[TR] Mt. Jefferson- South Ridge 8/18/2005 (solo)

[gregfuller]

Climb: Mt. Jefferson-South Ridge (solo)

 

Date of Climb: 8/18/2005

 

Trip Report:

Mt Jefferson: rumored to be the hardest mountain in Oregon to climb, with tales of 17 hour summit days, super-long approaches, and dangerous rockfall. I've had a strange attraction to this dormant volcano ever since I saw it from Grizzly Peak on my second-ever backpacking trip in 1999 (yes, I'm a bit of an outdoors late-comer). This year was the year I planned to climb it, finally feeling confident enough after successfully completing a number of other mountaineering challenges over the past 4 years here in the Pacific Northwest.

 

Unfortunately, an organized climb up the South Ridge I was to assist with was canceled in town a few weeks ago due to reports from other climbing parties that turned around at the Red Saddle because of poor conditions on the traverse under the summit pinnacle. Still, though, I wanted to go check it out, happy to just get up to the Red Saddle and take a few pictures, so I planned a three-day trip with my climbing buddy. He canceled on me THE DAY BEFORE we were to leave, citing doubts that we would not make the summit, but more importantly he was invited to climb Mt. Thompson which seemed to appeal to him more (he didn't even invite me along, but perhaps that's because he knew I'd be at a music festival). Can anyone tell me why climbers are so flaky? This is certainly not the first time I've experienced a “Hey dude, something better came up and I'd rather do that. No hard feelings ok?” back-out at the last minute type of cancellation.

 

So I decided to go anyway, solo. As it turns out, I love solo backpacking and climbing. I love going out for days at a time, not seeing a soul. I love not being on anybody else's schedule, stopping when I want, waking up when I want, etc. And when it comes to loose rocks, being by yourself can be an advantage. So in hindsight, I'm grateful to my climbing partner who canceled, because this was one of the most enjoyable solo trips I've ever undertaken.

 

I wasn't sure I would make it to the summit without all the technical gear people lug up this thing, but inspired by [TR] Mt. Jefferson- SW Ridge solo 7/30/2004 and various other trip reports I found on the Internet, it seemed certainly doable.

 

In proofreading this, I just realized I wrote a novel. If you find this boring and want to get to the interesting parts, skip down to Day 3 (the day I climbed), or just skip down to the end to read the short version, where I summarized everything in a few sentences.

 

Long version:

 

Day 1:

 

I left Portland at the rather late time of 3pm, arriving at the Detroit Ranger Station at 4:20 (10 minutes before they closed) to pick up my 4 day permit for the Pamelia Lake / Shale Lake area. Once at the trailhead, I cracked open a beer, put on the boots and assembled the rest of the pack. I was hiking by about 5:30, and made camp just beyond Pamelia Lake before the trail turns uphill towards Hunt's Cove. After a delicious meal of spicy black bean quesadillas and a nightcap of single malt scotch whisky, I hung my food and fell asleep. There were no mosquitoes out, but annoying little no-see-ums were very active at dusk. This is the last time I would experience no-see-ums on this trip, I guess they don't like high alpine areas.

 

Day 2:

 

Slept in until 9am or so. I had some breakfast and was hiking by 10am. I not really into alpine starts, you see, and it seems I can only really get away with this leisurely attitude when solo adventuring. So again, a big thank you goes out to Ken for canceling on me. :-) Shortly after getting underway on the trail, I had the pleasure of enjoying a berry ménage à trois so-to-speak: ripe huckleberries, salmonberries, and thimbleberries, a real treat. A little while later it began to rain, and for just a moment I was sad I didn't pack my lightweight umbrella which I bring along on almost all adventures. The weather was supposed to be nice the entire week, with just a little cloudiness that day, but I guess I forgot that clouds in the mountains often equal rain. It was actually refreshing, as there was no wind and just a light sprinkle, and it wasn't particularly cold out. It only lasted 10 minutes, but I kind of wished it went on for longer. Light rain falling upon forest folliage is ear candy.

