Smoker

Ock-- Thanks for the info, I climbed yesterday and many routes on Careno are dry. By the way, Peshastin was not open when we checked. Smoker

I might be able to squirm out of the house one day this weekend. Anyone know if the rock in icicle cr.valley is dry enough to do laps on? Sunny and upper 50's in the forcast!!! Thanks Smoker

Retro, What the heck are you doing up at these wee hours? Smoker

Good question Colin, here is my answer. I work at a hospital and have had reason to wear latex gloves while out in the cold working. While I have never worn them under winter gloves I have had them on under insulated leather and normal leather gloves. The gloves constrict blood flow (unless they are xxhuge in which case they don't stay on) and they are twice as cold once you sweat into them which happens almost immediately (something to do with latex I think). Finally, they shred by repetive motion against anything. Nice thought but I think in true cold it is frostbite waiting to happen. Thats my hands, maybe yours will be different. Smoker

I have not done Big 4 yet but I imagine that it would take a biv and the N. rib(s) looks to provide the least avy hazard.

Anyone been up it yet this winter? Thanks Smoker

This is from 98 and fairly lengthy report. One of my finer day trips. Perhaps a tale to keep us focused on working out for those longer,warmer sunny days of summer! SHUKSAN in a day Fishers Chimney route Chris woke me up. “ Hey, it ‘s starting to rain, we’re getting wet!” Christ no breaks at all so far. Chris work second shift so he’s off work late Friday night that puts most of our weekend climbing that much shorter. We hadn’t been sure what we were going to climb. We wanted Shuksan but the weather was not co-operating. So we had packed enough crap to go to Washington pass also. We left Seattle under breaking skies at around 1:00pm. After the usual last minute dash to REI for some tape or something, we were off. By the time we hit Sedro Wooly we had decided. Shuksan it was! We cruised the “Baker Highway” (#542) to the end arriving at the park entry around 5:00pm. Saturday evening 7/30/98, we had a pizza going, as we packed for the next days travel we forced as much food in us as we could stand. Our gear was minimal (for us). Rope, 2 pickets, 3 screws a few slings and biners. Plus the personal gear, harness, prussiks an ice axe each and helmets. We brought a few stoppers and Hex’s for the 5th class finish (6 total?). The real challenge was clothing layering. How much should I bring for a long day trip? (In the rain) Chris woke me up in a light drizzle around 1:00 am Sun morning and we retreated from the park path we were crashed on to one of those new, big bucks, outhouses the govt. is putting in. It was nice enough to sleep in but we decided to get moving since we were up. We ate and were moving down the trail by headlamp at 2:30. The rain was more like liquid cloud. While it might have been raining, mostly moving through it wet us. The morning passed silently as we did mileage in the dark. We passed Lake Ann in the early hours of dawn. The climber’s path leading up the arm was simple enough. While we had heard that the chimney route was difficult to follow, we rooted it out with little effort. As we topped out on the Shuksan Arm, we encountered a few other teams roping up. They had started at Lake Ann earlier that morning. We quickly roped up (for the day) and began the ascent of the upper White Salmon glacier. The slope got steep quickly on Winnies Slide (any guesses on the name?). But it only lasted a few (shortened) rope lengths. At the top of Winnies Slide a rock band rises to divide the White Salmon glacier and the Upper Curtis glacier (always reminds me of my younger brother). This marks the termination of the Shuksan Arm.There are some great biv sites here when the winter snows have receded enough. As we reached the Upper Curtis we finally climbed out of the clouds and into the sun! It was about time too. The upper reaches of the climb were finally in sight. The summit pyramid was plainly in sight, but for us it was still hours away as we were not skilled enough to attempt such rock as is found on the Labor Day or Hour Glass routes grades4-6. We stepped onto the Upper Curtis and I was properly greeted by a loud snap and shake of the glacier proper. Chris almost fell over laughing. Here at 7,000ft in the sun (finally) things were starting to seem right. The route would take us south in a rising traverse beneath the upper buttress that supports the summit pyramid. I led out and up onto the glacier. As we neared the rock buttress, we encountered the first of many crevasses. This first one looked to be the worst, (naturally). It took off in a NE direction parallel to the rock buttress we were hoping to get near (as the crevasse hazard was greatly reduced near the rock) and continued SW out of sight towards the ice cliff spilling onto the Lower Curtis glacier. There was a team of 3 already heading up to check the possibility of getting around to the North, so, Chris and I began the careful dance alongside it to the S. The snow conditions were great and firm except for the occasional glacier ice that would appear. We played leapfrog a few times using a boot axe belay to descend along side the giant slot. Periodically a tempting narrow finger of ice would appear and peal out across the void, only to drop into the dark blue void or end at the far side with a vertical mass of ice to overcome. We continued on. We had dropped out of sight from the other team. Only a few hundred feet separated us from getting into the icefall itself. Seracs began to stand up around us, as they do before they take their mighty plunge, when Chris called out ”I think we’ve got it!” For some reason the gash closed up and allowed us passage to the other side. What a relief! I was none to pleased with the elevation loss. As we charged back up the glacier, the other team came into sight, still on the wrong side. They called out about passage, and we replied with an affirmative. It felt good to have made the right call and foraged near the icefall. It made us both feel like we knew what we were doing. We raced up under the rock buttress towering above us. The evidence of our hazardous position