ryanl

Great pictures!

While everything about your trip is impressive, most so for me is that you motivated to leave seattle at 11:30 at night. I sometimes have trouble staying awake driving home after work to north seattle, let alone to Leavenworth in the middle of the night. Did you sleep before making the return trip to Seattle? Seriously, the way you (and Sky) manage 24 hours is truly amazing.

Nice report Bala. Sounds like you had some fun up there.

Now for some pics. Here's the route. I skied from the red dots and rapped from the yellow one: Looking down at Bala about half way up: Dan nearing the top of the couloir: This is where we gained the upper snow field (and also where I rapped on the descent: The summit arete: View from the top of the couloir: This the higher of two spots I downclimbed: This is the lower downclimb section/entrance (it looks steeper than it is because I'm sitting on my hip: View down to our bivy site in the valley from the base of the couloir: Here's the couloir itself:

On sunday I skied the NE Couloir of Argonaut after having climbed to its summit with Dan Smith and Bala Krishnamoorthy. I'm not sure how to post pics, but when I figure it out I will. We started the slog to Stuart Lake trailhead at 10:30 on Sat morning. Dan and Bala were on snow shoes, I was on skis. We made it the basin beneath Argonaut in approx 7 hours. Route finding was pretty straight forward. We came across some skin tracks leading to Stuart and I figured some folks had some ideas for the Ice Cliff glacier. I guess I was right. Anyway, we were all pretty beat by the time we made it to our bivy at 4900'. Dan and Bala shared a betamid and I dug a hole. Weather was nice. We settled on the NE Couloir because the route we wanted to try had too little snow. We pulled ourselves out of our sacs at 2 am and were hiking a little before 3. The snow was hard and I quickly gave up skinning in favor of bootpacking. Dan and bala managed to snowshoe all the way to the base of the Couloir at 7300'. Like an idiot I carried a pair of leather climbing boots in my pack- not having much experience winter climbing, and not being certain the couloir would be in condition, I didn't want to get stuck at the top having to climb 5.6 rock in AT boots. The couloir itself went pretty smoothly. Snow was firm but soft enough to get me thinking that I could ski it. We swapped turns kicking steps and found ourselves at the exit onto the upper snowfield a little before 9. Dan pretty much took over from here. His experience on terrain much more difficlut than what we faced showed as he lead over and belayed us up a tricky step onto the summit snowfield. As I climbed, roped, I knew that I wouldn't be able to ski directly into the couloir. We kicked steps up the slope to a false summit, climbed back down and around it to the north, then continued upward until we arrived at a beautiful snow and rock arete leading to the summit. I left my skis and pack and followed Dan and Bala as we simulclimed the final 200 feet. There were a few sections of mixed terrain, which we all handled with ease. It was very reassuring to have Dan on the end of the rope- he made everything look casual! We had great views from the summit. It was a little after 10 and we all were happy with the time we made. We talked about the descent and decided that I would ski the upper snowfield and then make a single rope rappel back into the couloir. Dan and Bala would pull the rope and descend off the south side, where they would traverse to the east until they could find a place to re-enter the North facing side of the mountain. The upper snowfield had the best snow of the day. Dense powder, moderate grade, wonderfully dramatic scenery. At the rap station we all wished each other a safe descent and parted ways. I rapped the rope's full 60 meters before shouting "Off rappel!". For a moment I had