tvashtarkatena

OK, I'll stop by one more time to snap the elastic on underworld's bunched up BVDs: The US has 'been at war' almost continuously since WWII. For 35 of those years we lived under threat of nuclear extermination; a threat FAR more serious than terrorism. When I was in the navy the expected lifetime of a US warship at war with the Soviet Union was 5 minutes. In almost every wargaming scenario, strategic nuclear exchange happened within an hour. After 50 years we're still officially at war with N. Korea, a belligerent country with nuclear capability and an increasingly capable means of delivering them. We've fought more than 20 other regional conflicts. So cut it with the 'but we're at war!' excuse. This is America. We're always at war, bucko. The biggest difference between the cold war and the war on terror is that the war on terror is a significantly DECREASED threat to our national security, by comparison. Are we gonna be a bunch of pussies and run scared, or are we gonna have some balls and stand up for what we believe, regardless of who the asshole-of-the-day is? And if you're so concerned about prolonging your life at all costs, (Oh, Mr. President, protect me from those big bad terrorists!) what the hell are you doing on a climbing website? If the Bush admininstration really wanted to fight their 'War on Terrorism' effectively, they would not have squandered our military capability in a sideshow like Iraq, exposing us to more dire threats like, hey, Al Qaeda...and N. Korea, and Iran. Do you really think we represent any credible threat to those nations right now? Apparently they don't think so...that's why they're thumbing their noses at us. If this administration really wanted to bolster national security they'd spend more than a measely $1 million a year repatriating the many tons of bomb grade nuclear material we distributed during our 'Atoms for Peace' program to keep it out of the hands of terrorist. They'd be doing something real about port security. They would have found and charged more than 1 of the plotters of 911 (and that case is going poorly). They wouldn't have turned a blind eye to Pakistan's nuclear proliferation, which, coincidentially, is responsible for Iran's nuclear program. And, last but not least, they'd be working on a real plan for energy independence, rather than continuing to line their oil and coal buddies' pockets with more of the same old same old. Still a true believer? Christ, man, the Bush administration is either the most incompetent in history, the most corrupt in history, or both. You choose, but the hole they've dug for this country for decades to come is unmatched. They're policies have left us utterly unprepared for the emerging challenges of this century. Global warming. China. Iran. Nuclear proliferation. What do you think is going to happen when we have another Katrina scale disaster? Think we're ready? And you actually TRUST these guys? Need a Kleenex to get that sand out of your eyes? Do you really think people who are concerned about protecting our civil liberties, particularly from this untrustworthy government, are not aware that there is still a terrorist threat out there? Come on. You're parroting FOX again. We just refuse to run scared. And we don't want to see the very best thing about our country, other than Roger's Pilsner and 'Deadwood', destroyed by a bunch of short sighted miscreants who've completely fucked up every major program they've launched since they were sworn into office.

This was last year. This year my wife's going as Jesus, and I'm going as Mohammed. Riots at 11:00. http://www.flickr.com/photos/60919971@N00/261643946/

I don't know whether anyone one has noticed, but this has gone from a piss fest to a pretty damn decent debate. Now isn't that a lot more fun? Come 'ere, ya'll. Group hug. underworld, back on up over here. Get those whitey tighties down and give uncle Tvash some sugar. I mean it, though. Frankly, this country needs a bit less PC and a lot more of this. Kudos to the moderators, or lack thereof, of this site. Jesus, if the Dems and Reps were this frank we'd all be better off. There's nothing wrong with evacuating your bowels on someone as long as it's done for the purpose of procreation. So carry on...I must sign off and repair, yet again, my treasonous ThermaRest. For those who want to keep abreast of pending actions on this issue (and/or participate in a letter writing), regardless of your views, you might consider joining that legislative action network at www.aclu-wa.com. Their letter writing timing is pretty damn good.

Thanks cman. link fixed in TR.

