Colin

Dan, I can sell you an old-style REI (really SMC) ice axe for $30. But just a warning - it IS that heavy thing I used to carry around.

I've got a pair of Cobras that I'll sell for $360 ($180 less than a new pair). They are good tools, and in good shape, but I feel that the grips are too big for my hands. They can come with either a new pair of Stinger picks, or a used (but sharpened) pair of Cobra picks. colinhaley@comcast.net 206-232-1798 -Colin

I've got a pair of Cobras that I like a lot, but I think I'd prefer a pair of Quarks. They are both great tools, but I think the grips on the Quarks fit my small hands better. The Cobras are in good shape, and I can include either a pair of new Stinger picks or a pair of used (but sharp) Cobra picks. I assume we would each keep our own leashes. colinhaley@comcast.net 206-232-1798

There are gonna be professional beer servers? Is that really neccesary? Does that mean I need to finish making my fake ID? And if all this corporate stuff means there will be Po-Po (police, for those not down) hanging out, then it's not worth it, in my opinion.

I posted some pictures up in the gallery: http://www.cascadeclimbers.com/plab/showgallery.php?thumb=1&stype=2&si=Colin&cat=500&sort=1&ppuser=160 Only my second roll was scanned, so there aren't any pictures up yet from the first half of the climb.

This past weekend Mark Bunker (Marko), Wayne Wallace (Wayne1112), and I finished off a long standing project of ours. Our goal was to enchain all of the peaks in the Southern Pickets East-to-West (the East ridges are generally steeper than the West ridges). Mark and I made our first attempt last summer, and got to the Terror-Blob col before being thwarted by weather. Wayne and Jens Klubberud made an attempt earlier this summer, and were defeated by weather after making it to the Inspiration-Pyramid col. The first day we hiked in, and climbed Little Mac, East McMillan, and West McMillan, to a bivy at the col between West McMillan and the gendarmes to its West. The second day we climbed Inspiration, Pyramid, Degenhardt, Terror, and the Blob, to a bivy on the West (lower) summit of the Blob. The third day we climbed East Twin Needle, West Twin Needle, the Himmelhorn, the Ottohorn, and the Frenzelspitz, and then descended to a bivy in Crescent Creek Basin. Along the way we also climbed the named but less significant Blip and Dusseldorfspitz. Today we climbed the Chopping Block as a bonus, descended the Barrier, and hiked out. We believe that the East ridges of the Blob, East Twin Needle, and Himmelhorn are all new routes. The Blob went at 5.9 and the East Twin Needle (on which we actually climbed more of a SE rib) at 5.9+. The East ridge of the Himmelhorn comprised the crux of the entire traverse, with a steep, exposed pitch of 5.10+ (bold lead by Wayne the ropegun). We all agree that it is one of the best climbs we have ever done, and highly reccomend it to those seeking a fantastic alpine adventure!

It's the laboratory of some physicist who is trying to prove some theoretical "fifth force" (or is it sixth?). He needed to do his experiments in a place that was surrounded by lots of mass on all sides, so dense granite works fairly well I geuss.

Hey, if you're one of the guys that went to climb Mt. Terror with Silas Wild this past week, I'd really like to talk to you. Call me ASAP, please! 206-232-1798

Drive Chilliwack Lake Road to the bridge that crosses Depot Creek (at about 33 miles, and distinguishable by the yellow steel railings on it). As of yesterday, the road was blocked at this bridge. Turn around, and take your second right onto the Depot Creek Road (Weird directions, I know, but this way there is less confusion). Our Subaru Outback made it up the Depot Creek road, but a higher clearance vehicle would've been nice. At the first fork, take the left option. Park in the clearing at the second fork, and then take the left option on foot. About 200 yards from the second fork, turn left onto a spur road. Follow this spur uphill a couple hundred yards, and then turn right when it "T's" with an overgrown road. This very-overgrown road turns into the trail at the border. I thought it was a really cool approach. In particular, the waterfall really kicks ass.

