gregfuller

While the push-button stopper seems like a nice option when you are wearing gloves, I'll personally never buy such a thermos again, opting instead for the old-school screw-in lid style. If your push-button stopper breaks (which has happened to me TWICE), your thermos is useless. If it only partially breaks, it will be usuable but will be a complete pain in the ass for the rest of its life. The screw-in type will last forever, and quite frankly doesn't seem too difficult to use with gloves. You can buy replacement push-button lids, but they cost at least half of what the thermos costs. I just don't think the push-button style is "mountaineering quality," and I hate replacing gear just because a small part broke. Then again, if you buy it at REI, you'll always be able to return it and get a new one if it does break. Still seems like a pain in the ass though.

Hey, I'm drinking scotch right now too! Glenmorangie Cellar 13: "Single Malt From a Single Cellar". Mmmmm, first fill cask (insert Homer Simpson drooling sound here). Back on topic -- I think the Hayden Glacier route is totally doable solo in early season (although on any glacier, you are still taking risks solo). During 4th of July weekend in 2004, I left from the Pole Creek TH and headed into the Chambers Lake area. My usual relaxed start landed me somewhere near Camp Lake for my first night. The next day I leisurely strolled up the mountain, intending to climb the SE Ridge, but ended up climbing I guess what was the South Ridge, camping around 8500ft in a small snow finger above the Irving Glacier. This location has been the most scenic bivy site to date, not only because it faces both the entire north side of South Sister and Broken Top, and offers views of Diamond Peak and Thielsen, but because I saw the most glorious moonrise in my life. A full moon, a gigantic orange globe, crept over the horizon around 10pm, a few hours after the sunset. Spectacular. I wonder what you need to take a decent picture of that kind of event. I had to do a double-take, because for a moment I thought the sun was rising already (or maybe that was the single malt kicking in. :-) After that experience, I've been trying to determine the best bivy sites for watching moon and sun rises. Does anyone out there have an astronomy background? Does the moon always rise in the east/southeast, or does it move around? It was a truly humbling experience. The next day I climbed up and over the top, down the North Ridge, and returned to the car via Hayden Glacier. It looks like there were some nice bivy sites on the top of Middle too, but at that time of year, most of the rock walls were still covered in snow. I'd like to camp at the top of Middle someday, but the 8500' snow finger was almost better since it was perched essentially on a ledge, offered better views, and had the bonus of running water just 20' above in the rocks. Incidentally, during my ascent up that more southernly ridge, I found a really nice woman's North Face Gortex jacket wedged between some rocks, so I didn't feel I was too far off route. It had a large insignia stitched to the back, almost as large as the back of the jacket itself, and it was seam-sealed on the inside. I wish I could remember what it was, something like a horse and some text about an equestrian camp. Hmmm. Maybe it was the altitude getting to me, but I started fantasizing about finally meeting my climbing woman -- I mean, what a great story it would be, finding her jacket, meeting up (how, I don't know, but that's why it would be a great story), and falling in love and climbing mountains together, living happily ever after. So I stuffed it in my pack. I really didn't want to be carrying any more weight up and over the top, but this was going to be true love, right? My mind raced the entire way back the car: who was this person? What did she look like? She obviously climbs.... How in the hell did she lose her jacket? How am I going to meet her? Does she live in Portland? Will she move to Portland to be with me? Yeah, like I said, the altitude. Once at the trailhead, I checked the message board, and lo-and-behold, a note! A desperate plea from a woman: "LOST: blue North Face jacket. Please please please if you find this, call Carrie(1) at xxx." I smiled all the way back to Portland, and once home, I called immediately. Her mother answered. :-( You can just tell a mother's voice. She was still clearly upset at her teenage daughter for losing an expensive jacket, but relieved I had found it. I wrote down her address and mailed it back the next day. Story of my life. Until the next jacket... (1) I'm not really sure her name was Carrie. Funny how when potential love slaps you in the face, you instantly forget all the details in an effort to block the pain. Having relived this story of lost love, I guess I'm now going to have to break out the Murray McDavid special 1989 bottling of Caol Ila. Oh, why are mountaineering women so hard to find? Sigh.