“For more than a year, Karen Hughes (US Undersecretary of State) has been trying to sell George Bush’s America to the Middle East….it isn’t working.” - Atlantic Monthly, Nov 2006 We’ve got it all wrong. Instead of sending a Texan to sell America to the world, we need to send someone more inspiring, more sexy, more Today. We need to send climbers. Climbers aren’t always as proficient at the delicate art of cocktail banter, the well placed compliment, or the respectful but firm ‘no thank you’ as they might be. And they don’t excel at foreign languages, although Klingon has occasionally been overheard later in the evening at Gustav’s. For this reason, the State Department has created a special Foreign Service Exam for Climbers. Here’s an excerpt. How prepared are You to sell your country? 1: You are a guest on President Hugo Chavez’s weekly variety show. He presents you with a signed copy of Noam Chomsky’s “Hegemony or Survival”. You: a) Present him with a Harry Belafonte box set. b) Pull a lawn gnome with a small ski in its mouth out from behind your back, point to it and say “get it?” c) Reply in Spanish with “Quando leendo, mis huevas nececitan el amor que su boca puede provenir (As I read this, my balls require the love that only your mouth can provide). 2: You’ve been granted a rare meeting with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmedinejad to discuss ending Iran’s nuclear program. He offers you tea and sweet cakes. You: a) Ask if the hottie standing next to him is available. b) Pocket the sweet cakes for later when no one is looking…along with the condiments. c) Reply in Farsi with “Tu kooneh mullah chapeh beshi (May you be shoved into the ass of a Mullah)”. 3: Your attending the Pan African Congress to discuss the AIDS pandemic. Ex president Nelson Mandela comes up to you and asks if you’d like something to eat. You: a) Say “So what do they pay the help at these shindigs?” b) Say “No thanks, my pockets are full.” c) Reply in Afrikaans with “Jy lyk soos die nageboorte van ‘n vark wat deur die hoenderkak gesleep was (You look like the afterbirth of a pig that’s been dragged through chickenshit)”. 4: Your meeting with the Japanese Foreign Minister to discuss the North Korean problem. He politely whispers that Japan wishes to rearm to protect itself. You: a) Present the foreign minister with an exquisitely detailed model of the Enola Gay. b) Suddenly break out in your version of “My Way”. c) Reply in Japanese with “Anata no ketsu wa kusa da oyobi ore wa shibakariki da, issunboshi (Your ass is grass and I’m the lawnmower, one inch boy)”. 5: President Musharraf of Pakistan has agreed to give you a tour of the newly stabilized Afghan border in his armored limo. Upon meeting, you: a) Attempt a heel hook on the brim of his hat. b) Ask if there’s a mini bar on board. c) Reply in Pashto with “Teri maa ki kuss may gadha paadey (A donkey farts in your mother’s ass)” If you took this test at all, you’d best limit your diplomatic efforts to obtaining a full refund for that Arcteryx jacket you accidentally lit on fire with your one hitter.

Our duly elected leaders also passed laws that made African Americans worth less than whites and put 110,000 Japanese Americans in concentration camps. When a bad law is passed, it is the duty of citizens of good conscience to fight to reform it. In addition, the Supreme Court, which has to date denied the Bush Administrations power to designate enemy combatants and hold military tribunals based on heresay evidence, has yet to weigh in on the constitutionality of this new law. Finally, the law is a contradiction of the Geneva Conventions, to which the US has been a signatory for over 50 years. If we forego that, what a great big FUCK YOU to our troops in the field from now on. And, for you legal scholars out there, any person on US soil has the basic legal rights granted under the constitution. The Supreme Court has already ruled that Guantanamo, in effect, falls within this standard. Yes, the 423 or so folks who are rotting in Guantanamo for over four years and who have yet to be charged with ANY crime have some basic legal rights, as well they should. Who are these people? Clueless villagers picked up by bounty hunters? Terrorists? We don't know. Is anyone here advocating that we shouldn't bother to find out? The bottom line is this: If you think someone's an asshole, then give him a fair trial, and if he's guilty, punish the asshole. It's called due process, folks, and that's how we figure out if we got the bad guy or just some innocent lackey by mistake. That's how we find out if our government is blowing smoke up our asses or acting in good faith. But of course, our government would NEVER do that, would it? The government that talks so much about 'freedom'? Well, what does that mean, exactly? It's our constitutional system, our bill of rights, and it already works very well to put bad guys away without all the alpha-male fascist tactics. It astounds me that the true believers fail to see the potential for abuse of these new powers against lawful dissenters or purely political enemies despite a long history in this country of exactly that. The political climate will change, the enemies will change, but these near absolute powers will still be there. Who'll be the next target? Certainly Mr. Orwell has an appropriate quote for that scenario...he may even have an entire book on the subject.

Capital idea, Captain Courageous! Especially with our two wars going so swimmingly! Christ, I've never seen anyone fall on their own grenade so completely in the face of current events. And the tired Orwell quotes...where have I NOT heard those before.

No one deserves to be tortured. It's not only morally wrong, and not what Americans are supposed to be about, but it's not effective. The victim will invariably tell you exactly what you want to hear, even to the point of a false admission of guilt. The information you get is sketchy at best. The people we detain are innocent until proven guilty. Any time you torture a detainee, you torture an innocent person...because we haven't proven them guilty. That's the definition of totalitarianism and fascism. Case in point: of the 430 Quantanamo detainees, how many do you think we've charged with any crime? The answer: 7. 7 out of 430. If these guys are so bad, why can't we prove it through due process? You ruin an organization like Al Qaeda the same we the U.S. successfully ruined much of the mafia: informants. A couple of high value informants can take down a very large organization. The Al Qaeda informants we currently have under witness protection have proven this in spades. Informants don't come forward if they're going to be tortured. This is not just my opinion, but the opinion of the FBI agents who handle these informants. So, vote no on torture. It doesn't work, and its just not the example we should be setting for the rest of the world. It's not who we are.

