Always A Work in Progress (Sticky Post)

Posted on October 6, 2014 by evejakubowski

Thanks to the guy at Marathon Sports back home who made the logo! I think it’s going to have to stay here because I cannot for the life of me figure out how the hell to get it next to the title above. Eventually I’d like to have a few things added, like lists (everyone loves lists), hike of the month, and a few more categories, but for now it’s all about learning to hike, climb, and run. Elevation profiles are in the Strava links when provided, and if anyone would like a GPX file of my route, comment and let me know, I usually have one. Comments, blog suggestions, and recommendations for peaks are always welcome! Doesn’t matter whether it’s a hike, run, or climb.

Recent updates: I have started an instagram! have_tent_will_travel (because some bastards took havetent_willtravel and havetentwilltravel). Not much to it right now, but I figure it’ll keep things moving during the dreary winter days where we can all reminisce on that one time it was sunny for a record streak and we were ~~sick of the sun~~ hoping for rain.

Moab Trail Marathon: It’s an Art

Posted on November 13, 2018 by evejakubowski

The infamous Mile 15

And they’re off!

So by now, most of you know we’ve been winging this marathon for a few years. And we didn’t think it could get worse than last year, where my father went on one seven mile run leading up to the race. I remember him announcing at mile 17 that his legs felt fine, but man they were just so tired. Duh and/or hello, you’ve run 10 miles farther than the farthest you’ve run since this day last year.

This year, there was no training. I went on a panic 12 mile in early October and felt fine and then did another panic run a few weeks ago by Rainier so obviously that’s enough to finish a marathon, right? My dad knocked out a few 3-5 milers, but nothing consistent, and nothing considered “marathon training.” And yet there we were at the starting line, in the second-to-last wave, ready to see what happened. Like I said, it’s an art. We didn’t have the brute force that most have when they’ve spent three months training. But we had knowledge. We had history. We had patience and the finesse of two dehydrated, delirious, stumbling elk. We brainstormed bail points.

Mile 9. Break off from marathon, finish with the half marathoners. 13 miles total. Dad’s plan.
Mile 12.5. Run with Eve through the out-and-back, then backtrack to the half split, finish with the half marathoners. ~17 miles total. Dad’s plan according to me, because I sure as shit wasn’t doing that out and back solo, that thing’s miserable.
Mile 17. Fake bail. Hike mile 15 with Eve, walk to mile 23.1 from there. Viable option for both of us.
Mile 23.1. You cross the finish line and head out for another 5k. Skip the 5k. 23 miles total. Viable option for both of us.
Mile 26.2. You run the whole mother fucking marathon because YOU CAN. 2% chance of success.

It’s so SUNNY

The morning was off to a smooth start. I panic-freaked on my mother who was blow drying her hair when we needed to get breakfast, because we can’t be late to the starting line MOM and we only have 17 minutes for breakfast now MOM we need to go MOOOOMMMMM (I’m still a child).

We enjoyed our 14 minute breakfast and hopped in the car. I had my father drive, because he ~~speeds~~ is a more efficient driver. 20 minutes out, I jokingly asked if he had his bib, because we had nearly forgotten in past years. He stared at me blankly. He did not have his bib. So we drove back to the hotel, grabbed the bib, back in the car, and luckily (thanks Mooom) we were able to get dropped off at the starting line instead of parking a half mile away and walking. We were waiting for the start within minutes, since the first waves had already gone. But we were at the back of the pack. Bring it on, baby.

Cowpie and the rock that broke my phone I assume

We walked probably 80% of the first 5 miles. Mostly because everyone in front of us was walking and it turned into bottlenecks. In years past, that has driven me utterly insane because I am not a patient person. But this year? With a single run under my belt in three months? “lol, we can walk this.” “lol, we can walk this too.” “lol I don’t know this bit is somewhat uphill if you look at it sideways.” “Dad you’re running too fast.” And my calf injury is back. And running in sand sucks. Especially for injured calves. And it’s hard to dodge the mildly surprising number of cowpies that littered the trail while running. Oh, and I immediately dropped my phone on the only rock surrounded by 5 miles of sand and shattered the screen. So that was good.

Mile 5! (ish)

Around mile 5, my calves finally relaxed and the runners started to spread out. Miles 5 through 9 are my second favorite part of this race, because you cruise along a plateau followed by a long stretch next to the canyon rim. It’s slightly downhill, it starts out as a wide sandy path and narrows to single track, the sun is out, endorphins are flowing, people are having fun. Most around us were doing the half marathon instead of slogging through the desert for 8 hours, which I was positive would happen given our peak conditioning.

Beginning of the bottleneck

There was a worse than usual bottleneck at the scramble section, so we spend maybe half an hour waiting in line. That gave my father time to take off his shoes, shake out some sand, have some snacks, get cold in the shade, take a leak (Jakubowski family record for most-pees-during-a-marathon), and wonder how Mom would do jogging next to the 1,000ft drop beyond the canyon rim. We scuttled down the scramble, hit the aid station, and it was time to follow the marathon runners while the half folks jogged back to finish.

