monday off, I wanted to get one more trip out of the Spring break by giving an early season attempt on Ingalls. Mid-day Sunday, Asher and I drove out to Esmeralda and got the car a little past Beverly Campground. We began walking at 16:00 and set up camp at around 6000’ at 20:00 a little below Ingalls pass. I had my splitboard, Asher had snowshoes. My lighter ended up freezing so we had cold soaked oatmeal and fresh carrots for dinner. The next morning we got moving around 06:30 and were at the base of the South Ridge of Ingalls at around 08:30. There was more snow than expected overnight so but I figured I’d at least give it a shot. We started by booting up an entrance couloir. The top of it contained a dusting of snow above a slab, but a short little boulder move brought us onto a sub ridge. From here we butt-scooted a little bit until we reached the rock. A short little step brought us to the belay. Here I roped up and started up the route in ski boots. The rock was very icy with lots of snow in the cracks, but with big cracks, it was still reasonably comfortable with ski boots. I found the passive pro super useful with the icy cracks. Honestly I should've brought way more nuts. Eventually I got about 30 meters up and found myself stuck. I stuck my Gully in a crack, tied in direct, and switched from ski boots to climbing while backed up by a hex. I was feeling pretty patagonian by now… on a 5.4. I looked around but decided to try and follow a crack system on the left. Asher lowered me off the hex and belayed me as I traversed across closer to the ridgeline. Here looked more promising so I continued climbing up. Higher up the crack, I was nearly postholing in climbing shoes. Near about 40 meters, at the top of P.2, I reached a band of snow and Ice. I couldn't continue up and eventually placed in a bomber nut and lowered off after bounce testing it while backed up. Halfway down I pulled the rope again and got lowered off of a nice slung horn. I think it could’ve been possible by drytooling but I wasn’t quite desperate enough to scratch up such a popular route(also I’m definitely not that confident of a drytooler). I’ll hopefully be back this summer anyways to link up the ridgeline between Ingalls and Sherpa. Anyways, once I arrived back at the belay, we found an older rap anchor to make a final rap to the approach gully. I got some consolation turns as Asher suffered on snow shoes. We got back to camp and kept going down. We ended up back at the car by 16:00, just 24 hours after leaving. While we didn’t get the summit, it was still a great time getting out and I learned a few things about winter climbing. The truth is we just had a lot more snow and ice than expected, and climbing an icy slab without drytooling is next to impossible. Better than sitting around in the city. Next person up the South Ridge gets a little booty! Always good to learn to bail. https://lucasfng.blogspot.com/2025/04/ingalls-peak-attempt-420-4212025.html Gear Notes: Should've brought more hexes and Nuts for the wintery conditions. Anchors not visible Approach Notes: 2 hrs to walk/skin the road

Other than something @JasonG and I are gonna do I’m just planning on repeating some classic scrambles/ridge hikes in the cascades and Olympics. Probably do some bike packing if I can get to it, and canoe the Bowron in October and hunting in AK in November.

Trip: Kauai North Shore - Kalalau Trail Trip Date: 03/28/2025 Trip Report: Went to Kauai for spring break... no climbing... what a bummer. At least I got to hike some cool terrain. Would highly recommend. Only had the morning so I went light and fast. Only made it 9 out of the 10 miles out before my turn around time... I had to meet the family at a beach (tough life)... but this did get me to the ridge overlooking the Kalalau Vaslley, which is where the end point is. Trail was very rough and couldn't run very much. Once the sun was higher, heat stroke felt like it was just around the corner. Last 2 hrs were rough and once I reached the Ke'e beach I stood under the rinse shower for 5 minutes with all my clothes on and chugged a liter of water much too fast. The permit system is a little difficult to navigate, you can book 3 months out and need an overnight permit to go past Hanakapiai creek. I lucked out and snagged a pass a month out. The permit system does make it very nice once you're in, as there are very few people around for such a known and beautiful trail. There are lots of tour boats and helicopters showing the wealthy and lazy around this side of the island. It's pretty annoying in general. However, it was ego tickling when I was running a particularly exposed section of cliff and some guys in their boat tour a 100m off shore started cheering and chanting. Here's the pictures... Big plants Big cliffs Exposed trail... still nice and shady on the way out Wild goats... combined with the vegetation and the volcanic rock and it's basically just like the Cascades. Count the tour boats More big cliffs Looking back, rugged terrain More big cliffs, oooh pretty light And even more big cliffs Looking back out / big cliffs redeux Kalalau Valley Exposed scramble section... felt very chill but there were some seriously sketched out hikers Beach recovery... water was too warm to ice bath... pity Gear Notes: Trail shoes, snacks, lots of water and electrolytes. Approach Notes: Ha'ena State Park shuttle from Hanalei. Book your permit online 3 months out.

