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During my misdirected youth I was so entirely focused on climbing the hardest routes I could, and putting up first ascents or first free ascents, that I often relegated the choice of partner to whoever was willing or able to work on the projects I wanted to work on. This was often to the detriment of enjoying friendships. In 1982 I made a climb that impacted me more than any other, for it really brought home to me the total enjoyment of climbing with someone that brings an element of joy and energy to the sport. I speak of Russell Erickson, aka Russell Machine. Those of you who climbed during that time will know Russell. He was a gifted climber, totally excited about the sport and very humble and unassuming. A perfect day for Russell was to hang out and work on difficult top rope problems or belay for those of us who were working on hard single pitch climbs. As a belayer he was like a personal psychology coach, constantly giving encouragement, "You can do it! Go for it! You got it!". He was unconditionally supportive and I can never recall a hint of upset or anger in him. Like many of us, he spent a month or two in Yosemite each spring. In 1982 I had it in my head to free climb the West Face of El Capitan. Wayne Kamera and I trained on several multipitch free climbs to prepare for our attempt. Russell helped us haul our gear to the base of the West Face and departed to leave Wayne and I to free climb the first 4 pitches and fix ropes for a fast start the next morning. Unfortunately the next day Wayne develop a viral flu as he was attempting one of the 5.11 pitches about 8 or 9 pitches up the climb and we had to abort. We were both very disappointed. Wayne was out of commission and I had no partner to do the West Face. I immediately asked Russell, but he declined because he had never done a multi pitch route before!? In all the time I had known him I never understood the fact that he had only done short climbs. Wow! After letting this sink in I realized that his entire joyful being was happy to hang out and do the most ridiculous problems of the day. But he always tried to shun attention to his accomplishments. Earlier that Spring someone came up to me and told me that he had just fired off A Separate Reality on sight! When I asked Russell about it he was embarrassed, "Oh I just did a little climbing today". That was his character. In desparation I started asking anyone I knew or met in the Valley to do the West Face with me, even if they couldn't climb at that level I just needed a belayer! Each evening I would share with Russell my frustrations and ask him again to do it with me. Finally, after about a week of trying to find someone Russell came up to me and said he would do it on one condition, that I could not tell anybody that he was going to do the climb! We snuck out of Camp IV (Sunnyside) early one morning and hiked to the base of the West Face with a new plan. This time we went very light, with one small daypack. We fixed the first 4 pitches (meandering and giving you two full ropes to jug) and settled in for a bivouac at the base. In those days, before Fire's or other ultra sticky soles, and before RP's, the opening pitches had some dicey 5.11 runouts over old aid terrain. The next morning we started jugging at first light, and were underway with climbing by 7:00 am. The rest of the day was a flow of beautiful climbing, very efficient leader changes, and a no fall no aid point free climb of the West Face. We finished at about 5:00 pm. The extra liters of cool aid and snacks in case of a forced bivy were consumed to gluttony as we watched the evening grow in the valley. The memories I have of that climb are centered around the pure joy I felt, the privelege to be able to share this outstanding climb with Russell. I also remember with laughter the intensity of his desire to climb FAST so we wouldn't be forced to bivy, and how he would look at the smallest cloud in a perfect sky with great concern for a gathering storm. There was also the most amazing 20' tall band of pure quartz crystals that stretched across the wall as far as I could see, crystals so big that I tied one off for protection as a joke. Mostly I felt pride to be able to share with Russell the first big wall he had ever done. After this climb I determined that I would never again allow my ambitions to get in the way of making sure that the climb was an extension of friendship. The reward is so much greater than the climb itself. If any of you know Russell, please have him get in touch with me.

Yup, finally got 'er. It was damn fun.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Cascade Trifecta Completed in Record 28 Hours Back-to-back climbs of Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood, dubbed the Cascade Trifecta, were accomplished in a record 28 hours and 1 minute by two endurance athletes from Boulder, Colorado. Buzz Burrell, 53, and Peter Bakwin, 43, departed the Paradise parking lot at Mt. Rainier at 2:42 AM, June 9th, and arrived at the Timberline Lodge parking lot at Mt. Hood at 6:43 AM, June 10th, after climbing the standard routes of Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood, and driving by car between each of the three volcanoes. Mt. Rainier (14,411 ft.), Mt. Adams (12,281 ft.) and Mt. Hood (11,249 ft.) are the three highest volcanoes in the Oregon/Washington Cascade range. Accomplishing the feat required Burrell and Bakwin to traverse 42,000 vertical feet of elevation change (21,000 feet of ascending) over 36 miles. A link-up of Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood in a single effort has never before been documented. The effort by Burrell and Bakwin is a newly established mountaineering speed record. Adverse weather and snow conditions on Rainier and Adams slowed the climbers considerably from their planned schedule. In one instance, Burrell fell into a crevasse on Mt Rainier upon the collapse of a snow bridge. Burrell was able to extract himself from the crevasse while belayed by Bakwin. Both climbers were well-equipped and are skilled mountaineers. “We had hoped to go under 24 hours,” said Bakwin, “but we know that would be very hard, and conditions were not optimal, especially on Rainier where we had to move slowly to stay safe.” He added, “The trip was especially rewarding for me, since I had never set foot on any of these beautiful mountains before.” The Cascade Trifecta was documented and verified by Uncage the Soul Productions, a video and photography production company based in Portland, Oregon. The Uncage the Soul team consisted of 11 videographers and photographers staged in advance of the climbers on each of the three peaks. The team verified departure and summit times, took over 700 photographs, 8 hours of video footage, and assisted the climbers with route finding, but offered no additional climbing or transportation support. John Waller, organizer of the Uncage the Soul Productions documentary team, was not only impressed with their athletic accomplishment, but the attitude with which the climbers approached the Trifecta. “Even though they had this goal of doing the Trifecta as fast as they could, you never got the impression that this was their top priority. It was to have fun, and enjoy the experience. These two things would not be compromised for the sake of shaving off a couple of minutes from their overall time. They were very interactive and social with our team, stopping frequently to talk, snap photos, and express their appreciation for our efforts.” Additional information about the Cascade Trifecta, including video, photographs, and a detailed written description are available from Uncage the Soul Productions. Contact Information: John Waller, Uncage the Soul Productions Tele: 503-970-9357 Email: jq_waller@mac.com URL: www.uncagethesoul.com ###

