Mountain Dreams

A Needles Holiday

2009-09-23T15:37:00.000-07:00

Luke leads up Atlantis (5.11c).

Two weeks after our previous weekend out at the Needles, Lin and I decided to join a bunch of friends heading back to the Needles for Labor Day. Luke and Lizzie (from dreaminvertical.wordpress.com) were there, as was the "Josh and Josh" show and the rest of the gang. After driving up Friday night, Saturday we headed back out towards the crag with much better weather than a couple weeks prior. As the Needles tower came into full view, I finally started to get truly excited about the weekend's upcoming adventures. We had a list of climbs we wanted to try, but weren't too certain yet about what that would be. Luke and Lin and I talked about our theories on when it is best to try your harder objective - early when you're fresh and ready, or later when you're used to the rock, but maybe not quite as strong. Being one who normally feels he burns out quickly and doesn't have much endurance, I was in favour of just jumping on the hard stuff to start. Lin, on the other hand, definitely believes in warm-up climbs to get the blood flowing, and get used to the rock. Luke... well, it depends on the climb. This all came up as I had aspirations to try the sustained 5.11b climb "Don Juan" on this trip, and was trying to think of when it would be best to try it.

Arriving at the crag, we quickly noticed that there were a lot of people there. Especially on the popular climbs around the "Witch", "Sorcerer" and "Charlatan" walls. We decided not to start directly on Don Juan, and instead headed for Lin's wish - "Fancy Free", a classic 5.10. Unfortunately, arriving at the base we saw there was already a party of 3 on the route, and they were moving SLOW. So, while waiting for them, we looked through the book, and saw another nearby route called "Bad Fortune" which has a 5.11c face crux, or can go at 5.10 A0 by aiding on bolts through the crux. I led up, and actually found that the climb wasn't too bad with my long reach, and enjoyed the first pitch immensely. Unfortunately, while statically looking at the crux moves while at a smearing stance, my foot slipped, and I lost the onsight - too bad, since none of the moves were very hard. Lin followed up, having more problems due to her smaller reach, and then we rapped off the first pitch thinking that the party of 3

Lindsey follows P3 of Fancy Free.

had moved far enough off Fancy Free and we could start climbing that. In the meantime, Luke and Lizzie were making fast progress up another route, 5.11c Atlantis, and it was fun to watch Luke just cruise the pitches on lead. Lin wanted the classic second pitch, so I took the first. A fun pitch, not trivial despite it's 5.9 rating. Lin then took the second pitch, cruising it and running it out a bit at the end to make it to the anchors on a few small pieces far below... anchors unfortunately still occupied by the other group. Soon they had moved on though, and I followed up and led the last pitch - another fun, varying pitch with fingers, off-widthing, diagonal hand jams, and a fun exposed top-out move.

After some lunch (friggin' wasps were ridiculously aggressive at getting their share), we decided we'd traverse in to

Sunset at our Needles camp.

another 5.10 classic, "Airy Interlude" on the witch, and climb the classic pitch of that route before calling it a day. Unfortunately, once we had traversed halfway to it, we realized there was another party hang-dogging their way up it piece-by-piece. Not realizing how long they too would take, we hung around for probably about an hour and half or so until they were far enough along for us to start up. In the meantime though, we were able to watch Josh lead, and Luke follow, up Pyromania (5.13), an impressive line below the Sorcerer. They headed out, and then we finally blasted out our route, myself leading both pitches (Lin had led the upper one 2 weeks prior as part of Igor Unchained), and finishing just in time to reach the packs as darkness hit. A later day than we'd hoped for thanks to our hold-ups, but a lot of fun... so we stashed our gear for the next day, and headed back the 2+ miles to camp by headlamp.

Back the next morning, we had one main mission for the day, and that was "Thin Ice" (5.10b) on the Sorcerer... and I still had hopes for Don Juan (5.11b), which shared the same start. We got to the base a little late again, but racked up and headed to Thin Ice. Talking with others, it sounded like Lin would be the

Lindsey leads P2 of Thin Ice.

strongest for the second pitch, so I led up the first pitch to the base of the OW section. Quickly upon starting up the very steep route, I realized I was actually a bit tired and sore from the day before, and today was not going to be the day for Don Juan. Leading clean, I still rested whenever a good foot allowed and took way too long to lead the first pitch. While belaying Lin up, I had a great view of Luke and Lizzie on sport book, and now would really like to go back and do that climb. Lin followed in good style, and soon she was at the base and ready for pitch 2... a 60-70M rope stretcher (depending on what tree you belay from) to the top. She really made me proud working up through the crux start OW with a hand-ish crack in the back, and then ran it out at the top (all while wishing she had another #2 camalot). A proud lead. I followed, blowing my foot right at the beginning, but catching myself on a finger jam... as usual, my well-scarred hands cracked and were torn open, and I painted the rest of the jams on the OW a nice crimson red. Then up to the top, to finish another awesome climb, before meeting some really kind Aussie's who were about to rappel off the top at the same time. That was it for that day though, and then we headed off to camp - still light out this time, but still rather late by the time we'd socialized and had lunch.

Monday - the last day of the trip. We thought about getting an early start, but again failed at that venture. So, arriving at the crag a bit late again after the nice hike in, we arrived at our gear only to look up and see Josh making a proud onsight of the sporty sport route Scirocco (5.12), which has some long run-outs at the top. The Aussie's had also gotten an early start on Don Juan, and were cruising it while taking pics of Josh. It was really inspirational to watch him work his way up the climb, and I loved watching the determination with which he made each hard move. Luke ran down to TR it after him, and so Lin and I also headed down, but with plans of taking a mellow day and climbing Innersanctum (5.9), another Needles classic. On the way down, however, I really started to wonder about possibly leading Atlantis, a classic 5.11c with

Lindsey coils rope while admiring the Needles.

short cruxes. I didn't think I'd be strong enough after already climbing 2 days, but headed to the base just to check it out anyhow.

Arriving at the base, I looked carefully at the climb - taking a long time to finally decide that it just looked too pumpy for my tired condition. In the end though, I took too long and as we continued to descent toward Innersanctum, we noticed two Italians hanging out at the base. "Allura ragazzi, cos'e' vorreste fare" I asked them. "Il 5.9" they told.. the 5.9... the route we were planning on, and not it's neighbor "Spook Book". That left us one choice... Atlantis.

Back up to Atlantis, and a Lin a little flustered at delays having cost us the route, I borrowed a water bottle from Josh M., and thin nuts from Josh H., and up to the route we headed. I was nervous, I'd never led a proper 5.11+ before (supposedly a 5.11/5.12 PG13 mixed route in red rocks, but I swear it's graded wrong), and scared I was going to pump out and take a whipper in an inconvenient location. Lin helped me get psyched and get my head together though, and up the first pitch (5.10c) I went, hurrying through the pumpy lieback, then slowing down to take it one move at a time and properly warm up the rest of the way up. By the time I'd finished leading that pitch, I'd finally gotten my lead head back on, and was ready for the next 5.10 pitch. That pitch was a little awkward off the start, but after pulling on a couple thin flakes, I merged with my previous lead from "Thin Ice", and then traversed over to our stance at the base of the crux pitch.

Josh leads up Scirocco (5.12).

As I belayed Lin up, I eyed the crux pitch and was a little nervous about it. Basically it goes something like this: traverse 8 feet to the right, place 2-purple, or a purple and blue TCU a little over head high from the ledge you're standing on, then start some strenuous tips lie-backing until you're 10 or so feet above your pieces. Try not to fall, as you'll take a ride, and possibly straddle your rope on the way down.

Lin was soon up at the stance though, having cruised the 5.10 pitch, and soon it was my turn to head up the hard stuff. Am I on? Alright... traverse over, place two pieces, look up and cringe, return to wider part of ledge and wimper. Repeat, 1, 2, 3 times or more, mixing in a half-hearted attempt at starting once or twice. Finally I got over there though, and knew it was time to rock. 1, 2, 3 moves and above the gear. Keep moving. Wind, shizer, I'm barn-dooring, hold-on... close the door, continue up. Yey, a jug! Shizer, I'm too pumped to place gear without a decent foot. Don't want to pitch off. Keep climbing to a better stance. Ikes, those going to take a ride if I pitch now. Alright, I can place gear from this stance. Place two pieces, still pumped, keep moving...

After the tips lie back, you get an uncomfortable stance to cool your forearms for a few seconds before continuing up some 5.11b diaganol up and right traverses on thin gear. Make the moves, the end of the hard stuff is near. I see a ledge, YES! Reach up and... what? Sloper! F-it, I'm not going to pitch, mantle up, and hooray! I'm on a big ledge! Bummer, my arms are so pumped I'm not even sure I can do the easy 5.9 lower angle hand crack in front of me. Place a piece, clip the fixed gear, and go...

Robb, starting up Atlantis (5.11c).

Finally arriving at the stance after the fun crux pitch, it took me a few seconds before I could even get up the energy to belay Lin up. She followed up though, having some troubles in the lie-backing, but doing great... fingers frozen from being in the windy shade and all. Then, it was time to shake out and do the next crux, some funky 5.11b lie-backing on funky pro before getting a fixed nut, and eventually a nice #2 C4 before pulling what I thought was the really insecure move. Up some 5.easy to the last 5.11a dihedral (an awesome finish... don't cheat yourself and do the 5.10a finish), and viola'! Atlantis onsight! Although not sustained, I was pretty stoked to lead it onsight for my hardest trad lead yet, and on the last day of the trip. Lin followed up in great style, cruising it after a hang to get my wedged #2 out, and back to San Diego. What an awesome end to the weekend, and thanks Luke and Lizzie for your company! Check out their site at dreaminvertical.wordpress.com for more pictures, and info on their sends, as well as Josh's proud leads.

For the next trip? Hopefully Innersanctum, Spook Book, and Don Juan.

At the crux on Atlantis.

A Whitney - Russell Weekend

2009-09-10T12:49:00.000-07:00

As the heat hit San Diego a couple weekends ago, Lin and I decided to escape and head up to the Sierra. Our plan was to give Russell's Mithril Dihedra a second go (snow had kept us from getting to the climb until too late in the day back in May), and to try the rarely climbed direct east face of Whitney. Leaving San Diego Friday evening, we arrived in the Whitney Portal and hit the trail around 11:45, hiking through the night to get to basecamp at Iceberg lake while avoiding the rangers who insist you have a permit (but which quotas make hard to obtain).
Despite complaining about being out of shape from spending the last few months studying for the MCAT, Lin kept up and pulled her share, and we made good time up the trail. While traversing the cliffs below Lower Boyscout Lake, we picked up a straggler who had gotten lost amongst the ledges, and then managed to get ourselves lost right above the lake (as usual), and it took a mild amount of bushwacking to re-obtain the trail. We were both tired after a long week of work, and coming from sea-level to a start-height of 8,200' in a few hours didn't help, but despite that, our weekend packs, and a little unintentional detour along the way, we made it to the cliffs below Iceberg lake by about 4.45 AM and bivied behind a rock to block the wind.

Although we both stayed pretty warm during the night, when I woke at 6.30 needing to use the bathroom, it was COLD! The wind seemed to take all body-heat away instantly, but still I couldn't help but stare at the beautiful east face of Mt. Whitney and the Keeler Needle burning in the pink morning light. It was gorgeous (though I'm not sure how I managed to get a decent picture considering how much I was shivering as I took them!). I was also awed by the look of the direct east face, and couldn't wait until Sunday when we would attempt it.