Anyone got any trips or goals for the summer season? Let's share and get stoked! I'm going to spend a week 2nd half of June with a good partner. We're going to see what the weather does before we pick a location... Rogers Pass, Canadian Rockies, Tetons, Cascades are all on the radar. Then hoping to either go to the Sierra or Darrington for some (very different) granite climbing later in the summer. Hopefully a couple family trips with at least some scrambling, kid TRing, and hiking too.

Trying to do some bike -> climb this summer since taking a car all the time proved problematic with my family last year. Also saves on gas and I got the time. Definitely want to get out to cascade river road since it was closed last summer. Maybe a northern pickets traverse and the ptarmigan??? I just want to get out for longer overnighters really. Bike's mostly ready by now after a little sewing. Just need some new tires - lmk if you got any 27.5" tubeless compatible gravel/road tires you're tryna sell

I got a scholarship so I'm actually going to be headed to Norway for a few weeks to take a course in Norwegian. Past that, I'll be back home working and hoping to get in a lot of harder (for me) dry tooling in this summer.

I didn't end up having the budget for my plans in Alaska this year, so I'll be spending more time in the PNW and Canada. I'll be in the PNW starting mid-May hoping to climb whatever subset of Curtis/Ptarmigan/Liberty ridge I could fit in/would be in acceptable condition, and then will spend early August in Squamish before heading to the Canadian rockies and hopefully climb the Kain face on Robson.

Chimney is the only Smoot I have left. I'm stoked for it!

I snuck in and bagged Pitcher Mountain the day before they closed the bridge. What luck, eh?

Stein Valley, BC backpacking....and scrambling.....welll...approaching from Lilloett lake.

So you're sending the Troll Wall on a weekend right?

Holy crap dude, congrats! That is cool I want to learn Norwegian in Norway! Where do I apply? im seriously curious, though I’m past doing anything like that. What a cool opportunity for you though!

Deer in SE! My brother lives in Wrangell.

@Michael Telstad RE anchor ripping, are you talking about this TR?

There are lots of fun adventures to be had by choosing a class 2, 3 or 4 route in a Beckey Guide. Keep an eye out for the 'obvious gully' and prepared to be humbled. Thanks Fred!!!

It totally depends on conditions. In my mind it was totally chill, but last year when I took my son and friend there was 30+ degree bare glacial ice and we only had lightweight shoes and micro-spikes. We had axes, but I didn't feel there was enough margin of error in the event of a slip, so we pulled the plug. If it had been 30 degree snow with bootprints we would have been fine.

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.

A couple views from the other side looking down into Kalalau Valley from the lookout are up on the mountain. It was a fantastic and also mildly exciting hike out the ridge from the lookout on the “closed” trail to look down here. Made more exciting by a toddler in a backpack. Thanksgiving 2023. I certainly thought about doing some more remote/off trail stuff. Too bad those cliffs are so crumbly!

Also went here twice in the pre-Instagram era. Beautiful and quiet out there. Wonder how different it is now?

That is a cool hike. Did it too. People were scared of the "cliff area". I didn't think that was that bad. I thought the red dirt area AFTER the cliff area was the most dangerous part, because if that area was wet, it would be very very slippery. Make sure when you do this trip take running shoes with good tread!

OK @emilio taiveaho pelaez , @JasonG @bedellympian @OlympicMtnBoy @psathyrella They are mailed off to you guys. I'll be dropping some off at Feathered Friends in Seattle, and probably more places as I can get to them. Additionally I just mailed the below stack to our site sponsor @AAI , so you should to to their gear store @AAIEquipShop up in Bellingham and get one there. They should be on the counter or whereever they put them, when they get them in a day or two. Address is: Address: 4041 Home Rd a, Bellingham, WA 98226 Open weekdays 10-6, closed on weekends.