a feeling of intense lonliness as I stood watching the rope slwoly slide upwards. That was quickly replaced by fear and second-guessing. The couloir isn't super steep- somewhere between 45 and 50 degrees--, but the snow was hard, exposure was significant, and I was alone. Plus, I don't consider myself to be a great skier. I told myself to calm down and take eveything one step at a time. On the way up I broke the couloir down into a bunch of interconnected sections. Every 100 feet or so I would stop, look down, and ask myself whether I could ski this. I felt I could at every instance, except for two. In two places the couloir constricts to less than a ski width. One of them occurs right off the bat at the entrance into the couloir. I practiced down climbing this spot on the way up and felt confident that I could. I also looked for and found a place above the section where I could take my skis off and reorganize my equipment. I did the same at the second constriction, which occurs aprrox. 200 feet above the first. I could see someone better than me skiing the higher narrow bit, and in soft snow I think I might have tried. But as it was I just looked for a suitable staging area and continued upwards. All this to say that as I stod alone at the tope of the couloir making myslef nervous I realized that I was looking at the whole picture instead of the parts. Skiing the whole 1000 feet was scaring the bejesus out of me; skiing ten 100' sections with two downclimbs was something I could handle. Anybody else think this way? Anyway, I decided the best way to calm down would be start skiing. So I climbed up and over to a good staging area, kicked into my skis, and set off. I made some turns right off the bat to break thru the barrier and found myslef having an enjoyable time. The snow was hard but not too hard- I could break thru, but I could also feel the texture of whatevert I skied over. I took my time and made my way to the higher of the two narrow bits. I anchored myself with my ice axes, put on my crampons (the snow became harder lower down) strapped my skis to my back, and set off. No problem. I don't know why, but I've always been more afraid of down climbing than of skiing. I skiied to the next next constriction and repeated the process. All the while I downclimbed the last bit I couldn't keep from looking at the 3000' of perfectly pitched fall line skiing that stood between where I would soon be and our bivy site. The topping on the cake came shortly after when I looked over to see Dan and Bala making their way down. Little did I know that the most dangerous part of the day was yet to come. The Mountaineer Creek bridge that had collapsed (underneath Paul I now know) had me sweating bullets and crying like a stuck pig. I was so tired by this point and had so little control of my balance beneath my pack, that I resorted to shoveling away a good portion of the piled up snow before making my way across belly down and spread eagle, pushing my pack ahead of me while Dan pulled on it with the rope that I had uncoiled. Whatever pride I had earned from earlier in the day I quickly lost as Bala came up from behind me and walked across without giving a second thought. I sighed relief, but once again I was in ignorance of what was yet to come: The ski down from Lake Stuart Trailhead to Icicle creek. By the time we reached the trailhead it was dark. The snowmobile tracks and snowshoers from the busy weekend had reduced the road to a 4 mile long, bullit proof hard bobsled course. The first mile was ok, but the final three were treacherous. I snow plowed the whole friggin way. Back at the road I waited for Bala and Dan by sharing the fire of a local gentleman who went by the name of Frontier Franklin who offered me a tall and cold Keystone Ice while I waited. A perfect end to great day. Thanks Dan and Bala- you both were perfect partners!

