West Ridge of Stuart

[Smoker]

This is a long Trip Report from 98. Some of you may have seen it around.

“Mount Stuart- without a rival as the crown peak in the central Cascades of Washington Mount Stuart has been pronounced the single greatest mass of (exposed) granite in the United States.” Fred Becky’s words had me. Having grown up, climbing with my “old man”, I had seen Stuart from every side and often wondered if I would ever measure up to its high (9,415 ft.) standard.

 

Though it looks rugged from every viewpoint, Stuart offers routes for the beginner on the south, up the standard sand and talus choked Cascadian Couloir (class2-3). An advanced route for the alpine rock hound on the West Ridge, (which I will be describing). Then there are the classic hardman routes on the north side. If the mixed rock and ice aren’t challenging enough in late spring when conditions are good, you can return in early fall and expose yourself to hard glacier ice, barrages of falling stone or ice and gaping bergshrunds all waiting to welcome you.

 

It was late September when Chris and I were looking to steal one last trip from the mountain gods. After negotiating a maze of forest service roads we arrived at the Ingalls Lake trailhead. This is the most direct approach to the South or West side of Mt. Stuart. Our daypacks had been carefully stuffed; we had selected our clothing for maximum heat efficiency while maintaining minimum bulk and weight. We had opted to leave the down bags at home in favor of using our biv sacks in conjunction with our meager supply of clothing. We were hoping to reduce our suffering too an acceptable level, while maintaining our minimalist ethic. We longed to be rewarded on this trip with freedom of movement and quickness. It would be a test of wills as well as gear.

The remainder of our packs were filled with two days rations of prepared bagels, nutrition bars, and six quarts of water, rope and the rack. The largest proportion of weight, by far, being the six quarts of water we had decided to carry. There is no water on Stuart late in the season, and what snow and ice we saw, was gritty and gray. Six quarts were definitely the minimum amount for two, but we simply were not willing to carry any more and the sixth only made it because I insisted. Through innumerable phone calls in the previous week our rack had been reduced to a sadly small cluster of nuts and hexes accompanied by ample amounts of slings. It was to late now to have second thoughts about any piece we had opted to leave behind.

The weather had turned beautiful after two days of rain and snow high on the mountain. We arrived in the parking lot at the crack of ten thirty A.M. excited by the prospect of our first attempt of Stuart. After a few last minute checks, oh and I might add, an unsuccessful search for the all-important TRAIL PARK PASS, we were off. The Ingalls Lake trail starts at approximately 4,240 ft. and winds generally to the north. In about 2.5 miles the trail passes the Longs Pass trail cutoff. Longs Pass provides a direct return from the base of the Cascadian Couloir route, which is the standard decent off of Stuart. We had discussed leaving one of our quarts of water here but decided to carry it on with us. The trail continues on for about 1.5 miles before topping out at Ingalls Pass (6,480’). The views from here are worth the effort and many hikers come to revel in the beautiful setting. As I crested the pass I felt like I was stepping into some carefully sculpted alpine park. The valley rolls gently out to Stuart Pass off to the north. In between lie perfectly placed terraces of alpine Larch and heather, interspersed with open meadows of grass and wild flowers divided by glacier sculpted knobs of polished granite. I felt as if I was intruding on some mountain deity’s private garden. That impression is magnified as the glacier scarfed Ingalls Lake comes into view, nestled firmly into the protective base of Ingalls Peak. All the while Mount Stuart towers above, silently guarding this alpine playground. The route from here takes you underneath the towering walls of Ingalls Peak and around the bank of one of the Cascades most beautifully placed lakes. Contour around to the outlet (good camping here) and continue the rolling decent to Stuart Pass. The late afternoon sun had warmed the rock in anticipation of our arrival and the warmth seemed to invite us higher and higher.