One of my favorite hikes ever, so great!....spent five days out there in the fall of 2002 on our honeymoon....what a magical spot! Too bad about all the boats and helicopters these days, I don't remember many at all. I've been thinking about going back for our 25th anniversary in a couple years and this TR is good motivation! If you went a little further, dropped down into the valley and then scrambled up towards the SW end of the Kalalau beach, you would have seen this view of those cliffs in a couple of your photos:

As you may know my goal is to change this site into an official non-profit entity. to promote and support climbing in the northwest , to preserve the stories and legacies of those that have passed through here, maybe even do some charitable stuff if it can be put together. But I know nothing about this from a legal or organizational standpoint. And with a new role at work I don’t have time for much. so I’m looking for help. Help with everything including running the site from a technical standpoint. I know I’ve asked for this before and some have even answered. I just need to meet you and maybe we can have a working session. so this is a call for help. Help to get us to non-profit status if possible. Help running that. technical side I need *nix skills, upgrading MySQL, upgrading php, that kind of thing. was even thinking of reaching out to the UW Discord channel, anyone here on that? just looking for people who will protect this site, help run it as a nonprofit,keep the lights on.

ivan lost in the recount - too many hanging chads...

Yeah, it isn't very crevassed or steep, but you could still slip and slide a long ways. I usually haven't roped, but crampons will sometimes be needed depending on overnight temps. It is a very scenic outing, but somewhat crowded (likely to be multiple parties on the route).

Good point on the summit blocks of the two mountains. But Black can have some steeper snow to deal with lower down, depending on the snow year. I guess I figured the OP knew his way around 4th class rock. Sahale isn't too bad to downclimb.... if you don't fall. I guess I should say the same for Corteo. A slip would be very bad.

Any snow left on Black or Sahale in late August or early September will be hard and not easy for someone without snow experience to travel across. You will need ice axe and crampons and know how to use them. You might be able to avoid the snow on Black, but not on Sahale. Roping up on either peak usually isn't necessary for those that are comfortable scrambling exposed 3rd or 4th class rock, but steep snow is no joke if you aren't familiar. I would stay away from anything with snow, unless it is very low angle. A slip usually ends very badly if you don't know how to self arrest. Thanks for the offer Rob, looks like some cool scrambling down there!

Just one person’s perspective: I don’t want to hear or see a drone in what is my church. Not that I go to church nearly enough. super sorry your tr got derailed with this stupid ass conversation about drones, and I also understand people who are just “past it”. But for me it’s a line too far, and I feel like the more people that break the law and get adoration on YouTube, the worse it will get. So I piss in their Cheerios. all that aside thank you for the incredible trip report and I hope us Guardians of the Galaxy haven’t dissuaded you from sharing mor TRs here. You have a knack for storytelling and I’d love to hear more.

FYI that is not my video. that was another party about a month after us. I did produce a video of my experience but it was created without the use of aerial photography and it's under my name. Furthermore, I've just about had it with the federal government prescribing what is allowed in terms of personal recreating. The blanket rules rarely apply in the alpine and are even harder to enforce. If me and my partner are the only animals up on an alpine face in the dead of winter, a drone has little effect on the ecosystem and the rule is moot. It mainly exists so that colchuck lake isn't turned into a seattleite swarm drone demonstration every saturday, so i get why it's a thing. There's also legality loopholes for footage like "taken off from, landed in, and operated from outside the Wilderness area" for footage produced like that parties. I suspect that most tickets are from being caught flying the drone in person. It was hardly persecutable before the layoffs, and now i don't think they have the resources to enforce it period. I used to agree with the "setting a bad example for others" reasoning for things like this, but now i just don't care. if you fly a drone in the wilderness, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Hey @Lucas Ng! @geosean@therunningdogand I climbed Lincoln today and were able to bring down 3 rap stations including a couple pickets. I'll shoot you a PM with how to get the stuff... thanks for the added inspiration to get it done.... it's been on the list too long!