I descended the NE Ledges, as I have every other time that I've climbed Forbidden. I highly reccomend this descent over the West Ridge. There might be a bit of time spent routefinding the first time you do it, but once you've done it, it goes really fast the next time. From the summit, make 4 single-rope rappels (50m works fine), and then begin traversing East. The traverse is mostly level, but loses a little bit of elevation. Take the path of least resistance, and there are a few cairns to help you out. When you hit a distinct, rotten gully, climb up it to the East ridge notch (a good way to make sure it is the right gully, is that you can often see the prominent gendarme that is on the East side of the notch. If you've done the descent before, and thereby know when you are getting close to the East ridge notch, don't go into the gully at all, but instead climb up the rock just to the right of it, and traverse left the last few feet to the East ridge notch. This avoids the rotten nastiness of the gully.

I climbed the North Ridge on Monday (I did the lower ridge rather than the NW ice face). The rappel from Sharkfin col is done easily with a single 50 m rope - in a couple weeks you will probably need a 60 m. The Boston glacier is still fairly mellow, and I didn't use crampons on it. I accessed the ridge at a low notch where the glacier went up fairly high - as did the tracks before me. The ice face looks as though it isn't too icy yet, and aluminum crampons would probably work fine. A second tool might be nice though.

Hey, I never said that the North Face of Swiss Peak CAN'T be done in a day. I just said that of all the climbs in Washington, I think that route (among all the previously established routes) would be the HARDEST to make in 24 hours trailhead-to-trailhead. Perhaps Swiss Peak would be the hardest summit to make in a day, by any route.

Hans Blix said: "Chad Kellogg broke the previous speed record on Denali set by Alex Lowe. Alex's record is reported to be 18 1/2 hours (yet to confirm this, but the NPS reports this stat.) Chad went from base camp, to the summit in 14 hours, 22 minutes. He returned to base camp, round tripping the mountain in 23 hours, 55 minutes." and: "Check out: www.wwwright.com/climbing/speed/?record=alaska_climbs.htm" So, just to clear a few things up - The previous record of 18.5 hours airstrip-to-summit, was not set by Alex Lowe, but by some other dude, whose name I can't remember. When Alex Lowe made a speed-record attempt, he turned around in the vicinity of the Football Field because apparently it got really stormy. So, technically, Alex Lowe didn't make a speed ascent at all. However, from what I've heard - when he (Alex) turned around he was on pace to make the summit in 10 hours from the airstrip! That link (wwwright.com) has some other misleading information as well. When Mugs soloed the Cassin, he took 27.5 hours roundtrip from the 14k camp. 15 hours was his time on the route itself. Dru and Fencesitter, The reason Anatoli's time cannot be compared to Chad's is because to get to the base of the West Rib you first have to "climb" the first 1/4 of the West Buttress route. It would be equivalent to someone claiming a speed ascent of Rainier, via the Gibraltar Chute, but starting their stopwatch at the top of the Muir Snowfield rather than at Paradise. Did that make sense?

My votes for the "Six Great Cascades North Faces" are: 1. Mt. Triumph 2. East McMillan Spire 3. Mt. Terror 4. Mt. Fury 5. Bear Mtn. 6. Slesse Mtn.