I'm guessing the Hayden is pretty heavily crevassed this time of year, and while you could argue a dry glacier is "safe" in some respects, since you can see the crevasses, I just found this trip report on summitpost from one month ago: http://www.summitpost.org/show/summit_log_query.pl/object_id/309/sort_by/submission_date: Pictures from the route description on the Mazama website also indicate late season crevasses (I'm not sure when this was taken, but it illustrates the potential for hidden traps in the snow): If you really want to get on top of Middle this year, either grab a partner and rope up, or make the long trek to Chambers Lakes and climb the SE Ridge. Otherwise wait until late May or early June next year, which is probably the best time to climb it. As a fellow solo adventurer, I always remind myself that each trip might be my last if an accident happens, so extra care must be taken in dangerous terrain (in this case, a heavily crevassed glacier). Even if you have a ton of experience on glaciers, I still think going solo is risky in these conditions. Lots of folks do it, but after reading enough issues of Accidents in North American Mountaineering, you wonder if it's really worth it. Respect the mountain. :-) Sounds like you have a few days to recreate in the Three Sisters Wilderness, so I would suggest the following profile: get a nice "happy hour" start from the Green Lakes TH, and camp when you arrive at the lakes. Witness a beautiful sunset across Broken Top. Day 2, climb South Sister from Green Lakes, a less crowded alternative to the standard south side route that offers a little bit of route-finding and alternative views, and bivy behind one of the massive horseshoe-shaped rock walls on the summit rim. Day 3: descend the standard south side route, down to Moraine Lake, and follow the Falls Creek trail (?) back to the Green Lakes TH. A nice loop with a summit in the middle. I'm sure it would be an unforgettable trip, and you'll have the summit to yourself for about 18+ hours, which is a nice treat for such a popular mountain. Alternatively, if you must tag two summits, climb Broken Top and South Sister from Green Lakes. Lots of folks pack in early one day, set up camp, climb Broken Top, and then climb South Sister the next day.

Climb: Mt. Washington-North Ridge (bivy on the summit) Date of Climb: 9/4/2005 Trip Report: Searching through the CC archives, I found only 4 trip reports for Mt. Washington. For most folks, climbing the standard North Ridge route is likely not exciting enough to produce a trip report, but considering we spiced it up with a planned bivy on the summit, I'm thought I'd write one up anyway. My experience with Mt. Washington parallels what many people experience when trying to climb Mt. Rainier – every attempt over the last several years has been thwarted by the crappiest of weather on climb day, and this year was no exception, until now. After climbing Mt. Jefferson a few weeks back, Mt. Washington was my last big Oregon peak from which to experience a view, so I was excited when my good friend Dan suggested we climb it over Labor Day weekend. He had climbed it two weeks prior and discovered 3 bivy sites on the summit. It took zero effort on his part to convince me that we should camp at the top; my interest in mountaineering has always been more about camping high on the mountain than just simply getting to the summit. I've always figured if you make the effort to get up something, you should stay for a while. I picked Dan up around 11am, and we headed to the store to get some food for our summit dinner and breakfast. While in line at the deli, I remarked how I had forgotten to visit the liquor store the day before, and now that it was Sunday of a holiday weekend, we were probably out of luck. Dan had also forgotten. I announced that this would be our first recreational substance-free trip then, and Dan's jaw just dropped! "Not even wine? How about barleywine?" "You brought wine?" "Yeah, I'm going to pack it up in a Nalgene." "Hmm," I said, "I better go get another bottle for us then!" During the drive down I-5, we both realized that we didn't bring a corkscrew. Argh! We checked at the gas station where we refueled, and they didn't have one to sell. Nearing Mill City, we stopped in at the “Bait and Liquor Store” (classic small town combo!), hoping to find a wine opener, but no luck. But we'll keep this store in mind for future trips though, as they are open on Sundays and were more than happy to sell us liquor. We decided to stick with the wine though, which we both agreed later was a wise decision. Just a few miles down the road, Giovanni's Mountain Pizza lent us the required wine opening device, and we promised we'd stop by for some dinner on the way back. A thanks definitely goes out to these guys, as we couldn't figure out how we were going to Macgyver our way into these bottles. If anyone has experience improvising a corkscrew with standard climbing and camping equipment, please comment. We finally arrived at the trailhead, geared up, and starting hiking around 3:30pm. Certainly not an alpine start, and by no means even a respectable start time for any sort of day-hike, this could only be called one thing: the "Happy Hour Start." All too common on my trips, but it generally means you have the mountain all to yourself. Now I've gotta make some comments about Dan. This guy is in fantastic shape, and I knew this from previous adventures. I had the privilege of joining him on his annual LNGB