Damn, it is hard to type with frost nip on 2 of my fingers! Part one: I left the parking lot at 3:15 Friday afternoon. A small linticular cloud had formed to the east of the summit but otherwise the weather was perfect. One Gu consumed, I dropped down on to the lower Nisqually. My thoughts were already turning toward my planned breakfast at Paradise Inn the next morning. An 18 hour trip time seemed well within sights. My mood was extatic. This was my type of climbing. I had gotten my solo permit and was smug that my pack was only 17 pounds, I moved fast across the glacier, un-roped and un-encumbered by partners. I reached the ridge at 5:30 passing 3 climbers with serious packs that had left the parking lot at 11:00 and were heading for the Kautz. I moved as quickly as was prudent back across the glacier, scanning for the surprise cravasse. The recent avalanche debris from the serac that had swept the Wilson Head wall a week ago was abundantly clear. I turned and headed straight up toward the finger just when Rainier decided to say hello and dropped a half a dozen 5 gallon bucket sized rocks from the east wall. They bracketed me but passed harmlessly. It was just before 8 pm when I reached the middle rock outcropping derectly below the chute. I melted 4 quarts of water, drank 1 1/2 and stuffed the rest into my pack. I put tights and crampons on, traded one pole for an axe, reset my altimiter, and ate a hand full of pine nuts...half of my solid food for the trip. As I rested, I watched the mostly full moon slowly rise and Hood, and Adams turn pinkish orange. At 9:15, tired of the in-activity I headed up. The snow was already firming nicely and there wasn't even a diabatic wind coming down the chute. By the time I reached the hourglass the last of the twilight had left but the moon was so bright that a head light was silly. It was truly bucolic, my spirits were high and my focus was solid. If anything, I was wishing that the climbing was a bit more challenging. (Be careful what you wish for) The snow above the hourglass was softer but I put my head down and postholed another 1000 feet. By 11:00 my lunar friend was ducking in and out behind clouds. I used my light the first time to cross the little step just above where the thumb joined the route. A breeze picked up, clouds filled the sky and I said good by to the moon. I reached 12,500' by midnight, a bit ahead of schedule and feeling strong. At 12:15 I felt the first sting of driven snow on my face. Well, the weather report said to expect snow by morning; I guess it was morning. Part 2: By 1:30 it was a whole different ball game. The breeze had picked up significantly and the needle shaped snow was occluding any view beyond my head light. My movement had slowed considerably as I pushed on. I started veering right without really knowing where I was. I was above the last of the rocks but I could not tell when to start across the glacier and the thought of getting out the map in the wind was ridiculous. I pushed up along the left side of some small seracs hoping for a smooth opening but found none. I was worried about getting off track, so at 3:15 I jumped into a cravasse to get out of the weather and wait for first light. Breakfast was seeming less likely. Snowfall continued to increase and my little hole started feeling more like a tomb. I kept hopeing for a little break but it never came. At 5:00 I could take no more and decided to move rather than freeze. It was light but the visibility was even worse. I litterally could not see a delinitation between the snow and the sky. I tried to put on my googles but they occluded with snow so fast that they were useless. I am quite nearsighted but my glasses iced so badly that I was better off without them. The batteries froze in my GPS and died so fast that it would proved no help. It wouldn't aquire sattilites without holding it to the wind for a couple of minutes and by then the screen was to encrusted with ice to read and my ice encrusted gloves made a terrible wiper. I thought I was heading more or less directly up but as it turned out I must have traversed a fair amount left. I ended up at the top of the snow feild below an inverted U shaped band of looming seracs. ( Looking at photos later they must be the ones at the top of the Kautz, far west of where I thought I was) With out a horizon they seemed overhanging at first. I decided that up was the lesser of several evils. At the top the wind freshened further and visibility reduced. Any sort of real navigation was a joke so I just climbed on. I kept to a rising traverse, with the slope to my left. With the absolute lack of visibility I found that my balance was better with my eyes closed and would take ten steps or so before taking a look. On a rare occasion I would see a boulder in the distance, hoping that I could hide from my niemisis the wind, only to realize that it was just a rock in the snow. My addled mind refused to grasp distance. Simple functions became problimatic. Rime Ice built on my windward side. Fastic buckles on my pack were challanging to open and refused to close. I occasionally had to bang my left leg to break up the ice to lift my leg. At one point I tried to take off my pole and found 1/2 and inch of ice had welded the strap to my glove. Time slowed and the wind increased as I found a ridge with some rock. Strangly the slope up was to the left. Insanity started knocking on my forebrain. A hole in the snow appeared... one of those blessed steam vents. I climbed down into relative warmth and regrouped; ate double Gu's drank what water was liquid and put in a fresh plug of bourbon Copenhagen. My altimiter read 14,819 feet... Hmmm; must be close. I put fresh batteries into the GPS and taped a heat pack to the case. Heading back into it I was forced to walk crouching backwards, up hill, into the wind. I reached the summit minutes later at 7:45. I followed the GPS directly toward the top of the DC. The wind abated some, but visibility didn't improve until I reached 12'800. Until then, I had to watch the little arrow more than my footing or I would change direction without knowing it. From ingrahm flats it was easy walking and I shed layers. I got a kick out seeing trudging climbers with heavy packs heading up to muir. They kept asking if the weather was better farther up. At 2:15 I was drinking Makers and gingerale in the back of my truck. It is my understanding that a couple RMI guides made it to about 13,000 ft but turned back. So, my first time up Rainier I was the only person to summit. I have heard that you should expect serious crowds on Memorial day weekend. <img border="0" title="" alt="[big Grin]" src="images/icons/grin.gif" /> I got a bit of surface frostbite on my left cheek and two tinglely finger tips, but am not really any worse for wear. However, I look forward to climbing easier things in the near future. Cheers, Steve <small>[ 05-29-2002, 10:50 AM: Message edited by: Terminal Gravity ]</small>

A day after Highway 20 opened a friend and I went up to climb something at WaPass. "Slowshoes? Who needs them?" I said, starting up the shady, north facing heavily treed slope. .5 seconds later I postholed thigh deep with both feet and resorted to crawling. (Alpine Tip #1: there is nothing undignified about crawling when necessary.) Unfortunatly we'd left the slowshoes back in town and I forgot my roll of ducktape, which is helpful in constructing redneck gaiters. (Alpine Tip #2: simply tape the legs of your acid washed jeans to you boots and you are good to go.) We postholed for another half hour. Given as how we were still within pissing distance of the car, my partner started expressing doubts that we could make it back to Twisp in time for work that afternoon. Blood seeped from my shins and knees where the ice crust hit at each sinking step. I counted my blessings that great white sharks are rare in these parts. (Alpine Tip #3: beware of potentially voracious wildlife.) I promised my pardner that as soon as we reached the steep part, or the open part, or the sunny part or the rock part that everything would be better. However, my partner appeared to be suffering from some sort of posthole-inspired lunacy and began laughing hysterically until fully horizontally incapacitated in the snow and either unwilling and/or unable to get back up. I suggested a five-minute break. (Alpine Tip# 4: A PhD in psychology--or equivalent independent study thereof—can be helpful in sandbagging others and/or yourself. Ten minutes later, we lowered our already very modest expectations and proceeded back to the road. (Alpine Tip #5: Retreat can be a noble cause.) Two miles up valley of Silver Star creek, on the other side of the highway (the south facing slope) there is a clearing and a waterfall next to a small rock crag. Higher on the slope there is another cliff with a prominent right facing corner. It looked interesting. (Alpine Tip #6: When in doubt, lower expectations and proceed to lower elevations.) We hiked up to the waterfall in open, snow-free forest. Invisible from the road, there is a rock grotto off to the right of the waterfall. There is a beautiful looking arete, although the rock appears somewhat kittylitteresque. It would probably make a nice sport pitch or TR. (Alpine Tip #7: Theoreticals infuse even the most mundane with boundless possibility.) Instead, we harnessed up and I headed up the chimney/corner to the left of the arete and right of the waterfall. It starts off with a short boulder problem up a dead tree wedged in the corner, then moves into a very nice hand crack/stem box over some more dead trees and debris. Then come two different chimneys--also short, but quite fun, solid and exciting. (Alpine Tip #8: “Exciting” means treading thru the land of fight or flight where loss of bowel control is often associated with survival efficiency.) The crux is moving out of the second chimney onto the face--accomplished by pulling on an anemic little shrub of questionable vigor. It's an exciting move: the last gear is quite a ways below and the vegetative state of the tiny twiggy bush is not particularly inspiring. (Alpine Tip #9: When recollecting an experience, imagined reality and real reality merge and become one indistinguishable truth.) Once you commit to the shrub, there is another crack for gear, and a lieback/stem move to reach the dirt slopes above. We called this pitch Posthole Redemption, 5.7. Not destined for destination or classic status, but a nice surprise. (Alpine Tip #10: Good surprises are nice; bad surprises should not be all that surprising.) At the top of the pitch, we put our boots back on and continued uphill, traversing to the right and eventually coming to the other crag we'd seen from the road. This is a nice chunk of solid granite. The most obvious natural line is a huge right facing corner leading up to a big roof. In that corner is a nice hand and finger crack—filled with Bluebunch Wheatgrass. For a gardening aficionado such as an ice-axe-wielding Martha Stewart on meth, it would be probably be protectable all the way. Since time was a factor; we opted to toprope the pitch. (Alpine Tips #11: Time is a timeless excuse for moral and/or ethical failures.) The beginning of the right variation is an awkward mantle and traverse left to the crack--unfortunatly not significantly protectable. The left variation is easier and probably the way to go on lead as you could get some gear in. We called this pitch "Posthole in One." (Alpine Tip#12: The option of toproping a pitch means you are not alpine climbing and invalidates all previous eleven Alpine Tips.) Once in the corner, it’s easy stemming and likely good gear if gardened. Gear on the roof traverse would be possible and desirable to avoid a pendulum back into the corner. The final fingercrack/stem problem would be better on lead than toprope given the slabby corner splat factor. (Apline Tip #13: see Alpine tip #7) I ended up rapping off my dog’s leash, which still exists as fixed gear around the big pine 100 feet up this pitch. (Alpine Tip #14: Don’t believe anything you’ve heard until it’s a matter of necessity--and even then be skeptical.)