We both woke again and got moving around 7.15, and the chill that still permeated made me wonder if I'd made a mistake in leaving my poofy jacket at the car in interest of saving weight. As we got moving though, and the sun began to truly shine, we quickly warmed up and about 20 minutes after breaking camp we were at Iceberg lake. Here, we dropped all our camping gear, hung our food away from the marmots, and grabbed our climbing gear for the Mithril dihedral on Russell. Unfortunately, in the process, I managed to misplace the topo maps for the route, but we decided to go for it anyhow since there were other parties headed there in front of us, and since it's such a straight-up obvious line.

When we approached the Mithril, we saw there was already one group on the route, and another waiting to go. Now the Mithril tends to be a rather chilly route, and the second group mentioned that they were waiting for the sun to come around and warm it up before they started. This made us fear that it'd be too late by the time we got started after them, but Lin's off-hand remark about us maybe starting before got us started up the route beforehand while it was still chilly. Lin led the first pitch in good style, cruising up the 5.8 cracks, and linking up a couple pitches so that she arrived at stance while the other group ahead of us was still there. I followed up, then we waited for the other guys to move before bumping up our anchor a few feet to a more comfortable stance. From there I had the classic next pitch of a beautiful 5.9/5.10 crack up a corner. I led up the beautiful crack, which rotated between fingers, hands and a little OW, and it was amazing. Going about 200' up before I reached a nice ledge to belay from, I took the majority of the "money" pitch, and couldn't believe how lucky I was. Unfortunately, although normally a better crack climber than I, Lin had some troubles on the route due to our heavy pack (we'd both worn boots, and put those heavy things in there), and was suffering pretty good by the time she arrived at the stance. In good form though, she led up the next pitch, which involved an exciting step-over/traverse to the belay ledge. Our friends that let us cut in front of them followed-up right behind us, and after a few pitches of 4th class to 5.6ish terrain, we arrived at the summit - utterly exhausted from hiking all night and barely sleeping. Back to Iceberg...

Sunday morning we woke up late... too late, and it would cost us that day. As we packed up camp, our buddy Josh and his girlfriend Sheila stopped by on their car-2-car trip of Whitney's East Buttress (they had climbed the regular route up the 3rd pillar of Mt. Dana two days before too), and then we went our different ways as Lin and I headed down toward the very bottom of the east face, and they continued up to the base of the buttress. Arriving at the buttress at about 9AM, we began to realize that prospects for doing the route were dismal due to our late start. Regardless, we decided to see how quickly we could go. I led up the 5.6 R/X first pitch, but by the time I'd done that and belayed Lin up it was nearly 10 - too late when we still had 14 pitches to go, including one of 5.10d off-width. So Lin let over to a spot that looked promising to bail, and two nervous raps on nuts behind cracked flakes later, we were back on the ground.

Both bummed, we slowly packed up when I remembered I'd see some blue off to the side in the rocks, and decided to go see what it was... a size large Mountain Hardwear poofy jacket! Sunfaded, but still in good condition, I threw it in the pack and we headed back to our camp. On the way, we debated about what to do with the rest of the day... go down and climb in the portal, or do something else up Whitney since neither of us had been to the top yet. In the end, we decided to just hike the mountaineers route, and after an hour and fifty minutes later (and after passing Josh and Sheila on their way down), we were at the top of Whitney! It was a gorgeous day, and we were both glad we'd decided to hike up in the end... though were appalled by the looks of the hikers trail in the distance. The endless zig-zags just didn't look appealing in the least, and I was glad that wasn't our way back down. Lin took time to make friends with a Mike, the begging marmot (well, maybe not the best of friends since she wouldn't give him any of our awesome banana bread and nutella sandwiches), and then we were on our way back down. We descended back to Iceberg Lake, grabbed the rest of our gear, and chased the sun on the way down as it settled behind Whitney to our backs. Another fun and gorgeous weekend in the Whitney portal... and another route to return to with hopes of completion.

Needles!

2009-09-02T21:03:00.000-07:00

So, Linnie and I headed out to the Needles a couple weekends ago when the Sierra weather kept us from playing in the Whitney area. What an amazing place! The weather was funky on Saturday, and we drove from about 9PM-4AM Friday night to get there (a last minute change of plans since the Sierra weather was so bad), but Sunday was gorgeous, Margee's cookies at the fire-tower were great, and we had a blast. Routes climbed were Igor Unchained (5.9), Slight of Hand (5.10a), Spooky (5.9), and Our Lady of the Needles (5.7 summit block). What a fun weekend! It was so great that we went back this last weekend too, so stand by for a more complete post on the happenings there...

Mt. Rainier 2009, Climb 2 - Kautz Glacier in a day

2009-07-07T23:51:00.000-07:00

So, Greg and I wimped out of Sufferfest 2009 – with an epic carry-over up the Emmons, down the DC, traverse to the Kautz, up the Kautz and down the Emmons – instead deciding that pizza sounded much more appetizing than carrying large packs up and over the peak twice. Therefore, it was time to make up for it and do a car-to-car climb of the Kautz Glacier, descending via the Disappointment Cleaver. After resting for two days at my Aunt and Uncles house overlooking Lake Washington in Seattle – eating copious amounts of cheesecake and blaring classic rock over their speaker system (we had scared them off to their cabin up north, and had the house to ourselves), we headed back to Mt. Rainier; this time to the crowded Paradise trailhead instead of White River.

Arriving at the ranger station, we registered for our climb the following day – and found to our amusement that the rangers were still trying to figure out how to enter “through climbers” (those not stopping to camp anywhere) into their system, so they ended up registering us for summit camp – a place we sure didn’t want to end up staying at considering a weather system was due to come in Sunday afternoon and it was going to be quite cold and windy up there.

In a day you ask? Well, it’s not uncommon for people to go ahead and climb Rainier in a day – though most ascents are 2-3 day trips. We kind of figure why camp and carry a tent though if you don’t have to! I'd be lying if I said there isn't a trick – “what is it?” you might be thinking? Well, I think everyone has their own little tricks. Some train hard, get acclimated, sleep and eat healthy, but I’ve got a little trick that I’m going to share about big car to car days. What is it? Simple… Cheesecake. Deep dark double-chocolate cheesecake (DDDCC). Greg unfortunately had to rely on the standard training methods for success as he is rather lactose intolerant (don’t get caught sleeping in the back of the same car or tent with him after he’s ingested dairy products), but I made sure to ingest a healthy dose of DDDCC after a parking lot pasta dinner, and another first thing in the morning at 2AM when we woke up for our alpine start. Let me tell you – there’s nothing better to start off an alpine day than DDDCC.

Hitting the trail (5400’) right at 3AM, we saw that our nearly full moon was in inconveniently in the process of setting a couple hours before sunrise. Luckily though, I’d been on the beginning of the trail the year prior in similar snow coverage, and so we quickly made our way to the approximate area of the branch-off where we would head across the lower Nisqually glacier to “the fan”. As we crossed the Nisqually, the sky began to slowly gain some hues of brightness, and the mountain began to take shape in front of us. Behind, Mt. Adam dominated the pink and blue horizon, highlighting a beautiful panorama. Greg and I had lost a little time finding our way off the main Muir trail and onto the Nisqually in the dark, but quickly gained pace as we headed up “the fan” and above – going from only gaining about 1500 feet in the first 2 hours, to averaging 1500+ feet an hour when moving up to the turtle and the Kautz.

Around 4500’ up the route, we encountered a few tents of people camping on the route, and a little higher up as we approached Camp Hazard (~11,300’) we passed some people coming down the route having camped the night before up higher (and maybe having summitted that morning?). Near Camp Hazard there was a fixed line rappel down a small cliff to keep from having to hike up to the ice cliffs and then back down (saving those who used it about 200 vertical feet of scrambling), but detesting fixed lines, and hoping to find some black barrels for our morning “blue bags”, we continued hiking through Camp Hazard to the ice cliffs (sans finding a place to deposit the morning’s business, thus requiring a S)(*&y carryover), hiked down a couple hundred feet below the ice-cliffs, and then traversed over to the ice-pitches of the route.
The two ice pitches of the route were the “money pitches” – the best part of the whole thing. Varying between 50-60 degrees of slightly rotten, but safe, ice, the pitches were not difficult by any means, but were a lot of fun to literally run up using all four spiked appendages, and simul-climb with Greg. Having only a 100’ rope and 6 ice screws, I ran it out about 45-50’ between screw placements trying to keep from having to re-stock gear as much as possible on each “pitch”. Along the sides of the pitches were moderate to huge ice pillars, giant neve penitentes, lining the route and giving it a surreal atmosphere. The also were handy rappel anchors for those descending the route. It was beautiful. On the second pitch we encountered a party rappelling down, and to keep from receiving too much ice-fall from them I went ahead and climbed as fast as I could to get to their side and out of the firing range. Greg and I even managed to climb the entire pitch, with one anchor built to re-supply me with ice-screws, in the time it took them to set-up and do one rappel down the face. We were moving quick, and it felt GREAT.

At the top of the ice section, the climb tapered back off to ~2400’ of slogging up snow-cupped snow. We followed the intermittent tracks working their way up towards the top, and as we crested a rock formation around 13000’ were greeted by some amazingly beautiful, waste to chest high, thin ice flakes which we basically slalomed through to get back on the snow field continuing up the glacier towards the summit. At this point we were maintaining about 1700’ feet per hour as our climbing pace and decided to do our best to reach the summit sub 9 hours. We could feel our legs burning and lungs working hard in the slightly thinner atmosphere, but kept pushing, receiving a boost from the increasing winds at times (luckily travelling up hill), to reach the top in about 9 hours and 18 minutes – not bad for two guys just out for a days fun!

We hung around at the top (14, 410’) briefly as we were getting blown sideways and frozen solid by 80-90 mph winds (the winds on the summit and crater rim were much higher than those just down the slope a bit which were probably only 20-30 mph), got a couple pictures, grabbed another layer, and started descending towards the Disappointment Cleaver.

The Cleaver was really interesting this year in that large seracs, and a huge single crevasse caused the route to be strongly diverted to the climber’s right directly above the cleaver. Last year at a similar time when I was on the route it was able to go straight up the face through where these obstacles now sat. It made for beautiful scenery though to admire on our way down to Muir. Lower down where we dropped into Cathedral Gap within site of camp Muir, the winds which were howling on the upper mountain blasted us like with scree like a sandblaster which made me jealous of Greg’s goggles, but he needed them much more than I as I was travelling directly in front of him and kicking up more rocks and dirt for him to be blasted with.

Arriving at Muir, we finally deposited our blue bags, and had originally planned on making water since we had never added to the 2 liters a piece we started the day with, but feeling lazy we just lounged around for about 30-40 minutes chatting with the climbing ranger and snacking. Finally, we started moving down the Muir snow field, boot skiing as we went, and about an hour later were back at the car with a total car to car (or should I say truck to truck) time of 13 hrs flat. What a great day! Then it was back to Seattle, where we cooked up a steak dinner and drank martinis with my Aunt, Uncle and cousin to finish up. It was, well…. Brilliant. A 9000’ day on ice and snow, and a steak dinner. What more could a guy ask for?!