snow camping/climbing trip this last February, in which you Leave No Gear Behind and use it all in order to justify everything you own. That was the heaviest pack I have ever carried, and Dan made his even heavier pack look feather-light. So keeping up with him on this trip, with 750ml of wine, 5 liters of water, climbing and camping gear, etc., was probably going to be a bit of a challenge. Shortly after turning off the PCT onto the climber's trail, he mentioned that he completely forgot to take the Sierra Nevada Bigfoot Barleywines out of his pack, as he intended to leave them in the car. Good lord. But it didn't seem to slow him down. Dan – the man – the animal: Danimal. I followed Danimal up the ridge, passing two folks who were descending, to just beyond the notch/saddle where we set up the first and only belay station. At the pace Dan set, I was practically spent. Luckily we were only a few hundred feet from the top by now. I was surprised that Dan decided to lead that pitch with his pack on, as 40-50lbs on the back while climbing rock is kind of a bitch. But he is Danimal after all. As soon as he arrived at the top of the pitch, the sun set, so unfortunately I don't have the kinds of pictures I like to get when planning to be high up on a mountain (didn't want to take my brake hand off the rope obviously). But I will say the mountain's shadow was spectacular, as were the colors on the horizon. I'm going to have to go back and repeat this trip someday, getting more of a "Brunch Start" so I can get more pictures. I started up the pitch and my hands were freezing at this point, and grasping cold rock did not help a bit. I had to stop mid-pitch and rewarm my hands before continuing. Being able to see my hands on the rock holds but not being able to feel anything made me a little distrustful of my grip. Is this what ice climbers have to deal with? And with that heavy pack, wow. But I finally got past the "crux" (which with no pack, or only a light pack, it's probably cake), and we scrambled up to the top in the dusk, arriving minutes before needing to pull out headlamps. All in all, exactly 5 hours to the top. It wasn't windy at the summit, thankfully, but it was certainly cold. We immediately dug out our bivy sacks, barely squeezing both into one bivy site while we cooked up delicious spicy black bean and cheese quesadillas, finished both bottles of wine, signed the summit register, and then had the barleywines for dessert. The stars that night were incredible. I moved to the "upper bunk" (slightly higher bivy site) before going to sleep, as we weren't going to both be able to comfortably fit into one site. By the way, the summit register is FULL, so if anyone is planning on heading up anytime soon, a new notebook is in order. Where do these things go when they are replaced? Are the Mazamas still archiving them, or another mountaineering organization perhaps (Obsidians?). I know some people think these are trash and should be thrown off the mountain, but this nearly full notebook provided some interesting reading while we were passing time up there. The next morning brought the usual camp antics: breakfast, tea, and in Dan's case, a little summit blue-bagging. In as much as I'm sure you don't want to hear about high-altitude defecations, I've read enough posts here on CC that would indicate that just about anything goes now-a-days. Anyway, I suggested a trick that I learned from a friend, which is to use those wide-mouthed produce bags and just aim right into the bag, no hassle, no mess. Dan opted for the Mt. Adams style-system, where you put a "target" on the ground and aim for that, collecting it afterwards. And even though we probably didn't need the route description to get down, I was a little shocked when Dan used it for the target! Dan's most quotable moment on this trip: "You know, I don't think you are supposed to shit on one of your 10 E's." At least it wasn't the map. He went on to say he oriented the route description facing outward in the large ziplock bag so that if we really needed it, we could still read it through the clear plastic. Nice! From the summit, I had my first-ever view of Belknap Crater, which I thought was absolutely awesome. The amount of lava that thing produced is enormous. Has anyone here ever climbed up to the top? Seems like another interesting place to spend the night.... Two climbers arrived at the summit just as we were about to head down, so we chatted for a while. Reading old CC posts and doing a little guess work, Dan later determined it was probably OldManRock and his son (hi guys!). We headed down a few minutes before they did. Down-climbing with the heavy packs really sucked, but then again, I think it might be because Danimal chose a much harder route than necessary. It's all easy to him. The two climbers caught up to us in no time, saying, "I think you took the hard way down." Yes, yes we did. We finally got to a rap station, rapped down the middle pitch, by which time the 2 climbers had down-climbed and set up another rap station below, which they graciously shared with us. Note to self (and anybody else that's listening): a chest harness would improve greatly the safety and general pleasantness of rappelling when you are wearing a heavy pack. I've never thought of rappelling as "work," but again, the heavy pack changes everything. I constantly felt like I was going to tip over backwards. Dan's first attempt of the mountain was the West Face last year. He didn't know it at the time, but