Climb: Mt. Snoqualmie, NW Face-Pineapple Express Date of Climb: 2/9/2005 Trip Report: On my third attempt this year, Roger Strong and I finally climbed the line going up the longest part of the NW Face of Mt. Snoqualmie. It starts just left of the lowest point of the face in a hidden right facing corner. 7 long mixed pitches lead up and then right to an intersection with New York Gully. Follow last 2 pitches of NYG to the top. 1000' of primo Snoqualmie pass mixed climbing. We dubbed the route Pineapple Express, grade IV, 5.8, M6, WI3+ R. Gear Notes: 60M rope,pins,nuts, cams, and lots of slings Approach Notes: Straight up Phanthom Slide, then drop into Thunder Creek basin and traverse to lowest point of face.

Let's hear your rhymes for a Cascade Mountain. Here's one to start it off. Luna Peak from Ruth Mt. Luna seems so far away It glides in the mist, It sleeps in East, It silently sits, In its realm it will stay. Within the sea of peaks and valleys, No other can compare. It’s spine a stairway, To the faraway air. Someday I will meet you, Someday I will hear, The rivers roar below From atop your perch from over there.

I just returned from a great trip in the Alaska Range. I started out flying into the Mountain House with David Gottlieb. We walked down the hill and camped in the middle of the Ruth Amp., a spot I highly recommend over camping in the Gorge due to more sunlight and much less wind. The weather and conditions were great so we immediately went for the Japanese Couloir on Mt. Barill. This was a great natural line up the east side of one of the Gorge peaks. We descended the same way. After a rest day and continued good weather, we decided to have a look at the South Face of Mt. Dan Beard. Not knowing much about the route, we followed the main couloir up the left hand south ridge, and then continued up the ridge above. The snow conditions quickly deteriorated in the afternoon sun and after a few route finding errors, we descended around 500 feet from the summit. Not feeling complete with the climb, we took another rest day, and then with better knowledge of the route, climbed it to the summit just as the first big storm hit. We descended in the raging storm and returned to camp for five days of tent time. The weather finally cleared a little and with only a few days left in the trip, we decided to race up to the West Fork for a look at the Southwest Ridge of Peak 11,300. We moved camp up to the West Fork and in the foggy mist we met Jedi, who had just climbed it and gave us tons of good info. The next morning dawned clear. We were torn between waiting a day to let all the new snow settle and letting a clear day go by. We decided to go for it. We summited that evening and spent an amazing night on the summit and descended the next morning. The next day we skied out to the Mountain House and were flown back to Talkeetna. After a few rest days I picked up my next climbing partner Daniel Zimmermann from Switzerland. We flew into Kahiltna Base Camp intent on Hunter’s North Buttress, but this never materialized due to the very warm and moist season the range had. Instead we focused on smaller objectives. We headed up the first morning to look at the Mini-Moonflower, but seeing a party already on it we shifted our focus to the South Face of Peak 12,200. We climbed through 2000 feet of rock bands then broke out onto a long snow slope above to reach the summit. We descended the dangerous Southeast Face back to our skis. Our next mission was an attempt on the Mini-Moonflower which saw us up 9 pitches before the spin-drift nightmare occurred. Upset with the general trend of the weather, we decided to climb the Southwest Ridge of Mt. Frances one day regardless of conditions. It snowed the entire day, but we found this climb to be one of the better base camp area climbs, very similar to the Southwest Ridge of 11,300. After a rest day, a small break in the weather opened up so we ran up and did the North Couloir of the Mini-Moonflower. This as well proved to be an awesome moderate route up a really cool feature. The next eight days were stormy and depressing. We almost flew out at one point but were lured into the promise of a short high pressure spell. We left for the West Face of Kahiltna Queen one clear evening. It started snowing after three hours of climbing but we pushed onto the summit in a bit of a bad storm. Descending was interesting amidst the rash of avalanches but we returned back to base camp unhurt and flew out that evening. After a bit of rest and a relaxing boat trip on Prince William Sound with some good friends, my next climbing partner Chris McNamara came up. The weather had been marginal for another week in the range and we flew into the Ruth Gorge one morning in light rain. However, just a few hours later the weather cleared. Chris looked over toward Barrill and said “I want to go climb that. Now.” So just a few hours after landing, I found myself at the base of the Cobra Pillar of Mt. Barrill. After a frenzy of climbing, 15 hours and 10 minutes later we found ourselves on the summit. It was our first climb ever together – what a way to warm up. A shitty descent down the Northwest slopes allowed us to walk all the way back around that morning and crash in our tent for the next four days for the biggest storm of the season. After surviving three days of torrential rain we headed down the Gorge for a look at Werewolf and Hut Tower. Not liking the line on the Werewolf, we climbed up the Southwest Face of Hut Tower, a line I had done before but was certainly worth repeating – 10 pitches up to 5.10 on some of the better rock in the Gorge. Our next objective was the West Pillar of the Eye Tooth. This might well have been the best alpine rock climb I’ve ever done. The rock is good, the climbing interesting, and the line is aesthetically amazing. We topped out on the last rock tower (don’t be fooled by the route topo!) with snow leading to the summit. Without snow gear, this was to be our high point and we started the long descent, getting our rope stuck no less than five times. With some time left but no fingertips left, we decided to have a look at the ‘small’ (1800 foot) Stump formation on the side of the Wisdom Tooth. The left of two major dihedral systems on the south face caught our attention. The climbing was incredible and the rock outstanding, until it abruptly exited left, off the face and dead ended into a steep gravel wall 600 feet below the summit. This was apparently the route of the first ascentionists and we were rather disappointed as we rapped off. After another day of rest we decided to straighten the route out and complete it direct to the summit. We headed back up and climbed several new pitches of amazing terrain. We haven’t yet named our new variation on the South Face of the Stump (Wisdom Tooth), but it is one that shouldn’t be missed next time you’re in the Gorge – 12 long sustained pitches up to .11a. We set up the route with bomber descent anchors with clean pulls. With our time was coming to an end and our fingertips really worked we pulled our big sleds up to the Mountain House (which Chris maintains was the crux of the entire trip), and had a beautiful evening flight back to Talkeetna. And for the crux of my trip: On July 8, Michelle O’Neil and I were married on the Pika Glacier in Little Switzerland. We flew up with two airplanes with most of our family and some close friends for a beautiful ceremony amidst the great peaks of the Alaska Range. We had a big reception in Talkeetna that evening. Michelle Puryear and I flew back into the Pika the next week. The weather had definitely changed back to a wet pattern. Our first objective was the West Face of Middle Troll. We found the climbing to be quite fun as we simuled the route in one pitch. At the top I conned Michelle into scooting out to the edge of the huge diving board feature for a neat photo op. Two days of rain ensued but a clear morning dawned and we got an early start to climb the South Face of The Throne. Being rather uninspired by the routes on the right side of the South Face, we climbed the rounded ridge to the left of the South Face Gulley. The climbing again was solid and fun, and we were pleased to find that the summit ridge had no snow or cornices, allowing us to summit via the upper West Ridge. The next day again dawned clear so we decided to take a shot at the East Buttress (Gargoyle Buttress) of the Royal Tower. The climbing was interesting; not quite as solid or straightforward as the other climbs, and the routefinding was tricky. The weather was decidedly going down hill all day and on the 11th pitch, about 2-3 from the buttress top, we decided to bail. After the first rappel it was raining. Toward the bottom the rain was intense and so was the rockfall. The bottom three pitches are quite threatened from the gully on the right. We pulled our drenched bodies back into camp without incident. After another day of rain, we decided to try one more peak. During a very short weather window, we were able to climb the South Ridge of South Troll. Twice we set up rappel anchors to bail, as waves of rain came over, separated by sunny breaks. At one point we made a hasty rappel, only to reclimb the pitch. After we summited, we realized we were in for it. We quickly rappelled the north face then climbed over to the West Face of the Middle Troll to continue that decent line. Hail, rain, wind, and thunder buffeted us, but we again made it down safely. We flew out that evening during a brief clearing in the weather.