Always trying to incorporate climbing into my schoolwork, I finally wrote up a full-lenth TR of this J'Berg climb for my Creative Writing class. I thought that some of you might find it interesting, and I also wouldn't mind some feedback on the writing. The writing is currently pretty dry, particularly because this is the first draft. The difficutly, of course, is in making the reading at all interesting to a non-climber. Anyways, lemme know what you guys think: ------------------ Mark's Peugeot rattles up the pot-holed and rutted Cascade River Road, and I put on my boots with the motivational aid of a Tool tape blaring from the car's speakers. As the road gains elevation, the rain slowly turns to sleet, and finally to snow. It's difficult to head out on a serious winter climb in dumping snow, particularly when the forecast for the coming week calls for nothing but more dumping snow. But alas, I'm on winter break, and Mark asked for this time off from work a long time ago; we'll use the time we've got. The Peugeot barely makes it through two miles of ruts in the snow, and then we park where the Park Service has gated the road for the winter, still a couple miles from the normal trailhead. We take our time to sort out gear and pack up. We decide on 4 and a half days of food and fuel, a lightweight rack of pins, nuts, tricams, and screws, and a 8 mm rope that we'll use as a single. We hide our duffel bags in the bushes in case the car gets broken into, stash the key under a rock, and start skiing up the road. In a few hours we ski up the remainder of the road, and the strenuous trail-breaking offers a taste of what's to come. The solstice was only a week or so ago, and we retire to the tent at a very early hour. We have freeze-dried dinners for the rest of the climb, but decadently brought canned soup for our first night. The alarm wakes us early the next morning, and we ski the short remaining distance to the base of Mt. Johannesberg's Northeast Buttress, where we stash our skis, poles and skins under a rock outcrop. The Northeast Buttress has been climbed in winter once before, by Bill Pilling and Steve Mascioli in February, 1984. The standard descent route, and the one they took, is down the East Ridge to the Cascade-Johannesberg col, and then down the Cascade-Johannesberg couloir. In the current conditions however, descending the Cascade-Johannesberg couloir would be suicidal, and our descent plan is to traverse to the West Peak and then descend the long West Ridge. We put on our crampons, harnesses, and helmets, but leave the rope and rack in our packs as we start up the climb. We manage about three pitch-lengths of simul-soloing good alpine ice, and then break out the rope where the ice gets thin and rotten. Another couple pitches of low-angle but rotten ice leads us to a slightly-overhanging rock step about 25 feet high. After a few unsuccessful attempts to drytool up the steep rock, Mark pieces the crux together by stemming between the rock and a nearby dead snag. He sets a belay, hauls up his pack, and then I follow with mine on. At the belay we have a quick snack and then I head out to begin the true difficulty of the climb - wallowing. I break trail up a gully and then across a small bowl, sinking into my waist the entire way. With every step I have to first use my knee to clear a small area in front of me, and then raise my foot as high as I can to bring it forward. The wallowing is extremely tiring, and it also leaves me with many crampon gashes in my gaiters and pants. After about 200 meters we finally reach more technical ground, which, contrary to normal, will allow us to move faster in these deep-snow conditions. About five pitches of moderate mixed climbing, requiring a lot of gorilla imitation , lead us up to the crest of the buttress as it begins to get dark. We take a few hits of GU, put on our headlamps, and suffer through another half hour of wallowing before finding a level section of ridgecrest to pitch our tiny tent. There is a steep drop on either side, but the platform we stomp out is large enough that we feel safe to sleep unroped. We crawl inside and begin melting snow on our little canister stove. It requires concentration to keep the stove upright on the uneven foam pads, and every time we open the door the snow blows inside the tent. Eventually we finish our cooking duties, and immediately sack out. The alarm lures me out of my half-asleep state, and I grope in the dark for my headlamp. I turn it on and am shocked to find that our tent has half the volume that it did last night. The walls are bowed in with so much snow that Mark and I have a difficult time sitting up at the same time. However, this isn't the usual powder snow that has accumulated up around the tent; the walls of the tent feel rock hard, and we aren't able to shake off any snow. Mark volunteers to do the