was strewn all about. Rock littered the glacier. Chris urged me to move out. We quickly passed the end of the buttress where Hells Highway slices through. Hells Highway (cool name huh?) is actually formed where the Sulfide Glacier up above spills over and down onto the upper Curtis glacier. It forms a steep wide gully where it splits the west buttress of Shuksan. The highway was riddled with crevasses. At the start before it steepens the crevasses were often divided by less than 3ft. Fortunately they were generally narrow. Still, it was almost unpassable. We climbed steeply up and right, out of the crevasse zone. More plodding brought us to the top of hells highway. Until now the weather had only barely been out distanced. Same as the other team on the route. We only put distance between them when they stopped. Conversely when we stopped they closed on us. It was that way all day. In the brilliant sun, we could see masses of skiers ascending the Sulfide on the south below us. The gulf between the Sulfide and us was awesome. 50 feet at the narrowest! It is actually a bergshrund but resembled a huge culvert that runs from the West ridge to the north to where the ridge continues to the south. The south side of Hells Highway is the passable side onto the Sulfide. Fortunately it is the side that we were on (not that being on the other side is really an option). I led off into the massive shrund right at the rock on the side, making moves on both rock and the collapsed snow blocks that jumbled into the huge snow ditch. We stopped long enough to take a photo with the line stretched across the void, love them trick photos! As we looked up toward the summit, we could see that we were still 1-1.5 hrs away from the rocky finish. We began the plod onwards. As we approached we began to hear whoops and crys of joy ring out from above. Music to our ears as we knew we were close now. We were early enough that the Sulfide was still firm and not soup. We made decent time although we had been going a long time at this point. We put some distance between the team behind us. We reached the base of the rock on the SE side of the pyramid. From our vantage we could see what all the hoopla was about. There were about 16 climbers (including the guides) spread out on the lower 300 ft of the 600-ft tall massif. Talk about stinking up a route. It was a guided trip for a bunch of East Coast flatlanders! This was their third day of climbing to get here and they were all in some form of roped descent/rappel. The guide guarding the 4 or so already down had his hands full. They were all having a ball! Needless to say Chris and I choose a less than appealing line off in nomans land to bypass the herd. It made for an interesting finish. The party we had played tag with joined us on top about 30 minutes after we arrived. We chatted, took photos, ate and left them to some solitude to enjoy, just as we had enjoyed before their arrival. The views “from the top” were awesome! Only about 7,000’ and taller were visible due to the on-shore flow. The drop off the north side was straight down to the Upper Curtis glacier at least 1,500’ below. Only a bit lower the clouds lapped gently against the footings of the mountain. Ahhh, to be a BASE jumper! Off to the Southwest Mt. Baker with Sherman peak stood out proudly like two volcanic islands in a sea of white. We arranged a few raps, and down climbed the remainder of the gully. As we roped up on the Sulfide I noticed the temps had fallen. It wouldn’t be long before we were back in the clouds. We were moving down the glacier in no time. We had a bit of trekking to do before the sun went down. Our goal was to be through the chimney’s before dark. We beat a path to the top of Hells Highway and began the descent. It had firmed up in the shade. At almost half way down, just as we were dropping into the bottom of the highway, the rope of three caught us. Chris led down 45-50 deg slopes on my boot axe belay for about a rope before reaching the heavily crevassed bottom. As I down climbed he carefully began to pick our way towards the bottom. We had just crossed the final crack and were starting to truck off when an excited shout came from behind. The gal tied into the middle had stumbled and slid straight over a crevasse. The pair had caught her just in time to keep her on top. They were ok (although she was visibly shaken) so we turned it for home. The other team slowed markedly after their arrest. We never saw them again. As we descended Whinneys Slide we re-entered the clouds. The snow here was mush. We both turned in towards the hill and back stepped in long sliding lenghts using our axes in a dagger position. The clouds made finding the top of the chimney route fun! We stopped and stowed gear. Glad to be this far with light still in the sky, we munched some food before heading off. Negotiating the chimneys and arm on descent was again, straightforward. The light was pretty much gone by the time we were on the other side of Lake Ann. We continued on down for another hour before stopping. I was bushed. The wet clouds kept us cold and shivering. I drank water and rested, too tired to eat. As we continued on, the mist in our lamps swirled and danced. Our puny light often would diffuse uselessly a foot or so off the ground. Walking became a thing of difficulty. It was as if the swirling mist was hypnotizing us as we moved through it. I don’t recall how long we staggered up the trail like this but I’m certain hours would be about right. Magically the registration board appeared out of the dark. We were out! 10 hours to the top 8 hours back to the car Great climb Smoker

Great photos! I especially liked the star trails. Smoker

Was out yesterday fooling around with my partner. We did the formation below Source lake. (Someone here was doing it mid Dec.? when it avalanched upon them) No fears about that as there has been no new snow in quite a while. The ice was plenty fat for leading but our 50 meter rope was to short for lowering or top ropeing. Thanks goes out to whoever left the nice fat orange rap cord on the tree. Spoke with a few different parties that had been up to "look" at the N side of Chair. No ice to be had and no climbing of Chair from that side as far as I heard. Smoker