[quote This is the best excuse for doing nothing. That and watching "The Amazing Race with the Stars" or whatever. Now watching the Beverly Hillbillies on YouTube...OK, THAT I'll accept as excuse for sitting on your ass.

Yep, and there are plenty of others that I'm doing something about. For me, there couldn't be anything less smug than trying to make the shit my dad had to go through in WWII somewhat worth it. I'm just a regular old American who gives half a damn about the place where he lives. Yours is the oldest trick in the book...issue an armchair prick's critique and then sound the 'smug' alert when someone calls you on your product-of-an-overly-pampered-society, I'm-WAY-too-cool-to-actually-do-anything bullshit. It's the classic "Well, yer jus' a damn faggit!" argument. I think you can mail order it from the RNC by the 55 gallon drum-ful. How about something original, Armchairman? If I wanted to talk to a parrot, I'd go to the pirates section. Or, let's make this even more interesting...how about something real? Tell me I'm not shooting fish in a barrel, here.

Climb: Dumbell-Testicular Retraction Col Date of Climb: 9/12/2006 Trip Report: Dumfounded on Dumbell Route Summary: Day 1: Phelps Creek TH > Leroy Ck trail > Pass W of Seven Finger Jack Day 2: Drop to lake W of Seven Fingered Jack, then go N up S Fork Big Crk Ascend to upper bench S of Dumbell Lake, proceed to Lake. Ascend slope N or Dumbell Lake to upper Dumbell Lake. Day 3. Run away. Pics: http://flickr.com/photos/60919971@N00/sets/72157594313051605/ Trip Summary: When a ThermRest Becomes PermaFrost. I admit it. I’m sometimes lax about repairing gear. When I do, however, I go big. Take my ThermRest, for example. Who else’s sleeping pad sports a patch fully a foot long, adhered with about a pound of glue, because its owner threw it in a gym bag with a machete? I suspected it still had a slow leak at the start of my trip to Dumbell Mtn. I just didn’t know how much it would hurt. During my last trip (see “A Walk Around Sitting Bull”), I spied a pretty, white mountain named Dumbell. Beckey describes it as ‘strategic’. I liked that. Below Dumbell, the Peak, was Dumbell, the Lake, which Beckey describes as ‘attractive’. I liked that, too. ‘Strategically attractive.’ Kind of like Iraq. Simple reasons for a simple man. I got a crack of 4:00 pm start on Sep. 12th from Phelps Creek, and took the Leroy Creek trail up. At the start of the basin, I left the trail and headed up towards Seven Finger Jack, where I made use of a pre-existing bivvy site several hundred feet beneath the col west of Seven. At that point, my ThermaRest’s leak was no more than a minor inconvenience. The next morning I left at daybreak and proceeded to find a way over the ridge and down to the lake west of Seven Fingered Jack. Any route over this ridge this late in the season is steep and chossy. From the lake I down climbed a short, fractured rock band (a broad, loose gully is another option) to gain the upper talus slopes of the south fork of Big Creek. Once in this drainage I saw no sign that humans had ever walked the earth, barring the occasional satellite, which could be, after all, of alien origin. The route to Dumbell Lake in late season is not obvious, but not particularly brushy, either. I followed Big Creek down on skiers left until the brush became too thick before crossing it to walk more open forest. The creek steepens into a stepped cascade at this point. I re-crossed this cascade about midway down, then pried my way through some tight conifers to gain the lower talus slopes beneath the lake. From here I traversed to and ascended a steep, dry creek bed at the talus’s northern (far) side. This provided passage through the slide cliffs and slide alder below the lake. Not a good route if wet, obviously. Dumbell Lake has a lovely camp spot surrounded by larches. How I wish I’d stopped there. Visions of victory compelled me to I continue up to the saddle and tarn east of Dumbell’s main summit. An obvious creek bed provides passage through the lower rock bands. At the top I came upon what might be North America’s smallest active rock glacier. This glacierette is only about an acre in size, and feeds into a small pocket lake. The entire system is nestled on top of a moraine, which leaks like a sieve. Every hour or so a few rocks tumble into the lake. I had to bivouack so close to the lake outlet that a really large boulder might have sent a mini tsunami over my sleeping bag. Not that it would have affected my comfort, much. The rock on the east side of Dumbell is anything but white. It’s more of a geological goulash; steep, heavily dyked, and rotten as hell. I explored the mountain’s east face and north east corner as thoroughly as time, a toy axe and six point crampons would allow, but the few manky lines I found made poorly dressed sirens. Swirling clouds and a determined, frigid wind stiffened my resolve to cut and run and little else. I bedded down for one of those nights you’ll always remember for what you’d rather forget. My ThermaRest no longer held any air at all. Dinner was served on a limp nylon crepe over a bed of chilled rocks. Temperatures and wind speeds in the 30s provided the ambience. To pass the night, I blew sweet muffled curses into my inflation valve, thought about where one could get one's bladder stapled, and checked through my peephole for dawn’s early light. When daybreak came it was colder and windier than ever. I shot a few digitals from my peephole, and ate a hurried breakfast by headlamp fully enclosed in my bag. I was dressed, packed, and doing the ancient celtic "Fuckitscold" dance within five minutes. I wanted to find an alternative descent because my ascent route, well, sucked. Instead of backtracking down the dry creek bed I had ascended to get to Dumbell Lake, I traversed southward via the upper talus bench to its end. From there, I veggie belayed down a short, steep game trail to a boulder strewn bench, which I followed south and slightly upwards. At the end of the bench, I dropped into a steep gulley to Big Creek. So, in summary, a more efficient way to get to Dumbell Lake is as follows: Ski it. Or… While descending into Big Creek from the south, look for the largest talus field on the creek’s western side. A stand of trees grows right out of this talus at its far end. This stand hides the ascent gulley which leads to the aforementioned boulder strewn bench and vertical game trail (which might require some hunting and pecking to find), which in turn leads to the upper talus bench and Dumbell Lake. Rather than backtrack to Leroy Creek, I descended to Phelps Creek directly from the lake west of Seven Fingered Jack. Here’s how: Follow the gently sloping drainage down, trending skier’s right, to its very end, then descend, again trending right, through the steep, tall timber. Don’t drop into the tempting, open hanging valley to your left, or you’ll be soundly rewarded with a horrendous labyrinth of brush and cliffs. I wouldn’t exactly recommend this trip (particularly late season) with or without a working ThermRest, although Dumbell Lake is attractive. As for the peak itself, the northeast corner of Dumbell might have a more solid line on it, but the steep yellow lichen at its base bore too much of a resemblance to the stripe up the middle of my back. Plus, who wants an obituary that reads “Dumbell kills local climber”? (Although "Sitting Bull kills local climber" wouldn't have been much better...too reminiscent of that regretful Enumclaw incident). In any case, it’s a long way in for a 700 ft climb. If, however, you seek solitude with absolute certainty, you’ll certainly find it here. There are dumber ways to spend a weekend, but, uh...what was I just talking about?