 

I ran into two PCT thru-hikers from Hood River a little while later. They were detouring off the PCT down through Hunt's Cove and Pamelia Lake so that their two dogs would have more opportunity for natural water breaks. We chatted for about 30 minutes, discovering that we completely align on an outdoor traveling style which discourages haste on the trail and embraces savoring the spiritual beauty of nature. They spoke of a PCT trail runner they met who carries no pack, and has a support team of like 50 (or was it 100?) people, delivering water and food and everything else. We all shook our heads; what's the point of racing through all this fantastic scenery?

 

Ok, so I finally arrive at Hank's Lake, broke out the stove, and made more quesadillas before the cheese turned into an amorphous orange blob of oily goo in the day's heat. It was actually getting cold at this point – again, I thought the weather was supposed to be nice for this trip! I put on a light fleece jacket and continued on to Hunt's Lake, where there was supposed to be a climber's trail up to Shale Lake. Poorest “climber's trail” I've ever seen! After bushwhacking through a boggy marsh (thankfully the Nikwax I put on the boots for a Rainier trip a month ago seemed to still be working), I finally arrived at a steep shale/scree slope. Ascending it wasn't too difficult, but the rock headwall at the top looked ugly. I picked what visually seemed like the easiest route, but it turns out it was probably the hardest climbing I did on the mountain all 4 days.

 

 

Hank's Lake and Hunt's Lake from high up above on the PCT.

 

 

The climber's trail from Hunt's Lake is in that scree somewhere. And then over that rock formation.

 

 

What I call the Hunt's Lake climber's trail headwall. It was harder to climb this than the summit pinnacle.

 

 

Eventually I topped out, and a 5 minute forest walk landed me at Shale Lake. Finally. From Shale Lake, I followed a very nice climber's trail by comparison, a vividly discernible path, complete with cairns, up through a valley leading to the South Ridge. Now, according to the route on the Geo-Graphics map, and Oregon High, and numerous Internet postings, the climbing route is supposed to join the south ridge just above Goat Peak, not meander up the valley floor. Hmm. Whatever. I liked the climber's trail I was on, and clearly from the terrain features and the GPS route I had programmed, it had no intention of gaining the ridge until much higher up. But that's the great thing about the freedom of the hills: you can pretty much go anywhere you want.

 

 

This is the valley the climber's trail led me to.

 

 

As I entered the real heart of the valley, I was daunted by the scree slope up to the ridge, so I hiked up and over to the next gully and quite by accident found an ideal bivy site at 7100ft: a perfectly flat sandy area with a snow patch from which to make water. And this area was HUGE – you could set up dozens of tents here if you had a large climbing party, and I would find out the next day that this flat area was an excellent landmark to shoot for when descending back to high camp. So I set up camp, and hiked up to the next rise just to get a look at the route for the next day. To my surprise there was a pool of water just 400ft higher. Too bad I already setup camp, but good to know – I would just pack the filter up the next day with me so I could get water on the way back.

 

I made fresh pasta for dinner, from flour and water, kneaded it for a while, and then rolled it out on a plastic cutting board with my Nalgene bottle, cutting it into linguini strips. Still hungry, I popped popcorn in a my skillet with a little olive oil. The cloud fog moved in at this point, and I was hoping it would all clear out for my attempt at the summit the next day.

 

 

Moonrise from high camp.

 

 

Day 3:

 

Summit Day! Now I know most of you climbers would wake and start hiking by say 3am, but as I mentioned before, I hate getting up early. So don't act too surprised when I tell you that I finally got out of my sack around 7:30am (I had to pee, I really would have slept a little longer if the bladder wasn't yelling at me). Fog had settled in the valleys below, obscuring all but the tops of Three-Fingered Jack, Mt. Washington, and the Sisters. All the clouds on the horizon seemed to be below my elevation, and the upper mountain looked great. I was hiking by 8:10am (hah!).