Wanting to know if anyone here has made an attempt on Rainer yet this winter? Post a note on snow conditions and coverage if you have. Thanks Smoker

I was concerned about the silicon impregnation right off the bat as I have had similar nubuk problems. I e-mailed saloman but to no avail. But on the Nikwax web site they list Saloman as a company that recomends nikwax. Smoker

I love mine. Sizing is true (size 9 is a 9). I have had problems with the heal rubbing blisters and tape well every time still. They are very nice on mixed ground. I get a much better feel for the rock than with plastics. Plenty warm for winter climbing. Often too warm in the summer. As far as wetting out goes I Nikwaxed them shortly after buying and it is not a problem. I have AT gear and use my guide 9's. They are great boots. The key is fit. You will hate em if they'er not right. Smoker

Did Granite yeasterday 12/28/00-Warm temps made the gulley soft. The snow stiffened up higher in the wind, becoming hard and crusty near the top. 25-30mph wind on the ridge. Good thing the temps were friendly. Barely enough snow for glissading off the top or ridge. The lower trail is well tromped out. S

This has been posted elsewhere but,what the hell? It is longish. ICE CLIFF GLACIER MT. STUART 6/30-7/2/00 So the season is May-June? We are just on the end of its best shape then? We were at the trail head sorting gear and getting the route details tucked away. THE PLAN: Fri evening pull into high camp. Sat morning check weather and decide if the Ice Cliff is a go. Climb Ice Cliff Glacier, descend to the Sherpa col and descend the Sherpa Glacier back to camp. Fluids, Food and bed. Sun rest day. Mon, if we are into it, the North ridge of Sherpa Pk. Out Tuesday, the 4th. The approach is a bit of a mystery, we know that there are 2 ways into the basin below the Sherpa and Ice Cliff Glaciers. We chose the high traverse going in, by default. I have never crossed talus fields full of house sized boulders, I hope to never again. It went on for a long time. We left the trailhead at 4:30p.m. and arrived at high camp promptly at 10:00 p.m. All day there had been weather high on the ridge tops. It helped keep the valley temps down but the hatch was in full force. I was lucky not to have been carried off by the little buggers. We set camp after a quick search, and went to bed. I love climbing! The biggest problem we all face is weather. It can make or break you, sometimes swiftly (like shutting the door before even getting to base camp) or it can be cruel and tease you. It was teasing us. My alpine start began at the sunny hour of 7:00 a.m. I have got to describe the basin. We are in the head of a high hanging valley. Below us 25 feet in elevation and 200 feet distant is a large marsh. All along its edges are silvering pines and Larches. The live trees crowd in on the silvered snags as they fight their way up the cliff walls that close us all in together. High camp sits at 5,400ft. It is the accumulation zone for some of the Stuart Glacier, Ice cliff Glacier and Sherpa Glacier. We watched rock fall high, tumble onto the Sherpa glacier straight towards camp numerous times. Fortunately the snow line has receded just far enough to put a sizeable blockade of boulders between us and the landing zone, making us relatively secure. My alpine start began at the sunny hour of 7:00 a.m. I awoke to the most contented feeling I can remember. I slept the night and felt rested. I got up and broke out the espresso! An hour later and 2 cups each, Chris and I started to get things moving. The weather was beautiful! Bright warm sunshine everywhere, the top of Stuart showing some vapor or something of a stubborn cloud, stuck on the west face. A few screws, a hand full of wires biners and slings everything went in the pack. As Chris back was sore (how convenient), I was left with being the mule. ” Well we could always trade off later” my much wiser partner offered. We were ready. It was 10:00 a.m. and time to start moving. We marched to the southwest and climbed to the top of the Ice cliff Glacier’s moraine. As we gained the top of the moraine the Ice Cliff dropped a small serac that cascaded down across the recommended line in the guide book. The Ice Cliff Glacier sits on the east side of the North Ridge. It hangs in a largish pocket that constricts somewhat at the snout. The glacier flows over a vertical step and calves off. As it drops it runs down and fills the moraine to the point that the glacier is pushing/spilling over the top! In the center it towers above 80 feet tall and overhanging. From the moraine we mulled over our options. The glacier looked to be turned on the far west or the far east. The problem was that the west side was dropping ice and while the east portion was in the shade it had the same crumbly appearance as the west. We decided to ascend up and east into the shade to a sheltered spot to gear up. This was it. We were both humming like a high voltage line. We had 2000’ of climbing to do and a bad ass glacier in the way. Chris shortened the rope and handed me my end, I silently tied in. We both gazed quietly as the glacier cut loose and expelled more ice, I was in awe, Our chosen line climbed up to a point about 70 ft off the far left edge of the glacier where falling seracs had piled up to within 20 feet of the top of the Ice Cliff’s snout. The ice blocks were filled in with snow nicely, with sections of ice beginning to show. We climbed to below the 20 ft section and set a belay anchor. I have gotta say, vertical ice is not something easily found in my state. So unless your face climbing a glacier, the picking is pretty thin. That being said, Chris and I had never looked or hooked an overhanging ice pitch. We had both done a short vertical step on the North Ridge of Baker last year, but that was then. From below we had been able to see most of the route and it appeared that this was the only step like this that we would have to face. The ice was crap. Before any tool would stick the ice had to be cleared in large amounts, naturally most of it sluried upon me. Chris turned the lip on his third try. Not bad for a gumby on ice. I followed in even worse form. After Chris lowered the tools and I sent up the axes it was my turn. As I heaved up on one tool to place the second tool higher the first tool spit out sending me back. While I was being belayed tightly the rope stretch dropped me 8 feet. Then the pack weight flipped me upside down. No big deal, besides the 2ft ledge I started out on it would have been a fairly clean 800ft fall. Glad I’m good at and used to falling! Chris just lowered me and I started again, (after he beefed up the anchor). I sent it no problem on the second try. As I stepped up onto the top of the ice wall I could see for the first time what had been blocked from our view below. In front of me stretched the glacier, gradually rising as it fills the pocket it lies fitfully in. The glacier stretches wall to wall, east west. It is about a half mile across this ice river and it calves off along its entire length at random and tumbles 800-1000ft below to fill the moraine. At the top of the glacier to the south the cliff walls of the North ridge on the west, and a towering rock rib separating the Sherpa from the Ice Cliff glacier on the east, come together and form the exit couliar. It climbs from the bergshrund 1000ft + at 50 degrees that seems more like 60. It tops out on the East Ridge about 1000ft below the summit. From the base of the shrund the glacier spans down somewhat calmly for a half mile, it begins to break up and progressively get more disjointed as it approaches the ice fall. Chis and I marveled at how it reminded us of waves in a storm. At the top of the ice fall the ice was fractured mostly east west as it begins to tilt towards the valley floor. I gazed blankly down at Chris as I took in the scene. He had climbed down into the shade of the slot formed by the overhanging