Climb: Mt. Stuart-girth pillar Date of Climb: 7/3/2004 Trip Report: First things first: I debated posting this for a number of reasons - I have never personally posted a TR (unless you count this one). - I already chest beat way too much as it is. - Finally a few other cc users have climbed this route and opted to not post a TR (which I still kinda question why… I wonder if I am breaking some commandment with this TR). But… as you can see at the end of the day I decided too as I feel other possible pillar suitors would benefit from the beta I obtained from both climbing this route as well as the large amount that was offered to me from some truly kind, humble (something I could learn) users of this site (more on that below). I attempted to quarantine my self advertisement to the addendum (which appears below) such that one can quantify their own conclusions about gp without having to wade through lines of self promotion, slander, and NOLSe party lines (though I don’t know how successful I was). As this is my first official TR; please feel free to communicate feedback to me: publicly or privately. Finally, between Ron K. (Ron just joined the site yesterday as castlecrag) and myself; we took over 100 photos of the route, either on the pillar or from the N. Ridge. Of these almost all are either overview shots (the entire pillar, the ice cliff, etc.) which could be used for route finding or are close ups of individual landmarks on the route (belay stations ledges, bivy ledges, etc) so that one can easily recognize it once on the route. If you look at any of the current guide books that feature gp, you will find a (in my layman opinion) lack of specifics for the route. I’m not criticizing this decision; if anything I agree with it as it prevents gumpy punters (that’s for you ML) from bootin’ up on the route (“d00d… it’s only 5.11c… I onsited that at PRG last week… we can just rent some axes from REI”). However it will save those who do try some time and brain activity by avoiding the question “am I off route”? With that said: get a hold of me if you are planning on this route. I will try to help you as much as I can with photos and beta. So with out further ado: Approched from Teanaway River road (Cle Elum/South) side to Goat pass. Traversed Stuart Glacier and gained N. Ridge via the north ridge access couloir (on east side of ridge). Descended from almost the exact point where access couloir tops the ridge (where a few of the bivy sites are… no climbing on the actual ridge was done) via mostly 4th class rock (mostly solid) with the occasional 5th class move. If you try to reproduce this; chances are your mileage (difficulty) of downclimbing will vary as a number of options existed. Generally Ron and I traversed slightly to the right as we descended. I do have a number of photos from both the top of the ridge looking down, in the middle of the descent, and looking at it from the pillar that I can share. We opted to do a short 20 m rap (though it was not required) onto the ice cliff glacier as a healthy moat existed so this was the safest option to gain the glacier. This descent deposited us above the bulk of the ice cliff difficulties so that only mellow glacier travel (two crevasse end runs were all of the technicalities) separated us from the pillar access point (so mellow that Ron did the snow portion in sneakers with old skool smc strap on crampons…style points!). I should point out that where one gains the upper ice cliff cirque is right in the firing line of the north east slabs (they hold snow until late in the season… if you have ever been on the n. side and heard the cannon shot sounds… that’s them releasing). With that said; one can run through this debris field in under a minute (its small); just time it correctly. As I did not know what to expect from the ice cliff (many people were telling me I had already missed the window this year) I opted for two technical tools, crampons and boots (which matched with my shorts for the weekend earned some funny looks on the trail). I would encourage everyone else to do the same (be prepared for hard ice climbing); it would be a shame to walk all that way only to have to turn around because of one crevasse that one couldn’t climb through as one opted for sneakers. With that said Ron and I could have both done the ice cliff in sneakers and one tool each. In regards to others comments about the ice cliff season being out for the year; I would remind them that the ice cliff was a common hard man climb in Oct. back in the 70’s so if they could back then, anyone should be able to access the girth at any time with modern tools. Following the glacier portion we gained the rock and in 3 short pitches (could have been 2 but we broke it into 3 to reduce rope drag and rope contact with some looseness). Here we found the bivy site which is right below the pillar. Currently a 100 square meter snow patch exists and is available for melting snow. The pillar itself is both everything and nothing I expected. I could go on and on here but it wouldn’t do it any justice… it would be the equivalent of trying to verbalize what Gorecki’s 3rd Symphony sounds like to someone without letting them listen to it. I will say I concur with others impressions of the route: the best route in the cascades I have climbed. Minor details: I was able to run the 2nd and 3rd pitch together with a beal (I mention this only because I know 70 m lengths vary from vendor to vendor) 70 m rope. I wish I had brought doubles in orange alien, # 1 and 2 camalots. Pure granite pornography. Following the pillar top out; we simuled to the top: once again mileage (difficulty) will vary. Ron and I found low to mid 5th class terrain to the top. We sorted gear, giggled and descended via the standard Cascadian couloir to Longs and out. Upper cirque access from NR via downclimbing: It's gotta be the da shoes! Burritos + curry = warm (natural gas) and happy First pitch Ron tops the pillar: Gear Notes: - extra medium rock rack to 3 “ (largest piece we took was a 3.5 camalot which we used a couple times)… I would encourage one to err on the side of a larger rack - 8.1 mm 70 m half ropes - 2 technical tools, crampons (both for me… I could have gotten by with one standard axe) - 1 standard ice axe, strap ons (Ron) - 2 ice screws, 2 pickets (didn’t use either) - supervillain bandanas! Approach Notes: see above

PIMP STROLL!!!! CAAAARRREEEEFUUULLL!!! EXXXTREEEMMMM!!! DO the DEW!!!