 

 

Looking south from high camp at the Three Sisters, Mt. Washington, and Three-Fingered Jack.

 

 

Above the pool I found the night before was an even larger snowfield that was gushing forth a clear stream in what appeared to be a small alpine oasis of grass and flowers. The sides of the stream had frozen overnight, but overall it was a raging torrent by alpine standards. A little to the south was a small tarn – this is the place to camp, at 7800'. If I ever do this trip again, this is where high camp will be.

 

 

A partially frozen alpine stream at 7800ft.

 

 

From there, I crossed a snow field and finally gained the south ridge. What a hassle. The sandy volcanic rock was the classic one step forward, two steps back kind of thing. It was difficult to get into a nice rest-step mountaineering rhythm, so I tried rock and boulder hopping instead. This is why people start at 3am! This ridge takes forever to climb. Snow would have been nicer, but then again, snow on the ridge probably means snow on the summit pinnacle, which probably would be an equal pain in the ass.

 

I finally found myself upon a large bouldery outcropping at the top of the ridge. This had been blocking my view of the real summit all day, so when I finally reach the top, my jaw dropped as I finally saw the pinnacle rise up from the Red Saddle like the US Bank Tower in downtown Portland. Wow. As it turns out, I think I should have avoided this rock outcropping altogether, traversing under it around to the east. This is what the guidebooks seem to suggest.

 

 

The summit pinnacle as seen from the Red Saddle.

 

 

The Red Saddle was very red, and seemed rather unique as nothing else on the mountain really had that color. There was a nice full snow patch falling of the east side of the saddle, which of course made me think that bivying at the saddle might also be a nice spot for a camp since there was a source of water.

 

So now it's about 1:30pm. Considering the number and length of breaks I took on the way up, I'm not disappointed with my time. I've never been a speed demon anyway, but considering the hellacious sandy scree crap I had been walking up all day, I'm feeling pretty good about it. I quickly dropped my pack, and removed all unnecessary weight for the remaining climb to the summit: no filter, stove, or a bunch of other miscellaneous stuff.

 

I grabbed my ice axe and went down to check out the traverse, the crux of this route. There was a nice solid dirt path down to the snow, and the snow patch continued for about (I'm so bad with estimates but...)100ft? Maybe 150ft? The snow ended before the shoulder, which I guessed required maybe 15-20ft of climbing up some very loose dirt and rocks.

 

But before I started across, wisps of clouds had moved in, obscuring the view. Argh! Yep, this is what you get when you start your climb at 8am instead of 3am. The top of the mountain was perfectly clear all day, until now. I headed back up to the Red Saddle, took off the boots and put on the moccasins, and cooked up some lunch. Mmmm, peanut sesame noodles with miso soup. That's why I brought the stove. There's nothing quite like eating a flavorful hot meal atop a mountain.

 

Well, I pulled out my foam pad, napped for a while, and watched the clouds move in and out of the summit area. I really thought I was defeated – it was getting late, way later than most climbers would attempt the summit (it's about 3pm now). I just didn't feel like finishing off this last 400 ft without seeing where I was going, having never been up it before. I planned on descending at 4pm back to my campsite, still in awe of the size of the pinnacle block. I stared at it for a long long time. I took out my binoculars and scanned the traverse during the non-white-out times, wondering what the best place to cross was. I spied a big blue sling slung around a rock, which was encouraging. And in all the time I stared at the pinnacle and the traverse, I never saw any rocks hit the snow section – they were all falling from the side of the gully, not from the pinnacles above.