block we had just surmounted. I say block for lack of a better term but really the ice formed long thin ice walls that twisted and curved east to west separated by bottomless voids of blue turning to black ice. We had climbed back into the sun and it was good to feel the warmth after the long belay below. Chris had climbed into a narrow “v” formed by the separation in the ice. He had punched an axe through a ice curtain and then slotted the shaft from the back and backed up a couple of pickets with it. Solid anchor! The seriousness of our undertaking was beginning to set in. In front of us lay a meandering path that lead west and up over countless slots some filled others wide open requiring a long step, still others crossed on narrow ice fingers that run in great curving arcs often spanning voids fifteen across. Scary!! Up at the shrund ¾ of a mile distant lay the next real challenge. On the far right it looked as if it might provide a route through and up on to the upper slopes with a couple of short mixed pitches. By now I realized I was going to be humping the pack all day. Time was slipping away and I was not even half way up the route. There would be no dicking around trading the pack off if it could be helped. I slipped into the mentality of the second with out effort. As we both share the glory of leading, some times there are routes better climbed with no lead changes, this is one of those routes. I am not sure what I expected to find but it is hard to describe the feelings I had as I surfed my way over the icy waves. We rested and ate some after we left the immediate danger zone. The conditions were perfect. Lower the snow and ice had been wet, soft and heavy. Here, even though in the sun the temps were cooler and the wind beginning to bite. The snow under foot was firm enough to stand upon with only my points penetrating, but a firm kick would send my boot down into a solid step. The vapor we had eyeballed before was now a growing cloud. It was growing and expanding gradually covering the entire top of Stuart and billowing down into our couliar. It was not enough to be worried about, just something to be aware of. We closed the distance on the shrund and made for it’s right side. The last obstacle before we could plod our way up the couliar. By now we were numb to the rumbling of the glacier. It was groaning and spitting up chunks fairly regularly. So unless it shook the ice I was on (as it did a few times) I quickly had pushed that crap out of my mind. The downhill side if the shrund is built up thickly from slides up above on the upper cliff walls. The snow tumbles down, sometimes filling the moat that forms, sometimes passing the lip and forming a towering wall of snow rock and ice in front of the slot. As I climbed into the shrund, Chris was already 30ft out hooking his tool and freeing his way up to a stance, 20ft above my position. After digging out a slot in a crack with his tool, Chris then girthed the slot by using the point of his axe to convince spectra through the narrow opening. I followed and was surprised to do a few moves of 5.7 in my pons. Chris was really in a grove. I made the belay and Chris moved out and right again. He followed the snow edge on the rock up above a boulder and set another anchor. This time he protected the traverse out and soloed up the entire 38meters or so of rope we had out. It was mostly 5.5 or so climbing with a few moves of 5.7 and 5.8 the rock is fractured and polished at the same time. Edges and pockets abound making pointing easy to attain. I followed up to the stance, the climbing was fabulous! Chris set off for the last bit of climbing back onto the ice and up the couliar. Soon he called to break down the belay and follow as the climbing was mellow back onto the snow. We had made it! We knew that to top out now it would take focus and caution. We were on easier more comfortable terrain but we were facing 1000+ ft of it. I was out of gas. My stomach had long since quit rumbling but now my intestines had begun emitting noxious odors that made the stench of the MT. Hood crater smell fresh. Chris was in no better shape. We ascended the right side of the couliar hugging the west wall when we could to protect us from danger from above. The pace was slow. Step step plunge,Step step plunge. There was no sign of anything having come loose and down the couliar recently. The cornices at the top were only 6-8 ft tall and looked to be done dropping for the season. We are still roped together although it would make more sense untie at this point. Being roped for this section ensures that if there is a fall both will go. Time was definitely not on my side at this point and neither of us wished to stop and remove the rope knowing that we would probably need it out for the descent. We had long since crossed out of the sun below as we approached the bergshrund. Now as the cliff walls narrowed in on us funneling the wind and clouds down upon us, we began to cool. The rope had stopped soaking up water 800 ft lower and now it was beginning to resemble braided cable instead. Chris noticed a few coils frozen together and asked if I had managed to dance a knot into the rope. I don’t remember if I even answered. Step step plunge, step step plunge…… …..ep step plunge, “hey when you get here you can fill the poly’s” Chris called down. I returned to the grind. I reached the spot Chris had indicated a week earlier, and anchored my axe. I clipped off the pack and myself. It’s weird how things are automatic with out ever having to think about it. As I rummaged in the pack I was careful to keep everything inside bringing only the bottle out to be filled. Only to have it drop clumsily out of my numb hands and bounce down the couliar out of sight. I am so lame. A side note here: I have a very tolerant partner most folk would get a little distressed at their partner discharging valuable gear mid route. I have been known to discard items at the wrong time but Chris has always taken it in stride. Anyway I still had one more bottle to discharge. I carefully took the lid off in the pack and removed the bottle. I drank deeply then filled the bottle and successfully placed it back in the pack. Hooray! We were close now, Chris was shaking from the cold and ready to be moving. I finally obliged him by shouldering the pig. We had less than 300ft to go. The wind was swirling about blowing grit off the walls in our eyes. We were tired and most of all we were ready for a mental break. After hours of unrelenting exposure we were due for some safer ground. After a while I finally passed the cornice that tops off this sweet and tasty climb. I didn’t even look around, just followed the rope that acted as my path to a bare rock. I sat down next to Chris, it was about 7:30. We put on every piece of clothing we had including dry gloves and found that we had enough. We ate the food that we had not stopped to eat earlier, (could not stop to eat after a certain point). We spoke quietly as we ate, of what I do not remember. I do remember being grateful that I had kept it together all that time and that while we still had to descend a unknown route I knew that the hardest work had been finished and I began to unwind just a bit. It felt great! We didn’t stay long, the setting sun and swirling winds forced us to move sooner than either of us were willing. The Sherpa glacier has 2 couliars, one rises towards Sherpa peak and is the standard route, the other rises up towards us and Mt Stuart on the East Ridge. There was an extra mile of traversing involved for us to do the standard so we opted to drop in the closer couliar and take our chances. It was the right call. The line descended cleanly to the shrund at the top of the Sherpa Glacier and a bridge that could be seen from camp was used to gain the glacier. A short stroll lead us to the first of 3 glissades that dropped us 100 ft from camp. It was 10:00 p.m.---2hrs to descend-10 hrs to climb.

