forrest_m

Courtenay – We were in there over fourth of july, so obviously I have no idea about currrent conditions, but we spent some time studying the route and it looks to be very straightforward routefinding. You get plenty of time to study the face while descending from the Dome/Chickamin col. A few thoughts: 1) you should be prepared for it to be a hard snow climb of the same length and angle instead of an ice climb. We did the N. Face of Buckner (about the same elevation) in October a few years ago and were only able to place one ice screw into solid ice, everything else was kind of slushy. If all you have are ice screws, then you may not be able to protect much of the route; on the other hand it may be all solid ice and you can sew it up. No way to tell without going there, but just a thought. 2) be prepared to spend a fair amount of time getting down the upper chickamin glacier, it’s not really extreme, but it is steepish and broken up and since you are descending it without benefit of a view from below, it can be tricky to figure out how to avoid the holes 3) there were several trip reports around the end of june/start of july (look for Dome & Gunsight) dealing with the huge avalanche debris/tree blowdowns that took out a good portion of the trail below itswoot peak, maybe worth looking up. 4) nelson suggests camping up basically on the summit of dome peak. These are really spectacular, but if the weather looks sketchy or you feel lazy, you can also camp down on the Dome Glacier, about 40 minutes before the dome-chickimin col. Doesn’t add too much to the morning before the climb, and it’s that much less far that you have to carry your big pack. 5) check out the huge natural arch/window on the west ridge of dome peak (right above you as you approach the D-C col) wow! Have a great time, it’s a neat area.

neither of these is 5.12. do they still count? kite flying blind, second pitch, at index. exemplifies the "it looked totally improbable but somehow it's possible". second choice: pure palm, in the gorge at smith. i'm a sucker for stemming problems.

DFA wrote: quote: You might try asking him if you really want to knowoh what would the fun of that be? it would imply more than a casual, ironic sort of interest quote: made the discovery via a clue that would be fairly obvious to most of DFA's PDX acquaintancessee, this is just what i'm talkin' about. some day you'll post something like "so i was workin on ______ and i blew three clips in a row" and it will just so happen that someone else here was hanging out at the base and remembers it... i've seen it happen a thousand times.

i don't know, doc, your identity may be secret for now... but sooner or later you'll slip up, someone will put two and two together... we'll get you yet!

It's fun. Often empty while crowds are on the W. Ridge. No scary snow couloir to get to the base. The crux is down low, getting around the two gendarmes. It's been too long to remember which side we went around, but I believe we more or less followed the description in the Nelson guide. The rest is pretty mellow. There was a long thread about the East Ledges descent a few weeks ago, look around I'm sure you'll find it.

i dropped my helmet near the top of an alpine climb a few weeks ago and did the last few pitches bare headed. i felt naked. really.

hey nice job - there's something very cool about just out and out covering a lot of ground, isn't there?

likewise... i had a tent fly got shredded, and i had some material. i had rainy pass give me a price to make a new fly using the old one as a pattern... and it was going to cost considerably more than a whole new tent. yikes! i mean, yeah, they know how to sew and i don't, so they can charge what they like, but it was so obviously illogically high, i'd rather have them just flat out say "we're not interested..."

my opinion (and it’s obvious from this thread that people seem to vary a lot in how the deal with this stuff) is that taking safe falls in the gym will improve your ability to “go for it” on bolted sport climbs, and not much else. You will learn to fall confidently on gear that you knew beforehand was guaranteed to be good. My experience with trad climbing is that once you get past the ultra-novice feeling of invincibility (if you ever had it), the only thing that works is step-by-step, a little at a time, earning your stripes, gradually putting the miles in, you get the drift. And recovering from a shakiness-inspiring event is more of the same. For me, the generalized feeling of doom you get standing at the base of a big alpine route is in a completely different category than the fear-of-gear shakes, mostly because it really just fear of the unknown. Except for climbs that are really well within my limits, I’ve never really gotten over the pre-climb jitters, I’ve just gotten used to it. You just keep moving and pretty soon, the quickest way back to “safety” is over the top, not going down… Sometimes the feeling of doom goes away after I have my morning bowel movement.