This is where the climbing gets fun. The route starts up a small talus field and as the lower portion of the ridge becomes defined, the rock turns into solid class four ramps and polished bulges. It stays just off the ridge crest and with our daypacks, was quite enjoyable. Chris and I were able to move quickly and turn some of the trickier sections with some style and ease. This section (and most of the west ridge) is athletic class four climbing with sections of mighty exposure. We encountered a party of three rapping down, they said that they weren’t prepared to biv on the route and were returning to their camp at the lake. Chris and I had no response to that, as we didn’t want to ask what they could possibly be carrying in three full size packs filled to overflowing. I’m sure they wanted to know where the two mostly naked madmen, thought they were going to get with day packs and trail shoes. We climbed for about an hour more before deciding to stop for the night just under Long John Tower (an obvious gendarme that marks the start of the technical climb). The West Ridge has numerous biv sites from top to bottom. We were never far from a biv site on the entire route.

Having cut our teeth in the high country we couldn’t have been more at home on our spacious ledge. We arrived an hour or so before dark. We were at about 7,000 ft. and the rains of the previous two days had scrubbed the atmosphere clean. The view from our perch can only be described as spectacular. From Mt. Hood in Oregon to the south, to Vancouver Island in British Colombia to the northwest, the desert of the Colombia Basin in the east to the Olympic Peninsula on the Washington coast, the only view that might have been better was from outerspace!

The granite was toasty warm from the afternoon sun and we both stretched out to soak up the remaining sun and the view. It was not long before duty called and we had to set about rolling out biv sacks and donning every piece of clothing we had brought. It had snowed higher on the mountain earlier in the week so we didn’t expect to be too cozy through the night. As Chris pulled on his new fleece vest, (complete with wind-bloc he crowed) he let out a surprised snicker and produced the missing TRAIL PARK PASS! It had been stuffed into a pocket on our last trip. At least we still had it in our possession, and besides he had nothing to really worry about because it was my truck at the trailhead that was going to get fined! We munched our dinner as the sun sank behind the horizon; the heat of the warm granite slowly turned cold and began to leach into our bodies. Looking down towards the lake dozens of little lights began to show up. The three climbers we had passed eventually showed up below making the traverse back to the lake by headlamp. From our perch it seemed to take hours for them to make their camp. It was a surreal experience watching all the little lights flashing about their business, while we sat observing in silent isolation. Being the minimalist that I am, it’s hard to understand why all those needs weren’t addressed in the daylight, (save those batteries they’re heavy and don’t grow on scrub!) But I guess that’s just me. Before we turned in for a cold night on our ledge, we both stowed our gear, stepped to the edge to relieve our bladders and said good night.

About two hours later I was awakened by Chris. “ Hey, wake up!” I was a little groggy and enquired “What’s wrong?” “There’s something out there I can hear it, its close! I think it’s a goat!” Oh great, just how territorial are goats? I wondered. I’ve heard some tales about the Olympics and the aggressiveness of goats when you are on their turf. I rounded up my lamp and turned it on—HOLY SHIT!!! It was 5 feet away from Chris’s face! It was so close we could smell it. It bounded off as soon as I moved. It was now safely 15 ft. away. It was kind of funny, (now that it is safely in the past) how it looked at us, almost like it was annoyed that we should be concerned about it. Now, I have seen plenty of mountain goats in my climbs, normally they are very shy and keep a safe distance of 100 feet or more. This goat was different. It had found some salty Lichen and was very pleased with the salt lick it had found. It was not going away. It kept looking at us like we were intruding on it, imagine that! I rattled about and made a stir until it decided our ledge was a bit noisy. So we settled back down and no sooner were we dozing off and it was back. “Christ! It’s damn near in the sack with you Chris” I said. “What am I supposed to do about it?” he snipped, (I don’t think he appreciated me pointing this fact out). This time we lobbed a couple of stones in its direction and it scrambled out of sight only to appear on a blocky outcrop below us. It stood there glaring at us just at the fringe of our light. We began to get concerned that it was only 1:00a.m. and there was plenty of dark left. What if it decided to climb above us and kick a few stones on us? That would not be good. Our mistake was to relieve ourselves right outside our biv site. How far away should we have gone? I’m not sure, but I won’t make that mistake again. That goat harassed us all night long, no amount of stone throwing or shouting would deter it. At some point early in the morning it crept away (bastard!)