Mt. Rainier 2009, Climb 1

2009-07-03T15:28:00.000-07:00

After picking up food for a few days on the mountain, Baby Greg (aka “the Kid” aka “the Animal”) and I headed towards Mt. Rainier Tuesday afternoon. Arriving at the ranger station at White River campground, we spoke with the ranger about conditions on Liberty Ridge – the route we had come to the mountain from San Diego to climb. The ranger mentioned that a party had just finished the route, but reported significant rockfall hazard below thumb rock and thin ice/snow conditions up high – typical poor late season route conditions. Talking it over, Greg and I decided that since we had a week around the area and the weather forecast was good, we would go ahead and jaunt over to check out the route for ourselves. Having not been on this side of the mountain before, we weren’t very certain of approach times, but looking over the map we figured we could make Thumb Rock pretty easily in 1 day if conditions on the route were climbable, and so checked in for Thumb Rock camping on night one (the following night 7/1), climbing the rest of the route the next day, with a possible stop at Camp Shurman the following day (7/2) on the way out if it was getting late. Our goal was for a 2-day climb, but we logged in an extra couple days in case we took longer so that the rangers wouldn’t feel obligated to start search efforts due to our over ambitious planning should we fall behind and not return in time.
Getting up at 0300 on Wednesday (7/1), we finished packing our gear, threw down some food, and headed up from the trailhead (4400’) around 0420. We purposely started slow, letting our muscles warm up for what would hopefully be a long couple days ahead, working our way up the maintained ~3.2 mile trail to Glacier Camp. As we hiked up the trail, the sun began painting the peak in a pink mountain glow as it rose above the horizon. This beautiful mountain glow excited both of us with the trip ahead, and moving up the trail calmed our nerves about the climb ahead. Around 0545-0600ish we arrived at Glacier Camp, and as we rounded the corner into camp, a “trail runner” came bounding down the trail from the toilets above us. We were both confused to see a “trail runner” at that hour of the morning, but stopped at the entrance to the camp so I could go off to use the toilets in hopes of avoiding the infamous “blue bag” carry out system. I ambled the 1/8 mile to the open-air toilets (with side by side seating even for those so inclined to have bathroom buddies), and proceeded to do the morning duties – on the way back, however, I noticed there was a medium-large black bear not far off the trail below. I watched him waddle through the brush for a little while, and then proceeded back to Greg. We re-saddled our packs, and continued through Glacier camp where we encountered the “trail runner” – turns out he had also recently enjoyed doing the morning duties, only to have his session interrupted by a wet bear nose sniffing (and touching) his backside! He took off, slowly at first, and as the bear continued to follow him, he started sprinting down the trail away from said bear. An interesting start to the morning none-the-less, and I was glad I hadn’t been a few minutes earlier to the bathroom facilities.
Greg and I continued to work our way up out of Glacier Camp, up Glacier Basin and to St. Elmo pass. At this point we were starting to cover ground pretty quickly, made our way over the pass to the Winthrop Glacier, tied in, and crossed the glacier using footprints made a day or two prior to show us the way. The Winthrop was in great shape, with a nearly straight shot across it, and we continued to traverse it at around 7400’, then traversed the slopes between is and the Carbon Glacier. Arriving within site of the Carbon, we took a long break to nap, refuel, and watch the goat families walking around the snow fields before continuing on towards the Carbon. Still around 7500’, we encountered a group coming towards us. They were coming straight from the base of Liberty and making their way towards the Emmons route. They had started up two days prior, spending one night at Glacier Camp, and the previous night at the Carbon, and had earlier in the current day tried to attain Liberty Ridge via the melted out rock ridge at its base, and via an ice chute just to the right side, only to be turned back by serious rock and ice-fall hazard. They continued on towards the Emmons, and Greg and I watched the ridge and pondered for a while how “intelligent” we were feeling. In the end though, after listening to repeated rockfall and icefall along the surrounding faces, and thinking to the climbing reports, we decided to head back to the trailhead and try another route later on. Liberty Ridge will continue to be there, but we wouldn’t be if we caught that rockfall head-on - so, it will have to wait until next year…
As we traversed back, we could see the other group of 4 about 30-45 minutes ahead of us… and see them as they turned off the original traverse and started to head up towards Camp Schurman for a go at the Emmons Glacier route. As we approached their track, I began wondering about something a little more audacious – instead of decending and driving around the mountain, why not climb up over the Emmons, go down the Disappointment Cleaver (DC) to meet Adam and my SDMRT buddies coming up that route, than traverse to the Kautz Glacier, and climb that back over, down the Emmons, and return to the car that way. We pondered the idea, going back and forth as we headed across the Glacier… arriving at the split in the tracks where we would either head back to St. Elmo pass or up towards Camp Schurman, I turned uphill – with intentions of heading to Camp Schurman and doing our “up and over twice” plan. We camped at Schurman (~9430’), sleeping in late (until about 0530) on the 2nd, and were the last to leave camp at about 0715 that morning. Even carrying our big packs though, we were averaging well over 1000’ per hour of elevation gain. I could tell I wasn’t in quite the shape I hoped to be though, and I started to wonder if my legs had two more days of carrying full packs, especially on the steep terrain of the Kautz. Proceeding up, we started reeling in a few skiers that had left at the time we woke up. At around 13200’ we passed them, with one complaining of altitude problems (they ended up turning around about 700’ below the summit). At 13700’ we encountered the four guys who had also come from Liberty on their way back down (they started around 0330), chatted for a bit, then continued up the last bit of the climb towards the summit.
About 400-500’ below the summit though, we decided that it would be more fun to go back down the Emmons now, rest a day or two, and make a single-day push on the Kautz. This was in part because we weren’t sure how low we would have to go to traverse to the Kautz, and hauling large packs around just for fun just didn’t sound interesting. So we left our packs about 400’ below the summit, and pushed up to the top, arriving at the 14,410’ summit in about 4 hours and 50 minutes to average just a little better than 1000’ per hour, even with our nice social visit at 13,700’ and carrying our large packs most of the way! Not amazing, but we were happy with it none-the-less.
At the summit we met the skier, Amar, who had left Camp Schurman about 20 minutes ahead of us, and with whom we had been maintaining pace with on the way up. We also met Frankie and Scott who were camping directly on the summit… and Frankie had brought his controllable air-foil kite!! Strangely though, there was nearly no wind on the summit (Greg was in only a long sleeve button-up t-shirt), and so the kite flying was unsuccessful, but fun to watch the attempt. We hung out with Amar, Fankie and Scott for about 45 minutes, then headed down to our packs to brew up some water for the descent. After brewing up about 1.5 liters of water, we shouldered our packs, and started hauling down the nearly 5000’ to Camp Schurman. Along the way we passed a couple other groups, including our 4 friends from Liberty Ridge, covering the whole descent from our packs to Schurman in about 52 minutes. Conditions were ideal for descent, with a soft, wet layer of snow allowing us to basically jog/boot ski down the glacier, minding the occasional snow bridge. Changing socks at Schurman to help save our wet, sweaty, feet from destruction, we chatted with IMG guide Andy Polloczek a bit about the mountain, then continued down, moving fast down the soft snow which was in perfect conditions for descent, and arrived at the trailhead 2.5-3 hours later.
Moving fast towards the trailhead as we were both incredibly thirsty, didn’t want to boil water, and my iodine tablets weren’t dissolving for some strange reason, we headed straight towards the trailhead water fountain. Just on the other side of the fountain was a very large group of ~8 skiers heading up. As we approached them I started having the funny feeling that my friend Kelly was with them (she had mentioned she might be on Rainier this week), and low and behold there she was! We chatted for a bit about mountain conditions and trips, wished them well, and continued out of the park to some well deserved pizza and rest - rest for a what we’re hoping will be a one-day push of the Kautz Glacier (slightly less than 9000’ vertical) on Sunday. And a good rest it’s been so far, at my gracious Aunt and Uncles place with a beautiful view of Lake Washington, double chocolate cheesecake, and a bald eagle perched in a tree outside. Ta an saol go maith… Wish us luck!

Solo Ascent and Ski of Snow Creek Couloir

2009-03-16T18:45:00.001-07:00

I tried to find a partner - I really did, but problem one was that I don't know very many strong skiers in SoCal. Problem two was that the few people I knew strong enough to ski it, weren't too keen on earning their turns from the bottom up. Problem three? The two I did know who were strong enough and "willing" were busy, and this was the last weekend of winter and the only weekend I had time for it. 3 strikes, I guess it's solo time...

After a couple quick stops to pick up some batteries, and visit friends on the way north, I arrived at Snow Creek Rd. around 22.30 Friday evening and drove up the road until reaching the "no trespassing" signs for the private community of Snow Creek Village. Taking a look around, and getting oriented for later in the night when I'd be back to trespass on my way up the trail, I turned back down the road, drove past the power station on the right, and headed out into the washes to review route notes, and grab a couple hours of sleep before parking at the power station, and starting the ascent. Although quite excited about the route, and the long day ahead, I was a little apprehensive since I'd never been on the climb before, and was going to be doing the first alpine test of my ankle that I broke at the end of summer, but I crawled into the back of my '87 Land Cruiser (the SNOOZE), and tried to konk out under the bright 3/4 moon, and Snow Creek looming above.

00:59 AM - after laying in the back of my truck awake for two hours, and before my alarm had time to sound, I turned it off and began breakfast. Wanting to get moving, and feeling too tired to get the stove going for hot water, I pored hot mint-green tea on my instant oatmeal, and scarfed down a few packets (surprisingly, green and brown oatmeal with mint-green tea isn't too bad) before driving back to the power station. The moon was bright, and my surroundings were well-lit as I left the snooze at around 1180' and headed up trail with my skis and touring boots strapped to my pack. In order to make better time on the first half of the route, and for comfort's sake on the long slog, I'd decided to wear my usual running shoes until I reached the snow around 4000' above. A half-mile from the power station I came upon Snow Creek Village and turned left onto Falls Creek Rd. Passing a few houses in the silent night, I hopped the gate guarding the Desert Water Agency's property, and continued up Falls Creek Rd. My ankle was stiff, and a little sore, but I decided to continue on and see how it loosened up over the next couple hours. If it got worse, I'd bail, else I'd go on.

Perhaps 30 or more minutes after leaving the car I came upon the first two buildings guarding the water agency's property on each side of the 1-lane road. Passing by the security camera directly overhead, and walking as silently as possible, trying not to crunch any gravel on the pavement, I walked past the open windows of the buildings and continued on into the night. A few hundred feet later, the road split - with the trailer of the caretaker and a large storage tank on the right, and a bridge crossing the creek on the left. Figuring I needed to get on the other side of the creek, I crossed the bridge, and scouted around for the beginnings of a trail. After a short while I decided to give up on the trail, but immediately after crossing under a small pipeline, I gained it by luck and started up the switchbacks of the brushy and rocky slopes above. Traveling purely by moonlight I continued along, soon losing the trail in one of it's thinner sections, and went for the SFU (direct) approach up the hill. Around 3000' the slopes leveled out into a gradually ascending plateau, and I continued up following the contours of the ridge, hoping to regain the trail before the entrance to "the tunnel" above.