I don’t know that I’d go quite as far as endorsing Terminal G’s suggestion, but I agree that this business of “visualize success, don’t visualize the splat you’re going to make” didn’t work for me at all. It was just the reverse, I had to force myself to learn to think about everything that could go wrong and gain some measure of control by trying to address every concern I could think of. This resulted in a lot of 3-piece equalized gear placements for a while, but I eventually worked through it. This “engineering” approach really helped me figure out what I was afraid of (didn’t trust gear) and forced me to address it, while at the same time allowing me to compartmentalize that fear into manageable pieces. I don’t think it’s that useful to place a #3 camalot on a steep wall and jump on it – at least for me, my brain doesn’t accept that that experience is transferable to a yellow alien, etc. I don’t think you can talk your fear into going away, you have to learn to put limits around it, to stick it in a box, so that your specific fear doesn’t become generalized panic.

shaky – I got pretty shaky at one point, not because of a fall I took, but because of one I caught. My partner took about a 60 footer after zippering several pieces. It was the last good piece before the belay. I was haunted by this image of both of us being stripped off the side of the mountain. I not only lost faith in the ability of pro to hold a fall, but I doubted the whole system. I was determined to get back on the horse, though, so I kept climbing. I actually got up some pretty hard stuff in this period because I would NOT weight gear, no matter what. If everything was straightforward, I was fine, but when I ran into a cerebral section, I was terrified. What helped me eventually get over it was to learn how to not startle myself with the fear. What I mean is that I got into trouble because I would pretend not to be afraid until I got to a sticky spot and then suddenly the fear would hit me all at once. So I got into the habit of doing an analysis before every move, starting at the ground, of the entire system. “What happens if I come off here?” I slowly learned to compartmentalize: now I’m thinking about the system, I’m either satisfied or I fix the problem, add another piece, whatever. OK, now I’m making moves, concentrating wholly on climbing. Back and forth. I find I still revert to this on heady leads (“ok, forrest, think about the moves, not the gear”), but for a long time, it didn’t work for me unless I did it for the whole pitch. Kind of like bounce testing aid gear – if you do it every time, it adds a lot of security, but doesn’t really help your head if you start in the middle of a sketchy section. I also did a lot of Dru’s treatment – long easy routes with friends.

i think it's worst to come back to work on monday without having gotten out at all but instead wasted a gorgeous weekend straightening out a plumbing emergency in your house. not that anything like this would ever happen to me.

http://www.4gifts4all.com/britney_spears/britney_spears_gifts.html

I read in one of their catalogs once that it refers to north faces in general, something about how due to their aspect, freeze-thaw over the eons has caused north faces (in the northern hemisphere, anyway) to generally be the steepest and most difficult side of any mountain. obviously there are exceptions, but they went on to list an impressive number of examples, mostly in the alps.

The north ridge is pretty easy (it’s the standard descent from the north side routes), but it has some pretty loose and unpleasant sections and some exposure. On the plus side, the bivy on that plateau at the base is one of the most beautiful places to camp in the southern cascades: sunset with rainier and st. helens right there. I’d say that your first plan is actually a good one. The mazama glacier gives you the opportunity to look into a few big holes without actually presenting much difficulty and lets you avoid the south ridge crowds for at least a good part of the way. Actually, except for the weekend crowds, the south ridge itself can actually be pretty nice if you catch it before all the snow melts off, but I imagine by this time of year it’s probably a lot of scree and such. IIRC, the trailhead for the Mazama is on the Yakima Indian reservation? If it is, remember that there’s some additional permit or fee you need to deal with.

Zee – Check your knickers. I think you might find an unnecessary twist. I was suggesting to MattP that he try to see the route from the perspective of someone without his extensive experience – as a beginner, the route was, in fact, full of surprises and marvels. "I didn't ask for your opinion"... gimme a break. Try rereading your original post. In fact, you specifically ask for opinions. If skin is really this thin, perhaps you should avoid posting in public forums? [ 08-16-2002, 01:56 PM: Message edited by: forrest_m ]

Mostly straight up and trending slightly (climber's) left, it's bushwacky scrambling for maximum 200 vert. feet before you break out into open boulderfields. Essentially you want to traverse the west/south face of the ridge (which is a series of open basins) until below the appropriate pass. It can be a bit tricky to figure out where you are. i posted this photo before, it's taken from washington monument ridge to the east, arrow points to the base of the e. ridge of cindarella

Mr. N - I'm not sure how you would approach from Baker Lake, it seems like it would be a long hike. Most of the dirt roads that head up from that road are also logging roads owned by the same company, so you would still need permission and/or a key to drive in from that side. On the positive side, the logging co. (crown pacific, i think) is really easy to deal with. The guard shack in Hamilton is open until 10 pm, so you can check in and get a key (if necessary) the night before. i think it opens at 7 am, as well. When we did Cindarella, we went in that way. The major issue is that the gate up high (about 5 miles before the end of the road) is periodically closed for elk migration. When we went in, the gate was physically open but had a sign saying no entry. We drove in anyway (bad), but didn't see anyone and got out before we got locked in. That was in late september, so this early it may not be elk season yet. Even if you had to park at that gate, if you had a mountain bike, it would be a pretty casual ride up to the end of the road. The other trick part is finding the route. From the end of the road, there is a faint trail up through the trees for a while, then you have to cross a drainage and scramble/bushwack into a rocky basin. From there, you have to traverse and cross over TWO more ridges before climbing to the ridge, crossing the col, and dropping down to the base of the ridge. The route itself is very straightforward - just follow the easiest way. We did it in 2 simulclimbing pitches. Fun and solid; once you get on the ridge, it is all low fifth class on solid rock - no BS 4th class or sandy gullies to deal with.

