Shuksan-Fishers Chimney

[Smoker]

This is from 98 and fairly lengthy report.

One of my finer day trips. Perhaps a tale to keep us focused on working out for those longer,warmer sunny days of summer!

 

SHUKSAN in a day

Fishers Chimney route

 

Chris woke me up. “ Hey, it ‘s starting to rain, we’re getting wet!”

Christ no breaks at all so far. Chris work second shift so he’s off work late Friday night that puts most of our weekend climbing that much shorter. We hadn’t been sure what we were going to climb. We wanted Shuksan but the weather was not co-operating. So we had packed enough crap to go to Washington pass also.

We left Seattle under breaking skies at around 1:00pm. After the usual last minute dash to REI for some tape or something, we were off. By the time we hit Sedro Wooly we had decided. Shuksan it was! We cruised the “Baker Highway” (#542) to the end arriving at the park entry around 5:00pm. Saturday evening 7/30/98, we had a pizza going, as we packed for the next days travel we forced as much food in us as we could stand.

Our gear was minimal (for us). Rope, 2 pickets, 3 screws a few slings and biners. Plus the personal gear, harness, prussiks an ice axe each and helmets. We brought a few stoppers and Hex’s for the 5th class finish (6 total?). The real challenge was clothing layering. How much should I bring for a long day trip? (In the rain)

Chris woke me up in a light drizzle around 1:00 am Sun morning and we retreated from the park path we were crashed on to one of those new, big bucks, outhouses the govt. is putting in. It was nice enough to sleep in but we decided to get moving since we were up.

We ate and were moving down the trail by headlamp at 2:30. The rain was more like liquid cloud. While it might have been raining, mostly moving through it wet us. The morning passed silently as we did mileage in the dark.

We passed Lake Ann in the early hours of dawn. The climber’s path leading up the arm was simple enough. While we had heard that the chimney route was difficult to follow, we rooted it out with little effort. As we topped out on the Shuksan Arm, we encountered a few other teams roping up. They had started at Lake Ann earlier that morning. We quickly roped up (for the day) and began the ascent of the upper White Salmon glacier. The slope got steep quickly on Winnies Slide (any guesses on the name?). But it only lasted a few (shortened) rope lengths.

At the top of Winnies Slide a rock band rises to divide the White Salmon glacier and the Upper Curtis glacier (always reminds me of my younger brother). This marks the termination of the Shuksan Arm.There are some great biv sites here when the winter snows have receded enough.

As we reached the Upper Curtis we finally climbed out of the clouds and into the sun! It was about time too. The upper reaches of the climb were finally in sight. The summit pyramid was plainly in sight, but for us it was still hours away as we were not skilled enough to attempt such rock as is found on the Labor Day or Hour Glass routes grades4-6.

We stepped onto the Upper Curtis and I was properly greeted by a loud snap and shake of the glacier proper. Chris almost fell over laughing. Here at 7,000ft in the sun (finally) things were starting to seem right. The route would take us south in a rising traverse beneath the upper buttress that supports the summit pyramid. I led out and up onto the glacier. As we neared the rock buttress, we encountered the first of many crevasses. This first one looked to be the worst, (naturally). It took off in a NE direction parallel to the rock buttress we were hoping to get near (as the crevasse hazard was greatly reduced near the rock) and continued SW out of sight towards the ice cliff spilling onto the Lower Curtis glacier.

There was a team of 3 already heading up to check the possibility of getting around to the North, so, Chris and I began the careful dance alongside it to the S. The snow conditions were great and firm except for the occasional glacier ice that would appear. We played leapfrog a few times using a boot axe belay to descend along side the giant slot. Periodically a tempting narrow finger of ice would appear and peal out across the void, only to drop into the dark blue void or end at the far side with a vertical mass of ice to overcome. We continued on. We had dropped out of sight from the other team. Only a few hundred feet separated us from getting into the icefall itself. Seracs began to stand up around us, as they do before they take their mighty plunge, when Chris called out ”I think we’ve got it!” For some reason the gash closed up and allowed us passage to the other side. What a relief! I was none to pleased with the elevation loss.

As we charged back up the glacier, the other team came into sight, still on the wrong side. They called out about passage, and we replied with an affirmative. It felt good to have made the right call and foraged near the icefall. It made us both feel like we knew what we were doing.

We raced up under the rock buttress towering above us. The evidence of our hazardous position was strewn all about. Rock littered the glacier. Chris urged me to move out. We quickly passed the end of the buttress where Hells Highway slices through.

Hells Highway (cool name huh?) is actually formed where the Sulfide Glacier up above spills over and down onto the upper Curtis glacier. It forms a steep wide gully where it splits the west buttress of Shuksan. The highway was riddled with crevasses. At the start before it steepens the crevasses were often divided by less than 3ft. Fortunately they were generally narrow. Still, it was almost unpassable. We climbed steeply up and right, out of the crevasse zone. More plodding brought us to the top of hells highway.