Around 4000', in a place where the ridgeline steepened and narrowed, I passed a group of 3 sleeping climbers, and soon regained the trail again, now better marked with cairns and more traveled. Turning on my headlamp so as not to lose the way again as the bush thickened, I continued up for another few hundred feet until reaching the entrance to "the tunnel" at around 4400'. The tunnel is a nice path cut, and woven through clearings along the brushy hillside to connect the initial ridgline between the East Fork of Snow Creek and Falls Creek with the actual East Fork. Resting for a few minutes and grabbing a bite at the entrance, I was happy to have made 3200' of elevation gain, and a decent amount of horizontal distance in less than 3 hours. My ankle was holding up well (thank you brace), I felt refreshed, and was excited about the possibilities of soon being on snow. At this point, I was also hoping to gain the summit by about 11am and make it back to the Perris area to meet friends for dinner around 6... unfortunately that wasn't going to happen thanks to a blunder soon afterwards.

Leaving my skis on the pack as I entered the tunnel (I should have just carried them by hand through the brush), I hunched over and made my way through the bushes (skis catching on regularly of course, and making scrambling a bit tricky), eventually dropping into Snow Creek still near 4400' and a little way below a split in the creek. Right before I dropped into the creek, I could see the headlamps of the party that had been sleeping as I passed them earlier, get up and start heading up the trail behind.

Continuing up the creek only a few hundred feet, I came to a cliff blocking the route. Not taking time to glance at my map, and remembering incorrectly, I made the big mistake of assuming this was part of "the chockstone" and followed a steep, loose, dirt slope up to the right to circumnavigate it. Crawling up in the dark, I began to think it was probably about time to traverse back left into the creek, and followed the beginnings of a trail in that direction. Unfortunately, had I got only 20' higher, I would have seen the correct trail going to the right into the East Fork of Snow Creek proper, but instead I continued left into another creek coming down from above. After some short, but hellacious bushwacking (especially with those darn 190cm skis and poles... no light touring set-up yet), I entered the gully and continued up a few hundred feet more. Around 5200' I found a windbreak/camp built up of stone, and as the dawn sky began to light up the ridges around me I realized "oh crud, I'm in the wrong gully". It was now probably around 06.20, and I'd just wasted a lot of time bushwacking, up and down, back and forth, into a gully that I didn't want to be in. Bloody-friggin' hell.

Looking at the map, it was quickly apparent that this gully would soon gain a ridge (probably more hellacious bushwhacking involved) and not be nearly as fun as the Snow Creek option. So, cranky, and pissed at my own stupidity for not checking my map earlier (or using my headlamp as much as I should have instead of relying on the moon), I started side-hilling and bushwacking to Snow Creek. Every move took extensive effort to get my pack, skis and poles around as thick brush and regular boulders and small cliffs got in the way. About halfway through I finally just took my skis off the pack, and although this made boulder scrambling more difficult (except for when the skis would catch on boulders while still strapped to the pack), it made getting around, over and through trees and bushes much easier. Another two hours later I dropped into snow creek, thoroughly exhausted, and pretty upset with myself. I continuued up the gully for a short while, topping off my water on the way, and soon came upon the "real" chockstone, which was quite obviously named such for a reason.

Examining the easy 5th class to the right of the chockstone, I decided that with the trouble the skis had already given me, I didn't want to get stuck on 5th class terrain with skis hanging-up on rocks, and me already feeling exhausted, so I took the easier option of third and fourth class scrambling through the trees to the right. The skis and poles were a nightmare through here, even though I had again taken them off the pack, but I eventually popped out above the chockstone - totally spent and in need of a break. It was now 9 o'clock, and I had just wasted four and a half hours on what should have taken me a maximum of one and half. I was pretty spent, torn up (especially my new soft-shell pants - bummer), but happy to be on route and looking at snow above.

As I got my ski gear on, and enjoyed a nice PBJ, the group of 3 I had passed earlier caught up. They had also done some bushwacking, having missed "the tunnel", and had nearly followed my lead into the wrong gully. Luckily, however, another experienced group in hot-pursuit redirected them in the right direction and they avoided doing my off-route bushwacking as well. Upon chatting with these three, I found out that they were from Riverside Mountain Rescue (RMRU), and were up here to both experience the route that they often rescue people off of, as well as retrieve some gear that was blown away during a rescue a little over a week prior. Being from another mountain rescue team, SDMRT, it was nice to meet some other colleagues, and catch up on their recent operations in the area. Around 09.30 though, I headed up, and left them to finish their own snack break below.

I initially tried skinning up the firm ice/snow at the base of the gully, but it quickly turned too steep and hard for skins, so I strapped the skis back on my pack and began the tedious process of side-stepping in my crampons up the slope above. After about 1000' I hit sunshine, the first RMRU member caught-up, and I could see a large group of 8 coming up from near the chockstone. For the rest of the climb, I'd leap-frog with the RMRU crew, mostly taking breaks in alternate spots, until two of the three slowly pulled away during the last couple thousand feet to the summit. Sticking to the right at most junctions, we continued up the couloir, zig-zagging back and forth as we side-stepped up the 35-45 degree slope, occasionally front-pointing when necessary. I had brought a new set of crampons for this trip to replace my well-worn BD sabretooths, and they seemed to perform quite well.

About 2000' from the top, a group of 4 skiers and a snowboarder came down from the summit, knocking debris down the gully, and the occasional rock - but nothing too sketchy. Just to round-out the mountain rescue crew, one of them happened to be from San Bernardino Mountain Rescue! I gave them what info I could on the route down (they had never been on that trail), and they continued on out of site. Probably around 1500' from the top, the leader of the group of eight from below caught up, and passed ahead. Myself and the slowest of the three from the RMRU group continued plodding along, following the others' steps in the softer sections, and getting passed by a few more from the group of 8, until we crested the summit around 15.00. The top few hundred feet was pretty soft, and I was definitely grateful that someone had set the steps ahead of me...

At the summit, we were met by more of the RMRU crew that had taken the tram up in the gear retrieval operation, and I was told the story about their contacting the water agency in order to try and get a permit to access the route legally. Being as ridiculous as they are, the water agency wouldn't even give the mountain rescue team a permit citing the importance of the purity of the water. Apparently, the agency seems to believe that only 1-2 people even go back there a year, right...

A quick nutella snack, and a couple summit shots later (with my Vasque txapela hat for kicks), it was time to head out and use all the daylight I could to ski out. The RMRU guys thought it was pretty funny I was going to climb and ski it in one day, but I soon dropped in (literally), and after a little rock navigation was in the firm, and at times quite icey and bumpy, Snow Creek Coulior and on my way back out.

I skied back down the snowy 5500' of the route, taking frequent breaks, and making few nice looking turns thanks to the firm and bumpy snow/ice and my pooped legs. Shadows covered most of the route again, and so even the parts that had softened slightly during the day were again firm and slick. In short, the skiing was pretty lame as conditions go, but it was still a great place to be and a lot of fun (and relatively technical) skiing down. By around 04.30 I had reached the chockstone, kicked off the snow gear, and scrambled through the trees around it. Descending another few hundred feet, I filled up my water bottle again, passed a couple funny guys making a two-day trip out of it (and enjoying some nice looking PBR's and steaks), and continued along the part of the trail I had missed before... dropped back down into the gully to the cliff where I got off-route, then back through the tunnel (much easier with skis in hand instead of on the pack), and down the ridgeline following the marked trail, and taking a couple breaks to grab a quick snack here and there.

As I headed down the final 1000' to the water station, dusk started to settle, and the attendent of the water station returned home and started driving around to check on the facilities. I carefully worked my way down the hill when he was turned away, staying behind rocks and bushes when he was looking my direction, until hitting the road again right as dusk fell. Under the cover of darkness, I crossed the bridge and dropped into the wash circumnavigating his trailer and the houses on the road, until rejoining it one sprained ankle and about 1/2 mile later for the final walk to the car in the dark. Around 20.15, a little under 19 hrs after setting out, and one great day later (and after probably 10,500' of climbing instead of 9600' thanks to a bunch of extra vertical gained during my off-route escapades), I was back at the car - and ready for a big burger and rest before heading back to San Diego.

Final Note: The skiing is technical, with serious consequences should you fall, but it is a fun way to do the route, and it would probably even be skinnable in sections with the right snow conditions (it'd help to have an AT setup with crampons attached), and a nice way to avoid the cabfare to get back to your car! Plus, you've got to earn your turns...

(Also posted at pullharder.org)

Sun-less Ribbon Arete

2009-02-26T08:56:00.000-08:00

I was reminded last night while speaking to a friend of another fun trip... it's a couple years old now, but Adam wrote up a nice piece from our car-to-car winter ascent of Temple Crag.
http://www.summitpost.org/trip-report/265579/sun-less-ribbon-arete.html

Bub and Bubba's Turnagainhouse Trot, Part 2 - Making It Happen

2009-02-25T12:57:00.001-08:00

The trot began the same way that most of the trips that Bubba and I take, with me lying between my teeth on everything from how long I think it will take (always stated as much less than what I expect to be true), when we should leave (given much earlier than the time I know we'll actually leave), and giving assurances that if he doesn't come he's the wimpiest, laziest, most adventure deficient piece of scum to crawl the face of the earth. Unfortunately, this approach only persuades Bubba to join me about 20% of the time, but now luck was in my favour and he agreed to join me on the trot.

Prepping my bag around 7.45 (I had told Bubba to come by around 7.00), I got a call from him that he was on his way, and by 8.30 he had actually arrived (he lives 10 minutes away) and by around 9.00 we were hiking up the trail out of the Glen Alps parking lot. Bubba, keeping fit to his name, had taken on a strong passion for firearms in the last year, and strapped to his pack in a shoulder holster was a large .454 hand gun- plenty to keep both rock scrambling bears, rabid Dall sheep, and any questioning tourist near Flattop away.

We decided it would be more fun to go up Flattop the "old way" on the loose north aspect instead of the wide stairs that had been installed on the south side, and as we tread along I thought back to all the fun I'd had on this trail as a kid. I also had the opportunity to explain the ambition of the hike to Bubba during this time, and enjoyed the nervous cackle as the reality of the day's adventure set in. Cruising up, we quickly crested Flattop and dropped down the backside so that we could begin heading up Peak 2. The weather was about perfect this day, with a strong overcast covering the whole sky just a few thousand feet above the mountains, and only a slight breeze in the air - just right for pushing fast in the mountains with light layers, and little worry of overheating of freezing.

Peak 2 soon turned into Peak 3, and then we were running down the back side of Flake Top Mtn. to the saddle between it and Ptarmigan Peak. We paused to empty scree out of our shoes, and then head up Ptarmigan Peak at our quickest "endurance" pace. I was also rewarded to see my shoes had been slightly cut open by the scree, and was happy I had decided to wait and purchase a new pair after the trip. On our way up Ptarmigan we managed to find a few trickles to top off our water, though the snow wasn't as thick as I'd remembered it from the year before, and there wasn't much snow or ice left to melt. After Ptarmigan peak it would all be virgin territory to both of us, and as we continued along the ridge leading from it's summit, we began to see the tricky terrain ahead. Now, I should mention here that one of our goals in this trot was to stick to the summit ridge as loyally as possible, but without being to reckless of course. Unfortunately, however, there were a few vertical sections that kept us from being too precise, and led to a constant up and down as we worked our way down a couple hundred feet around an impassable feature before regaining the ridge and continuing on again. We continued along though, cresting Hope Mtn., and then down it's gradual backside to a large saddle.