the year is 1984 and the 13-year old forrest_m is tying into a rope for his first seattle mountaineers basic experience climb. it's a bit hard to move with so many slings, pulleys, prussiks and other gear draped willy-nilly over his helmeted head. he feels very grown up to be spending the whole weekend with these grown-up people. after a tedious but short hike up the night before, the group had camped (on snow!) at a very scenic spot, with views of real glaciers and seracs. now, at 3 am, and the domes of snow ahead seem very large in the uncertain light of headlamps. 4 hours later, the party emerges onto the false summit, having climbed the mazama glacier without serious incident. but there was excitement - oh yes. stepping over *real crevasses* that you couldn't see the bottom of. traversing left, then right along the lip of another series of cracks (big enough to swallow a car). forrest_m has felt the sun on his face while hundreds of miles of eastern washington desert remains in darkness. another hour or so, and the summit. with all their gear, the party of mountaineers is clearly of a different breed than the long line of non-climber's we share the summit with - we climbed a glacier to get here. later, at the dusty trailhead, the trip leader distributes ice cold beers to celebrate the successful trip. under-aged forrest_m is included. mountaineers can be cool, too.

i think g-spotter is playing the "run it through babelfish a couple of times" game. you know, you type something in, translate english-russian-portugese-english and see what comes up... i.e. via english-german-french-english: if you whom see I think of Gg-spotter am "" to play" race him babelfish a couple of times "the play which you know, you type something, you translate and what englisch-russisch-portugese-englisches comes...

no, although i recently did a climb with a friend of mine who is a dentist - not only did he brush, he flossed. the only thing i've ever used dental floss for in the mountains is for emergency sewing... before i discovered duct tape.

Thinker wrote: quote: when's the last time you used your toothbrush on a rock while mountaineering? heck, when's the last time you used a toothbrush on your teeth while mountaineering?

a nice & concise TR, CM3! by the way, the sibley creek approach is very scenic, but takes longer than the standard approach. on the standard, you can just put your nose down and grind it out; sibley creek has a lot of route finding, up and down, etc. (not that it's not worth doing, 'cause it's cool, but it's not a time saver)

way to keep on keepin' on. i usually prefer to "walk through the bivy" rather than sit there and shiver as well! we were on colchuck balanced rock on sunday, and heard the occasional "off belay" from your direction. maybe that was you?