Trip: Illumination Rock - West Ridge Trip Date: 01/18/2025 Trip Report: Damon and I went up the West Ridge of Illumination. We got to the West Gable quite easily but the rime mushrooms along the ridge were uninspiring. Here are some pictures... Gear Notes: Not much was useful. South side routes would take rock gear. Lots of rime on North side. No ice sufficient for screws was observed. Approach Notes: Standard

Trip: Mt. Olympus - Blue Glacier Trip Date: 07/22/2024 Trip Report: Report attached as a PDF. 2024-07-22 Wait, I Thought the Olympics Were in Paris_.pdf Gear Notes: Two half ropes (one per team for the glacier, combined for the rock). Approach Notes: Three different GPS watches found this to be more like 21 mi each direction, not 17.5 mi.

Happy you guys made it down in one piece. That was quite the epic. Good to see the old guys giving you some solid advice here and I hope you take it and maybe throttle down the objectives to more moderate terrain until you have a good base of knowledge and experience in the mountains. As an old guy, I remember Marc Andre on here many years ago doing moderate objectives around Vancouver, posting TR's and being completely stoked to get advice. You should try it. The harder stuff will come with time, or you'll run out of time with horrible results. I've been on here long enough to see too many people get in over their heads and never come back. Don't let that be you. Climbing those kind of routes in winter adds another level of complexity. Try some longer summer alpine routes to get "The Dance" worked out. And a space blanket lives in every one of my packs without leaving. Even better, a lightweight bivy bag or tarp. Canadian Rockies guides don't climb without one. Found that out the hard way after our own epic up there, and I was seasoned even back then! Cheers and good luck!