So which one of you guys lost a blue foam bed roll?

i couldn't not reply- nice job, and cool pics!

thanks Phill.

Here's a question I've been too lazy to answer but which today's beautiful weather made necessary: looking north from atop Queen Anne, what are the two prominant peaks to the east of Baker that are almost completely snow covered? I think the the furthest east is Glacier. Is the other Three Fingers? Big Four? And where in relation to these, is Vesper, which one of the guide books says you can see from seattle. Does anybody have a link to a good panoramic shot taken from seattle?

I have some friends coming to town for a trip up Glacier Peak. Anybody have some insight about what to expect as far as conditions go? They'll be heading up Sitkum Glacier.

Nice writing, and climbing. You managed to express and experience so much of what makes climbing worthwhile. Thanks, and congratulations.

thanks dru for the info.

Anybody climbed Star Chek recently, near Sqaumish? I've never been and I heard that it might be difficult to access because of construction?

I liked that there was lichen everywhere, on good rock. I never felt as though I was following a path.

Nice report and photos. I've got alot of repsect for you guys.

Climb: Mt Stuart-Complete North Ridge Date of Climb: 8/18/2005 Trip Report: Mark 'mule' Simon and I climbed the complete north ridge of Stuart last week. We didn't climb it fast-- we left in the afternoon of Wednesday the 17th and returned on saturday the 20th-- but I still feel good about how the trip turned out. The plan was to approach via Mountaineer creek, climb the ridge from its toe, descend around Sherpa Peak via Sherpa pass on Friday, at which point he would head down back to work for the weekend and I would head over Asgaard Pass to meet some friends who had a Snow Lakes permit. It didn't quite work out that way. So much the better. We left Leavenworth around 1:00 on Wednesday and made it to the base of the climb by 6:00. We had food for two and a half days, no sleeping bags, a stove, and the capacity to hold 6 liters of water. We decided to bivy just below the toe of the ridge-- good bivy sites-- so we could study the start and hydarte ourselves from the nearby run-off. I was nervous to climb. The route description calls for wide cracks in the 5.8 range right from the start and I wasn't sure how I'd manage with my pack. I kept telling myself that the fear I felt was a GOOD thing, and I tried to visualize working thru it the next day. The night passed slowly. It was cold, but not brutal, so we each slept sporadically. I had a Bibler winter bivy sac, Mark had his backpack. At times I shivered uncontrollably. I imagine he did as well. We set our alarms for 4:30, but stayed in our bivies until the sun began to rise around 5:30. After filling our water bottles, we were climbing by 6:30. Unfortunately, we began up the wrong crack. We properly identified the starting ledge, but in my focused anxiety I lead up a crack too far to the left. We realized our mistake after a pitch and a half, and after all was said and done we were on route almost three hours later. ]http://www.cascadeclimbers.com/plab/data/503/8475IMG_1619-med.JPG[/img] Mark and I had never climbed together before. On top of that, neither he nor I have climbed much this summer. So we went slow. But we also went well. I knew from having lived with him in Chamonix a few years back that he would be a great climbing partner. I wasn't mistaken. I lead most of the lower ridge, often taking way too long to protect but always feeling confident. He carried six-- yes 6!!-- liters of water along with some of my gear. Hence the name 'mule'. Every time I apologized for taking so long he put my mind at ease by saying he had no problems at all with it and that he was just chillin. He seconded fast, always arriving at the belay winded, and we slowly made our way towards the notch. After almost 13 hours and 1900', we arrived at the notch. Mark felt like continuing. I was drained and recognized that my attention was beginning to wain. I asked if mined a bivy. He agreed and we set up for the night. The second night was colder than the first. There was a full moon and we had spectacular views. At one point we fired up Mark's jetboil to heat some water for our bottles. Holding them close to our bodies we shivered until morning. Mark lead the first half of the upper ridge. The climbing was sweet. We did a combination of simul and pitched climbing. We knew most people simul climb the whole thing, but we weren't in a hurry and preferred the motto 'slow, steady, and safe.' I was so confident in the fact that Mark and I had the stamina, energy, and know-how to complete the climb that I never once worried about time. I've never had that feeling before. At the famous slab pitch I asked to take over the lead and Mark was nice enough to say yes. I quickly lead up to the base of the Gendarme. http://www.cascadeclimbers.com/plab/data/503/8475IMG_1653-med.JPG' alt='8475IMG_1653-med.JPG'> After the Gendarme we actually had route finding difficulties to the summit. Not quite sure what happend but we seemed to climb some pitches that were more difficult than they needed to be. We reached the summit around 7:30 pm. We briefly toyed with the idea of a descent down the northwest buttress but quickly recognized the potential for epic and headed off down the cascadian couloir. I knew my rendez-vous at Snow Lake wasn't going to happen. All I could do was hope they would understand and not worry too much. We naively followed cairns down for almost 500 feet. I recognized from having skied the cascadian several years ago that we were too low so we hiked back up, found the right way, and headed down. We reached the valley bottom around 1:30 in the morning. The next day was nothing but long. We had water, but no food. Three bagless bivies had taken their toll. The 11+ mile hike over Stuart and Goat Pass, down to Stuart lake and out took almost 10 hours. We were drained, but never worried. When I look at the details of the trip the word 'epic' comes to mind. Never once, though, did the trip feel like an epic. It felt controlled and enjoyable. We simply lived in the mountains for 3 days. Thanks Mark for a great trip. Goat Pass from Sturat Pass: Gear Notes: single 60 meter 9.4mm rope full rack- was thankful to have wide cams for the lower ridge.

Climb: - Date of Climb: 8/21/2005 Trip Report:

Wow- sounds like you had quite the adventure! Glad everything worked out for you guys.