danielpatricksmith: Good question Dan. I have been watching and thinking about it for a while. I have not begun to exaust the climbing in the Cascades so this is not very definative. North Ridge of Baker with a direct finish onto the ice cap: This was my first encounter with technical "alpine" ice. Three Fingers: has been a challenge both times attempted.(Success on the second attempt due to leaving a bandana hanging in the woods to mark the key traverse through the low cliffbands). Static Point On-Line: Fabulous slab! I took a 30 footer on the 10b crux. Boston Pk: The conditions we were climbing in were outragous! couldn't even see a shortened rope length. From the east side traverse ledges and ramps, we did 2 minor summits before we found the register. Finest register box I have seen to date (Damn Mazamas!) Ice Cliff Glacier, Stuart: Incredible exposure, seracs tumbled all day. As I gazed up at the Girth Pillar I silently hoped to never be good enough to climb it (I don't think I have much to worry adout) I believe that how I do a climb and the weather/time of year that I do it in makes all the difference in the world in how I think of a climb. (The entry 2 lines above ours in the Three Fingers register was from some crazies that had spent days getting there and had to tunnel 10 ft down through the snow to find the door) I am certain that was a trip! I am most proud of succeding/surviving in tough conditions (say, when a partner lays down and starts puking, 600 vertical feet shy of 14,400') (or when the intestinal infection got me 7 days after Baker, while I am standing on the summit of Del Campo) To me it is much more than the aesthetic quality or difficulty that makes the route worthy, I have to be challenged by the experiance also. Smoker ps-I don't need to be challenged by intestinal discomfort and Boston is by no means "classic" [This message has been edited by Smoker (edited 12-09-2000).]