excavation, and I scrunch up in one end of the tent so that he has enough room to put on his boots. Then entire door is covered in snow, and the only way that Mark can get out is to shovel snow inside the tent. Once Mark is outside in the storm I have enough room to pull the plastic sheet out of my backpack, and I hand it out to him to use as a shovel. The wind is very strong, and we melted enough water last night, so we decide to forgo breakfast. While Mark is outside excavating I put on my boots and all my clothing. I decide to even put on my harness and helmet in the tent, realizing that they will take twice as long to put on outside with gloves on. The gloves are particularly excruciating; soaked from yesterday, and frozen stiff from spending the night on the floor of the tent. With goggles on I unzip the tent door, and stumble out onto the ridgecrest. Conditions aren't exactly rosy, with dumping snow, strong winds, and very little visibility. Nonetheless, we don't need to converse to know that we both want to keep going up, and I strap on my crampons and tie in as Mark collapses the tent poles. As he stuffs the frozen mass of goretex into his pack I begin wallowing up the ridge. The steel heads of my ice tools instantly suck the warmth out of my hands, and they are aching as I plunge the tools into the snow. Last night's strong winds were somewhat beneficial, because some of the deep snow has blown away. Nonetheless, there is still plenty of wallowing to be had, and the next 300 meters of 4th class is very tiring and time-consuming. The next 50 meters provides the second crux of the route: a very narrow section of ridgecrest that is easy climbing in summer, but currently is buried by three feet of snow. I head out slowly, using my tools to painstakingly clear the blobs of snow off the ridge, and scratching my crampons across the rock underneath. A half-driven knifeblade coaxes me on to where the narrow ridgecrest meets a steeper buttress of rock, and I set a belay. As Mark follows the clouds lift enough that for the first time on the climb we can see the opposite side of the valley, and I snap a couple pictures. Once Mark reaches the belay we grab a bit to eat and drink, and then rappel down and to the right, into a snow gully that will provide passage through the steep rock buttress. Not surprisingly, the gully is full of deep, tiring snow, but it isn't long before we regain the ridgecrest above, and take another break. From here a long snow arête and a small pocket glacier will lead us to a nice camp right below the summit. The day's technical climbing is over, but the work is just beginning. The snow is waist deep, and we slowly inch our way up the arête, taking turns paving the way. Night falls as we reach the pocket glacier, so we break out our headlamps and press on. After an hour of slogging in the dark we are relieved to finally crest over the edge of the glacier to a luxuriously flat campsite. We quickly stomp out a platform, pitch the tent, and crawl inside. The day was extremely tiring, and the tasks of cooking are subsequently extremely difficult. The stove roars from the center of the tent, but our legs and backs beg us to lie down and it isn't long before the stove is knocked over and precious water spills across the sleeping pads. Once was bad - five minutes later, after knocking over the stove a second time, we know that it's time to go to sleep. After such a tiring day we decide not to set the alarm. We wake up at a leisurely pace the next morning, and are delighted to find that the sun still exists. Despite lingering clouds it is a beautiful day, and our excitement for the climb is rekindled. We pack up camp, and climb the last couple of moderate mixed pitches to the summit. We grin for a couple of photos, and then immediately begin downclimbing the West ridge. The climbing is generally moderate, but steep enough to keep a couple of pieces between us, particularly because of the small slab avalanches that we keep setting off. We traverse on the south side of the ridge for a long ways, and enjoy the sunshine. The West ridge seems to go on forever, and we are only about half way to the West summit when it begins to get dark. Mark leads one last steep pitch as it gets dark, and we realize that his belay will be the best spot to pitch the tent. There's enough space to kick a little platform out of the snow, but we'll be staying tied in tonight. We go through our cooking chores, and crawl in our bags, slightly aware that it is New Year's Eve. My 30° F down bag was warm enough the first few nights, but after four days of wet Cascades weather it has turned into a chilly, soggy mess. I've had more pleasant sleep before, and I wake up stiff from shivering. Yesterday's nice weather has been replaced by dumping snow once again. As we are cooking up some morning bloatmeal we realize that