Until now the weather had only barely been out distanced. Same as the other team on the route. We only put distance between them when they stopped. Conversely when we stopped they closed on us. It was that way all day. In the brilliant sun, we could see masses of skiers ascending the Sulfide on the south below us. The gulf between the Sulfide and us was awesome. 50 feet at the narrowest! It is actually a bergshrund but resembled a huge culvert that runs from the West ridge to the north to where the ridge continues to the south. The south side of Hells Highway is the passable side onto the Sulfide. Fortunately it is the side that we were on (not that being on the other side is really an option).

I led off into the massive shrund right at the rock on the side, making moves on both rock and the collapsed snow blocks that jumbled into the huge snow ditch. We stopped long enough to take a photo with the line stretched across the void, love them trick photos!

As we looked up toward the summit, we could see that we were still 1-1.5 hrs away from the rocky finish. We began the plod onwards. As we approached we began to hear whoops and crys of joy ring out from above. Music to our ears as we knew we were close now. We were early enough that the Sulfide was still firm and not soup. We made decent time although we had been going a long time at this point. We put some distance between the team behind us.

We reached the base of the rock on the SE side of the pyramid. From our vantage we could see what all the hoopla was about. There were about 16 climbers (including the guides) spread out on the lower 300 ft of the 600-ft tall massif. Talk about stinking up a route. It was a guided trip for a bunch of East Coast flatlanders! This was their third day of climbing to get here and they were all in some form of roped descent/rappel. The guide guarding the 4 or so already down had his hands full. They were all having a ball! Needless to say Chris and I choose a less than appealing line off in nomans land to bypass the herd. It made for an interesting finish.

The party we had played tag with joined us on top about 30 minutes after we arrived. We chatted, took photos, ate and left them to some solitude to enjoy, just as we had enjoyed before their arrival.

The views “from the top” were awesome! Only about 7,000’ and taller were visible due to the on-shore flow. The drop off the north side was straight down to the Upper Curtis glacier at least 1,500’ below. Only a bit lower the clouds lapped gently against the footings of the mountain. Ahhh, to be a BASE jumper! Off to the Southwest Mt. Baker with Sherman peak stood out proudly like two volcanic islands in a sea of white.

We arranged a few raps, and down climbed the remainder of the gully. As we roped up on the Sulfide I noticed the temps had fallen. It wouldn’t be long before we were back in the clouds. We were moving down the glacier in no time. We had a bit of trekking to do before the sun went down. Our goal was to be through the chimney’s before dark.

We beat a path to the top of Hells Highway and began the descent. It had firmed up in the shade. At almost half way down, just as we were dropping into the bottom of the highway, the rope of three caught us. Chris led down 45-50 deg slopes on my boot axe belay for about a rope before reaching the heavily crevassed bottom. As I down climbed he carefully began to pick our way towards the bottom.

We had just crossed the final crack and were starting to truck off when an excited shout came from behind. The gal tied into the middle had stumbled and slid straight over a crevasse. The pair had caught her just in time to keep her on top. They were ok (although she was visibly shaken) so we turned it for home. The other team slowed markedly after their arrest. We never saw them again.

As we descended Whinneys Slide we re-entered the clouds. The snow here was mush. We both turned in towards the hill and back stepped in long sliding lenghts using our axes in a dagger position. The clouds made finding the top of the chimney route fun! We stopped and stowed gear. Glad to be this far with light still in the sky, we munched some food before heading off.

Negotiating the chimneys and arm on descent was again, straightforward. The light was pretty much gone by the time we were on the other side of Lake Ann. We continued on down for another hour before stopping. I was bushed. The wet clouds kept us cold and shivering. I drank water and rested, too tired to eat.

As we continued on, the mist in our lamps swirled and danced. Our puny light often would diffuse uselessly a foot or so off the ground. Walking became a thing of difficulty. It was as if the swirling mist was hypnotizing us as we moved through it. I don’t recall how long we staggered up the trail like this but I’m certain hours would be about right. Magically the registration board appeared out of the dark. We were out!

10 hours to the top

8 hours back to the car

Great climb

Smoker

 

[Alpine_Tom]

Here's my version of this climb, just to keep the thread alive:

Solo climb of Fischer Chimneys, Saturday, Jul 13, 1996

I hadn’t planned on soloing, but my partner changed his plans at the last moment. So, rather than bagging it, I went alone. How dangerous could it be, I asked myself in the tone that you use when you already know what you want the answer to be.

It was really hot this week, in the 90’s in Seattle, and it made sense to me that the place you wanted to be was as high in the sky as you could get.

Left the house around 3:00 (prepacking the car greatly eases the morning exit) and stopped for gas.

I parked at Heather Meadows. But had some trouble finding the proper trailhead. I walked up to the chain Lakes trailhead before figuring out what was wrong (thanks to my 7.5 degree map, I was eventually able to locate the trailhead fairly precisely, once I looked.) So, I didn't get on the trail until around 7:00, rather later than I'd hoped.

The trail goes downhill into a valley, past marmot and wildflowers, and after four miles, you're at Lake Ann, which in the middle of July, was still almost solid ice, except for a turquoise ring of water around the edge. I ran into a couple of guys who weren't climbing because they didn't like the look of the snow, one of whom walked off with obvious disdain when I said I was climbing solo on the Price, the other spent about ten minutes explaining the route to me, pointing out the access to the Chimneys. Which is good, because the photo I’d brought along didn’t help at all.