Phil-Nice pictures on your site. Looked like a great day-- You made a comment that went something like--We saw others skiing the glacier without ropes so we figured it was safe for us too.- That is somewhat of a wreckless line of logic, and flawed, (Glad that nothing came of it). S

This is a long Trip Report from 98. Some of you may have seen it around. “Mount Stuart- without a rival as the crown peak in the central Cascades of Washington Mount Stuart has been pronounced the single greatest mass of (exposed) granite in the United States.” Fred Becky’s words had me. Having grown up, climbing with my “old man”, I had seen Stuart from every side and often wondered if I would ever measure up to its high (9,415 ft.) standard. Though it looks rugged from every viewpoint, Stuart offers routes for the beginner on the south, up the standard sand and talus choked Cascadian Couloir (class2-3). An advanced route for the alpine rock hound on the West Ridge, (which I will be describing). Then there are the classic hardman routes on the north side. If the mixed rock and ice aren’t challenging enough in late spring when conditions are good, you can return in early fall and expose yourself to hard glacier ice, barrages of falling stone or ice and gaping bergshrunds all waiting to welcome you. It was late September when Chris and I were looking to steal one last trip from the mountain gods. After negotiating a maze of forest service roads we arrived at the Ingalls Lake trailhead. This is the most direct approach to the South or West side of Mt. Stuart. Our daypacks had been carefully stuffed; we had selected our clothing for maximum heat efficiency while maintaining minimum bulk and weight. We had opted to leave the down bags at home in favor of using our biv sacks in conjunction with our meager supply of clothing. We were hoping to reduce our suffering too an acceptable level, while maintaining our minimalist ethic. We longed to be rewarded on this trip with freedom of movement and quickness. It would be a test of wills as well as gear. The remainder of our packs were filled with two days rations of prepared bagels, nutrition bars, and six quarts of water, rope and the rack. The largest proportion of weight, by far, being the six quarts of water we had decided to carry. There is no water on Stuart late in the season, and what snow and ice we saw, was gritty and gray. Six quarts were definitely the minimum amount for two, but we simply were not willing to carry any more and the sixth only made it because I insisted. Through innumerable phone calls in the previous week our rack had been reduced to a sadly small cluster of nuts and hexes accompanied by ample amounts of slings. It was to late now to have second thoughts about any piece we had opted to leave behind. The weather had turned beautiful after two days of rain and snow high on the mountain. We arrived in the parking lot at the crack of ten thirty A.M. excited by the prospect of our first attempt of Stuart. After a few last minute checks, oh and I might add, an unsuccessful search for the all-important TRAIL PARK PASS, we were off. The Ingalls Lake trail starts at approximately 4,240 ft. and winds generally to the north. In about 2.5 miles the trail passes the Longs Pass trail cutoff. Longs Pass provides a direct return from the base of the Cascadian Couloir route, which is the standard decent off of Stuart. We had discussed leaving one of our quarts of water here but decided to carry it on with us. The trail continues on for about 1.5 miles before topping out at Ingalls Pass (6,480’). The views from here are worth the effort and many hikers come to revel in the beautiful setting. As I crested the pass I felt like I was stepping into some carefully sculpted alpine park. The valley rolls gently out to Stuart Pass off to the north. In between lie perfectly placed terraces of alpine Larch and heather, interspersed with open meadows of grass and wild flowers divided by glacier sculpted knobs of polished granite. I felt as if I was intruding on some mountain deity’s private garden. That impression is magnified as the glacier scarfed Ingalls Lake comes into view, nestled firmly into the protective base of Ingalls Peak. All the while Mount Stuart towers above, silently guarding this alpine playground. The route from here takes you underneath the towering walls of Ingalls Peak and around the bank of one of the Cascades most beautifully placed lakes. Contour around to the outlet (good camping here) and continue the rolling decent to Stuart Pass. The late afternoon sun had warmed the rock in anticipation of our arrival and the warmth seemed to invite us higher and higher. This is where the climbing gets fun. The route starts up a small talus field and as the lower portion of the ridge becomes defined, the rock turns into solid class four ramps and polished bulges. It stays just off the ridge crest and with our daypacks, was quite enjoyable. Chris and I were able to move quickly and turn some of the trickier sections with some style and ease. This section (and most of the west ridge) is athletic class four climbing with sections of mighty exposure. We encountered a party of three rapping down, they said that they weren’t prepared to biv on the route and were returning to their camp at the lake. Chris and I had no response to that, as we didn’t want to ask what they could possibly be carrying in three full size packs filled to overflowing. I’m sure they wanted to know where the two mostly naked madmen, thought they were going to get with day packs and trail shoes. We climbed for about an hour more before deciding to stop for the night just under Long John Tower (an obvious gendarme that marks the start of the technical climb). The West Ridge has numerous biv sites from top to bottom. We were never far from a biv site on the entire route. Having cut our teeth in the high country we couldn’t have been more at home on our spacious ledge. We arrived an hour or so before dark. We were at about 7,000 ft. and the rains of the previous two days had scrubbed the atmosphere clean. The view from our perch can only be described as spectacular. From Mt. Hood in Oregon to the south, to Vancouver Island in British Colombia to the northwest, the desert of the Colombia Basin in the east to the Olympic Peninsula on the Washington coast, the only view that might have been better was from outerspace! The granite was toasty warm from the afternoon sun and we both stretched out to soak up the remaining sun and the view. It was not long before