For once, I was actually ready to go when Dan pulled into the driveway on Saturday afternoon. I’d been only too glad of the excuse to quit scraping loose paint off the guest room ceiling to clean up and pack. We made good time to Leavenworth, and were sacked out in the parking lot by 10. We got up at 4:30, and were actually moving by 5:30; by 7:20, we had rounded Colchuck Lake, passing by elaborate campsites that smelled enticingly like breakfast. I’d forgotten how spectacular the lake is, glowing turquoise as if illuminated from within. We rounded the lake and hiked a few hundred feet up the Asgaard Pass trail, then cut left across the slope, aiming for the gaps in the slide alder. We managed a pretty efficient route and broke out of the brush to scramble up the gully behind Jaberwocky Tower. At the top, we crossed a small col and dropped 100 feet into a lovely little basin. The west face rises sheer above, and the crux free climbing on the fifth pitch leading up to the huge roof looks quite close. We joked about whether it was foreshortening or just four short pitches. We finished scrambling up the gully of large blocks and sat down to gear up at 9:20. I led off the first pitch, which started with a few difficult moves off a ledge, then a ramble up a narrow ramp to a sandy ledge. The 10+ section was obvious, with a super-clean face rising off the ledge. Rattly off-fingers, the hardest moves were the first 10 feet off the ledge. Because you traverse quite a ways to the ledge, I put long slings on the first two pieces of gear. This was not very confidence inspiring – the pro was great, but I’d still hit the ground. I grunted up to a stance and finally got some ankle-saving gear in, uneasy about the flash-pump I was feeling halfway up the first pitch. Another 15 feet and it eased off; I traversed back left and ran the second pitch together with the first (only possible with our 70 meter rope). The 5.7 second pitch felt burly and sustained for the grade, something that would emerge as a pattern for the day, but I was soon at the spacious and comfortable belay on top of the pedestal. On the third pitch, we were fooled by an old piece of fixed gear; there are two possible ways to “step across” from the pedestal. The correct way is on the (climber’s) right hand side of the tower; we went left, which led to a beautiful, clean 5.8 crack up the face that reminded me of the route Bussonier at J-Tree. Unfortunately, it ended at a loose piton with an RP crack angling rightwards. Dan downclimbed 25 feet, instead, and made a delicate traverse right to the corner, then went straight up about 60 feet to a roof, running it out a long ways to prevent a follower’s nightmare. About now we realized that we were still off route, and that we needed to be in the next corner system rightwards to get up to the base of the big dihedral, so Dan did another delicate traverse out to the arete, but was stopped by rope drag before he could get into the corner; he set up a hanging belay right on the nose. Following with the pack, I was more worried about shock loading Dan’s tiny gear belay, and took tension on both traverses rather than risk a hard pendulum fall. From the belay, I climbed over Dan and set out with the gear I’d cleaned. Still another delicate traverse finally led back into the corner system we should have followed in the first place, and I quickly led up the ledges and slabs towards the corner above. I thought about belaying from lower down at a tree, but the risk of going higher paid off with an excellent flat stance right at the base of the dihedral. The 5.11 corner was my lead as well; the description states that it is straightforward but long and strenuous, so energy conservation was my mantra. The rock was flawless, white granite stained with orange and yellow lichens as if tagged by a particularly ambition urban gang. As promised, the going was reasonable but relentless. The back face of the corner was a constant taunt, since despite increasingly desperate scrutiny, it refused to yield even a single stem. There were good jams, but separated by stretches of narrow crack where laybacking was the only real option. Once past the halfway point, I knew it was a race. At each piece of gear, I’d have a brief argument with myself, “No, I won’t hang yet.” Finally, though, about 20 feet below the anchor, my willpower ran out. My hand emerged from the crack damp with some slime dripping down the back, and that, combined with a glance down at the huge exposure, was the end of my clean ascent. I slapped in a big cam and whimpered “Take!” The belay at the top of the pitch is an intimidating place. Fifteen feet below a mammoth 20 foot roof, it is a small ledge that undercuts a smooth granite bulge, making it impossible to stand without weighting the anchors. You belay with your ass hanging directly over the route, the north side of Mt. Stuart perfectly framed under the granite eyebrow beyond. I dinked around with gear, ending up with basically two complete anchors, and hauled up the packs. The bulge from the anchors to the roof goes at 5.12, but a fixed aider hangs down from the seam at the junction, and it didn’t seriously occur to us to attempt it free. After climbing the ladder, Dan was able to head across by hanging on large pieces placed under the roof. Only the first step was tenuous, and he quickly got the rhythm and disappeared leftwards into the sun, where another 15 feet of free climbing led up to a sloping stance. I followed in the same way, and Dan then headed up the clean 5.9 corner above, like the fifth pitch but with good footholds. It ends in an awkward roof that we also used a few moves of aid to move through to reach a comfortable ledge. The last serious pitch was the 5.8 chimney; the first part, a gap behind a flaring ear, was at my limit with the backpack on. I finally managed to escape to the outside arete, then up a slab above to the base of yet another flaring slot. This one was simply too narrow for me and the pack, so I left it sitting on the ledge tied to one end of my cordalette. I danced a tenuous ballet with the pack on the small ledge; pushed out by the overhang above, it was quite difficult to maneuver the pack off my back (the rack was of course over the pack straps), across my body and onto a stable stance. Once freed of the beast, with all gear transferred to my right side, I was amazed at how easily I was able to wriggle up the chimney. Maybe the pitch is 5.8 after all - without a pack. I had one final crux as I balanced on the arete above and hauled the pack up with the 6 mil cord, then it was off to the races. Above, two easy pitches of blocks and slabs led to the summit. We didn’t spend much time enjoying the view, but started the scramble down. After less than a hundred feet, we were able to change into tennis shoes. We could scree surf most of the slopes down to the basin below the route, then we picked our way more painstakingly down the approach gully. The alder slides and boulderfield seemed much longer than on the way in. We started jogging down the hills, speed walking on the flats. By the end of the trail, we were walking almost blind – good thing for us the rocks sticking up in the trail are white. It’s the roots you have to watch out for. When we stepped out into the parking lot, we estimated that ten more minutes and we would have had to break out the headlamps.