apparently a big chunk fell off a while back and it's really no longer climbable (safely). Lots of people have been hurt trying. Still, he wanted to take another look at it, so we traversed over to that side before descending to the scree. What a bunch of loose crappy rock! I wish I had an ice axe as security (anyone ever arrest a fall on dirt with one? Seems like it would work better than fingernails.) So, yeah, getting down to the scree was sketchy -- I'm surprised this is the recommended route down. I tend to think just going back down the ridge the way you come up would be just as fast, safer, and probably more environmentally sound. After descending to the boulder field below, we hiked cross-country (where I was stung by a wasp) until we finally ran into the climber's trail. The hike back to the car seemed long, but we had a cooler of beers waiting for us that kept up our pace. The network of trails through that area are unsigned and can be kind of confusing, but soon enough we were quaffing fine ales. BEWARE the Big Lake Campground Nazi driving around in a little ATV/cart! I drove the car down to the last camp spot by the lake so we could quickly take a dip and remove the layer of dust we'd accumulated over the previous two days. I hadn't even turned off the car before he yelled at us, "You can't park there!" It was late afternoon on Labor day, not a soul around, the campground was completely empty, and he was barking at us to pay the $18 to camp that night. Dan told him "We are only going to be here for a minute." The dude started his stopwatch, I couldn't believe it. He returned promptly and asked, "So do you want to camp with us tonight." I explained, "No, we just climbed a mountain, we wanted to get the dust off, and then we were heading home." He again reiterated that we had to pay if we were going to park there, but drove off and didn't come back before we were heading out for good. We had a nice meal at Giovanni's Mountain Pizza and drove home. Here are some pictures from the trip. Not as exciting as I would have hoped for, but an earlier start next time should yield better photographing opportunities. Danimal points the way. The North Ridge of Mt. Washington. Looking north from the summit. 3 Fingered Jack and Mt. Jefferson in the background. Looking south from the summit. Hazy day. George Lake, Belknap Crater, 3 Sisters, and Broken Top. Dan traversing to take a look at the West Face. Look at the size of that pack! Patjens Lakes in the background. The new West Face of Mt. Washington. Not recommended. See also: Thoughts on Mt. Washington, West Face rock quality Gear Notes: 50m 10.5mm rope 2 slings (20 footer for the first belay station) #10 and #8 stopper helmets Should have had: trekking poles or ice axe (dirt axe?) for descent.

Jefferson indeed has more majesty in winter. Your comment prodded me to go take a look at some photos from a trip up there last year April for comparison. As your frat brothers probably said after winning the Blue Fin Award, "All sex is good sex if it's fun and safe." Or maybe they said "I'll take it when I can get it." Either way, I'm sure a lot of us feel the same about the mountains. :-) (Plus, Mt. Jefferson has a nice personality, even in summer!) Thanks for the comments guys, Greg Mt. Jefferson, as seen through binoculars on April 24, 2004.

Climb: Mt. Jefferson-South Ridge (solo) Date of Climb: 8/18/2005 Trip Report: Mt Jefferson: rumored to be the hardest mountain in Oregon to climb, with tales of 17 hour summit days, super-long approaches, and dangerous rockfall. I've had a strange attraction to this dormant volcano ever since I saw it from Grizzly Peak on my second-ever backpacking trip in 1999 (yes, I'm a bit of an outdoors late-comer). This year was the year I planned to climb it, finally feeling confident enough after successfully completing a number of other mountaineering challenges over the past 4 years here in the Pacific Northwest. Unfortunately, an organized climb up the South Ridge I was to assist with was canceled in town a few weeks ago due to reports from other climbing parties that turned around at the Red Saddle because of poor conditions on the traverse under the summit pinnacle. Still, though, I wanted to go check it out, happy to just get up to the Red Saddle and take a few pictures, so I planned a three-day trip with my climbing buddy. He canceled on me THE DAY BEFORE we were to leave, citing doubts that we would not make the summit, but more importantly he was invited to climb Mt. Thompson which seemed to appeal to him more (he didn't even invite me along, but perhaps that's because he knew I'd be at a music festival). Can anyone tell me why climbers are so flaky? This is certainly not the first time I've experienced a “Hey dude, something better came up and I'd rather do that. No hard feelings ok?” back-out at the last minute type of cancellation. So I decided to go anyway, solo. As it turns out, I love solo backpacking and climbing. I love going out for days at a time, not seeing a soul. I love not being on anybody else's schedule, stopping when I want, waking up when I want, etc. And when it comes to loose rocks, being by yourself can be an advantage. So in hindsight, I'm grateful to my climbing partner who canceled, because this was one of the most enjoyable solo trips I've ever undertaken. I wasn't sure I would make it to the summit without all the technical gear people lug up this thing, but inspired by [TR] Mt. Jefferson- SW Ridge solo 7/30/2004 and various