 

But at 4pm, just as I had put my boots back on and packed up the pack, something in me clicked, instantly, like a switch just flipped. Maybe it was because the weather had stabilized and everything was clear. Maybe it was because I hiked all the way up here, and I didn't know when I would come back again. Maybe it was because I desperately wanted to see what was on the other side of that snow field. I had gone from an “Oh well, the mountain will always be here” to a very focused “I'm going to do this!” in a mere millisecond. I downed a bunch of water, stuffed my pockets with gloves and a hat and a camera, grabbed the crampons, helmet, and ice axe and headed back down to the snow without my pack. A friend that had climbed this route a few years ago told me that he thought the traverse and scramble to the summit should probably take me an hour round-trip. That means I would start descending the south ridge back to camp at 5pm, giving me about 3.5 hours of daylight to get down. Tight, but not impossible. But I think his estimate was if there was no snow on the traverse, something I didn't even really think about until later.

 

So if you've reading this trip report for beta, then you've likely had one question on your mind the whole time: how was the traverse??? I saw two 4-person groups of climbers heading up on Friday as I was heading out, and that was the first question each party asked me.

 

 

The "treacherous traverse" under the summit pinnacle.

 

 

Another view of the summit block from further down on the ridge. You can see both the north and south horn here.

 

 

The traverse was considerably easier than I anticipated. In that millisecond where I decided I was going to go for it, I think I must have also grown an additional set of balls, because I knew the “treacherous traverse” was supposed to exposed, scary, and generally nerve-racking. But it turns out I didn't need those balls because the snow was SO solid. The shaft of my ice axe (with a little effort) went ALL the way in to the head of the axe on each placement, offering a very solid piece of protection if I fell. And I think I would have been able to self-arrest if for some reason I slipped while placing the axe. But, I was able to kick bomber steps and felt perfectly safe. There were two of three “runnels” I had to cross over along the way, which required climbing down 5 or 6 feet to dirt and then up the other side. A little tricky, and the dirt was very loose, but again, careful footwork and axe placement as well as patience made crossing these barely an obstacle. Once across the snow, I scrambled up the dirt section, by far the most dangerous part of the traverse.

 

Over the shoulder was another snow traverse, a little less steep, and I made quick work of that and got to the base of the pinnacle. The rock was very solid where it needs to be, and it didn't take long to reach the summit. Views to the north include the Mohler Tooth and the knife-edge ridge you would take coming up the Jefferson Park Glacier.

 

 

The knife-edge ridge and the Mohler Tooth on the left.

 

 

So I see more blue slings slung around a rock up there. By the way, what's up with the bright blue slings? I was always taught that if you have to leave something behind, it should be more neutral colored, tan or gray or something. Is this not the philosophy anymore? The other solo Jefferson TR I mentioned earlier described a metal summit register box, to which one reader replied and said these were all trash and should be removed. What about all these slings? Are they not trash too? Perhaps at least they should blend in more with the surroundings...

 

Anyway, I down-climbed from the summit, attached the crampons, and headed back. The steps I already placed were useful, but moving in balance and self-belaying still made for slow going. Round trip from the saddle, 2 hours. The folks I ran into on Friday agreed that that was a more reasonable estimate. But of course now it's 6pm, and I gotta boogie down this thing, safely, before the sun sets on me. Yes, I have a headlamp, but that's not going to help with the landmarks I need off in the distance. The full moon was on my side though, as I knew it would rise around 9pm and provide some kind of light if I needed it. Interesting enough, as soon as I returned to the Red Saddle, the clouds moved back in. Talk about a perfect weather window.

 

So now I decide to take this more obvious path around the rock outcropping that I climbed earlier, thinking it was THE route and should make for an easier descent. I encountered hard snow fields and other obstacles at that point that makes me think I should have just gone back the way I came. Boy that mountain is loose! I felt like every step I took knocked something down. I'm surprised most of that mountain hasn't slid all the way down to tree line.

 

In the low visibility clouds, I ended up descending a small spur of the south ridge. I don't think it was the SW Ridge though. Once the clouds blew away for a brief moment, I realized I was no longer on the south ridge, but it didn't really matter, because I could see camp and I was basically heading straight there anyway. Perhaps my feet knew where they were going after all.