my sleeping bag is out of loft, and the food and fuel is rapidly dwindling. Determined not to spend another night out, we pack up and I head out while it is still dark. The day starts out by traversing a steep snowslope on the North side of the ridge; it is technically easy, but I'm glad to be roped up with each slab avalanche that I set off. I regain the crest of the ridge, and after a couple pitches of moderate mixed climbing we have finally reached the West Peak. It is an important milestone, but we are quick to head out, knowing that we are still a long ways from off this mountain. Pitch after pitch of 5th class ridgecrest merely brings more of the same. We make a rappel-pendulum to avoid a difficult step, and continue blindly West. As I lead a particularly narrow section of ridgecrest I tear off my goggles which have become completely iced up, and continue bare-eyed. With every movement I make, the rime and snow that I knock off gets instantly blown into a frozen mask on my face. The wind is from the North, and I am finally able to make progress by keeping my windward (right) eye closed. A little ways further I set a belay and somberly bring in Mark, wondering just how fucked we are. Mark heads out traversing the South side of the ridge, and when the rope runs out I follow behind. After a few pitch lengths our situation finally changes for the better; the steep narrow ridgecrest changes to a broad 3rd class slope. Never before have I been so relieved to find myself on endless 3rd class in the middle of a storm. We stop for some GU, and our change of fate is even enough to even make us smile a bit. After a half hour of confusion over which way to descend, we start down a SW facing gully, that, to our delight, has already been swept by an avalanche. Downclimbing the gully goes quickly, and we are off the mountain at last. However, my sleeping bag is still soaking wet, our food and fuel are still almost gone, and we still have a long ways to get to the car. We eat a quick snack, unrope, and begin trudging through the deep snow. The SW gully deposited us in a basin on the SW side of the mountain, and to get to the car we still need to climb up about 600 ft., cross over the lower part of the W ridge, and then descend about 4,000 of steep forest. Gaining the W ridge is slow going through the waist-deep snow, and we soak ourselves in sweat. My thoughts condense to the 20 ft. glow of my headlamp in front of me, and the falling snowflakes illuminated by it. Finally we reach the ridgecrest, and wander around looking for the best way down the North side. Right before heading down I suggest we look at the compass; and we are saved from accidently heading down the South side of the ridge, where we just came up. We reorient ourselves and begin descending the steep forest to the North. We wade endlessly down through the deep, wet snow, occasionally veering to the left or right to avoid cliffbands. I am extremely tired, but the thought of spending another night out is scary, and we push on. We lose about 2,000 ft. of elevation, and the falling snow turns to sleet as Mark's headlamp batteries die. Shit. We press on with one headlamp for a ways, but slowly the realization sets in that we really are going to have to spend another night out. Finally we surrender to stomp out a tent platform, and drag our sopping bodies inside. It is about 33° F and sleeting - warm enough so that everything is soaking wet, but cold enough that being wet is dangerous. It is heartbreaking to unstuff the sopping sack of feather-clumps that used to be my sleeping bag, and it is difficult to decide if I will be warmer outside of it. We nibble on the little bit of remaining food, and produce two liters of lukewarm water to put in our sleeping bags as we try to fall asleep. I manage about 45 minutes of half-sleep, but I am soon too cold for lying still to be an option. Never before has hypothermia seemed so real of a threat. We re-light the stove and huddle over it as we re-warm the water bottles. Another 45 minutes pass before we need to light the stove again. This cycle continues until about 3 am, when the last bit of fuel is used up. I spend the remainder of the night shivering and waiting in agony for the morning to come. When the sky finally becomes light we painfully put on our boots, pack up, and split the last Powerbar before heading out. The snowpack slowly becomes thinner, and after losing another 1,000 ft. it is mainly a battle against the brush and fallen logs. Eventually we emerge from a thicket of bushes, and find ourselves weary and happy on the Cascade River Road, miraculously only a few hundred feet from the ole' Peugeot. Johannesberg has certainly put up quite a fight over the past five and a half days - Quite a different experience from the 14 hour daytrip up the same route back in August. Conditions are everything...