other trip reports I found on the Internet, it seemed certainly doable. In proofreading this, I just realized I wrote a novel. If you find this boring and want to get to the interesting parts, skip down to Day 3 (the day I climbed), or just skip down to the end to read the short version, where I summarized everything in a few sentences. Long version: Day 1: I left Portland at the rather late time of 3pm, arriving at the Detroit Ranger Station at 4:20 (10 minutes before they closed) to pick up my 4 day permit for the Pamelia Lake / Shale Lake area. Once at the trailhead, I cracked open a beer, put on the boots and assembled the rest of the pack. I was hiking by about 5:30, and made camp just beyond Pamelia Lake before the trail turns uphill towards Hunt's Cove. After a delicious meal of spicy black bean quesadillas and a nightcap of single malt scotch whisky, I hung my food and fell asleep. There were no mosquitoes out, but annoying little no-see-ums were very active at dusk. This is the last time I would experience no-see-ums on this trip, I guess they don't like high alpine areas. Day 2: Slept in until 9am or so. I had some breakfast and was hiking by 10am. I not really into alpine starts, you see, and it seems I can only really get away with this leisurely attitude when solo adventuring. So again, a big thank you goes out to Ken for canceling on me. :-) Shortly after getting underway on the trail, I had the pleasure of enjoying a berry ménage à trois so-to-speak: ripe huckleberries, salmonberries, and thimbleberries, a real treat. A little while later it began to rain, and for just a moment I was sad I didn't pack my lightweight umbrella which I bring along on almost all adventures. The weather was supposed to be nice the entire week, with just a little cloudiness that day, but I guess I forgot that clouds in the mountains often equal rain. It was actually refreshing, as there was no wind and just a light sprinkle, and it wasn't particularly cold out. It only lasted 10 minutes, but I kind of wished it went on for longer. Light rain falling upon forest folliage is ear candy. I ran into two PCT thru-hikers from Hood River a little while later. They were detouring off the PCT down through Hunt's Cove and Pamelia Lake so that their two dogs would have more opportunity for natural water breaks. We chatted for about 30 minutes, discovering that we completely align on an outdoor traveling style which discourages haste on the trail and embraces savoring the spiritual beauty of nature. They spoke of a PCT trail runner they met who carries no pack, and has a support team of like 50 (or was it 100?) people, delivering water and food and everything else. We all shook our heads; what's the point of racing through all this fantastic scenery? Ok, so I finally arrive at Hank's Lake, broke out the stove, and made more quesadillas before the cheese turned into an amorphous orange blob of oily goo in the day's heat. It was actually getting cold at this point – again, I thought the weather was supposed to be nice for this trip! I put on a light fleece jacket and continued on to Hunt's Lake, where there was supposed to be a climber's trail up to Shale Lake. Poorest “climber's trail” I've ever seen! After bushwhacking through a boggy marsh (thankfully the Nikwax I put on the boots for a Rainier trip a month ago seemed to still be working), I finally arrived at a steep shale/scree slope. Ascending it wasn't too difficult, but the rock headwall at the top looked ugly. I picked what visually seemed like the easiest route, but it turns out it was probably the hardest climbing I did on the mountain all 4 days. Hank's Lake and Hunt's Lake from high up above on the PCT. The climber's trail from Hunt's Lake is in that scree somewhere. And then over that rock formation. What I call the Hunt's Lake climber's trail headwall. It was harder to climb this than the summit pinnacle. Eventually I topped out, and a 5 minute forest walk landed me at Shale Lake. Finally. From Shale Lake, I followed a very nice climber's trail by comparison, a vividly discernible path, complete with cairns, up through a valley leading to the South Ridge. Now, according to the route on the Geo-Graphics map, and Oregon High, and numerous Internet postings, the climbing route is supposed to join the south ridge just above Goat Peak, not meander up the valley floor. Hmm. Whatever. I liked the climber's trail I was on, and clearly from the terrain features and the GPS route I had programmed, it had no intention of gaining the ridge until much higher up. But that's the great thing about the freedom of the hills: you can pretty much go anywhere you want. This is the valley the climber's trail led me to. As I entered the real heart of the valley, I was daunted by the scree slope up to the ridge, so I hiked up and over to the next gully and quite by accident found an ideal bivy site at 7100ft: a perfectly flat sandy area with a snow patch from which to make water. And this area was HUGE – you could set up dozens of tents here if you had a large climbing party, and I would find out the next day that this flat area was an excellent landmark to shoot for when descending back to high camp. So I set up camp, and hiked up to the next rise just to get a look at the route for the next day. To my surprise there was a pool of water just 400ft higher. Too bad I already setup camp, but good to know – I would just pack the filter up the next day with me so I could get water on the way back. I made fresh pasta for