Climb: E! True Hollywood story at Washington Pass- Date of Climb: 5/14/2004 Trip Report: Dude, has anybody ever said you look like Val Kilmer? I pause for a second and think way back. “Yea, a few actually” laughing at the rather unorthodox answer, nick AKA Skyclimb, a rather well know Christian Slater impersonator, grinned ear to ear in the evening light. Minutes later after some soloing up to the top of the liberty bell we were watching the last of the evening light go. We headed up to the pass on Thursday night and slept in the parking lot, a far cry from our Hollywood mansions. After an alpine start at the crack of mid-afternoon, we were trucking up the very frozen wandering trail through the woods. Our objective for the day was to get all 5 towers in a day, something that is not really all that hard but I felt like doing it and actually persuaded another person into it. When we busted out of the trees I had a rumbling in my stomach most likely caused from the 7 trips to the buffet in an eating contest the day before. Knowing my previous days situation I grabbed a load of butt wipe beforehand. When the time was right and I found that perfect place, I mentioned I needed to drop the cosby’s off at the pool. Then he said it, the words nobody in the woods want to hear. “O, you got some papers, can I have some?” NOOOO, my rations have just been split in half, and I ate my body weight the day before and combined with the PBR,s on the drive up it wasn’t going to be pretty. As I leaned on the big rock (yes, the one the trail comes out at) I knew is was going to be about as pretty as Rosie O’Donnell in the morning. I once again looked at my meager rations and assessed the situation. The snow was bulletproof and the trees were spruce, I was going to have to tough it out. I thought I had her covered but I feel like ripping of my fingernails even now. Higher up the mountain we were at the base of the SW rib on SEWS freshies covered the ground and it was even slightly snowing a tad. Christian Slater led the sweet hand crack nicely considering how fucking cold it was out. Seconding it led to the same results, freezing hands, who would have figured that out? Higher up we top out and think about the new movie contract, hot shots part VI. We scoped the main route on NEWS on the way up and it had snow in the roof/dihedral and kind of didn’t want to play there. So we were going to rap off the north side of the SEWS into the notch and do a route there, sounds simple, ha. We rapped into the unknown abyss to a spot at the end of the rope. We found a horn and Christian Slater came down and pulled the rope, commitment level high, just like in my movie Heat. I spied 2 horns we could sling and as I was prepping it and set the rope on it I had a bad feeling. I tested it vigorously with no movement, just as I put weight on it, I tested it with an all out shoulder blow, at which the fat bitch broke and shifted. That sucks, we set another solid rap and I head on down. Over the edge was like looking into the depths of hell. Slightly overhung and smooth as that shit of mine from the morning. The rope hung in space about 60 feet off the deck and there was nothing to set up another rap. There was a horn about 30 feet left that would have required a huge penji but our anchor was VERY one directional, and that direction headed the same was as his career after his part in the movie robbing hood, straight DOWN. Anything sideways would have surely yanked her down. I hang out for a bit and make haste up back up to the anchor. We decided that we were fucked and climb out. The route was filled with everything for a fun adventure, snow, ice, overhangs, Richard Simmons, wet rock and bad acting. Nick was leading us out of the mighty frozen over hellhole with nothing between us but a yellow alien at my eyelevel and lots Bling-Bling between us. Just as he was stemming off some ice with some other ice and placing some 3.5 camalot in ice some ice gave away and he yelled “@#%$ ^%%$ #@#& @&@ &@@#%& ^%& !*&* @@!” followed by a lot of icy words. A little bit later we busted an icy move with some ice and froze our icy nutsies off, did I mention the route was cold? We busted the top basked in the sun and ate tuna with whale nut and nuttey bars. We said fuck the goal for today and let’s just do whatever is good for our movie star complexions and stay on the south sunny faces. We were soon on the south face of concord and busted a move to the final traverse pitch with the sweet top out. I had done this one before and knew it was fun as shit so I told Christian Slater to pump up the volume and hit her in the shitter. The shadows were getting long and we bounced down the raps to the Becky route start. Cold ass pitches led to the top and Val Kilmer and Christian Slater were soon at the top of the liberty bell. Just then, I got a message on my 2-way pager, it was my girlfriend Annabelle Bond. Coincidentally, she was on another peak halfway around the world called Everest, and closing in on the summit. She said she was tired of “all these dirty Mexicans” and can’t wait to feel my throbbing meat whistle again. She was feeling great about her trip though. She said with this one Mexican over there, sherpa Lopsang Nhiner Inshe’s she had a good chance at another summit and he can really throw his weight around. So looks like they will get more than Everest and he is a strong climber I guess. After that, we rapped down and descended to the car, passing this large rock that smelled like shit, must have been some deer or a bear there a moment ago. Soon after, a personal goal of mine was fulfilled and I am now able to sleep at night. We made it EXACTY to the parking lot, not 100 yards down the road like normal. We go to klipspun campground and make a fire with all the free wood. Make some chilly then feed the deer with the remains, then throw rocks at them for target practice. We were planning on doing the liberty crack the next day but after freezing our asses off we call our agents and they decided that it would be in our best interest to climb cutthroat peak. The next day we take off in the truck and we are heading the wrong way out, I mention this to the chauffer but he laughs, stops, and picks up a can of shit covered rags and gets back in the car. What the fuck I said as I try to breathe through my mouth so I don’t smell the shit. Turns out Christian Slater didn’t find the open shitter and shit next to it. Karma got even that day though because after laughing his ass of at me the previous day with the previous fate, he got his. But to improve his odds at an Emmy, he picked up his litter and transported it to a dumpster; unfortunately that transporter was in the cup holder between us. So we load up our dressing room once again at the crack of mid-afternoon and are soon slogging through waist deep slush for a ways and then some. With the Oscar awards coming soon we realized we had no idea where the routes were so we just looked for something obvious, like fake tits on Pamela Anderson, we were drawn to a sweet route. Nice choss pitch after nice choss pitch we make it to the headwall and sign contracts up that shit. After more tuna and nut we see how far you can flick ladybugs and we spy the obvious decent route which makes a sweet fast descent by sliding on our precious and insured Hollywood asses. Soon after we were drinking fine expensive PBR’s waiting for the screen actor’s gild to call for a movie deal. Last I heard, they wanted to make a movie about the experience. They were trying to get Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen as our climbing doubles and it is going to be produced and directed by Michael Jackson. It will be called “Touching the Boys.” Gear Notes: Gay-tors Nutter Bars 2-way Guidebook Brains Approach Notes: up

So I took an alpine bouldering class with the mounties this last weekend and had all kinds of fun and learned some good skillz that I'm sure every one needs to know.... Just look at the fun we had... Our instructor was so motivating, he was really into this one boulder problem he called it the Mountie Vbeginer... Damn this gaper was good, he sent this problem in just nineteen trys... As soon as we sent, they taught us proper walk off slab down climbing, it was really exciting... All though This gaper could send, he had a little trouble with the walk off... Good thing our instructor was there to spot him... OOOOOOHHHHHHH SHIT!!! I think we should have taken the beginners course and learned the classic dirt slope rappel... Just a good reason to always rappel off any slope 6% or not... And yet another reason to always wear your helmet... I highly recommend every one on this site to take this course, it was not only educational, but a load of fun as well.....

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!

i know this topic sux....but so do the books i am attempting to read please share....