Tough moment. I like baby with a little back, and this baby was back in black. Damn! It didn't help matters that I had my Steven Tyler shorts on...

Yeah, it was pretty easy to ignore the civil rights movement, women's suffrage, and the internment of Japanese during WWII. It's the easiest thing in the world to sit on your ass while someone else takes it in the shorts. Easy, but not something to be especially proud of. Jim's spot on, here: This policy is wrong morally, legally, and practically. It's an outrage and a slap in the face to the Constitution that is suppose to make us something to be admired. It makes us all complicit pricks. And, the kicker, it makes every American, particularly our troops in Iraq, less safe. Whether 100 or 100,000, those folks who get off their asses tomorrow to stand for what they believe in are to be applauded. So, sit back, crack a cold one, and play the armchair critic. As your math has so neatly demonstrated, you're a dime a dozen.

Foley leans towards the right, alright...

Aren't us Dems supposed to be the Party of Buggery? Those fucking Republicans have robbed us of yet another issue!

Black Buck pocket knife on Cloudy Pass.

Whew! Glad the pics worked. I didn't independently test them, and I wasn't sure if flickr.com would present a login barrier to readers. With its quickie upload tool, it seems to be a pretty efficient way to present photos so far.

Pics are in. See link at top of TR.

For pics click on the link at the beginning of the TR.

pics are coming. I had a digital with me. I even got a bear shot. Oh wait, that came out wrong.

Photos are coming. I'm still trying to figure this site out. I didn't see the "Golf Course" sign, but I did find a golf club, five gallon gas can, double bitted ax, four tarps, and and about 10 tins of Kipper Snacks. Yum.