dinner, from flour and water, kneaded it for a while, and then rolled it out on a plastic cutting board with my Nalgene bottle, cutting it into linguini strips. Still hungry, I popped popcorn in a my skillet with a little olive oil. The cloud fog moved in at this point, and I was hoping it would all clear out for my attempt at the summit the next day. Moonrise from high camp. Day 3: Summit Day! Now I know most of you climbers would wake and start hiking by say 3am, but as I mentioned before, I hate getting up early. So don't act too surprised when I tell you that I finally got out of my sack around 7:30am (I had to pee, I really would have slept a little longer if the bladder wasn't yelling at me). Fog had settled in the valleys below, obscuring all but the tops of Three-Fingered Jack, Mt. Washington, and the Sisters. All the clouds on the horizon seemed to be below my elevation, and the upper mountain looked great. I was hiking by 8:10am (hah!). Looking south from high camp at the Three Sisters, Mt. Washington, and Three-Fingered Jack. Above the pool I found the night before was an even larger snowfield that was gushing forth a clear stream in what appeared to be a small alpine oasis of grass and flowers. The sides of the stream had frozen overnight, but overall it was a raging torrent by alpine standards. A little to the south was a small tarn – this is the place to camp, at 7800'. If I ever do this trip again, this is where high camp will be. A partially frozen alpine stream at 7800ft. From there, I crossed a snow field and finally gained the south ridge. What a hassle. The sandy volcanic rock was the classic one step forward, two steps back kind of thing. It was difficult to get into a nice rest-step mountaineering rhythm, so I tried rock and boulder hopping instead. This is why people start at 3am! This ridge takes forever to climb. Snow would have been nicer, but then again, snow on the ridge probably means snow on the summit pinnacle, which probably would be an equal pain in the ass. I finally found myself upon a large bouldery outcropping at the top of the ridge. This had been blocking my view of the real summit all day, so when I finally reach the top, my jaw dropped as I finally saw the pinnacle rise up from the Red Saddle like the US Bank Tower in downtown Portland. Wow. As it turns out, I think I should have avoided this rock outcropping altogether, traversing under it around to the east. This is what the guidebooks seem to suggest. The summit pinnacle as seen from the Red Saddle. The Red Saddle was very red, and seemed rather unique as nothing else on the mountain really had that color. There was a nice full snow patch falling of the east side of the saddle, which of course made me think that bivying at the saddle might also be a nice spot for a camp since there was a source of water. So now it's about 1:30pm. Considering the number and length of breaks I took on the way up, I'm not disappointed with my time. I've never been a speed demon anyway, but considering the hellacious sandy scree crap I had been walking up all day, I'm feeling pretty good about it. I quickly dropped my pack, and removed all unnecessary weight for the remaining climb to the summit: no filter, stove, or a bunch of other miscellaneous stuff. I grabbed my ice axe and went down to check out the traverse, the crux of this route. There was a nice solid dirt path down to the snow, and the snow patch continued for about (I'm so bad with estimates but...)100ft? Maybe 150ft? The snow ended before the shoulder, which I guessed required maybe 15-20ft of climbing up some very loose dirt and rocks. But before I started across, wisps of clouds had moved in, obscuring the view. Argh! Yep, this is what you get when you start your climb at 8am instead of 3am. The top of the mountain was perfectly clear all day, until now. I headed back up to the Red Saddle, took off the boots and put on the moccasins, and cooked up some lunch. Mmmm, peanut sesame noodles with miso soup. That's why I brought the stove. There's nothing quite like eating a flavorful hot meal atop a mountain. Well, I pulled out my foam pad, napped for a while, and watched the clouds move in and out of the summit area. I really thought I was defeated – it was getting late, way later than most climbers would attempt the summit (it's about 3pm now). I just didn't feel like finishing off this last 400 ft without seeing where I was going, having never been up it before. I planned on descending at 4pm back to my campsite, still in awe of the size of the pinnacle block. I stared at it for a long long time. I took out my binoculars and scanned the traverse during the non-white-out times, wondering what the best place to cross was. I spied a big blue sling slung around a rock, which was encouraging. And in all the time I stared at the pinnacle and the traverse, I never saw any rocks hit the snow section – they were all falling from the side of the gully, not from the pinnacles above. But at 4pm, just as I had put my boots back on and packed up the pack, something in me clicked, instantly, like a switch just flipped. Maybe it was because the weather had stabilized and everything was clear. Maybe it was because I hiked all the way up here, and I didn't know when I would come back again. Maybe it was because I desperately wanted to see what was on the other side of that snow field. I had gone from an “Oh well, the mountain will always be here” to a very focused “I'm going to do this!” in a mere millisecond. I