Thanks alot for the photo eric. How did your trip turn out? I was amazed at how fast you guys covered the approach. Made me and Jeremy feel like turtles.

Climb: Sherpa Peak-North Ridge Date of Climb: 6/11/2005 Trip Report: July 11-12, 2005 Sherpa Peak, North Ridge The following is a trip report of Jeremy Ryan’s and my failed attempt at Sherpa Peak’s North ridge on the weekend of July 11. I wanted to post this report earlier but work and more work have kept me busy since we returned. Jeremy and I both wanted to try something challenging but within the confines of a normal weekend. Having climbed Serpentine several weeks earlier I was confident enough with my rock skills to cast my eyes towards places I’d never been. Jeremy, having just begun to lead trad this year, wanted to try a moderately technical alpine climb. We were also keen on trying something neither of us had ever done before: an open bivouac somewhere high on a route. The North Ridge of Sherpa Peak singled itself out as we looked thru the guide books. Jeremy and I had only ever climbed together once before, at a crag, so I was concerned about how we would work together. But not too concerned- based upon what little information I could find, Sherpa’s north ridge felt well within my abilities. And I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about Jeremy; he’s climbed Stuart’s West Ridge and completed an adventure race last year in 27 hours, non-stop. We started hiking from the Stuart Lake trailhead around 12:30 pm and set off at decent pace. We passed the fork to Colchuck Lake (3 mile) in an hour and were heading left at the first switchback to Stuart Lake (a la Nelson’s description) 45 minutes later. With some map reading, cairn following, and common sense we eventually found a faint trail alongside Mountaineer creek on the valley floor. It made for a pleasant hike. We followed the trail until it died, and then crossed over to the east side as Nelson suggests. From there it was pretty straight forward with only minor bushwhacking. At the head of the valley (approx. 4700’) we had a spectacular view of Argonaut Peak. We could also make out the rest of the approach to Sherpa, up and to the right. My mind was at ease. Jeremy and I talked a bit about the weather. Clouds stirred overhead but without ever becoming threatening. It was one of those days where the weather constantly vies for attention without ever becoming a focal point. We got to the base of the north ridge around 7:00 pm. We stood on snow, a little over a hundred vertical feet beneath the 7200’ notch that Nelson describes as the beginning of the technical climbing. From our vantage, however, the technical climbing was to begin right were we were. There was an obvious gully system leading to the notch with what looked like a straight forward chimney/off width as its crux. There was also a system of ledges a little to the climbers left that looked possible. There were other possibilities, but most of what we saw looked wet and too challenging. I was getting tired and wanted only to gain the ridge and find a place to bivy. At this point the weather began to take a turn for the worse. The clouds looked more serious. It started to snow lightly, and the wind began to increase. I looked beneath us and to the right at a small plateau with several trees that we had passed on the way up. The thought of calling it a day and finding shelter amidst the trees crossed my mind. I wanted to try something new, however, and looked upwards towards the ridge above. I offered Jeremy the first lead since he’d kicked all our steps, and he eagerly accepted. By the time he’d got the rack together and I’d flaked the rope, I’d pulled from my pack every piece of clothing I had and was stomping continually to regain feeling in my wet toes. Jeremy set off to the sounds of my chattering teeth. He set up a belay about forty feet up on a nice ledge, with the chimney option up and to our right. He climbed a short pitch because the route above wasn’t as easy as it appeared and I was beginning to get REALLY cold. My teeth were chattering uncontrollably so I asked to take over so that I could warm up. I switched to rock shoes and climbed the slab quickly. When I got to his belay ledge I felt confident and warm(er). I stuffed my insulating jacket into my pack but decided to continue climbing with my gloves on. Jeremy had bare hands and was fighting to keep them warm. To be honest, I thought I would cruise the pitch and so started up with much vigor. About 10 feet up and to the right I placed my first piece, a small alien. It was marginal but I figured I’d have better opportunities just ahead. From here the chimney was about 20 feet up and to the right. I couldn’t see any places for protection between me and it. The rock felt slick. I thought about moving left and checking out a crack we’d seen from