I have a love for jogging down scree slopes, and so pulled a little ahead of Bubba during this time, and sat down for a quick snack. Taking my camera out I shot a relaxed picture showing my feet with the Suicide peaks in the background - a picture that is now a little funny to look at half a year later when I know what happened to that right foot/ankle just a couple hours later, and along the ridge in the just behind the two Suicide peaks in the image...

Bubba quickly caught up and we continued back up the ridge to where it splits three ways - one way back to where we came from, another to Homicide Peak, and then our route towards North Suicide Peak. I tried to convince Bubba to do a little hour-ish jaunt over to Homicide and back so we could really complete the whole ridge line, but despite my prodding, pushing, name-calling, and general chiding I couldn't convince him to do so. He did offer to stay and wait for me, but it didn't seem wise to split up for a while and let him get cold in the slight breeze while I ran to the side. That, and we were still hoping to make it to Indian in time to stop by the Turnagain House for a big steak dinner, and going to Homicide would fully eliminate that possibility.

Continuing on to North Suicide, the ridge dropped down and took a much more dramatic nature than we had experienced so far, but we continued to scramble along, every once in a while pulling a few 5th class moves, but for most part just having extremely exposed 3rd and 4th class terrain. Then it was up the north ridge of North Suicide, with rants back and forth such as "at least it's not too steap" - "what's too steap?" - "well, at least it's not overhanging" as our legs burned while we tried to power up as fast as we could. At the top of North Suicide I was elated at how far we had already made it, and we sat down to have a few more snacks and laugh our way through the summit log before descending to the col between the North and South Suicide. Our knees were both starting to get a bit sore as we came down North Suicide, but we hurried across the col, and up the loose scree slopes of South Suicide.

On the way up South Suicide, we had a little bit more fun and distraction in trying to chase ptarmigan across the loose scree, but despite our best efforts could never get closer than a foot or two away from actually catching one. It was a fun distraction though from our aching legs at this point. At the top of South Suicide, we didn't loiter for long, as we could now see that the ridge to our last peak, Indianhouse Mtn., was long and the second half looked questionable. Then there was also the fact that our steaks were also calling, and the possibility of making it to them in time looking slimmer.

We cruised down the ridge, knees upset but moving, along mountain goat and dall sheep trails - a few of which that ran off in fright as we came moving steadily down the ridge. Signs of other people being on this ridge gradually faded away, and soon it became apparent that we were probably some of the few to have played on this small section of "difficult" to access ridge line.

About halfway to two-thirds of the way along the ridge to Indianhouse, the ridge became more technical, and even had one prominent point that forced us to climb a few hundred feet back up, and then down, to maintain our policy of "sticking to the ridge". At one point we were forced to down-climb a steep couloir due to a drop along the ridge, wedging ourselves between the snow and rock on the side to keep from sliding down the hard snow face. Then we climbed back up to gain the ridge only 30' horizontally from where we were forced to originally detour, but with a nasty, loose, 30' overhang between us. Water supplies were also low, and I think it was around this point that we managed to get a little water from a puddle on one of the rocks along the ridge.

We continued along, and once again I started to put distance between Bubba and I as I strove to push out ahead and route-find so that we wouldn't both have to constantly detour while doing so. Then I came to the point of the ridge that has defined these last few months. In front, it appeared to drop off about 10-12' to a low point with a funky landing, with an overhanging down-climb on wet, chossy slate being the main option of forward progress. To the left, the ridge dropped off about 400' at an ~85 degree angle to the valley below, with 5.9ish downclimbing involved to down-climb and traverse back to the ridge. To the right, the slope was probably only 65-70 degrees, and much easier, but EXTREMELY loose, crumbly, wet and moss-covered, before angling off for another 400' drop. I looked around at our options, and cursed myself for not bringing any rope, when Bubba came along. I showed him our options, and after he had taken a good look, I decided that "I think I'm just going to jump - it's only about 10 feet"... to only be met with.... silence.

After a long pause, I re-stated "yeah, I think I'm going to jump", while Bubba again started looking around and re-evaluating the options. As he came back over to look at "the jump" I again said" yup, going to jump" at which point I pushed off... to be met by Bubba's concerned voice as I left the ground stating"Realllly?!?"

"O-shit" I thought when I heard this, and realized that the ground was farther away than I initially thought, and going to be very hard (it was rock after all). I had tried to jump as far out as possible from drop in order to catch the rock where it angled back up and limit the total vertical drop, but this also meant that I was going to the surface fully square-on and not be able to deflect any of my kinetic energy into forward movement or a roll. I'd also neglected to take off my small ~10 lb pack, and thus had a little more weight than usual. The padding in my shoes was totally worn out (this was their final trip after all - in fact I had stitched part of them together specifically for this trot), but I kept my feet together and tried to land in as energy-absorbing fashion as I could. Unfortunately a small protrusion in the rock caused my right heel to hit first, and as I hit the ground I felt a shock go up through my ankle as I had never felt in my life.

Rolling over in a bit of agony, and breathing deep I heard Bubba ask if I was alright. I replied "Yeah, I think so" while I thought "Robb, you're a fucking idiot". But, before the thought had even had time to fully process I did my best to ignore the pain, and took my foot in my hand to move the ankle and check for crepitus. Negative - no crepitus. Check-one. I can move it on it's own (ableit painfully). Check two. Stand on it? Holy cow that hurts... but... check three.

Bubba at this point states he is going to do the down-climb, but before he has a chance to maneuver into position I reached in my bag and popped 4-ibuprofen. Then, I did my best to describe to him where he should be able to reach holds (they're impossible to see from above as you start the down-climb, but I could see them from below), while reveling in the few moments that I could stay off my ankle before we had to get moving. Bubba soon finished the 15-20' down-climb ( I say 15', he says 20' - why didn't I also take that option?!?), and came over to check on me, before we started moving again.

At this point I was extremely luck - firstly my foot/ankle hurt like the dickens and threatened to give out reguarly, but at least is was stable enough to walk on. Secondly, we had once again gained the part of the ridge where hands are also needed, allowing me to take some of the weight from my right foot/ankle during our ascent. Thirdly, as if it was gift from God - there was a large branch, perfect for a walking stick, on the ridge... now take in mind that that the nearest trees are about 1000-1500' below and down the valley's on the side, but here was this walking stick, that I can only imagine someone had thrown off the summit some time back to have it land by us below... it was a divine gift, and definitely critical in finishing the trot. Sometimes I just used it for balance, but other times it was more of a crutch as my ankle threatened to fully give out, and that thing made life much much happier in gaining the summit of Indianhouse Mtn..

At the top of Indianhouse we found the summit register, signed it, and realized we were going to have to haul arse if there was any chance of making our steak dinner nearly 5000' below - not easy with me being a half cripple and Bubba's knees starting to throb. I popped a few more vitamin-I, and we set-off gingerly along the ridge line to the descent gulley a few hundred feet beyond. The gully was extremely steep with large scree, and we made our way slowly down it for about 1800' - unable to "scree-ski" as usual due to our physical states. I was happiest when I was able to feet-first crawl or ass-skid down, as this allowed me to keep weight off the painful ankle. Eventually, some way down the south-eastern face we were able to start side-hilling towards the ridge rising up from the highway far below, and to the west. Following Dall Sheep trails along the side hill (saviours for our aching limbs, as they eliminated probably 50% or more of the true side-hilling, which was quite unpleasant on the ankle), we continued for probably another 45 minutes or hour until gaining the ridge above the highway. I had remembered being on with Daniel and my Dad during a hike a few years back, and was extremely happy to be back on familiar terrain. At this point we could hear the cars on the road 2500' below, but we still had a long ways to go, dusk was taking over the sky, and the trail became fainter and fainter as the vegetation thickened - and my memories of the trail faded.

As we approached "brush-line" we lost the trail, and despite our best efforts had to descend substantially through the brush before re-gaining it again, only to lose it during some scrambling a short while later. Eventually though, working our way down the slopes, and into the trees we happened upon a grown-over single-track trail, leading down to the road, where we popped out, elated, and joyful. We gave Bubba's parents a call, and they had already started our way. So we hobbled the extra three-quarters of a mile down the road to the Indian Valley Meats, arriving just as darkness truly descended, ~30-45 minutes past our steak dinner goal unfortunately, but with a total time of only around 13.5 hours, despite my injury. Not bad for about 16 miles and more than 10,000' of climbing according to the GPS and map approximations.

The next couple days were difficult with the ankle, but I figured I'd just pissed off the cartilage and there wasn't much that could be done so ignored it. As a family we went clamming in Ninilchik, and walking around there in xtra-tuff's (commercial fishing rubber boots for you land-lubbers) with Mom and Tara re-tested my pain tolerance, but we actually had a lot of fun. I even tried climbing along the highway with a new climbing buddy (thank goodness no true lead falls then), and did the "Long Climb" on Tahquitz after I came back to school in San Diego, along with some diving and boogie-boarding, before finally deciding something might legitimately be wrong with my ankle and going to to the school clinic. As I waited in the evaluation room after the x-rays (they were skeptical at first since I had no limp, but became concerned as the painful areas all coincided with their "critical spots"), I heard the docs mention about a few breaks in someone's ankle. "Hmm, poor sucker" I thought, as I was sure it couldn't be me since I had never broke anything - to be quickly corrected as they came in and told me my position. End results after some more x-rays and a CT? Small chunk broken off of the anterior aspectof the tibial plefond, crack in the posterior tibia, possible cracks in the calcaneous and fibula (some debate here - so no big deal), and a fracture of the talus. Oops. No big deal really - but being non-weight bearing makes it difficult to go play in the mountains...

Thanks TNARG.

2009-02-03T23:39:00.000-08:00

Somebody has got to do it I figured, and I didn't know who else around here might, so I took it upon myself today to remember TNARG on his birthday, and in doing so seize the day to the best of my ability. The day began as any other, working in the lab, things taking longer than they should and wasting a lot of time on things that didn't matter, and to be honest, I didn't even realize it was his birthday until nearly lunch. But, as the day wore on I decided that I needed to do something special today, and really live the day for the guy who wasn't around to do so for himself anymore. So, around 17.45 as I finished up the day's work in the office, and biked home as fast as I could - feeling the evening air, passing a bus and a few other riders, arriving at my place fully out of breath and with burning legs.

I quickly threw together a bag with my climbing gear, and a tub with my dive gear, grabbed my tank for a refill, and as soon as my friend (and fellow burrito connoisseur) Jenny arrived we were out the door and off to get my tank filled, pick up a repaired dive light, and grab a burrito for dinner. We quickly had the dive gear taken care of, and then got our dinner at a place we hadn't tried before. The burritos were great, the "monster" burrito, which was a deviation from the usual carnitas, was fantastic. Then, I dropped Jenny off and it was off to the climbing gym to blitzkrieg some climbs for 40 minutes with my friend Dan, and try to "flash pump" by jumping on a bunch of hard stuff without properly warming up, or allowing time for sufficient rest. By 20.25 I was on my way out of the gym and back to my place to suit up and grab the rest of my dive gear.