Climb: A Walk Around Sitting Bull-Siting Bull, Bannock, Plummer, Cloudy Date of Climb: 9/3/2006 Trip Report: A Walk Around Sitting Bull Pics can be found at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/60919971@N00/sets/72157594312135223/ Route Summary: Day 1: Phelps Creek TH > Cloudy Pass Day 2: Cloudy Pass > Trail 2000 > Sitting Bull Mtn > Bannock Lakes Day 3: Bannock Lakes > Dick Cheney Bench Day 4: Dick Cheney Bench > Canyon Lake > Bannock Peak > Image Lake > Plummer tarns Day 5: Plummer Mtn > Suiattle Pass > Cloudy Pass > Cloudy Peak > upper Lyman Lake Day 6: Back out to Phelps Creek TH. Trip Summary: Honk if you love bears. Any amateur misguided enough to remodel an older home can tell you that such an undertaking can have a profoundly negative affect on health and well being. Early on accelerated ingestion of drywall dust, solvents, and beer begins to take its toll. Fingernails, skin, blood, and hair are shed. As the project drags on, formerly cordial neighbors take on the look of sinister gypsies willing you to fall onto your table saw. Finally, your own wife revolts. You begin to wonder whether you’ll be awakened in the dead of night to the sound of a Sawzall at your throat accompanied by the maniacal laughter that has replaced your wife’s encouragement and support. After a spring and summer of having my fingers sucked into belt sanders and raking my scalp with protruding roof staples, I knew I had to either finish the remodel with a gasoline can or leave town. I embarked on a trip with the original scope of visiting Bannock Lakes east of Glacier Peak, but the further out I got, the more that original scope ballooned. It took nearly four hours to find all my long neglected gear for this six day trek. By the time I had my pack weighed in at a whopping (for me, anyway) 32 lbs, this in addition to the 20 or so lbs around my waistline from months of pub-based therapy – and all on a recently sprained ankle that clicked like a bad derailleur. Day 1: This is Going to Suck. After a night at the Hotel Outback, I got an early morning start from Phelps Creek. It was Memorial Day, so I expected to find a Gorge concert-sized crowd at Spider Meadows. The first party I passed was carting a three wheeled stroller for their four year old daughter. The daughter sat trailside, dejected (and presumably ejected). The husband and wife exchanged recriminating looks. Apparently, the stroller was no one’s idea. An hour later I entered Spider Meadows and found…no one. It was empty. All the weekenders had converged upon Larch Point, 1200 above the valley. Once past this point, I hardly saw a soul. I camped at Cloudy Pass that evening. The Tinpan fire created its own weather in the form of a massive pyronimbus cloud towering 10,000 feet above Copper Peak. Global warming = pine beetles = dead trees = fires = desertification = global warming. A self referential equation for a self absorbed species. At least the pine beetles will get theirs in the end. The day hadn’t sucked after all. I was a bit slow, but not hobbled. My ankle clicked but didn’t crumple. The day’s clouds had dissipated. I read some New Yorker fiction, and fell asleep under the smoke-blurred stars. Day 2: Brain Stew. By 8:00 a.m. it was already apparent that the previous week’s heat wave had returned. I passed only one party that morning, a couple arising from a makeshift scrub-camp after apparently being benighted on the trail. They would be the last people I see for the next three days. At 9:00 I dropped my pack high in the basin just south of Bannock Lakes, snapped on a thin waist belt, and cinched a water bottle to it with a toe clip strap. After dousing my hat and shirt in a stream, I began to ascend north eastern buttress of Sitting Bull under an unrelenting sun. As I scaled the steep heather, each hot breath rice-papered the inside of my mouth. Sitting Bull’s summit is guarded by a several hundred foot high rock step. I ascended the eastern crest via a short, low fifth class section, and descended what appeared to be some chossy but technically easier ramps to its left. I don’t consider myself a superstitious person. I have noticed, however, that when I solo routes that require a bit of technical climbing, I tend to favor a certain pair of Captain America style lycra shorts that Steven Tyler wouldn’t be caught dead in. And that’s the point. The last thing I’d want is for some poor Mountaineer’s party to stumble over those ragged, flag desecrating shorts draped over my mummified corpse. I view them as safety gear. After a quick descent down goat trails (ungulates everywhere, I salute you), I stopped for a quick lunch I call “Fuego de la Boca;” Pepper salami, Tim’s Cajun style chips, Tabasco Cheesits, and hot tamales. I continued north, rounded the valley bottom, and left the trail at the first tall timber. From there I headed up, trending right, on steep forest