Thanks. Just to save you a click, here's the update : This is Scott's first summit of Dragontail. He's been close, but never touched the top. We left the car at Bridge Creek CG at the late hour of 6am. It's nearly 4pm and the light is waning in the gloomy overcast. We snap a couple shots and click into the planks to make the first couple exposed turns just below the summit to the exit notch of the Triple Couloirs. However, for us it will be our entrance notch. I look down the 3rd couloir and can't see beyond a couple hundred feet. I tell Scott it's not too late to bail on the plan and ski our line of ascent. He says he's fine with TC's, so I guess we're committed. The 3rd couloir is in fantastic shape. All the rocks are covered, and the snow consists of stable soft powder. We make methodical turns down to the transition point of the 2nd and 3rd couloirs where there's a flat bench. Here, we talk. It's now almost completely dark. We weigh the merits of continuing vs. booting back out and descending the safe side. There are no cracks for pro here, so we'll have to chop a snow bollard to make the rap. I ask Scott what he wants to do. He says he's good for continuing, but sounds a little more ambivalent this time. So am I. Scott mentions that he's fine with skiing in the dark. Me too, I guess. We decide to set up the rap to see if our single 60m rope will reach the snow below. We thread the rope around the bollard and I toss the ends into the misty void. I weight the bollard and descend to see the ends are just barely visible, sitting on snow of the 2nd couloir. I tell Scott that once we make this rap, we are locked in to finishing the route, since I dont have the tools to reclimb this step. Scott gives me the green light and I continue down out of sight. As im waiting for Scott to rappel, the cycle of spindrift starts. The sound reaches us first, then a small waterfall of sugar snow that exploits every weakness in one's layering system as it flows over us. This pattern continues for the next 7 1/2 hours that we're in the dark bowels of this mountain. Scott touches down beside me. I very slowly and carefully pull our rap rope. I give Scott a bite of it as i pull to ensure it doesn't go flying down the mountain without us. I say that I will be slowing down from here on out to make sure no mistakes are made in worried haste. Scott says he's cool with this, stating, "It's not like it's going to get any darker at this point." I could hug this guy! Apart from a small rock constriction partway down that requires some careful side stepping, the skiing in the 2nd couloir mirrors that of the 3rd couloir. Joyous, steep powder by the small orb of a headlamp. But I know the dry runnels, steep exposed slabs of granite, loom in the blackness somewhere below us. It's impossible to tell with the misty fog that fills the air around us. Scott follows on his homemade board behind me, wielding his ice tool in front of him with both hands, like he's holding an assault weapon. I pull up next to the rock and dig out the snow and find a good crack for a cam and lost arrow piton. I pound in the pin, and the ringing of iron tells me the placement is most likely solid. The cam is good too, though I never fully trust cam lobes against snowy rock. I equalize the gear placing more emphasis on the pin, with the cam more as a backup. We place boards on packs and rap to a small alcove out of the way of the constant spindrift. Bad news is that there aren't any cracks worth a damn for an anchor. We decide to chop another bollard and this works swimmingly. Being 30 lbs heavier than Scott, I rappel first. I also have the all the gear with me to build each additional anchor. I slowly descend on rappel below the alcove, out of sight of Scott. The walls above the small cave are aglow in LED light from Scotts headlamp. I am able to dig out a nice crack for a .5 first generation camalot and a large stopper, which I weld into place with my single BD Viper ice tool that I have holstered on my harness. Solid! This is going easier than expected. I call up to Scott that I'm off rappel and he's good to come on down. Rappel #4 starts. In the dark it's impossible to estimate how many more raps will be necessary to reach the snow of the Hidden couloir. But so far, it's fine smooth and I'm confident in my ability to coax anchors in crappy rock. I can't wait to get to the bottom safe and sound. I suppress my imagination that is trying to distract me with visions of triumphantly exiting the final couloir out onto the slopes of Asgaard Pass. I'm near the end of the rap line, knots tied into the ends of the strands, and there are no cracks available for gear. I scrape the sugar snow from the rock for what feels like hours. I'm a little nervous, but not rushed. There's boot top snow to stand on, and I have a sling brake on the rap strands so that I can remain hands free looking for pro. I move from margin to margin of the narrow snow runnel but still can't find a crack. Meanwhile, more spindrift comes streaming down over my head, one slough with enough volume to threaten my stance. I lower more and continue scraping snow off rock, and notice I'm leaving small streaks of blood on the pink granite. An inspection of my right glove reveals an exposed middle fingertip where the glove material used to be. Ive worn a hole in my glove already. The tip is red and oozing blood. It's so cold and the circumstances such that I can't feel the pain anyways. I think to myself, wow. That should hurt right now, but it doesn't. Weird. I take out my viper and continue excavating. I concede on finding cracks and announce to Scott that we will have to build another bollard. United again, we chop a hasty bollard and thread the rope. Oh well, I tell Scott that at least we save our gear with this bollard. I'm about 40' below the snow anchor, half rapping, half downclimbing towards the steeper rock slabs when I get a feeling of sudden weightlessness. It tips me upright where I catch myself. Scott yells down that the rope had cut through the bollard, which is painfully obvious with the entire rope coiled at my feet. I tell Scott he'll have to downclimb the snow to my stance and we'll continue looking for pro. More begging ensues as we clean snow off rock. Time ticks slowly by. It feels like this one rap is running up on the 3rd hour, and we're no closer to finding a safe solution. Maybe a bigger bollard this time. Another cycle of spindrift pounds us as we dig. I look up to see stars in the black sky. We dig out a bollard twice the size of our previous one and again thread the rope. The snow is on a 60 degree