duty called and we had to set about rolling out biv sacks and donning every piece of clothing we had brought. It had snowed higher on the mountain earlier in the week so we didn’t expect to be too cozy through the night. As Chris pulled on his new fleece vest, (complete with wind-bloc he crowed) he let out a surprised snicker and produced the missing TRAIL PARK PASS! It had been stuffed into a pocket on our last trip. At least we still had it in our possession, and besides he had nothing to really worry about because it was my truck at the trailhead that was going to get fined! We munched our dinner as the sun sank behind the horizon; the heat of the warm granite slowly turned cold and began to leach into our bodies. Looking down towards the lake dozens of little lights began to show up. The three climbers we had passed eventually showed up below making the traverse back to the lake by headlamp. From our perch it seemed to take hours for them to make their camp. It was a surreal experience watching all the little lights flashing about their business, while we sat observing in silent isolation. Being the minimalist that I am, it’s hard to understand why all those needs weren’t addressed in the daylight, (save those batteries they’re heavy and don’t grow on scrub!) But I guess that’s just me. Before we turned in for a cold night on our ledge, we both stowed our gear, stepped to the edge to relieve our bladders and said good night. About two hours later I was awakened by Chris. “ Hey, wake up!” I was a little groggy and enquired “What’s wrong?” “There’s something out there I can hear it, its close! I think it’s a goat!” Oh great, just how territorial are goats? I wondered. I’ve heard some tales about the Olympics and the aggressiveness of goats when you are on their turf. I rounded up my lamp and turned it on—HOLY SHIT!!! It was 5 feet away from Chris’s face! It was so close we could smell it. It bounded off as soon as I moved. It was now safely 15 ft. away. It was kind of funny, (now that it is safely in the past) how it looked at us, almost like it was annoyed that we should be concerned about it. Now, I have seen plenty of mountain goats in my climbs, normally they are very shy and keep a safe distance of 100 feet or more. This goat was different. It had found some salty Lichen and was very pleased with the salt lick it had found. It was not going away. It kept looking at us like we were intruding on it, imagine that! I rattled about and made a stir until it decided our ledge was a bit noisy. So we settled back down and no sooner were we dozing off and it was back. “Christ! It’s damn near in the sack with you Chris” I said. “What am I supposed to do about it?” he snipped, (I don’t think he appreciated me pointing this fact out). This time we lobbed a couple of stones in its direction and it scrambled out of sight only to appear on a blocky outcrop below us. It stood there glaring at us just at the fringe of our light. We began to get concerned that it was only 1:00a.m. and there was plenty of dark left. What if it decided to climb above us and kick a few stones on us? That would not be good. Our mistake was to relieve ourselves right outside our biv site. How far away should we have gone? I’m not sure, but I won’t make that mistake again. That goat harassed us all night long, no amount of stone throwing or shouting would deter it. At some point early in the morning it crept away (bastard!) Dawn arrived with the lightning speed of a Washington State ferry; you could see it coming for a long time before it arrived. After a long night of brief dozing interrupted by short skirmishes with our pesky goat companion, we were ready for morning and some movement. Just the simple act of standing forced me to acknowledge how cold and stiff I had become. I was aching. Breakfast was a simple affair, due to our twisted desire to go light and minimize weight. I could handle a climb without the ritual of oatmeal, but the lack of a stove meant that there would be no espresso! Bummer! As a Java junky I was severely impacted. I munched a power bar while throwing gear into my pack and announced to Chris, “ I’ll be under the tower waiting to start the first lead when you are ready to climb.” And with that, off I stumbled, trying not to grumble too loudly but I found it helped, so I “quietly” cursed all the way to the start of the lead. I set about getting the gear racked, and put on my rock shoes. By then Chris had set the belay anchors and had flaked the rope. I tied in and moved up to start the lead. After a couple of false starts, I got into a groove and before I knew it Chris was calling out “twenty feet of rope left!” It’s amazing how fast a lead can go when you’re on cruise. It probably went off at 5.5/.6 and ends after more class 4 scrambling at a sandy notch separating the West Ridge and Long John Tower. At this point we were at about 8,700 ft. Still in the shade (because after all we’re on the West Side of the mountain) and feeling pretty good. We had gained some good elevation in short order and looking onward, had some class 4 traversing/scrambling ahead of us with plenty of day to burn. We shortened the rope but still remained tied in to make the traverse. The exposure along the West ridge is awesome, in many sections you can see straight down over the headwalls and into Ingalls Creek that hugs the base of the mountain. Because the route has some loose stuff here, we climbed close together to prevent any rock fall causalities to the rope or ourselves. We set running protection as we needed it. The goal is to traverse along the ridge and remain just off the crest of it until you reach the west ridge notch. Now Becky, bless his heart, has a thoroughly detailed description of the route here and if you attempt to follow it closely, it will cost you dearly in time (we spent too much time ID’ing traverse ledges and not enough time following our noses). Suffice it to say we made the West Ridge notch. This is where our tolerance (and abilities) were stretched the thinnest. The route around onto the north side of the West Ridge (definitely no sun here) with some great views straight down to the Stuart Glacier. This is where the remains from the previous storm waited to challenge us. While there is a variation of the route that stays on the south side of the West Ridge we opted for the original line. Once again I donned rock shoes and led out onto the north side. In thirty feet I was assailed by verglass and left over corn snow. The frozen conditions convinced me