The recent threads about access, secret spots, and of course the never-ending clash between different forms of climbing got me thinking. Of all pursuits, in my opinion the culture of climbing and the culture of surfing are perhaps the closest. Both activities predate recorded history. There’s something innately attractive about climbing to the tops of things. Likewise people are drawn to messing around in the waves that form the dynamic border between land and ocean. Not surprisingly, these two activities became central to different cultures. For the Polynesians, surfing became central to the culture: entire breaks were set aside for royalty and only kings were allowed to ride boards made out of Wiliwili wood. Commoners had to ride smaller, heavier boards made from Koa. Death was the penalty if common folk were caught surfing the prime royalty-only spots. Similarly, climbing was a part of many ancient cultures, and was important for safety, recreation and religious purposes. The Anasazi were crazy good sandstone climbers, ascending scary routes to cliffside caves that provided them security. The aborigines of Australia left petroglyphs high on inaccessible rocky faces, the South American Indians left monuments at the top of many of the highest peaks, and who doubts that the Hueco Tanks locals of a thousand years ago had friendly bouldering competitions? In more modern times, both surfing and climbing have rich written and oral histories replete with colorful characters, famous spots and fantastic tales. Climbing has Sir Edmund, Royal Robbins, and Beckey. Surfing has Duke Kahanamoku, Eddie Aikau and Greg Noll. Climbing has Yosemite, the Alps and Everest. Surfing has the Pipeline, Mavericks and Uluwatu. Climbing has Lynn Hill’s FFA of the Nose, Joe Simpson’s epics, and Twight’s smashing of alpine precedent. Surfing has Big Wednesday, The Eddie, and Ken Bradshaw’s riding of the biggest wave in history: Both cultures are global and diverse, and also riven with internal conflicts, ethical debates, and competition for increasingly scarce resources. Climbing includes everything from bouldering to climbing 8k meter peaks and everything in between. In fact when you measure the whole never-ending sport vs. trad debate against the whole scope of the climbing "community" it's really a feud between two minority factions. Surfing includes long-boarding, short-boarding, boogie boarding, body-surfing and tow-in surfing. Longboarders vs. Shortboarders is the surfing equivalent of the sporto/trad divide. Ask a shortboarder about a longboarder, and they’ll probably say they are a bunch of fat old grumpy guys and beginner kooks who sit outside and hog all the waves. An old school longboarder will probably say shortboarders are a bunch of young punks with no respect who are always getting caught in the impact zone. And of course both short and longboarders look down on the lowly boogie boarders (AKA boogers, sponges or speed bumps) and everyone unanimously hates kayaks in the surf zone. And yes, there's all kinds of other "ethical" debates that rage within surfing, all of which seem utterly trivial to any outside observers. But perhaps the hottest issue in the surfing world is over “localism.” Dating back to the Polynesian Kings, localism has always been a big part of surfing. While there’s lots of ocean, there’s not a lot of really good surf breaks, and most of the time, those breaks don’t have good waves. So where the time comes where conditions come together and the waves are good there is intense competition and jockeying for position in the water. As chaotic as it looks, there is a whole code of behavior and conduct when it comes to surfing. Violate any of these unwritten rules and the shit storm will descend upon you. “NEVER DROP IN!” is the golden rule, and yet it is broken all the time, which often results in a dangerous situation and often verbal or physical confrontations. If you surf, you’ll run into localism at some point, so ingrained is it in the culture of surfing. Virtually every spot has certain locals that believe that their proximity to a place gives them special priority, and frankly they don’t want you there. Maybe you’ll get the stink-eye, maybe you'll get heckled, or maybe you’ll get dropped in on. If you don’t know what you’re doing and try to surf the corner at Westport on a good day, Big Al WILL tell you to go on down the beach. If you accidently drop in on Decker, (AKA The Brick Shithouse) he may well paddle up to you, shove you underwater and breaks the fins off you board. These guys have been surfing these spots for decades and in their minds they own them. While there’s many cool surfers in Port Angeles, some jokers there claim all the spots on the Olympic Peninsula for themselves, including the ones out on the Rez near Neah Bay. Some have bestowed a name upon themselves: the "OPC" or Olympic Peninsula Crew. Like the KTK, it's mostly a joke, but still represents a common underlying want for tribal identification. In my 7 or 8 years of surfing, I've seen maybe a half-dozen physical confrontations in the water or on shore. That's more fights than I've seen in any other context. Here in Washington and Oregon, many cars have been vandalized, tires slashed and in one incident a car was torched on the Olympic Peninsula. More than a few people have gone to jail in surfing-related assaults. There are places in Hawaii where NO visitors would dare surf. All in the name of waves. In surfing, threats, intimidation, property destruction and physical confrontation are fairly common methods used to scare away beginners, deter visitors, protect surf spots and gain choice position in the water. Lesser known spots, or beta about what combinations of tide, wind and waves that make certain spots fire are jealously guarded secrets. Beyond being common, such practices are generally accepted as part of the localism tradition of surfing culture. If you're a local, then you can get away with dropping in on somebody or snaking somebody's position in the lineup. The flip side is when you travel to a new place, you often have to contend with a certain degree of hostility, and you have to expect to defer to the locals. If your competent and respectful, most of the time in most places most people are good folks and you'll likely have no problems. Even though its not a defensible position to act as though where you live gives you a greater right to use public land or water than anyone else, that's absolutely the way it is. Fortunately there’s not (yet) the same degree of competition for rock as there is for waves, and there's not such a negative culture of territorial local tribalism in climbing. Despite the internal divisions, there's a greater degree of common identification among climbers. The climbing culture is generally more open, friendly and accepting of newbies or visitors. People are generally willing to share information about new climbs and cool places with others. The kind of localism I see in climbing is generally less selfish and more benevolent. Whether in relation to a crag or a break, localism can be a positive force when locals are trying to keep a place clean, or preserve access, or trying to maintain the unique character of a place. I truly appreciate those who take the time to care about a place, and I think that’s a great element of the climbing culture. Thanks to those who help work on trails, pick up garbage, replace dangerous anchors, work with land managers, and those who chop all those damn sport climbs squeezed between classic natural lines… OK, OK, so I’m kidding about the bolt choppers. Well sort of. The good news is that localism in climbing is still mostly of the positive kind. Let’s keep it that way. [ 09-08-2002, 02:56 AM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

Well I'm totally wasted on tequilla from Casa Que Pasa from a despair/celebration of a succesful ascent of that E.Face Coulior on Cuthroat. I think it's called the Cauthorn Wilson or something. Since I'm totally fucking drunk, I'll give this TR from the perspective of my feces which I horded througout the day... ...I forced my master to awaken at 2am and hypnotically sugested that he quaff his regurgitated coffe vile that he brewed to coax me out of my early alpine start slumber. Cuthroat E.Face Coulior WI4 X, Alpine Slush 6, 4th. Car to car 10 hours (less if neve). This could be it for the season, cuz it was thin thin thin, and it got wicked hot. Each cruch of hard snow from the hard snow sent parastalisis waves of anger through me. I knew my time was near... ...Unforetunately as dawn broke below the route, my arch nemisis "Pinchy" kept me at bay as my master haphazardly climbed well above Necronomican, his so called "partner". Sending showeres of ice and snow onto his cursing belay bitch Pinchy held me from my destiny... ...Alas! My master hast forsaken me!! WI? XXX and thoughts of imentent death were all my master could think of as he manged to live through the crux pitch. Where was I during this insane fight with potential energy? Lurking in the bowels, biding my time... ...Master's so called "partner" Necronomican led a easy WI-4 pitch and belayed me and my carried from a shrub and sunken tool. I was begining to force my way into the concsciousness, but master's next lead all but destoyed my will... ...Master was looking at a 400' whipper as the sun's pulsing rays oscillated down upon the ever-softening snow pack. My master prayed to his god as he pinched Pinchy tighter and tighter as his death fall potential increased with ever hyper-Pan Dome step, slipping, gaining ground...60, 70, 80 degree slush and powder snow barely held his feet, nary his useless tools. Every inch was a mile, every step was a step toward the grave... ...At last, a cam, a pin! Such relaxation caused my power to become almost overwhelming as my noxios gas escaped from his churning bowels... The oppresive heat almost overcame, as master looked toward Colonial, and the sure death that would have taken us if we had huberusly decided to do that mountain today... "Fools!" my master thought as he saw climbers approaching the entrance gully. This late in the day would be foolish, even to a turd worming his way to freedom. He hoped they would turn around or perish. On the summit my master wondered about the 5.7 pitch, and where that was supposed to be since we were already on the summit. My will way strong. I will have my victory. Many horrid, stupid rappels led master to a 1,000' long down climb which he though he downclimbed just fine. His partner however, took about 45 minutes longer while cursing masters good name!!!! Master squatted and looked upon his downclimbing partner. The sun was blazing. The time was at HAND!!! I leaped from the little brown star from which my tribal leaders has told of in my rite of passages through the G.I. tract. I steams and coiled upon the snow, all the while Necronomicon downclimbed... I was buried this day upon the flanks of Cuthroat peak. I write through the drunkeness of the ages, and of the battles of man vs. mountain and my kin vs. Pinchy, gatekeeper of the underworld.