downed a bunch of water, stuffed my pockets with gloves and a hat and a camera, grabbed the crampons, helmet, and ice axe and headed back down to the snow without my pack. A friend that had climbed this route a few years ago told me that he thought the traverse and scramble to the summit should probably take me an hour round-trip. That means I would start descending the south ridge back to camp at 5pm, giving me about 3.5 hours of daylight to get down. Tight, but not impossible. But I think his estimate was if there was no snow on the traverse, something I didn't even really think about until later. So if you've reading this trip report for beta, then you've likely had one question on your mind the whole time: how was the traverse??? I saw two 4-person groups of climbers heading up on Friday as I was heading out, and that was the first question each party asked me. The "treacherous traverse" under the summit pinnacle. Another view of the summit block from further down on the ridge. You can see both the north and south horn here. The traverse was considerably easier than I anticipated. In that millisecond where I decided I was going to go for it, I think I must have also grown an additional set of balls, because I knew the “treacherous traverse” was supposed to exposed, scary, and generally nerve-racking. But it turns out I didn't need those balls because the snow was SO solid. The shaft of my ice axe (with a little effort) went ALL the way in to the head of the axe on each placement, offering a very solid piece of protection if I fell. And I think I would have been able to self-arrest if for some reason I slipped while placing the axe. But, I was able to kick bomber steps and felt perfectly safe. There were two of three “runnels” I had to cross over along the way, which required climbing down 5 or 6 feet to dirt and then up the other side. A little tricky, and the dirt was very loose, but again, careful footwork and axe placement as well as patience made crossing these barely an obstacle. Once across the snow, I scrambled up the dirt section, by far the most dangerous part of the traverse. Over the shoulder was another snow traverse, a little less steep, and I made quick work of that and got to the base of the pinnacle. The rock was very solid where it needs to be, and it didn't take long to reach the summit. Views to the north include the Mohler Tooth and the knife-edge ridge you would take coming up the Jefferson Park Glacier. The knife-edge ridge and the Mohler Tooth on the left. So I see more blue slings slung around a rock up there. By the way, what's up with the bright blue slings? I was always taught that if you have to leave something behind, it should be more neutral colored, tan or gray or something. Is this not the philosophy anymore? The other solo Jefferson TR I mentioned earlier described a metal summit register box, to which one reader replied and said these were all trash and should be removed. What about all these slings? Are they not trash too? Perhaps at least they should blend in more with the surroundings... Anyway, I down-climbed from the summit, attached the crampons, and headed back. The steps I already placed were useful, but moving in balance and self-belaying still made for slow going. Round trip from the saddle, 2 hours. The folks I ran into on Friday agreed that that was a more reasonable estimate. But of course now it's 6pm, and I gotta boogie down this thing, safely, before the sun sets on me. Yes, I have a headlamp, but that's not going to help with the landmarks I need off in the distance. The full moon was on my side though, as I knew it would rise around 9pm and provide some kind of light if I needed it. Interesting enough, as soon as I returned to the Red Saddle, the clouds moved back in. Talk about a perfect weather window. So now I decide to take this more obvious path around the rock outcropping that I climbed earlier, thinking it was THE route and should make for an easier descent. I encountered hard snow fields and other obstacles at that point that makes me think I should have just gone back the way I came. Boy that mountain is loose! I felt like every step I took knocked something down. I'm surprised most of that mountain hasn't slid all the way down to tree line. In the low visibility clouds, I ended up descending a small spur of the south ridge. I don't think it was the SW Ridge though. Once the clouds blew away for a brief moment, I realized I was no longer on the south ridge, but it didn't really matter, because I could see camp and I was basically heading straight there anyway. Perhaps my feet knew where they were going after all. I stopped at the alpine oasis just as the sun was setting, pumped 5 liters of water, and headed back to the bivy sack, where after a quick meal, I fell promptly asleep. Day 4: Not very eventful. Again, slept in a bit, hiking by 10am. It was easy to follow the valley floor back to the climber's trail and back to Shale Lake, where I decided to return via the PCT to Pamelia, the way most folks come up (I really don't think anyone uses that Hunt's Lake climber's trail anymore, that's probably why it was so hard to find). The 2 parties of climbers I ran into on the way down really got me thinking about gear and protection up on the summit. Both parties brought 1 rope for 4 people, and a light rock rack (no pickets). Their intention was to use the rope for the rock portion of the summit (completely unnecessary in my opinion -- 4th class stuff, Thielsen was harder!). When