below. I pulled up even with my pro and began to traverse around a bulge to my left (almost directly above Jeremy’s belay ledge) As I leaned off a side pull with my right hand and reached around the bulge with my left hand and foot, the hold I clung too broke loose. I barn-doored. My right hand, which had been supporting most of my weight, swung out from the rock and my chest started to follow suite. I stopped my momentum by back-stepping with my right foot and pushing off the bulge with my left hand. It was the sort of movement where every muscle in use comes desperately close to failure and balance is regained just at the onset of cramps. I saw that the slack I had generated from beginning my traverse would have led to a short fall. Nothing life-threatening, but I could have hurt myself had I come off. There were ledges and sharp rock beneath me, and the alien I’d placed wasn’t bomber. On the other hand, had I come off I might have had nothing more serious than a slight pendulum. Regardless of what could have happened, what did happen was that my attention shifted immediately to Jeremy’s and my situation. It was 7:45 at night. We had at most an hour and a half of daylight remaining. Cold weather, and possibly a storm, looked to be moving in. We were a good 6 hours from the trail head, assuming we could find our trail thru the brush at night. We had no tent. Now was not the moment to push thru one’s fear of falling. The level of risk was too high. The incident taught me something. Up until then I’d been enjoying the hike, thinking about the weather, wondering about our bivy, talking—pretty much everything but preparing myself mentally for climbing rock. Some people can do that. I can’t. I learned that to climb well I need to be focused and aware, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. I spent the next 45 minutes inching my way up awkward, sometimes wet, sometimes friable, rock. Was the pitch hard? Probably not- 5.6 or 5.7. I don’t remember struggling, but I do remember climbing with great effort. I also remember enjoying myself. I mantled over the last difficulty and scampered up a short gully of steep and loose rock to set up belay at a small tree, about 15 feet beneath the notch. I yelled to Jeremy that he was on belay. He must have been freezing. As I brought him up and looked across the gully, I saw a small ledge tucked up beneath a slight overhanging bulge. There was also a tree standing at the edge of the ledge. I could hear the wind howling on the other (west) side of the ridge. The ledge looked to be sloping away from the rock, but with imagination I could see two people lying in some configuration. When Jeremy reached me I pointed and said “bivy”. “Good,” he said, “my hands are freezing.” We strung a rope up across the outer edge of the ledge and organized our gear. We clipped our packs and ourselves to the line, and hung my small tarp overhead for some wind-shelter. We melted snow and ate a hot meal. Then we rock scissored papered for where we would sleep. I won and chose the more exposed but more level spot; Jeremy was tucked further into the rock, but had a worse slope to deal with. We both slept with our harnesses on. I loosely tied into our hand line; Jeremy placed a #2 Camelot in the crack by his head and tied in tightly to prevent his sack from sliding down and over the edge. The last thing we did before crawling into our bags was to fill our water bottles with hot water. It was after 11:00 when our fidgeting and adjusting ceased. I was in a 40 degree bag wearing everything I had. It took over an hour for sleep to come, and I spent the night awakening every ½ hour or so. At some point during the night the storm rolled in. We were lucky in that the wind continued to blow from the west. My tarp nevertheless billowed and whipped continuously. Light came around 4:45. Snow was falling, wind was howling, and visibility was poor. I spoke to Jeremy and suggested we stay in our bags. He agreed. We had the same conversation in the same conditions at 6:00 and at 8:00. We decided to rise and head down. The thermometer on Jeremy’s pack read 28 degrees. Two rappels put our feet on the snow field beneath, around 10:00. By that time the weather was beginning to break. We hung out for a bit, enjoying the scenery along with the better weather. By 10:30 the day was beautiful. I looked back at the route. It looked spectacular. Gear Notes: Full rack to 4". Crampons. Ice Axe. Crampons weren't necessary.

Wow, impressive trip. Had you climbed the west ridge before?

Really good trip report- thanks. The pics are excellent, especially the 5th one down from the top.

Nice photos. Thanks.

Nice job! You guys must have been climbing fast. Were you swapping leads or leading in blocks?

Sounds like a great trip! Thanks for the TR- I'm not familiar with that area so your descriptions are great.