21.00 had me in the water, and swimming out for my first solo dive (and at night at that!) from the marine room in La Jolla. After snorkeling to about 300' off the sandy beach, I kept my head down, stuck in my regulator, and deflated the BC to begin diving. I soon leveled out in a shallow 15' of water, and followed the gradually deepening sandy bottom as I headed SW to the canyon and edge of the marine room. Swimming crabs, baby octopi (I caught some even!), sanddabs and baby halibut, tiny burrowing fish of some sort, lobsters, "fields" of sand dollars and a plethora of small fish kept me constantly scanning around and in awe of everything around me. Then, after about 20 minutes, the ground dropped off in front as I hit the canyon at a depth of about 42'. Even though I've swam along the edge of this canyon many times before during the day, alone at night my primal fears took over and I couldn't get myself to swim out into the waters beyond the edge. Instead, I creeped up with my belly on the bottom as if I was approaching a cliff on land, and shined my light out into the abyss below. It was incredible, but creepy in a strange way.

Changing my heading to be more SE and towards the marine room, I soon found myself playing with lobsters - and then low and behold a little 12" horn shark was there in front of me, eyeing me and just sitting there as I eyed it from inches away. I played with the shark for about a minute or two, and then continued inland, intent on reaching the kelp and seaweed filled marine room before I got low on air. Then, wooooosh, what was that dark movement in front of me? Crikey, it's a sea lion! Then wooosh, it's gone again! Then, perhaps the same one, or perhaps another continues to come in front of me, chasing fish, before disappearing into the dark surrounding void again. After many passes by the seal, one fish being chased turned straight towards me and swam directly underneath. The perturbed sea lion began to attempt a chase, but then broke it off just a couple feet away as there was no way he was going to fit in those 12" between me and the ground... incredible.

Soon, the sea lion(s) also disappeared, and I continued south for some time, slowly kicking my fins until kelp began sticking up in front of me. As I pushed through the first mixture of sea grass and kelp marking the edge of the marine room, a large sheep crab, probably 18" across with his legs still bent, walked underneath me without concern about the bubbly guy above him. Fish darted in and out of the various types of seaweed on all side, and little tugs grabbed my legs now and again as I pushed through the thicker sections. The swell above and currents made the grasses constantly move from side-to-side, and my sensations were, quite frankly, pretty much overwhelmed by this point by everything I'd seen already. So, as my air was starting to get low, I turned back in the direction of the beach, and swam until I was in just a few feet if water, surfaced, and lazily kicked in while admiring the night sky. What an absolutely incredible night - thank you TNARG for the inspiration to make it happen.

Happy Birthday TNARG!

2009-02-03T16:26:00.000-08:00

Today is a special day - the birthday of TNARG, otherwise known as LCpl. Grant B. Fraser. Unfortunately he's not around anymore to go play in the mountains with us, but I try to remember his love for the mountains and sea, and that first trip of roped climbing with him and his dad Jim up Flattop in the winter as a young kid. Happy Birthday Grant.

Bub and Bubba's Turnagainhouse Trot, Part 1 - The Vision

2008-09-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

The Turnagainhouse Trot, which I hope will become an annual event (however with a different outcome than its inaugural trip), began a little over a year ago when I called up my friend “the Whale” to go for a hike. I’ve known Whale quite literally since I was born, and let it be known that she resembles nothing of the noun which she has adopted as her name (in fact, she resembles quite the opposite being a land-based bipod with a tall, thin stature). Whale suggested that we climb Flattop together “going up the back-way”, and I readily agreed on as 1) I’d caused permanent emotioinal scarring the last time we’d gone hiking together when she found out that when I said “a couple hours – nothing too bad” really meant “we’ll be back in about 6 hours if we keep a nice fast pace, and jog the flat bits”, and thought it would be good to placate this with a mild Flattop hike - and 2) the traffic up “the back-way”, or “back-side” is typically much more modest, and the path much steeper, less defined, and quite frankly – fun.

Unfortunately, upon arriving at the beginning of the “back-way” on Highland Rd., Whale and her friend Hollie whom was supposed to come along, were nowhere to be found. I was about 10 minutes late, and couldn’t remember what either drove, nor could get cell reception, so, not seeing them, jogged up the first half of the trail to try and catch them as I assumed they’d already gone up. Above “brushline” (treeline would be a generous term here), I still couldn’t see them for sure, but continued to go as fast as I could to catch a group a ways in front to see if that was them. I caught this group about ½ -2/3 of the way up, and not being Whale and Hollie, decided to turn back around and check the parking lot again. Arriving at the parking lot, I again saw no sign of them, and so stood on my truck trying to get cell reception and call them. No answer? Okay, up again we go!

Arriving at the top, solo, I pulled out my phone I had brought along on the second time up, and gave them a ring. It turns out that they were on their way down, having gone up the “old-way” on the front side! However, I still had a lot of energy left, and decided to tackle a couple more peaks. It was probably around 8 at night or so in July so daylight wasn’t going to be a problem, and off I went jogging up Peak 2, Peak 3, and Flaketop Mtn. By that time I was really moving strong, and running down to the pass between Flaketop and Ptarmigan Peak, decided to see how fast I could go up Ptarmigan. Ptarmigan is a pretty steep hike, but I kept a jogging pace up it until arriving at the scrambling part near the top, and was excited as could be feeling the blood flowing, and energy running as I cruised up. It was one of those ecstasy moments where your body is 110% alive, active, alert, exhausted but charged, and ready to take on anything.

When I made the top of Ptarmigan, I looked along the ridgeline as it continued away into the distance, and imagined how fun it would be to continue running and scrambling it… eventually reaching the ridgeline jutting from North Suicide, over the two Suicide Peaks, then up Indianhouse Mtn., and eventually dropping into Indian. At the time it seemed a bit crazy, but absolutely irresistible. I sat at the top of Ptarmigan for a while, thinking about what it would be like to continue on that path through the night. I didn’t have a headlamp, water (my small bottle was quite empty by now, and the ridgeline was rather bare) or food though, and was wearing only synthetic shorts and a t-shirt. Reluctantly, I turned around, jogging and boot-skiing down Ptarmigan to Canyon Rd., where I jogged the couple miles back to the car – excited about the possibility of completing my envisaged ridgeline link-up. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to implement it that summer, nor could I find anyone to go with me, but the trip stuck in the back of my mind over the coming year – and all I could think of when I went home this past summer was trying to attempt it in full.

(Maps courtesy of Google Maps.)

Bub and Bubba's Turnagainhouse Trot...

2008-09-08T21:09:00.000-07:00

Coming soon, along with "What to do with a broken climber?". Stay tuned...

Epilogue

2008-09-08T13:54:00.000-07:00

To be able to partake in this trip up Rainier with my friends from the San Diego Mountain Rescue Team (SDMRT) was a fantastic experience, and I'm thankful to all of them for having me as part of the group. We couldn't have asked for better conditions on the trip, and the group was a real pleasure to climb with. This trip also opened up something a little bit new for me as a climber. I have a tendency to try to push myself sometimes so that half of what I take from the trip comes from my own internal battles, and trying to push myself to my limits. However, in this trip I found a whole new outlook that I don't normally experience - I'm not a fast climber by true alpinist standards, however I do like to push myself hard and therefore don't often get to enjoy the surroundings in the same way that can be done on a more mellow trip, or perhaps just in a different way than this trip. Being in the alpine is where I feel most alive, and most in tune with my surroundings, and slowing down a little this trip really helped expand on those thoughts. I would still like to go back and do a "car-to-car" trip up a technical route on Rainier, but this trip will probably be the most satisfying I'll have in a while. Not only was it a great group to be with, but we had a relaxed and fun time, and got to see Sharon succeed in her dream of climbing it, and having her with us really added a special note to our success. Thank you Michelle, Brian, Sharon, Dan and Amy for having me as part of your group. Your enthusiasm and good nature really made this trip, and I can honestly say I enjoyed spending time and sharing this trip with every one of you.

Mt. Rainier, Part 4 - Ingraham Flats and back...

2008-09-03T13:18:00.000-07:00

We woke up around 0530h Friday morning with the sun beginning to warm the tent as it made it's way above the clouds and across the sky. About a thousand feet below us a thick cloud layer billowed out from the mountain, covering up everything below, and giving Ingraham Flats a magical feel. Above there was nothing but blue sky, and with this beautiful view to wake up to none of us were too enthusiastic to leave camp that day, and took our team getting ready. I think it's safe to say that we would have been pretty content to just stay there another day, enjoying the view, and relaxing on the sun in the glacier - unfortunately our planes' all left at 0600h sharp the next morning, so we needed to get off the mountain some time that day...

Not wanting to carry down more than we had to, we went ahead and made a breakfast fit for champions - using up the remainder of our freeze-dried meals, including a tasty cheescake dessert of Sharon's! Slowly packing up, we took our last pictures of the area, re-hydrated, and tried to keep from leaving too soon. Sarah, a guide from Alpine Ascents Intl. came up to our camp looking for a lighter for their stoves, and it was great to talk to her about her experiences as a guide, especially because she typically does at least one trip a year to Alaska to climb Denali (and I, of course, am from Alaska... though have unfortunately yet to climb Denali - perhaps next spring, anyone interested?). We had fun chatting about Alaska, skiing in the Tetons (where she spends most of the year), etc., and she invited us to come check out their guide/meal tent which they share with one of the other guide services (each group rotates their days on the mountain, and thus who gets to use the tent). I eventually made it down there to check it out, and it was pretty slick - they had 8 MSR whisperlights set up in two groups of 4, on top of which sat two large pots. This allowed them to make a enough water at a time for their meals for their entire group - it was great! The tent was floorless and dugout to allow people to stand inside, and their were seats dug out all the way around. She was a great gal too, and reminded me of some of my favourite friends b

ack home (for those from Alyeska, she reminded me of a young Alex Von Wichman). Anyhow, once again, I digress... bottom line - mountain people rock, and I miss spending more time in the hills...

Eventually, probably around 0830 or 0900 we began making our way off the glacier, past the Cathedral gap bowling alleys, down the scree of the Cathedral Gap, and across Cowlitz Glacier to Camp Muir. As we descended, the cloud layer below us began to burn off, and by the time we had arrived at Muir, there were only spotty clouds left that soon also broke up. Muir was packed with people hoping to make it up over the weekend, and we were happy that we had decided to do our trip during the week, and spent two of our nights at Ingraham Flats instead of Muir. After chatting with some people about the route ahead, we made our way down the snowfield, boot-skiing and glissading our way down on our own, until we met up again at Pebble Creek. Dan and Amy had mentioned they might come up and meet us here, but not seeing them we re-hydrated at the creek and continued down.

On the way down, I found myself doing something that I seem to always do when leaving the alpine. I searched for every inch of snow possible to boot-ski, and really just wanted to be on my own, relishing these last moments on the mountain, and listening to the silence of the hills. I took off ahead of the group in spurts, boot skiing, hiking back up, and boot skiing again at times, but normally just trying to stay out of talking earshot, and on the snow. It's sad to have to return to reality and everyday life, and it's during these moments that I wonder why I have chosen the academic route instead of sticking to the hills. I sensed that Sharon must have felt a similar sadness to the thought of leaving the mountain, and as Brian and Michelle walked ahead to the parking lot, her and I fell farther behind enjoying these final moments in heaven.