 

I stopped at the alpine oasis just as the sun was setting, pumped 5 liters of water, and headed back to the bivy sack, where after a quick meal, I fell promptly asleep.

 

Day 4:

 

Not very eventful. Again, slept in a bit, hiking by 10am. It was easy to follow the valley floor back to the climber's trail and back to Shale Lake, where I decided to return via the PCT to Pamelia, the way most folks come up (I really don't think anyone uses that Hunt's Lake climber's trail anymore, that's probably why it was so hard to find).

 

The 2 parties of climbers I ran into on the way down really got me thinking about gear and protection up on the summit. Both parties brought 1 rope for 4 people, and a light rock rack (no pickets). Their intention was to use the rope for the rock portion of the summit (completely unnecessary in my opinion -- 4th class stuff, Thielsen was harder!). When I read about people using 5 ropes to protect the traverse and the summit block, I just think, wow, that would take a really long time to set all that stuff up. Maybe that's why some summit days are 17 hours. When do the safety systems you set up become an actual safety liability? If rocks were raining down on the traverse, you can bet I wouldn't want to be out there hammering in pickets. But then again, if rocks were raining down I'm not sure I would have wanted to be on it at all. Rockfall = peoplefall if you get hit, yeah?

 

So maybe I just got lucky and had the most perfect snow ever to cross on. Maybe if I would have started at 3am, the snow would have been much firmer and less ideal (I probably wouldn't have been able to get my axe in nearly far enough to make a safe self-belay). Who knows. But contrasting my solo approach, which was light on gear and thus as fast as humanly possible (no pro to put in or take out) to the gear and time intensive approach that I've read about with other climbs, I just don't know what to think. I suppose it's one of those “it depends” answers, but I gotta say, soloing rocks!

 

Elated with my accomplishment, I cruised down the PCT to Pamelia and then to the car, where I had some beers awaiting in a small cooler. Nothing like a couple of cold ones to help you maintain a good pace on the way back. As I came down the PCT, the intersection with Milk Creek offered another view of the mountain I hadn't really seen yet. Mountains are so interesting, they look different from every side. Anyway, I reached the car at 2:30, which meant I could be back in Portland by 5 easy to head out the pub and catch some live music and dinner.

 

 

A view of Jefferson from Milk Creek.

 

 

And here's the sad part: when I got back to my car, it had been vandalized. The driver's side door lock was jammed. The rear taillights were busted. There was black spray paint on the left side window, the right side window, and the back window, covering perfectly the three stickers I had stuck on the windows from the inside: one Phish sticker, one SCI sticker, and one peace sticker made from Celtic knots. And the right front tire was deflated. I'm not sure yet if the tire was punctured, or if the air was simply let out, but if it was the latter, the vandals chose to replace the valve stem cap (how nice!). So instead of booking home for live music, food, and beer, I spent the next 45 minutes putting on the spare, and rotating one of the other good tires to the front. What a pain in the ass. At least I was able to drive home and catch the last set of happy hour.

 

All in all an excellent trip minus the vandalism.

 

Short version for you ADD folks:

 

Took 2 days to approach high camp at 7100' via the Hunt's Lake climber's trail. The snow on the traverse from the Red Saddle under the pinnacle block was in excellent shape – it was easy to kick in great steps and use self-belay technique to get across. The scramble to the summit was enjoyable 4th or low 5th class on solid rock. Made it back to my camp just at dark, and hiked out the next day. Found my car vandalized at the trailhead. :-(

 

Gear Notes:

Ice axe, crampons, helmet

[ivan]

nice trip, i dig the solo shit too

 

sucks about your car - too bad it wasn't your bailed partner's?

 

jesus christ that mountain looks fucking ugly this time of year! like diddling a really, really, really fat girl w/ a reprehensible take on personal hygiene...

[Redoubt]

like diddling a really, really, really fat girl w/ a reprehensible take on personal hygiene...