duff as crisp and matted as the hash browns at Beth’s Café. By now, the heat was impressive, and nearing oppressive. It seemed the snap of a finger could ignite the whole forest. My sweat soaked pack strained to slide back down the to the valley floor like a well basted piglet late for a luau. My simmering mind wandered. I imagined a regular tapping sound, perhaps a branch in the wind, to be an alien slapping its anal probe, preprogrammed for ‘Irishmen’, against his three fingered palm. A distant waterfall became a chilled, bottomless tap of Roger’s Pilsner. I would have had that weird ‘eeee’ desert sun ringing sound in my ears, but I was, after all, in a forest. Timber suddenly gave way to skeletal hellebore (skellebore?) swaying in a freshening breeze. I ascended through heather to a saddle of white rock and peered into a heaven where heathens are welcome. There are four Bannock Lakes. The two lower are silted, glacial reservoirs in shadowed talus. The upper two are shallow super sized tarns surrounded by swamp, larches, and meadow. The shore of the uppermost lake was riddled with bear and coyote tracks. I made camp on the rocky hillock to its west, and watched the setting sun showcase Dome Peak and its commanding fortress. Day 3: Dick Cheney Bench. By now the plan had changed entirely. Rather than detoxing at Bannock Lakes, I decided to put my new-found energy towards a counterclockwise circumnavigation of Sitting Bull. The trick was getting over the precipitous ridge west of Bannock Lakes. After backtracking to the pass south of the lakes, I traversed high and westward, dropping to a pretty little tarn. From there I traversed the steep alp slopes above the highest cliff bands, ascending as I went, until I reached a high bench with a view so entrancing I dropped my pack right there then and there. Due to its undisclosed location, outrageous views, and dangerous approach, I named my temporary perch in honor of our beloved vice president. With plenty of time on my hands, I popped over the pass above my bivvy for an attempt on Bannock Peak. Below, Canyon Lake rested like a mirrored lens fallen from that great big pair of Johnny Depp aviator glasses in the sky (for more on the deification of Johnny Depp, see my wife). It appeared, from a distance, that there might be weak spot, a gulley, through the imposing cliffs that guard Bannock’s southern side. I shimmied across a grassy, down sloping ledge to peer into the gulley, but a persistent vision of a cat meowing forlornly from high up in a tree broke my concentration. Or focused it. I cut and ran. Through dinner I watched serpentine tendrils of smoke stream over the shoulder of Sitting Bull and dive into the haze below. A blood orange moon brightened as it rose above the smog. Before turning in, I moved further from the cliff’s edge, not wanting to make a wrong turn in my sleep and find myself cinched up in a downy luge skittering towards oblivion. Day 4: Mr. Chocolate. The following morning I popped over the pass again and descended until I gained a high point on the Canyon Lake trail. From there I dropped my pack and headed for Bannock Peak via the sensible walk up route. Sunlight fanned through the smoke, highlighting the Bannock’s chiseled rock sentinels like a Hudson School painting. I began to ascend the steep heather and blueberries, and almost stepped in a wine colored pastry of very recent vintage. I looked up and noticed the large, black boulder above me was moving. Wild bears are as curious about us as a sorority sister is curious about the Hell’s Angels. A million years of getting speared, trapped and shot has taught them that the hairless monkeys are assholes. When we’re around, they almost always go the other way. Almost always. Even Buffy will tennis racket-whip a biker who’s had one too many Jack Daniels if she catches him keying her brand new Jetta. With bears, particularly when there might be little Yogis around, it’s best not to make too many assumptions. The bear scrammed, presumably when he noticed my fragrance, and I continued upward. Bannock’s summit was infested with lady bugs and flying ants, doing there weird literalist navigation thing. Ladybugs, fine. The ants, though…really annoying. After rejoining my pack, I continued on to Image Lake. During the ascent I saw another bear, this time right in the trail. Ignoring my advice above, I snuck up for a closer look. I got it. He was so busy making quick work of the blueberries that he didn’t notice me. He then flattened himself out on the trail, as if to snooze, but then thought the better of it, sat up, and panted. Trying hard not to breath, I was covered by so many mosquitoes that I could have been an Off commercial. A bumblebee landed on my nipple. I slowly raised my hand and dinged him loudly into my water bottle. Still nothing. A tree between us provided the cover I needed to creep even closer. At