We were met in the parking lot by Dan and Amy whom had just come up from below, sporting left-over steak goodies from the previous evening's dinner, and a wide variety of brews that they'd picked up during the previous days after their hikes around the Snow Lake area, Tatoosh Range, and Box Canyon. We hung around the parking lot for a while, sharing our adventures, and then eventually packed up around 1630h and made our way back to Seattle, only stopping for dinner along the way. We got to Seattle late, and only had time to pack and clean up, before catching about 2 hours of sleep, and heading to the airport first thing... I on my way to Alaska, Michelle on her way to an adventure race in Nevada, and the rest on their way back to San Diego.

Mt. Rainier, Part 3, Summit Day

2008-09-03T10:20:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 17th, we woke around midnight to the sounds of other climbers already passing by the Flats, on their way up to the Disappointment Cleaver. As we rubbed the sleep from our eyes (the little of it we'd had - between the sun and our excitement it was hard to fall asleep, and I definitely got a little snappy at Brian and Michelle's excited chatting as Sharon and I tried to crash out), we could see a couple strings of headlamps approach the base of the cleaver, and begin the zig-zagging,
snow to rock, and back to snow, up the arete.

As others melted water and got breakfast ready, I untangled the rope - we'd left our knots and prussicks on from the day before, but packed it away for the night - so that everyone could easily clip into their spot. We had paired down our packs as much as we could, each bringing our down coats, a few extra layers, and our personal technical gear, snacks and water, and divided a couple sleeping bags, a single pad, an emergency bivy, and the team's technical gear (a couple ice screws, 2 pickets, and one extra ice tool) amongst us. Clipping into our crampons, and ditching extra layers (this time I would sure be glad I left the long johns on) we tied in and began our slow slog up Rainier at about 0130h. I've always been amazed at how long it takes to get moving in the morning while camping - even when all you have to do is eat breakfast, make water, and possibly pack up, and this day was no exception.

Shaking out the muscles from the pervious day's labours, we started slowly up the Ingraham, sticking to the climber's left in order to skirt a large crevasse that split nearly the entire upper reaches of the flats. We picked up our pace bit by bit, warming up like a diesel engine - stopping everyonce in a while only to quickly refuel and catch our breath. The well beaten path up the glacier soon began a traverse across and slighlty down towards the base of the Dissapointment cleaver, and after a moderately exposed, but short section, we were on the arete of the cleaver. There wasn't a large amount of moonlight that night, but the glacier dropping off below was still lit up in a dark subtle glow. Night is a special time in the mountains, and their beauty takes on a whole new meaning in it's darkness - the darkness that in the end highlights the mountain mystique that speaks to the alpinist. Behind us, other teams we slowly catching up, having started from the Muir hut that morning, and their headlamps looked like a broken string of christmas lights snaking up the far side of the glacier, until eventually coming even with us across the glacier and traversing our direction.

We didn't want us to rest too long at any of these lower spots, because we knew we were moving slower, and wanted to make sure we weren't below too many groups in the looser rocky sections that mixed in above. Moving on, we made our way up, always leaving our crampons on in the rocky sections, their scrape in some strange way comforting as we moved along. Mixed snow to ice terrain is probably my favourite place to be in the mountains, and I was loving every minute of it.

As we moved up the cleaver, some guided groups caught us, and passed us by relatively quickly. Although there is a relatively well beaten in path up the cleaver, the previous days' melting and deterioration of the trail caused me to strike out and form a new trail in places, and it was satisfying in my own mind to see the guides catching us following our new route to bridge certain sections - this wasn't difficult terrain by any means, only steep hard snow up a face with large sun cups, but sometimes it's the little things that count. It also made me glad that we were our own team, as the "mushing" of the guides wasn't at all what I like to experience in the mountains. A team should be exactly that, a team, and the dialogue between clients and guide of "when do we get to stop..." (cut off) "we'll stop soon, we didnt' stop that long ago, and we need to make it to the next point - I'm hungry and thirsty too, but we need to keep moving..."(said while the guide seems to nearly be dragging the client up), didn't at all mirror the team nature that I think adds a big part to alpinism.

As more groups caught up with us about 2/3 of the way up the Cleaver, I led our team out off the snow path to the rock edge of the arete in order to let the other groups pass more easily. Here we again took a quick break, before continuuing on, now behind most of the guided groups, back to the snow field and up to the top of the cleaver. As we arrived at the top of the cleaver, the guided groups (I believe all from RMI) finished their own break, while a small contingent waited to start down - either because the guides told them they needed to, they decided it wasn't their deal afterall, or perhaps because of some sort of physical ailment. We decided that this must be where the term "Dissapointment Cleaver" came from.

The RMI groups headed up, and we sat at the cleaver, watching the first rays of sunlight begin to peak over the eastern horizon and light up the hills below. Looking down at glaciers around Little Tahoma Peak, a beautiful dawn glow began to expose each and every part of the tortured glacial surface, broken and sweeping along it's slow path down. Brian and I took some pictures, and soon it we were back on our way up, trudging along the ice towards the summit above. Distances between points were deceiving, and I found myself setting too lofty of goals between each one of our brief breathers. Unfortunately, although we had a very good chance of making the summit still, I knew we were falling behind the optimum schedule, and tried to drag out the distance between breathers as far as I could - possibly pushing Sharon a bit to far at points, but she always dug down, found the strength, and kept pushing on hard. (I'd like to emphasize that as we were a climbing team, decisions on where we stopped, rested, etc. were actually team decisions, however being at the head of the rope I definitely tried to use that minor leadership role to subtley (I hope) affect when and where we stopped.)

The route up the ice had many small crevasses, but nothing very large ever had to be bridged, and there were only a few small seracs to work around. The texture of the snow on the lower reaches, however, was incredible, with deep suncups forming ridged spikes (I believe the correct name is neve penitentes) across the glacial surface, dirty with a thin coating of dust, and glowing in the morning light. At one point a swiss couple passed us (my own guess - sometimes people just fit the image, their accent, clothes, facial features and manerisms all brought me back to my time living in Switzerland), but from that point on we would be on our own heading up, now the last group in the long chain towards the summit. The glacial travel on the upper reaches continued to be uneventful, with only a few fun sections where we got to step across deep chasms, jump, or climb around a small serac, but it was a fun slog, working our way back and forth, up the slightly tapering hillside. Around us blue skies showed no hints of weather ever even existing on the mountain, and a cool breeze kept our bodies at the perfect temperature (though my hands would freeze every time we stopped if I didn't immediately put gloves on).

After a few hours, another group who was descending with big grins on their faces, told us we were getting close "about 15 minutes", and that when rocks came into view above we would be looking at the edge of the summit crater. Their premonition about the rocks soon turned true, but those 15 minutes soon turned into an hour. Sharon and the others were doing great, but it was important that we got up soon as everyone was starting to show small signs of tiring, and I wanted to save any significant food and resting until we were in the lee of the summit crater. I also wanted to make sure that we finished on the still hard snow, before it warmed and became soft and slushy. Soon enough we were there though, and were all filled with elation as we crested over and into the summit crater at about 0830h (basically a large snow filled bowl, perhaps 200 feet deep at most). Another group was here, getting ready to head down, and as they took their pictures and packed up, we snacked, joked, and got ready to ditch our packs for the quick jaunt over to the true summit.

Unfortunately, my stomach was a bit upset about this time and was giving me some issues, but we ambled over to the summit to take some summit pictures, and admire the view from above. Oddly, it actually took us a little while to figure out what exactly was the "true" summit, as each about three points all seemed to be about the same hieght, but we eventually figured out which was the true summit, and soon had the amusing time of trying to get just the right group shot on auto-timer there. Luckily, at the same time that we were trying to get our pictures, another group came in from Kautz Glacier guided by RMI, and they took a picture thus eliminating our amusing "self-timer" shots with missing heads and the like.

Looking out from the summit of Rainier offers gorgeous views, and the perfectly clear sky with allowed us to see until the roundness of the earths surface blocked our view. Factually put by Sharon "Seattle is socked in w/ marine layer, but the Olympic Mtns. can be seen beyond Puget Sound to the NW. To the North – Mt. Baker & the Canadian Cascades. East – looking down on Little Tahoma & the Tatoosh in the SE. To the South – Mt. Adams, St. Helens, and down into Oregon – Mt. Hood & Jefferson. We spent almost 3 hrs. walking around the crater rim, checking out the steam vents, then melted snow for drinking water before heading back down." Unfortunately, part of this three hours was my taking part in joining Dan and Terry in what must be the SDMRT (San Diego Mountain Rescue Team) curse (to which they participated in years ago during a seperate ascent), as my stomach finally decided it had suffered enough, and I was forced to leave something on Rainier that I truly had no desire to leave behind, or the blue-bag available to avoid doing so... I blaim it purely on my dedication to SDMRT.

The way down was relatively uneventful - during our time on the summit, the snow on the mountain had gradually warmed up and began sticking to our crampons, and a few of the short snow bridges had begun to give, but we made our way down to the Dissapointment Cleaver with only a few short breaks for the knees, before packing up and heading down the rest of the way. I was still leading on the way down, and it was definitely comforting having Brian in the back to help arrest the group should someone slip, or have their legs give out. Our legs were pretty worked by this time, and although we never needed it, Brian did a great job making sure we wouldn't go far if one of us slipped.

The unfortunate part, however, about traveling on a rope team is the constant pull felt on the rope due to the differing walking speeds of the group. Being in front, I couldn't see when someone was stopping behind me, and even though I kept one hand on the rope as a feeler, would still get caught by surprise mid-step, and have to often stop with one foot in the air on a moments notice. I did my best to keep my pace slow enough so that these tugs weren't to often, but unforunately had a tendency to slowly increase speed with time. Michelle, behind me, probably had it the worst as she had me always pulling away at the front, and Sharon moving the slowest of us directly behind her, so she would get the pull coming from both directions. (Both of their patience when roped up was incredible) I felt bad, however, when only about 500 feet from camp Michelle stopped to joke with Sharon and Brian, and I, getting stopped mid-stride, yet again, and uncessarily, snapped at her for not being able to talk and walk at the same time. I'm normally a pretty patient person, especially in the hills, but being so close to camp, and wanting to keep moving (and feeling a bit like a dog on a leash) I wasn't able to contain my quick jibe back to her... soon, after I'd become the brunt of the joke though (if you dish it, you'd better be able to take it), we were back in camp at around 1500h, and happy with our fantastic day of climbing.

Not being in a rush to move on, we stayed in camp the rest of the day, enjoying the sunshine, and a gorgeous view. We couldn't have asked for better weather - in fact a few teams had turned back earlier in the week due to high winds - but we had steady winds of perhaps only 10 mph on the higher parts of the mountain, and probably only 15 on the summit. It was great. We enjoyed our view, looking out past Little Tahoma, and had an early dinner (I definitely learned this trip that I should bring more food - thank you Sharon for only needing 1/2 a ration each time compared to my 1 and 1/2!) and were sacked out by 1930h, this time having no problem falling asleep.

(Thanks again to Brian for some of the pictures, including the team travel shot from the rear, and the summit shot.)