Personally, I went with, and I'd still go with, the classics. Do you really need the extra traction? The classics seam to me to have plenty of grip. This past winter I finally bought a pair (of classics) to replace my old Sherpas. I decided on the classics not only because they were cheaper, but because they are lighter too. I think that the ascents are silly - if you come out with a new snowshoe that has more traction people will automatically assume they need more traction.

I got a Trail Park Pass ticket ($50) at that trailhead this weekend also, issued from some asshole named Jerry Mannin. I used to get those little yellow tickets that asked for five bucks (and still do anywhere other than the Leavenworth Ranger district! ), and I always threw them away. I'm not sure if I can do that with this one though. Payments are supposed to be to the "Central Violations Bureau." Are these more-official-looking ones merely a bluff too? I'm thinking that I will contest it, and send it in asking for a court date. Perhaps there is a chance that they won't pursue it, but if they send me a court date then I will decide at that time whether to show up or just pay the $50. By the way, if you DO have a Trail Park Pass then write notes on it telling the Trail-Nazi that you don't support the Fee Demo Program. Also, tear down the "Trail Park Pass Required" signs when no one is looking!

I climbed the North Face Route (August 1971) today, and it was in fantastic shape. This is the second time I've done this route, and the second time that I've decided it's the best alpine ice climb I've done. I wasn't the only one enjoying it - there were some tracks that looked like they had been left on Friday or Saturday, and I think that Alasdair and Jason climbed it immediately after me. The bottom 10 ft. of the route were gone, so I used a ramp on the right to traverse in about 50 ft. up. This route doesn't have much of a harder crux than Triple Couloirs, but is much more sustained. I'd say it's somewhere around WI3, M3. Also, Triple Couloirs is still in excellent shape, with 3 parties climbing it today. I'd imagine that it will stay in shape for about 3 weeks more, but if you want to climb the North Face Route you should probably do it next weekend or sooner.

I posted a photo/topo of the Fee Demo Wall in the photo gallery. This link should send you to it: http://www.cascadeclimbers.com/plab/showphoto.php?photo=767&papass=&sort=1&thecat=506

I'm pretty darn sure that you're talking about the Fee Demo Wall. After crossing the ridiculously overbuilt footbridge, the climbs are on the right side of the trail in about 1/2 mile. There are 5 or 6 bolted climbs. There's one 5.9, a few 5.10's, and a couple 5.11's, I believe. A single 50 meter rope is perfect for the climbs, but you'll need a second rope to rap down.

I agree that the NE side is probably the better way down Graybeard, although I have not gone down the Easy Pass way. I think that descending via Easy Pass would be easy, but would take significantly longer. From the summit, descend down a gully to the South about 200 ft. (class 3) and then begin traversing to skier's left (East). You will cross 3 or 4 (I can't remember) ridges/ribs as you traverse back around to the base of the North face. It is a descending traverse, spiraling down the mountain, and if a section is too technical to traverse then descend more before traversing more. If you don't stay too high, all you need is an ice axe and a pair of crampons. How'd the North Face look, Erick?

My guess is McAlester Mountain.

Bonanza Peak, Company Glacier. Taken from Tupshin Peak?

Mugs Stump did not die soloing, but guiding. He was roped, but after falling in the crevasse ice blocks fell on top of him. It is merely a lesson in keeping the rope tight on a glacier, not about soloing. As long as you are careful to solo at a level well below your lead level I don't think that soloing is reckless at all. I have never soloed a climb that I wouldn't have simul-soloed with the right partner anyways. Somewhere in Twight's book he has a story about a friend who died simul-soloing (Philip Mohr?), because he was simul-soloing with a more competent partner, and (Twight speculates) wanted to keep up rather than ask to rope up. I think that the most important thing while soloing is to make sure you don't get into a situation in which you will go "shit, now i have to go up."

JoshK said: "I think the decision to call of the climb was justified when the clouds finally parted somewhat and I could see what appeared to be several hundred feet of rock/ice littered below the left side of the ice cliff that appeared new. Not sure what happend, if it was a serac collapse, etc. but I'm glad I wasn't there when it went. " Forrest and I were lounging in the tent Saturday afternoon, when we suddenly heard a very loud noise, that couldn't have been wind or an airplane. I popped my head out of the tent door, and saw a giant ice-cloud avalanche-type-thing blasting out from the moraine below the ice cliff glacier. I snapped a couple pictures, and then closed the tent door as the ice-mist enveloped our tent (which was way down near the marsh, by the way). After a minute I looked out and you could see where a serac had broken off. It was exciting, but a bit scary at first.