about thirty paces, every alarm in my brainstem was screeching. Still, I couldn’t get a good look at him because of the tree. Then he backed up. His ass was like Queen Latifa in black velvet. I little voice inside of me whispered “Must Not Spank.” As he came into view, I realized that what I had thought was a normal, really big shaggy dog sized black bear was, in fact, a hippo with fir. He turned and faced me. Oh, Jesus. His head was the size of my chest; its squared features resembled an oncoming Peterbilt. He was the biggest black bear I’ve ever seen. At this point, I had to say something. “Hello, Mr. Chocolate.” Mr. C turned and loped about 50 paces up some boulders, then stopped, sat up, turned, and glared down at me. From his granite pedestal, his obsidian fir haloed in golden sunlight, he was…magnificent. My turn to pant. Every emotion I had burst through the thin levy of my composure. My mouth dried. My eyes teared. My adrenal glands lit off like the launch of a Saturn V rocket accompanied by the percussive score of blood surging through my inner ears. Suddenly, I found myself effortlessly floating up the same trail my formerly exhausted body had been struggling with not 15 minutes before. I’ve never thought of myself as the least bit scared of bears. Respectful, yes, but not afraid. But this time I had an epiphany. Here, before me, ABOVE me, was an alpha specimen of the most terrible predator (OK, first cousin to the most terrible predator) on earth. Sharks? Hell, an octopus can take a shark. Tigers? They only go after gay magicians and the occasional starving villager. But a bear. A bear will take on anything. Bull moose. Walrus. Us. And probably a tiger if you put them in the same room. And I have no doubt that when this bear staring me down as if to say “I’d REALLY like to get back to my blueberries, now” walked, the ground squirrels trembled. When his inscrutable, level gaze met mine, I accepted him into my heart as my personal predator. I became a Bearstian. Soon after Image Lake I left the trail to contour east to the tarns below Plummer Mountain. By that time I was paying for my encounter with a serious adrenaline hangover. Just as I was entering the basin east of Plummer, I looked up to see what appeared to be twin, man-sized meringues slumping on a hillock. On closer inspection they were “superbags” (strapped plastic bags for helicopter transport), presumably filled with mining equipment. I was outraged. I knew there was private property in this area, but MINING! In My Wilderness? It’s Monkey Wrench time! Fortunately, before phoning Earth First and Al Gore I checked inside one of the bags. It was old plastic tubing from previous operations, cut up and bagged for removal. I wouldn’t have to start that eco-terrorist group after all. After some later research, however, I learned that such private holdings within Wilderness Areas pose a significant risk to both the public and environmental well being through ‘greenmail’. It works like this: landowner starts to build luxury lodge via helicopter right in the middle of pristine wilderness. Public outcry ensues. Landowner agrees to destroy nascent construction project in exchange for enormous amounts of choice federal land elsewhere, say, just outside Telluride, where he/she makes a killing. (have you guessed yet that this is a true story?) Oh, and by the way, the use of Wilderness areas is subject to the whims of the president. If our president wanted to, say, allow the strip mining of a wilderness area, by law, he could. Not that he’d bother to consult some stupid law… Day 5: Unfinished Business After a morning hike up Plummer I dropped to Suiattle Pass, where I encountered a more normal sized bear with much more matted fur. Apparently, proximity to humans results in low self esteem. I dropped my pack at Cloudy Pass to take care of some unfinished business (I had backed off of Cloudy Peak during a spring ascent because my avalanche shovel wasn’t giving me quite the self belay I wanted. No shovel problems this time). After my return from the summit, I bivvyed near upper Lyman Lake and watched demon like clouds swirl and dance around the rising moon. I seriously considered scooting through Spider Gap in the dark to outrun the incoming weather, but fortunately laziness prevailed. Day 6: Escape I was awakened at five a.m. to the soft patter of fine rain on my face (it’s amazing how long you can remain asleep while being rained on) and fifty yards visibility. I think it took all of four seconds to get into my emergency bivvy, which is essentially a fabric sweatbox, but hey, a lightweight one. I figured at some point the moisture from within and without would equalize and I’d have to make a run for it. Fortunately, the rain stopped. I jumped into my shoes, stuffed my pack like a bank robber stuffs his loot, and off I went towards Phelps Creek and my unfinished home.