Mt. Rainier, part 2 Little Africa to Ingraham Flats

2008-09-01T18:32:00.000-07:00

Waking up Tuesday morning a little before dawn, we started packing up for our day's goal - Ingraham Flats. Sharon had luckily decided to join us at least as far as Camp Muir, and would see how she was feeling there. So we bid goodbye to Amy and Dan, wished them well, and saddled up, happy to be a team of four instead of three, but sad to see the others go.

Heading up, it wasn't long before we were shedding layers even though we had started out a bit cold and shed a few to start. I quickly regretted having forgotten to take my long-johns off during the initial shedding, and sweated it out until we found a good resting place later on. The morning sun soon turned the snow around us soft, we ditched out crampons, and thereafter crested a rise so that Camp Muir came into view. At this point we started to spread out and all laughed at how far away it still seemed. Slogging our way up the upper reaches of the Muir Snowfield to Camp Muir (10,188'), we took a long break to get out our glacier travel gear, and prepair for our second short push of the day to Ingraham flats where we would camp for the night.

While hanging out at Muir, we had the opportunity to chat with a new RMI guide about the conditions ahead, and were happy to hear that the route was in excellent condition. We had some previous concern about rockfall in Cathedral gap, but watching groups come through we were able to see the danger zones to move quickly through, and that it was nothing to be overly concerned about. Teams coming out reported great climbing, beautiful views, and amazing weather - something which was forecast for the rest of our trip - and we were excited to move back along. Brian also had the chance to briefly meet Lou Whitaker as he emptied water from his pack on a training climb to Muir, and was pretty excited about this!

Packing and roping up, we saw two Park Rangers moving fast, back in from a summit that morning. These guys were pretty cocky, but amusing to watch as they nearly jogged to the ranger shack, while shedding gear and layers, to report a roundtrip time of around 4.5 hours from Muir to the top and back again. Breaking out a bottle of wine, they turned on some Bob Marley over the loud speakers, and we left camp with his slow, but grooving regae rhythms going through our heads.

With myself in the lead, followed by Michelle, Sharon and then Brian, we made our way across the upper reaches of Cowlitz glacier, to the small bowling alley of Cathedral Gap where we short-roped up the scree to the top of the gap. Here there was a small area where we could catch our breath again before trying to move quickly through a another bowling alley protecting the entrance to Ingraham flats. Although numerous rocks fell from above in these two sections, nothing was ever close, and we escaped with nothing but smiles on our faces. Below us we could see the reaches of the Ingraham glacier breaking into numerous seracs, and flowing over the rolls of the mountain, while above the upper reaches stood as a broken obstacle to the Ingraham Direct.

Arriving at Ingraham flats we set up camp a small distance away from a group from Alpine Ascents Intl., and a few other independent climbing teams who were in the area. We had hoped at this point to get some crevasse rescue training in, but a lack of time and desire to rest for the next mornings push to the summit kept us from doing so. We relaxed there in the sun, refueled, and reorganized our summit packs for the next day. Above us sat the upper reaches of the broken Ingraham glacier with its intimidating seracs, bordered on one side by Gibraltar rock, and the other side by the Dissapointment Cleaver (which was the current route up). Below, a few wispy clouds swirled around the mountain, and Little Tahoma Peak stuck out dramatically splitting the panorama cleanly in two. Perhaps Sharon described it best in her post-trip report to SDMRT when she said "Crevasses & Icefall are spectacular as is view of nearby Little Tahoma Peak. Misty clouds blowing in & out of camp make it feel otherworldly."

That night we tried to hit the sack around 1900h in order to get up at midnight for our climb (got to love alpine starts), this was easier said than done with 4 teammates crammed in a 3-person tent, the excitement of what was to follow, and the persistent daylight that didn't subside until nearly 2200h. Personally, I had become the most experienced in technical ascents and glacial travel once Dan had left the team, and I found myself feeling a little more focused on what we would need to do the next day, and how best to stay on top of my own game. Thankfully, there is a well beaten path up Rainier due to the hordes who climb it, but I still found myself reviewing rescue procedures in my head that night, things to watch for, and a gaining a more focused outlook on the situation around us. In some ways I might have been a little more edgy and stressed, but I knew deep down that there wasn't any reason for this as we were on only easy-moderate technical terrain, and I was with 3 other very competent teammates, who would prove well in any situation we might find ourselves in. A few years earlier while traveling in thick fog on a glacier below Pza. Bernina on the Swiss-Italian border, I had followed the rope in front of me (which led to my friends Andrea and Simone) and punched through a few different unforseen crevasses until my pack caught and I hung there with my feet dangling, luckily never punching all the way through. The chances were poor, but I didn't want this to be the place where that happened. I'll be honest though in also in saying I actually enjoyed this little bit of extra "responsibility" (if I can call it that since those behind me really were well qualified, even if not extremely experienced), and just hoped that everything would go well the next day.

(Note: The photos of camp at Ingraham Flats, and of my sorting gear are thanks to Brian).

Climbing Mt. Rainier, Part 1, Seattle to Little Africa

2008-08-31T19:44:00.000-07:00

About halfway through last year I was lucky enough to be asked by my friend Sharon from the San Diego Mountain Rescue Team (of which I am a member) if I would be interested in climbing Mt. Rainier with her and some other members of the team (Dan, Amy, Brian and Michelle). Being a junior member on the team, I couldn't believe I was so lucky to be asked to join them for such an opportunity, and was extremely happy to accept. Sharon was great, organizing the trip for a total of six of us, getting the permits, and getting everyone organized and working together before taking off... but why the trip in the first place you might ask? Well... Sharon just turned 50, and what a better way to celebrate than to go climb beautiful Rainier! Ironically in the end though, although we did the trip in honor of Sharon's birthday, in reality it would be a birthday trip for a bunch of us... my 25th birthday was 2 days before we started, Brian's 30th was on our first day on the mountain, and Dan's repetitive 29th birthday shortly after we were due to be back!

We all met up in Seattle on July 13th, and spent all too many hours at Pike's Market (OK, not too much time here, I wouldn't have mi
nded hanging around longer!), REI (not quite as impressive as I thought, but wow), Feathered Friends (these people ROCK), and Albertson's, gathering last minute mountaineering gear, fuel, and food before heading south to Mt. Rainier's Cougar Rock campground (3328') to spend the night. At cougar we worked as a group to decide our final plans dividing up the gear, pack up, talk more about team travel, and of course had a general toast to our trip with some RAIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEERRRRRR BEEEEEEEERRRR... Brian and I also had a fantastic opporunity to test out the acoustics of the local wash room (they were of the flushing variety, so breathing was safe...), with a great duet of "I can't stop this feeling" while sitting on the john... can you hear it? ooogachacka, oogachacka, ooogachacka... Iiiiiiiiii'mmm stuck on a feeeeeling, Hhhigh on beelllieving... Unfortunately, try as we might (and we tried often much the chagrin of the rest of the group), we never could produce those great acoustics on the mountain, but enough... I digress...

Waking up Monday morning, we threw our packs in the car and headed up to the Paradise Ranger Station (5500') where we would begin our climb. Soon we were packed up, and moving along with our various packs weighing in anywhere from 60-72 lbs (GO Dan!). We were trying to keep gear relatively light, and cut our gear down accordingly. I, as always, was trying to use a smaller pack than I probably should have in order to save pack weight, but managed to get everything in there just fine, and strapped my rope, sleeping pad, and helmet to the outside. I also considered myself lucky, because I knew that even though I was weighing in at the mid-range of about 64 lbs, I would lose 10.2 lbs. worth of rope (which would become distruted among us... probably leaving me with about 3 lbs. of it) once we got going... but, for the meantime, it was mine until we reached the glaciers above! I also had my big camera as usual, but in order to trick my mind, didn't include that when weighing in...

Getting going was a little amusing because none of us knew exactly what trail to take, and were joking around too much to think about asking someone. Being slightly off the usual path, we got a few funny looks from some of the guides who were teaching their glacial travel class to clients, but eventually found our way to the main path - heck, all the trails were going up anyhow, and were bound to intersect! It was fun watching the excitement throughout the group though, and everybody settle into a rhythm and learn how to adjust pace to stay relatively together.

That first day on the trail was absolutely gorgeous, and our team was in high spirits as we slogged up the mountain with the hopes of reaching Camp Muir for the night. We were moving slow, but steady, and had numerous stops to admire the views of a perfect day on Rainier, rehydrate and stay fueled up. We spoke to numerous groups coming down from above, and were amused by the quietness of the guided clients who had been drug up the mountain by guide teams, and been on the move (from Camp Muir, to the summit, and now on their way down) since midnight. Our path was probably the most common on the mountain, taking us up the Muir Snow Field, and I was amazed by the shear number of people - both day hikers and mountaineers - who were out. Across a large gulley we could see a long string of other climbers working their way up Nisquilly Glacier to the west, and above we'd often glance up to see rock or ice fall from the glaciers above and to the west of the Muir hut. At one point when I'd gone up ahead I saw two guys coming down with skis who had just gone up the Muir Snow Field to ski for the day - I was jealous of their skis, and laughed pretty hard when they looked at me and asked "who are you guiding for?" - me, a guide? Right... I wish!

Our group was moving slow, but the day was gorgeous, and it was pleasant going. Temperatures were warm enough for short sleeves, but the breeze kept us cool enough so that we didn't over heat too badly. The hours went by quickly though, and soon dusk was approaching, our group was knackered, and we were still about 1400' below the Muir hut when we decided to dig in and camp in the middle of "Little Africa". We were only at about 8,800', and below the "recommended" camping limit, so Brian, Michelle and I went looking for a nice spot to set-up tents off the beaten path of the Muir Snow Field. Brian found a great spot tucked away in the lee of the nearby ridgeline, and we dug out some tent platforms for the night, made dinner, and rehydrated. While boiling some water though (it's a good idea to boil the water on Rainier, even when you melt it from snow, as you never know what's going to be in it with the amount of traffic in the area), I realized I had left my camera a few hundred feet below. I'd set down my pack when we'd gone in search of camping spots, and quickly sprinted down to pick it up...

Unfortunately, during our day up, Amy had come to realize that she really didn't feel comfortable continuing the climb, and she and her boyfriend Dan elected to go down and enjoy some of the local hiking trails over the next couple days instead. This left us at a slight prediciment though, as we had divided our team into 2 three prerson teams previously, each of which would share a single tent and rope. Due to our mixed experience throughout the group, we would need to travel as a rope team of four now (two teams of two wouldn't have been safe), however there was still the conundrum of squeezing Sharon into Michelle, Brian and I's three person tent! Sharon was pretty concerned about Brian's reputation for HAIF (high altitude induced flatulence), and contemplated retreating with Dan and Amy due to this concern, and the nagging in the back of her mind that she might not be able to keep up with us younger lackies.

Talking amongst Brian, Michelle and I we all agreed that we very much wanted Sharon to continue with us. She was the very reason we were lucky enough to be on the mountain, and we all knew that it would mean the world if she could make it to the summit. Although she had had a little trouble that day due to her smaller stature and heavy pack, we knew that she had the physical and mental fortitude to continue on with us. We weren't going for a speed ascent (obviously), but rather just wanted to enjoy eachother's company on the mountain. Furthermore, the summit would mean that much more to each of us if we had Sharon as well. After voicing this to Sharon, she agreed to give it some thought, and let us know in the morning what her decision would be. We crossed our fingers, and lay down for the night, wondering where the next day would take us to, and how many of us would be there...