Here is a message (and trip report) my climbing partner Forrest wrote to Jim Nelson after we heeded his suggestion to make the second ascent of the N. Face of Colonial Peak. ------------------------------- Unfortunately for us, we did not heed your advice about hard snow conditions - the snow was hard in the trees and in the valley bottom, but as soon as we hit the snow slopes above the first rock band, we were postholing on every snowfield all the way up. Minimum of 4-5 kicks per step. We kept thinking it would get better, and it wasn't particularly slide prone, but it was very slow and tiring. Where there was ice, however, it was generally solid. Your description states 6-10 hours. I can only barely imagine anyone getting up the route in 10 hours from the road in perfect conditions, much 6. Twight and Bebie took 5 hours on hard snow from the upper basin (you could easily bivy as high as 5000-5500 feet) - and anyone who could get from the car to that point in less than 4 hours should be winning gold medals in the Olympics and not climbing mountains. Even in perfect conditions, its 3500 vertical feet and a circuitous route which includes bushwacking. I would say that 10 hours would be the absolute minimum, even if you soloed the lower ice. I think in good conditions, we could have done it a single continuous 14-15 hour push, and we're reasonably fast climbers. With a half-bivy and the crappy conditions we had, we took almost 31 hours from the car to the summit. If we were super fit we could have shaved some hours, and saved some more by not getting tired out by spending so much time ascending in tough conditions; but with the conditions last weekend, I don't think we could have cut that much off. Approach Parking: There is no plowed pullout, we excavated a ramp in the plow-wall at colonial creek campground and drove up off the highway. This took about 45 minutes with shovels and ice axes. If there is no new snow, there is a slow-vehicle lane just east of Colonial Creek where some skiers parked the same weekend, but I don't know what would have happened if they had had to plow. I guess a lot of years there is no snow here at all and you can park in the campground, which is officially open all year, though not plowed out. Approach: From about 50 feet south/east of the Bridge over Colonial Creek, head steeply up the slope, staying to the left of the sidehill that drops into the creek bed. After about 800 feet, after passing some small cliff bands, begin a gradual traverse parallel to the creek, breaking out of the trees at the base of the open slopes at around 2700 feet. Route: In between the valley bottom and the base of actual steep face is a long snowy basin and a band of cliffs at valley level. There are many ways through this cliff band. From the head of the valley, a gully that leads sharply left accesses the snow fields without ice; there are several gully systems that break the cliff bands in the middle, most of which look climbable. You could choose from WI 2 to WI 5, and if you wanted to, you could climb as many as 4 or 5 pitches, but you could also get up to low angled ground in 2 pitches or less in many spots. To us, the most appealing route up to the mid-valley snow slopes was an obvious narrow, rock lined gully snakes through the snowslopes to the upper basin. Unfortunately, it ended in a not-quite-touched-down ice pillar, so we did a short pitch up some rock and cornices on the right side, then traversed sideways into the gully. This was fun, 20 degree alpine ice and hard snow with occasional "cruxes" of 35 degs. This gully fades out into snow slopes after a few hundred feet. Three features form the primary landmarks on the face: an overhanging cascade of ice in the middle of the lower face, and two ice pillars, one directly above the other. These features were connected by a complex series of steep snowfields. We soloed snow up to 50 degrees to the base of the curtain. We bypassed this on the left, encountering snow of various depths, sometimes shallow, sometimes deep. We belayed one 20 foot section of mixed snow and rock, then made a long rightwards traverse back on snow up to 60 deg. to the base of the first pillar. The pillar is about 80 feet tall, consistently 80 degrees mixed alpine and water ice and quite sustained. We encountered relatively thin ice, especially at the bottom. Rock belay below and 15' left possible, but craftiness required. We placed one knifeblade here which we left fixed. Connect snowfields to the second pillar. 100' long, WI 3 or 3+, solid blue water ice. Traverse leftwards 400 feet to the base of a short (40') moderate-mixed chimney which leads up to another short snowfield. Many possibilities; we crossed leftwards over a fin into a gully, which led directly upwards for 300 feet of real-deal mixed climbing. I have no idea what to rate it, but it felt like climbing 5.10. Weave around the cornices at the top (some scary floundering inevitable) to reach the ridgeline. (We traversed right under one cornice until we could turn it by throwing a leg over and climbing it cowboy-style.) Follow the ridgeline another 30 feet of very tricky mixed climbing to pop out onto the exact summit. Descent: Rather than a "col" between Colonial and Pyramid, there is more of a high plateau formed by Pinnacle, Pyramid, Colonial and Paul Bunyon's Stump. This plateau is closed off from the lower basin by a terminal moraine. To reach the lower basin without rapelling, it is necessary to traverse the edge of this basin (or follow the top of the moraine)(or do a descending traverse along the slope facing the Colonial Creek basin) all the way around (northwest) to below Pyramid Peak, then descend avalanche slopes to the valley floor. As far as we could tell, there is no more direct route that would not require several rappels. This is pretty easy to scope out from the basin on the way up, but would be very hard to see in bad weather and is not visible from above. From here down is the more descriptive account, read only if you're interested... Colonial Peak, North Face (Watusi Rodeo) 2/12-1/23, 2000 After getting out of town pretty late Friday night, and the usual stops for gas, groceries, etc, we pulled up to the Colonial Creek campground around 10:30. Since there is no plowed pullout for several miles, we spend 45 minutes with shovels digging a ramp into the hard-packed snow so we could drive the car up and off the highway. It was beautifully clear, windless and cold, so we slept out next to the car. Though I was already sleepy, I slept poorly, continually woken up by vaguely menacing dreams. We got up at 4:15, but weren't ready to move until 5:30. We hiked up the road to Colonial Creek and prepared to head into the woods when I remembered that we hadn't packed the rope. It was still in Dan's ropebag, buried under our sleeping stuff. Dan went back to get it, and we headed into the brush on the northwest side of the creek. 10 minutes later, Dan realized that he had left his second ice tool at the car. Back to the road. By the time we were ready the third time, it was 6:30 and just getting light. We figured that if we realized that we'd forgotten a third thing, it was a sign to go home early. It actually worked to our advantage, though, because on second thought, we really wanted to be on the other side of the creek. We headed up steeply for about 800 feet through mostly open woods. Snow covered most of the brush, and was firm enough to generally support your weight without breaking through, except when it wasn't and you would break through into the air gap beside a log or under a bush. After gaining most of the altitude on the slope perpendicular to the road, we struck a long, mostly level traverse into the open basin, breaking out into the trees about two hours out of the car. A more avalanche-ridden valley I have never seen, the valley bottom filled with piles of avalanche debris that had been torn and worn away by other avalanches starting further up the valley. But the snow in the valley bottom was firm - we thought that might mean good, hard snow up high. After all, the higher you go, the colder it is, right? A line of cliffs rings the valley on the Colonial side, broken by a number of gullies. Only the ones at the farthest ends of the valley lead through to the upper slopes without technical ground. Frozen floes guard other gullies, enough that the basin could be a reasonable ice-cragging location in waterfall-deprived Washington. We punted - the most appealing route up to the mid-valley snow slopes