Climb: Bath Lakes High Route-Bath Lakes High Route Date of Climb: 9/23/2006 Trip Report: Bath Lakes High Route Pics can be found at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/60919971@N00/sets/72157594312155528 Route Summary: Day 1: Downey Creek washout > Sulfur Mtn TH (via mtn bike) > Sulfur Mt Day 2: Sulfur Man > Bath Glacier Pass Day 3: Bath Glacier Pass > Canyon Lake > Image Lake > Suiattle River Trail > Milk Creek Trail intersection Day 4: Out. Trip Summary: Bearmart Blueberry Special Day 1 (Sep 26, 2006): When a nice little creek turns bad The Downey Creek bridge, now a half-bridge, is a fully engineered, reinforced concrete monolith formerly capable of handling the traffic of any two lane highway in America. During one torrential day on October 20th, 2003, over 10 inches of rain fell on the Glacier Peak Wilderness. Downey Creek, normally a pleasant little stream, destroyed two of the bridge’s huge concrete stanchions, shearing the entire structure in half. What is left is a surreal monument to the enormous power of that slippery little Mickey Mouse molecule that sculpts the face of our planet. Nineteen other major bridges in the Glacier Peak Wilderness were also destroyed, some so completely their remains were never found. The Downey Creek washout cut off only two miles of road, but this relatively minor inconvenience transformed one of the most popular trailheads in Washington into a seldom visited backwater. As a result of this near total erasure of human presence and the lack of trail, the Bath Lakes High Route offers an incredible concentration of wildlife in a pristine alpine setting, particularly in the fall. After I stashed my mountain bike in a mossy hollow, I began trudging up the Sulfur Mtn trail at 1:30 pm. The previously night’s carbo loading at the Reading Gaol seemed like such a great idea at the time. I emerged above tree line, dropped and the head of the swampy valley just beneath Sulfur Mtn, and climbed the steep slopes just NW of the peak to gain the beautiful high benches that run along part of the ridge’s western side. I contoured along these benches until they ended, then followed the ridge crest, dropping east when convenient, crossed a saddle, and dropped to another west side bench, where the setting sun suggested that it might be time to bivouac. A snow patch provided water. (Note: This is a very dry route; take extra water carrying capacity and a little extra fuel for melting snow). Day 2: Navigation by Oscillation I hoped to reach Canyon Lake by evening. This would put me in a comfortable position to be back in Seattle by around noon on Friday to take care of some unfinished business. At 7:15 I was heading for the next pass, a beautiful spot of sculpted granite slabs, an unobstructed view of Glacier Peak, and a few seeps for water. From here the route contours high along the southern alp slopes of the divide until drops to a small, grassy pass just SW of Bath Lakes. I tried to drop into the valley before this. Don’t. Delay # 1. At this point, an excellent goat trail (do these animals except any pay?) provides efficient passage across the ridge’s cliffy N side to Bath Lakes. Lower Bath Lake is deep, below tree line, and seems to have a healthy fish population. Unfortunately, the trailer dwellers had gotten to it, so, for the Nth time, I erased their fire ring and packed out their trash so their toothless, methed-out mommies wouldn’t have to. Deny global warming, embrace intelligent design, believe whatever you want, Dick Bo, but Copenhagen tins are definitely not flammable. Upper Bath Lake is a lovely affair surrounded by meadows and scarred by only one wife-beater campsite. Once over the pass above Bath Lakes, high country low culture disappeared entirely. I had been granted a temporary pass into bear heaven. Over the next two days I saw 14 of these animals; up to four at a time on a single alp slope. The area was lousy with them. The route continues contouring high along the ridge’s crest or south side until it reaches the Great Impasse, an east facing cliff (obvious on the map) that runs from the crest downward more than 1500 ft. It was here that I wasted much time and energy searching for a chink in this barrier. Part of my objective on these trips is to boldly go where better men have gone before. In the end, however, I resorted to brute force by dropping the 1500 or so feet and slinking beneath this cliff via a steep deer trail. It might be feasible to down climb or rap either the ridge crest (steep, exposed, and chossy), or a ramp about 2/3 of the way up the cliff, but, frankly, it’s probably quicker to employ gluteus rather than sphincter power and just do the end run. From here Beckey describes the route as continuing along the south side, but there’s another cliff further east. A better route is to avoid this hassle by traversing the Tvashtar Glacier via a pass where the glacier gently kisses the crest (obvious on the map). I camped on a beautiful perch just beneath this pass and watched embers of alpenglow cool on Glacier Peak. Day 3: The Exploding Bear Fresh snow covered a bit of the glacier’s western lobe, so to avoid any surprises I skirted around it on moraine and slabs, then dropped via some scree ramps about 500 feet to the lower, eastern glacier. From here I donned six point crampons (love them) and tiptoed across low angle, un-crevassed ice to Totem Pass. From here I contoured around the final high point and descended alp slopes to a game trail which leads directly to Canyon Lake. Above me, three bears plied the blueberries on Bannock’s southern slopes. It’s trail from here on. The walk from Canyon to Image Lake is gorgeous and bear infested. I saw 8 in three hours. While photographing one, I heard a “whomp!” turned, and saw a huge, furry ass explode out of a gulley right in front of me. He tore full speed down the talus for half a mile, paws flying, fur flapping. The trail from the Miner’s Ridge Lookout to the Suiattle River must have been graded by someone’s grandmother. It’s so flat I had to jog it to avoid dying of old age. Due to the lack of use, particularly by horsies, the Suiattle River trail is in superb condition, with the exception of some blow downs. The Fred Flintstonian Canyon Creek Bridge should be its own national monument. The adjacent campsites, enough to accommodate an open air rock concert, match the colossal scale of this eighth unnatural wonder. Further down, the Suiattle’s fat free milky waters have devoured several miles of trail, which has been newly rebuilt on higher ground. The freshly hewn rock still smells of sulfur. I rarely camp below tree line, but night overtook me at the Milk Creek Junction and, after 25 miles, I was more than happy to lie down on the soft, untrammeled trail under a cathedral of ancient conifers. No bugs, save the occasional ground beetle rummaging through the rats nest where my hair used to be. A still night in an old growth forest is such a luxurious way to end a high traverse. Day 4: The Final Hour I was back at the car in an hour to find my aerial adorned with a crawdad head. An hour after that I was sitting in a McDonald’s, taking full advantage of what our civilization has to offer. If you share my contention that Glacier Peak is one of our most majestic mountains, crave solitude, alpine fall colors, and don’t mind sharing a bit of steep terrain with a few bears, then I couldn’t recommend this route more highly

On the morning of the 8th, we set out from the Agnes Creek trail, and climbed to the Chickamin Glacier where we set up camp for a few days in the "Patagonia of the North Cascades." Beautiful photos. Very enticing. A friend and I are planning a trip into the area for next summer. You guys made to the Chikamin pretty fast. Any approach hints you'd like to share to avoid unnecessary shrubbery? T.

Thanks for the great report. Could you offer some specific advice on your approach from Agnes Ck to Blue Lake? A friend and I are planning a west to east traverse through the region for sometime early next summer, and we'd like to leave the pruning shears at home if possible. Thanks in advance, Pat