I read about people using 5 ropes to protect the traverse and the summit block, I just think, wow, that would take a really long time to set all that stuff up. Maybe that's why some summit days are 17 hours. When do the safety systems you set up become an actual safety liability? If rocks were raining down on the traverse, you can bet I wouldn't want to be out there hammering in pickets. But then again, if rocks were raining down I'm not sure I would have wanted to be on it at all. Rockfall = peoplefall if you get hit, yeah? So maybe I just got lucky and had the most perfect snow ever to cross on. Maybe if I would have started at 3am, the snow would have been much firmer and less ideal (I probably wouldn't have been able to get my axe in nearly far enough to make a safe self-belay). Who knows. But contrasting my solo approach, which was light on gear and thus as fast as humanly possible (no pro to put in or take out) to the gear and time intensive approach that I've read about with other climbs, I just don't know what to think. I suppose it's one of those “it depends” answers, but I gotta say, soloing rocks! Elated with my accomplishment, I cruised down the PCT to Pamelia and then to the car, where I had some beers awaiting in a small cooler. Nothing like a couple of cold ones to help you maintain a good pace on the way back. As I came down the PCT, the intersection with Milk Creek offered another view of the mountain I hadn't really seen yet. Mountains are so interesting, they look different from every side. Anyway, I reached the car at 2:30, which meant I could be back in Portland by 5 easy to head out the pub and catch some live music and dinner. A view of Jefferson from Milk Creek. And here's the sad part: when I got back to my car, it had been vandalized. The driver's side door lock was jammed. The rear taillights were busted. There was black spray paint on the left side window, the right side window, and the back window, covering perfectly the three stickers I had stuck on the windows from the inside: one Phish sticker, one SCI sticker, and one peace sticker made from Celtic knots. And the right front tire was deflated. I'm not sure yet if the tire was punctured, or if the air was simply let out, but if it was the latter, the vandals chose to replace the valve stem cap (how nice!). So instead of booking home for live music, food, and beer, I spent the next 45 minutes putting on the spare, and rotating one of the other good tires to the front. What a pain in the ass. At least I was able to drive home and catch the last set of happy hour. All in all an excellent trip minus the vandalism. Short version for you ADD folks: Took 2 days to approach high camp at 7100' via the Hunt's Lake climber's trail. The snow on the traverse from the Red Saddle under the pinnacle block was in excellent shape – it was easy to kick in great steps and use self-belay technique to get across. The scramble to the summit was enjoyable 4th or low 5th class on solid rock. Made it back to my camp just at dark, and hiked out the next day. Found my car vandalized at the trailhead. :-( Gear Notes: Ice axe, crampons, helmet

I climbed the North Ridge on 7/28/2005 with a full pack and camped on the summit, descending the South Side the next day. It was definitely a slog (especially with the extra weight), but I found it a pleasant departure from the crowds of the popular south spur route -- I didn't see anybody at High Camp or the entire day of the climb, and by the time I reached the summit everyone had left. Of course this was on a weekday, so that helped with the solitude, but in general, given the discouragement the North Ridge gets in this forum when there is no snow, I can't imagine seeing many folks on it during the weekend either. Routefinding is fairly straight-forward, but make sure you climb over the rock wall when you come to the first wand, around 9100ft. I ran into some hikers who said they turned around at 9K because they didn't have an ice axe and crampons, but I don't think they knew to climb the wall and instead thought the route continued along a steep snow field. Snow patches around 10,500-11,500 (ish) offered running water in the afternoon (a nice surprise considering I was getting low -- but you'll have to use a siphon hose to fill a pot or plastic bag or something, there aren't really "pools" to filter out of, just very shallow trickles). Also, there are a few rock-walled bivy sites around 10,400 and 11,100 that looked nice (great views and the bonus of water) if you want to make a couple of days out of it. The summit is nice to camp on too, just make sure you get to the top early enough to dig some snow walls before the snow sets up and makes digging near impossible. Crampons were useful for about the last 1000 feet. I was surprised to experience the minor stench of sulfur almost all day up the route. Where are the fumaroles on this mountain? I've been plagued by strong sulfur on the South Side of Hood before, but I didn't know Adams was emitting. It was minor and tolerable though, nothing like Hood. I wouldn't necessarily enjoy decending the North Ridge. It is definitely loose in places. I think if you were going to try to ascend and descend on the same day, this route would be a little frustrating and would make for a VERY long day. Taking your time and camping at either those bivy sites or the summit make for an awesome trip, something I would do again with these same conditions. Good luck and have fun whichever route you choose! greg