was a narrow, rock lined gully that unfortunately ended in a not-quite-touched-down ice pillar, so we did a short pitch up some rock and cornices, then traversed sideways into the gully. This was fun, 20 degree alpine ice with occasional "cruxes" of 35 degs. After a few hundred feet, we were forced out of the gully onto the snow slopes and the work really began. Despite our hopes, the snow was soft. It didn't seem particularly slide prone - in fact we never saw any avalanche activity - but the going was slow, requiring 4 or 5 kicks for every step. So we slowly worked our way up towards the steep part of the north face proper. The bushwack approach from the highway to the open basin gains about 1500 feet. The cliff bands eat up perhaps 400 feet. The headwall itself is no more than 2000 feet tall, depending on where you start counting. Since the summit is 7800 feet, That leaves another 2500 feet of moderate angled snow that separates the steep slopes above from the basin below. Those 2500 feet killed our time. It was both slow and tiring, and in fact, the experience was extended onto the face itself. Hours crept by as we crept up steepening gullies and snowfields. We finally put the rope on around 5800 feet. Three prominent features are mentioned in the AAJ account of the climb and form the primary landmarks of the face: an overhanging cascade of ice in the middle of the lower face, and two ice pillars. The second pillar glowed blue even from the valley bottom, but the first pillar glinted a dull brown, foreboding thin ice. These features were connected by a complex series of steep snowfields. Above the second pillar was the least clear portion of the route. In Becky's guide, it is described as a "short mixed chimney, or a spectacular but scary pitch directly below the summit." Bypassing the ice curtain on the left, as had Twight & Co, the snowfields changed from the gullies we had been soloing to rock slabs covered (sometimes deeply, sometimes shallowly) with snow. So we tied in to pass a sketchy section, then continued simulclimbing back right and upwards towards the first ice pillar. We arrived at the base just at dark, having taken just one rest long enough to sit down in 12 hours. But we were less than halfway up the face. We were climbing very slowly - the first ascent party sent the entire wall from the upper basin in five hours. We had hoped to summit in 14 or 15 hours from the car, but given the snow conditions, that was not a possibility. We needed a break, so we flattened out a small snow ledge under an overhang, put on all our clothes, and hunkered down. We made hot milk, hot couscous and tried to sleep, with a predictable lack of success. Around midnight, we had had about as much "rest" as we could handle and started to stir. We melted snow and stared out into the night. Frequent spindrift avalanches poured over our overhang. It was snowing lightly and verging on whiteout conditions. I belayed Dan over to the base of the pillar, and we spent some time getting in a bomber anchor, a continual problem in the crappy rock of the north face. I have to say, psyching up to lead that pitch was the hardest part of the climb for me. My headlamp wasn't strong enough to see the top, so I wasn't sure how long it would be, but you could clearly see rock just below the surface in many spots. It wasn't vertical, perhaps 80 degrees, but it was constant - no low-angle bulges to place gear from. Add to that that it was 2 in the morning, snowing and in the middle of an alpine face, 80 feet of WI4 was not exactly what I was in the mood for. I placed a screw standing at the base that hit rock less than halfway in. It's a sickening feeling, because not only is it not all the way in, but unless you're lucky, you have to back it out half a turn to get the eye pointing downwards. I've read that if you can get all the threads in the ice, it's better to clip the eye than to tie it off short because the strength of the threads resisting pulling out is more important than the absolute shear strength of the screw itself. Whatever, either way its scary. Ten feet up I tried again, solid rock after 2 inches. Already too high up to easily climb down, so up again. Finally a solid screw at 25 feet. Whew. Climbing by headlamp is odd, because with a helmet and pack you can't direct the beam of your headlamp more than 10 feet above you. The climbing was good, plastic water ice, and by meandering from left to right on the 15 foot wide flow, you could generally avoid vertical ice. That is until the top, where a short vertical section was the only feasible option in between hollow pockets on one side and black rock visible just below the surface on the other. In the end, I placed six screws, the most ever on a pitch - but only two of them were worth anything I accidentally put in a final one just below the top because I couldn't see that I was just below the top. I was glad to have it, though, pulling off the face. The sketchiest move on the pitch was as the angle eased, from one tool placement it went from solid water ice to bottomless sugar snow. Well enough, as the angle was only 55 degrees, but trying to get my solidly-placed lower tool out, with front points in below on ice and the other tool wallowing in loose crystals was a little terrifying. I ran the rest of the rope out up snow to where some rocks emerged from the sidewall. After Dan came up, we continued on, simulclimbing up more gullies. Somehow, I managed to make my memory of the face match the terrain, and we navigated by the shortest possible route to the base of the second pillar. Again, the soft snow slowed us way down and it was fully light by the time we reached the second pillar. It looked a lot more mellow, steep sections broken by large bulges and lower angled sections. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as it appeared. True, there were lower angle sections, but since the first was larger than it appeared, the average angle was actually greater than it appeared from below, and the steep portions were steeper. But in its favor, it was solid, thick, fat ice and none of the steep sections was more than 20 feet before there was a lower angle bulge. Dan led it, his hardest ever ice lead at WI 3 or 3+, not too shabby at 7400 feet on an only-climbed-once north face. From the top, a long sideways traverse leftwards on very steep (60 degrees?) snow put us directly below the summit, which we reached in one long simulclimbing pitch. This was the coolest climbing on the face, continually hard, occasionally desperate, no-holds barred, mixed climbing. The most treacherous part was the constantly changing snow - sometimes it would be hard enough to sink a tool into and hang completely, other times it was loose and too unconsolidated to support any body weight at all. Rock moves, drytooling, it wal all legal on that pitch. At one point, you had to traverse under a small cornice on a subsidiary ridgelet. The problem was, there was only about three feet of snow below it, above the abyss. So you had to duck-traverse sideways and down, bumping the underside of the cornice with your helmet and pack, hoping it wasn't going to drop onto your head. The last few feet to the ridgeline were some of the hardest, gymnastic mixed moves on rock and completely untrustworthy cornices of bottomless sugar snow. Just like in the movies, literally as we stepped onto the summit, the clouds dissolved, revealing amazing views of seldom seen peaks like Snowfield and Paul Bunyon's Stump and the hidden Neve Glacier. It was 1:00. The descent was straightforward. Skis would have been nice as we slogged down beautiful slopes of shin-to-thigh deep powder. Everything suddenly seemed different. We were off the face, it was sunny and beautiful. We were warm, tired but no longer scared. Above 5000 feet, it had snowed more than 6 inches while we were on the route. Fortunately, it was snowing onto relatively low-avalanche-danger snowpack. Even so, we set off a few soft windslabs, although they were only the top 6 inches and so soft that they would stop running after about 30 feet. The descent takes you all the way around the basin under Pyramid peak (to avoid those cliff bands), then forces you to pick your way down 1000 feet of hard frozen avalanche debris. We slogged down the woods, tired and sore, arriving at the car at around 5. Dan performed a heroic feat of driving home without falling asleep; I tried to stay awake to keep up conversation, but I couldn't. The joy of sacking out in a warm bed? Indescribable.