The trail (once I got on it) was pretty easy to follow, not too difficult, class 3 in some places but mostly easier than that. I ran into a couple who were turning back because they didn't want to climb a steep snowfield ahead.

Once out of the Chimneys the sun got even hotter. My imagining that this would be a good place to be on the hottest day of the year was pretty wrong. It seemed to go a little quicker than the Sulfide Glacier route, though, maybe because there's more variety in the approach. Winnie's slide is steep, about 80 degrees, probably, and then you're on the Lower Price Glacier and descend somewhat to the entry to Hell's Highway. I walked along, thinking light and gentle thoughts, in the trail of footprints, relying on my x-ray vision and ESP to avoid crevasses. I'd thought about trying to do the hourglass, but it was only half snow, and had a nasty looking bergshrund at the top of it, and Beckey says that it's not a time-saver anyhow, so I followed the footprints ahead of me.

I made it to the base of the summit pyramid around 2:00, but couldn't do the rock climb on the right skyline. There were a couple of guys there, a father and son, I think, who had decided the same thing. The father said that it was easier to go up the central gully once the snow was gone, but it was steep snow all the way up. So, they turned around and headed down (and disappeared from the Sulfide glacier in about five minutes) and after calling my wife I packed up and followed them.

Then I noticed a set of footprints heading up the pyramid and I figured, well, why not give it a shot. There were some spots where it was pretty icy and slick, and I was a bit anxious, but I managed to make the summit staying on the snow practically the whole way. The last few yards were easy rock. There was not summit book (at least that I found.) I was up there for about three minutes, just long enough to take some photos and try to call my wife, but oddly, there was no cellular service up there (there had been below, on the Sulfide.)

I descended from the summit pyramid as quickly as I dared, face in. Oddly, it seemed more secure descending than it had climbing, my toes seemed to get a much better hold into the snow. I didn't glissade as I'd planned, because of the fear of getting out of control. I was strictly in an evacuation mode.

I also made it off the Sulfide in a few minutes; it's kind of steep, enough that you can half-slide on your feet, but remain in control. Down Hell's Highway, and back onto the lower Price, where I got to climb up to Winnie's slide. Suddenly the new strength I'd been feeling was revealed to be just the ease of descending. Winnie's slide was steep enough that I descended that, too, face-in.

Somehow I got off-route on the descent of the chimneys, and ended up in a horribly sheer, steep spot with no obvious exit. It was clearly some sort of route, because there was a rappel anchor bolt there, and I could see a nice flat trail about 20 feet below, but I was almost paralyzed with fear and despair. "Here's where I die," my brain kept saying. After a long, slow start-and-stop, looking probably like a cat stuck in a tree, and a lot of praying, I managed to find a way around the obstacle (it was only a couple of steps on a steep face with small footholds, but I was pretty wrung out by then) and things got easier in a hurry. Climbing down the steep snow was a breeze, even without crampons. It wasn't until I got completely off the chimney access, onto the trail on the scree slope, that I felt truly out of the woods. Beckey says to allow six hours from Lake Ann to the summit, and that was almost exactly right (9:00 to 3:00, including half an hour of wandering at the base of the chimneys and sitting around talking with those guys) but it took me half an hour longer than the four hours he allows to return to Lake Ann.

I ran into the father of the father-and-son group, on the trail (uphill) to Lake Ann. They’d camped at the lake, and still had to pack out that night. He seemed pretty beat, he was walking for fifty yards, then resting, walking again, and resting. It's hard to imagine him making it out with a pack much heavier than mine, up from the valley to the trailhead.

I ran into another couple of climbers at the lake, and we talked for a few minutes about the route. In general, it was a very genial, chatty bunch of climbers there, much more open and friendlier than the people you run into on Rainier or other places I've climbed. Like Mt. Stuart, I guess.

The hike out was beautiful, but longer than coming in. Another couple of tents were set up in the meadows, but it wasn't nearly as crowded as I'd expect, given the beauty of the area (except for the mosquitoes.) I was sufficiently tired that I had to stop, half an hour from the trailhead, and just sit and drink water for ten minutes or so. Usually I can smell the car from there, and push on in, but I was pretty wasted. It felt really good to emerge at the road, and slide down the snow, cutting the road switchbacks, to the car, as the alpenglow faded from the mountains.

I took a couple of photos of Shuksan in the afterglow, Venus was visible in the sky above the Shuksan Arm, and it looked very fine. Then, back down the mountain at full speed, slalloming around the curves, I hit a bat. I think it was a bat, anyhow, what else would be out flying in the dark?

It was about 1:00 AM when I got to Seattle, a pretty long day. That’s the other advantage of climbing with a partner; there’s someone to share the driving.

Of course, it’s not really a climb unless you’ve learned something, and the thing I learned this trip was to put plenty of sunscreen behind your knees (what’re those called - kneepits?) The next few days were pretty painful sitting down, with glowing red sunburn getting rubbed by the fabric of my pants legs.