Dawn arrived with the lightning speed of a Washington State ferry; you could see it coming for a long time before it arrived. After a long night of brief dozing interrupted by short skirmishes with our pesky goat companion, we were ready for morning and some movement. Just the simple act of standing forced me to acknowledge how cold and stiff I had become. I was aching. Breakfast was a simple affair, due to our twisted desire to go light and minimize weight. I could handle a climb without the ritual of oatmeal, but the lack of a stove meant that there would be no espresso! Bummer! As a Java junky I was severely impacted. I munched a power bar while throwing gear into my pack and announced to Chris, “ I’ll be under the tower waiting to start the first lead when you are ready to climb.” And with that, off I stumbled, trying not to grumble too loudly but I found it helped, so I “quietly” cursed all the way to the start of the lead.

I set about getting the gear racked, and put on my rock shoes. By then Chris had set the belay anchors and had flaked the rope. I tied in and moved up to start the lead. After a couple of false starts, I got into a groove and before I knew it Chris was calling out “twenty feet of rope left!” It’s amazing how fast a lead can go when you’re on cruise. It probably went off at 5.5/.6 and ends after more class 4 scrambling at a sandy notch separating the West Ridge and Long John Tower. At this point we were at about 8,700 ft. Still in the shade (because after all we’re on the West Side of the mountain) and feeling pretty good. We had gained some good elevation in short order and looking onward, had some class 4 traversing/scrambling ahead of us with plenty of day to burn.

We shortened the rope but still remained tied in to make the traverse. The exposure along the West ridge is awesome, in many sections you can see straight down over the headwalls and into Ingalls Creek that hugs the base of the mountain. Because the route has some loose stuff here, we climbed close together to prevent any rock fall causalities to the rope or ourselves. We set running protection as we needed it. The goal is to traverse along the ridge and remain just off the crest of it until you reach the west ridge notch. Now Becky, bless his heart, has a thoroughly detailed description of the route here and if you attempt to follow it closely, it will cost you dearly in time (we spent too much time ID’ing traverse ledges and not enough time following our noses). Suffice it to say we made the West Ridge notch.

This is where our tolerance (and abilities) were stretched the thinnest. The route around onto the north side of the West Ridge (definitely no sun here) with some great views straight down to the Stuart Glacier. This is where the remains from the previous storm waited to challenge us. While there is a variation of the route that stays on the south side of the West Ridge we opted for the original line. Once again I donned rock shoes and led out onto the north side. In thirty feet I was assailed by verglass and left over corn snow. The frozen conditions convinced me to alter the lead straight up and back to a notch, on the West Ridge skyline, hoping for escape from the snotty conditions. I barely made the notch, and as I had been forced to make a sweeping turn up and back, rope drag was barely manageable. This was made worse by dicey hand and footholds all the while suspended above the near vertical Stuart Glacier Couloir.

The entire West Ridge route is rated 5.4 climbing by my favorite tormentor and hero, Fred Becky. Bear in mind that he climbed in the Cascades prolifically in the 40s, 50s and on to the present day, long before any 5.12c trad route was conceived. So in regards to some of his grading of climbing routes, you just don’t really know for sure how a route will go until you get on it. I am glad that Chris and I both can muster lead climbing of 5.9/10a on a regular basis. We had two tough leads of rime covered 5.4 rock!

After I made the notch and had secured myself, the task of communication down to Chris was only achieved by shouting at the top of my lungs as the wind had picked up and was blowing my every word in the wrong direction. By the time Chris had gained my position we were both experiencing a mild bit of irritation. After the delayed traverse, the lack of sunshine (it seemed to shine on every projection but ours) our aborted icy lead and, of course, our battle with the goat the night before, our tempers were rising.

I willingly relented the lead to Chris. We swapped the rack and he was off. The snow and ice was no better here as he struck off across the south side of the ridge. He quickly climbed up and out of sight. In less than thirty minutes I had paid out 45 meters of rope. I soon heard the call “Belay On!” Off I went, up over more icy holds. Soon I was panting with exertion. I can not believe (even today) the ease with which he dispatched his lead, IN TRAIL SHOES! I finally had to resort to heaving on the line to facilitate my speed. When I ultimately made his perch he was full of pride and sporting a grin. “Tough pitch huh?” he said as he basked in the sun we had both been striving to reach.