to alter the lead straight up and back to a notch, on the West Ridge skyline, hoping for escape from the snotty conditions. I barely made the notch, and as I had been forced to make a sweeping turn up and back, rope drag was barely manageable. This was made worse by dicey hand and footholds all the while suspended above the near vertical Stuart Glacier Couloir. The entire West Ridge route is rated 5.4 climbing by my favorite tormentor and hero, Fred Becky. Bear in mind that he climbed in the Cascades prolifically in the 40s, 50s and on to the present day, long before any 5.12c trad route was conceived. So in regards to some of his grading of climbing routes, you just don’t really know for sure how a route will go until you get on it. I am glad that Chris and I both can muster lead climbing of 5.9/10a on a regular basis. We had two tough leads of rime covered 5.4 rock! After I made the notch and had secured myself, the task of communication down to Chris was only achieved by shouting at the top of my lungs as the wind had picked up and was blowing my every word in the wrong direction. By the time Chris had gained my position we were both experiencing a mild bit of irritation. After the delayed traverse, the lack of sunshine (it seemed to shine on every projection but ours) our aborted icy lead and, of course, our battle with the goat the night before, our tempers were rising. I willingly relented the lead to Chris. We swapped the rack and he was off. The snow and ice was no better here as he struck off across the south side of the ridge. He quickly climbed up and out of sight. In less than thirty minutes I had paid out 45 meters of rope. I soon heard the call “Belay On!” Off I went, up over more icy holds. Soon I was panting with exertion. I can not believe (even today) the ease with which he dispatched his lead, IN TRAIL SHOES! I finally had to resort to heaving on the line to facilitate my speed. When I ultimately made his perch he was full of pride and sporting a grin. “Tough pitch huh?” he said as he basked in the sun we had both been striving to reach. We munched a little food while sponging up the much needed sun. By now our six quarts of water had dwindled down to about a quart and a half. There was no use worrying about that at this point. Off we set, a little more scrambling and traversing and we were looking up at the last lead to the top of the summit pyramid. At least this lead would be made in the sun with no snow or ice to deal with. Once again I set off with my rock shoes on and this time they actually earned their worth and weight. The lead climbs pretty much straight up the middle of the summit block, then angles off to the right finishing about twenty vertical feet below the true summit. It is a full forty nine-meter lead but I had plenty of slings and horns to loop for the belay. I called down to Chris and he was topped out in short order. The final pitch goes off at 5.7/.8 and can be well protected. We gathered up the gear and made our way to the summit, where we were greeted by three college age kids who had made the climb from the trail head via the Cascadian Couloir route that day! That’s an impressive feat by anyone’s standard. We set about eating, signing the register and posing for the summit photos all at once. The sun was still high and we had only just arrived, but we were feeling the crunch of time bearing down. Chris and I are notorious summit loungers and generally demand plenty of time for summit sloth. Often we are the last to leave, preferring to spend as much time on top as is logistically possible. After spending an hour on top it was time to start down. We felt guilty for spending that much time because we would be lucky to reach the top of Longs Pass with out needing headlamps. Our decent began with the sun still high in the afternoon sky. We were down to half a quart of hot poly-bottle water,(yum-yum). I didn’t want to think about my thirst which had been present for a few hours now. The route down the Cascadian Couloir took my mind off everything but keeping my feet under me. It is a long, loose sand filled couloir with large precarious loose blocks waiting for your weight to send you and your precious knees to a good orthopedic surgeon. Before long we had to resign ourselves to being dirty and constantly choked on the fine particles of granitic dust that followed us down like a bad mood. Two hours later we made it to the shady bottom and the Ingalls Creek trail. We were out of water, and at the first creek coming off of Stuart we stopped. We both decided that the risk of drinking unfiltered water was outweighed by our thirst, (and while no harm came from it I wouldn’t encourage anyone to take the risk). We traveled west up the trail and in half a mile came to the Longs Pass fork. We were burning day light and knew it. The trail crosses Ingalls Creek and heads off to the south, winding slowly back towards the steep final finish at the top of Longs Pass. We pushed our pace as fast as we could muster, but the long day of climbing slowed us down to a snails pace. The larch trees began to glow a gorgeous yellow light that seemed to help light the way in the fading light. We pulled ourselves up the final haul and made the top of Longs Pass in absolute darkness. It was all down hill from here. We both got a bit chatty as we turned on our headlamps and slowed our pace to a moderate stroll. We had done it. Only a few more short miles separated us from our hectic reality and there was no desire to speed that reunion. As we approached the trail head we heard a wail in the distance. We got closer and could see a lamp in the distance. It was a pair of day trippers getting in a little late. We could see now that it was a man and a woman. She was leaning heavily on him as we passed. The tears were streaming down her face as she implored “ How much further? I don’t think I can make it .” We answered that the parking lot was just around the corner 100 yards or so, and continued on (that’s the same response I used to hear from the “old man” and it worked for him). This time though the parking lot was were we indicated and they actually beat us out, and down the road. The couple had brought a sobering reality back to our consciousness. The reality is that every time I climb I am faced with the same sobering questions. How far is it, can I make it? What if misfortune strikes, will I make it back? (Is it safe to pee here?) The answer so far is HELL YES! I drove home and called in sick the next day so I could rest. By-Brett Nipps