slope, and it's only about 2' deep and mostly sugar. There is no way in helll im going to commit to it without some healthy body weight testing. I lean on the rope, and the thin 6mm line easily starts cutting through the snow. Im still jittery from the last close call, and this rap will take us over steep rock slabs, so full commitment will be required for this anchor. No go, I tell Scott. We need to scour the rock more. And I want to do it anchored with crampons, so decide to climb back up to our last gear anchor which is still accessible by steep snow climbing. Now im getting tired. It's 9pm or thereabouts and the day's labor is catching up with me. I'm struck, however, by how unemotional Scott and I are about the present situation. We go about our tasks with a businesslike indifference. When one solution doesn't pan out, we let go and move on to the next possible option without any attention to ego. We are here, right now in the guts of Dragontail peak in the pitch black watching spindrift avalanches flow by. It's actually quite fascinating, and I think to myself that this will all be very memorable in retrospect. But for now I have to find a crack for pro. I choke down some salty food and prepare to rap again. With Scott's crampons attached I have better purchase to dig around in the rock. I choose a semi solid slab area and start digging at a weakness with my ice tool until I've scraped a thin canal that accepts a ringing lost arrow and stopper that I again pound into the crack like a head. I weight the anchor still tied into the rap rope and bounce test it a few times. Solid! Thank God! Off rappel! C'mon down Scott. On rappel yet again, I come across a fixed anchor 80' below. Finally! I whoop up to Scott our good fortune. I adjust the faded cordage so the stopper and solid pin are equalized better and tie in, relieved we don't have to burn more of our own gear. I still can't see how much further down the hidden couloir is. I look up. The stars are gone and it's starting to snow. Roughly 40' down the next rap I find another fixed anchor of two inspiring pins in solid rock and newish webbing. I tell Scott we should use this anchor too, to maximize the extra length. Finally, I think, this is coming together. Though there's still a black void below us, I reason that the Hidden couloir and glory skiing can't be that much further down. Except the next rap produces no more fixed anchors and the rope ends dangle against near vertical slabs still. Near the end of the rope I start the clearing and scraping process all over again. The rock quality seems to have worsened if that's possible. Again, I carve out a tiny seam and coax my final pieces of pro-a stopper and small lost arrow- into this horror story that is passing as granite. The piton gives no audio feedback that it is solid as I hammer it in place. It bottoms out with a useless thud. I weld the stopper in an adjacent crack with the tool's pick. On rappel still, I bounce test the anchor and it seems to hold. It's a mostly hanging belay, so I hold my breath, tie into the pieces, and call off rappel. Scott comes down and perches on a small stance about 3' above the anchor at my request, since I don't trust the gear to tolerate the weight of both of us. I thread and toss the ends. They land on snow, and I'm reasonably assured that this is the final rap to the hidden couloir. I prepare to descend and find my ATC has disappeared. What ensues is a comical attempt by two fatigued minds trying to recall how to rap on a munter hitch. After 10 minutes of trial and much error, I say F' it and rap with the dulfersitz method. I touch down and recognize I'm indeed in the hidden couloir. No more rappels!!! I yell up to Scott, and tell him to come on down. I've been climbing for 12 years. I learned to climb on gear first, and learned quickly how to build reliable, safe anchors. I've developed a lot of confidence in my anchors and rapped countless times without incident on cams, stoppers, pitons and V-threads. Anchor failures do occur, but not to me. Not on my watch. But you read that sometimes it happens, and that personal trust between you and the rock-a relationship you've developed over years-can be broken in an instant. It did when my anchor failed as Scott started to rappel. I remember hearing a short yell from Scott. More out of surprise than outright panic. I remember watching his headlamp go flying past me. Out of instinct I grab the rap rope that is zipping down the 60 degree snow and see him tumble further down the couloir in strange silence. There's another 800 feet of steep, rock lined gully left to the hidden, with a small cliff at the bottom. In short, Scott is screwed. Then the headlamp comes to a stop 60' or so below me. He's fallen easily 70' from the rock slabs to the powder snow. Scott has somehow arrested his tumbling fall and confirms that he is ok. When asked later, he says he doesn't remember how he stopped his death slide. His injury? A scratched elbow. Without any emotional response to what just occurred, we kick steps over to a small alcove and gear up for the rest of the ski down. We're not done yet. I make the final few turns out onto low angled Asgaard Pass, and yelp as loud as I can out of immense relief. I have my baklava over my mouth and ears, and my yell causes my ears to ring. I yank down the mask and yell again, and again, and again. Just because it feels so good. We sit down on the snow and I sincerely apologize for the anchor failure, and feel responsible for his NDE. Scott understands, and is gracious. We just want to savor this victory. It's snowing hard now and it's closing in on midnight. We're both cold and wet, but have to just sit and wind down and just enjoy what it feels like to be on low angled terrain again and not have to worry about another rappel. We stagger to the cars by 5am. I go to the CWH ER in Wenatchee to get my finger cleaned up, then rush off to a court hearing by 9am. My colleagues declare me a zombie and send me home where I sleep for the next 6 hours. Scott emails me later in the day to say he tweaked his knee taking out the garbage.

Here is the route drawn in with red line, dashed lines mean climbing on other side. Basically we went about as far South as we could, backtracked a bit, then started up the SW face, 4th class to the ridge, then dropped on the East side of the ridge and followed that all the way to the summit. Only found a little film canister with wet paper and hard to read names from 1988 and 1991 so don't know who's been up there lately. Did see fresh tracks and a new sling, so somebody beat us up this year already.