We munched a little food while sponging up the much needed sun. By now our six quarts of water had dwindled down to about a quart and a half. There was no use worrying about that at this point. Off we set, a little more scrambling and traversing and we were looking up at the last lead to the top of the summit pyramid. At least this lead would be made in the sun with no snow or ice to deal with.

Once again I set off with my rock shoes on and this time they actually earned their worth and weight. The lead climbs pretty much straight up the middle of the summit block, then angles off to the right finishing about twenty vertical feet below the true summit. It is a full forty nine-meter lead but I had plenty of slings and horns to loop for the belay. I called down to Chris and he was topped out in short order. The final pitch goes off at 5.7/.8 and can be well protected.

 

We gathered up the gear and made our way to the summit, where we were greeted by three college age kids who had made the climb from the trail head via the Cascadian Couloir route that day! That’s an impressive feat by anyone’s standard. We set about eating, signing the register and posing for the summit photos all at once. The sun was still high and we had only just arrived, but we were feeling the crunch of time bearing down. Chris and I are notorious summit loungers and generally demand plenty of time for summit sloth. Often we are the last to leave, preferring to spend as much time on top as is logistically possible. After spending an hour on top it was time to start down. We felt guilty for spending that much time because we would be lucky to reach the top of Longs Pass with out needing headlamps.

 

Our decent began with the sun still high in the afternoon sky. We were down to half a quart of hot poly-bottle water,(yum-yum). I didn’t want to think about my thirst which had been present for a few hours now. The route down the Cascadian Couloir took my mind off everything but keeping my feet under me. It is a long, loose sand filled couloir with large precarious loose blocks waiting for your weight to send you and your precious knees to a good orthopedic surgeon. Before long we had to resign ourselves to being dirty and constantly choked on the fine particles of granitic dust that followed us down like a bad mood.

Two hours later we made it to the shady bottom and the Ingalls Creek trail. We were out of water, and at the first creek coming off of Stuart we stopped. We both decided that the risk of drinking unfiltered water was outweighed by our thirst, (and while no harm came from it I wouldn’t encourage anyone to take the risk).

We traveled west up the trail and in half a mile came to the Longs Pass fork. We were burning day light and knew it. The trail crosses Ingalls Creek and heads off to the south, winding slowly back towards the steep final finish at the top of Longs Pass. We pushed our pace as fast as we could muster, but the long day of climbing slowed us down to a snails pace. The larch trees began to glow a gorgeous yellow light that seemed to help light the way in the fading light. We pulled ourselves up the final haul and made the top of Longs Pass in absolute darkness.

It was all down hill from here. We both got a bit chatty as we turned on our headlamps and slowed our pace to a moderate stroll. We had done it. Only a few more short miles separated us from our hectic reality and there was no desire to speed that reunion. As we approached the trail head we heard a wail in the distance. We got closer and could see a lamp in the distance. It was a pair of day trippers getting in a little late. We could see now that it was a man and a woman. She was leaning heavily on him as we passed. The tears were streaming down her face as she implored “ How much further? I don’t think I can make it .” We answered that the parking lot was just around the corner 100 yards or so, and continued on (that’s the same response I used to hear from the “old man” and it worked for him). This time though the parking lot was were we indicated and they actually beat us out, and down the road.

The couple had brought a sobering reality back to our consciousness. The reality is that every time I climb I am faced with the same sobering questions. How far is it, can I make it? What if misfortune strikes, will I make it back? (Is it safe to pee here?) The answer so far is HELL YES!

I drove home and called in sick the next day so I could rest.

By-Brett Nipps

 

[mvs]

Awesome story! A friend and I did the route in july '99, with a bivy at the false summit. There is so much room for variation. I've been told you can get around the technical pitch below Long John Tower if you want to. Some other friends climbed it strictly on the ridge top the whole way. That has to "win" on style points!