I gotta stop laughing long enough to ask if you have personal experience allowing this comparison????

 

Okay, now I can get back to laughing.

[ivan]

my fraternity had an a special honor called "the blue fin award" - a huge wooden fish w/ a nasty crimson dorsal fin as big as a chair to be given to the brother who had indecent liberties w/ a lass who met the official criteria (that a hula-hoop could not be succesfully navigated over her bulk). the award was passed winner to winner as events would have it, in addition to a keg of beer to salve the horror. happily, i never found meself having to display the damn red badge of shame, though my big brother did...

 

sorry to divert attention from your worthy tr - the pics of the red saddle in particuliar couldn't help but remind me...

[Kevin_Matlock]

Hey nice work and good TR!

I've been debating on this exact same route solo (yes, dealing with parters oftens sucks). Hiked up south cinder peak a few days before your climb and got a decent view of the route and quickly decided 'fawk that!'. Your beta has changed my mind... thanks.

[PVD]

Greg

 

Nice TR and pics!

I was in that vicinity around the same time. Had lunch at shale lake on tuesday afternoon, the first day of my PCT trip from jefferson to mt. washington, and wondered about climbing the south side. I'd never read a thing about it. Sounds much cooler than walking through charcoaled forest.

Check your PMs.

[Kevin_Matlock]

PVD - total FREAKIN' devistation, eh? Last week I was on the PCT and brush creek area... amazing. Only 2 yrs after the burn and at least some grass is growning back so that's better than nothin'.

Climbed TFJ last year and the first few miles in I couldn't believe how dead everything was.

[PVD]

Kevin

 

Yep, I was pretty surprised by the extent of the damage and the lack of re-growth. I didn't do too much research on the burn area before planning my trip, but for some reason I thought that I'd pass through only 5 miles or so of burn. Turned out to be nearly three times that. It was interesting -- I'd never been through a recent burn before -- but it got old. My first night, at Rockpile Lake, winds whipped up dirt mixed with ash from the fire, which blew into my tent, all over me and my gear. I got out of my tent around 2 a.m., and the air was thick with this stuff. I seriously thought for a moment that there was a fire in the area, and checked my map for an escape route. Really strange night.

[gregfuller]

jesus christ that mountain looks fucking ugly this time of year!

 

Jefferson indeed has more majesty in winter. Your comment prodded me to go take a look at some photos from a trip up there last year April for comparison.

 

As your frat brothers probably said after winning the Blue Fin Award, "All sex is good sex if it's fun and safe." Or maybe they said "I'll take it when I can get it." Either way, I'm sure a lot of us feel the same about the mountains. :-) (Plus, Mt. Jefferson has a nice personality, even in summer!)

 

Thanks for the comments guys,

 

Greg

 

Mt. Jefferson, as seen through binoculars on April 24, 2004.

[ivan]

actually, after winning the piscine-shaped award, my brother tim commented - "funny, my hand SMELLS like fish"

 

:insert vomiting emoticon here:

[letsroll]

Speaking of Jefferson. Is the Jefferson Park Glacier route passible this time of year?

[Crevasse]

Did you pack those slings out?

 

Leave no trace.

 

PS I want them back.

[mtnmedic]

Wow what an inspireing read !! I have allways been in awe of this mountain and wanted to climb it, but like you I can never get anybody to go with me. My palms are all sweaty from the pics and beta. Now im really feeling it to give it a try solo. My hats' off to ya !!

[fat_squirrel]

Greg - you are da man.

[Chriznitch]

here's yet another time-lapse montage...the angle is slightly different but the effect is still worthwhile.

 

Knife Edge Ridge:

 

 

your trip in August 2005

 

 

 

my trip in June 2004

 

[sweatinoutliquor]

Nice Chris! Jeez, talk about a different world!

[mtnmedic]

I never get tired looking at y'all's pics. Makes me wanna go right now !