I mean if I had to wait in line…

We knew the out and back was coming. Last year they had extended it, and it was probably the single most mentally difficult section of the race for me, because I didn’t expect it. After years I know this course like I know my commute to work. I can space out and suddenly be at point B. But no, they had to add mileage to the worst section of the race. This year, we were ready. It would be long. It would be soft sand. There would be bottlenecks. We agreed to just walk the whole thing. I waited in line for a pit toilet instead of saving time and peeing in the bushes because who cares, it’s the lames part of the race. Except then it wasn’t just sand. And there weren’t bottlenecks. And we were jogging. And the fall foliage was the best we’ve ever seen it. And everyone was so positive and smiling and cheering and saying “Great job!” as we passed. I laughed. This has got to be the most positive out-and-back we’ve ever had. And suddenly right around the first corner was the punch station. Oh my god. Dreams can come true.

Up, up, and away!

Neat plant

We punched and bailed and continued the positive support on our way out. We ran down the road where my usual lone yellow tree was still green. We grabbed snacks at the mile 14 aid station and jogged our way to the base of mile 15. The climb. We started hiking right away. We enjoyed the views. The fall foliage was late, and you could see the bright greens and yellows snaking through the valley below. My father forgot shorts and was running in sweatpants. It was like 70 and sunny and I could feel the salt sweat-crisped to my face. We started picking off runners one at a time. This was our jam. We had finally figured out Mile Fifteen. That’s not the top. Neither is the next corner, or the corner after that. Doesn’t matter. We’re in the zone.

River winding away in the distance

“Huuuuuaaaaagcchhhkk. Noooo!” We heard the joy and determination of the woman behind us leave her body as we rounded the second to last curve and it was not the top. We laughed (sorry, miss) and commiserated. We should have warned her. You’re so close though! We snapped our usual picture by the rock. “Is this one?” “No this one is too early we did that a few years ago.” “I think that was it.” “No it’s up here.” “We definitely passed it.” But there it was, sitting at the top like a potato chip. Happiest pic we’ve taken at that mile.*

So far so good!

“Is she still taking pictures”

“The aid station is always farther away than I remember.” Yeah, I know. Same here. Except even with that knowledge, it was STILL farther than I remembered. But that’s okay, because miles ~16-18 are my favorite miles of the race, and 18-22 are up there too. Because miles 16-18 are a long, mostly flat downhill on top of the world. Single track, dancing through underbrush and small plants, sucking in your waist and turning sideways to fit through canyons. And finally, the aid station.

Squeeze canyon

We popped salt pills, chugged electrolytes, puffed chip crumbs. I stuffed my face with oranges, which I hate in real life, but for whatever reason my body decided that those were the most wonderful things on the planet in that moment. And off we went, knowing we had a few miles of rolling slickrock before a loooong downhill back to the pseudo-finish-line and the adventure 5k. We shared the good news with Mr. Orange nearby. Just a bit of slickrock and then 3-4 miles of niiiiice gradual downhill!

Let the slickrock begin

Except we were wrong. Whatever mileage they took off of the out-and-back compared to last year, they re-added in the slickrock section. Which I’m totally okay with, because it’s beautiful and unlike anything I see in my normal life. It’s a walk/run hybrid, because even the downhill running is an unpleasant knee-pounding rocky uneven descent. But after miles of navigating mountain bike trails (one cairn to the next, first year I’ve seen cairns!) we hit a road that eventually took us to the classic canyon rim ramp that would drop us along the river back to the pseudofinish. And that is possibly the only section of the marathon where you get several cruiser miles of mild downhill, mostly single track. It’s spectacular.

Like a cornice except rock!

That is, until you get close enough to hear the finishers. And the cheering. And realize you still have a mile to the pseudo-finish, followed by the adventure 5k to close out your 26.2. At the 23.1 mile aid station I let myself have some coca cola, which I decided to use to swallow salt pills. Turns out trying to pop three huge salt pills with very carbonated soda is a bad choice and I sat there convincing my body to not vomit everywhere while the terrible mix was stuck in my throat. My brain won the battle and we kept jogging, ready to be done with this.

The adventure course was smooth. I forecasted a muscle spasm in my left adductor and the right side of my going. But no. My body had to go for the wild card. Shin cramps, bitch! Those exist?! I could feel the muscles on the front of my shins contracting. Oh boy. It’s going to be an interesting last few miles. I sucked it up and changed my stride from lazy heel strike hobble to forefoot strike. Sucks for my calves, but what do you know, the shin spasms went away.

Trail and the snow capped La Salle Mountains

Aid station!

Only to be followed by a short adductor spasm. I put pressure on it and kept jogging because who needs adductors. That one cleared up quickly too, which was a relief since it’s the same cramp I had finishing Seattle last year, which resulted in some of the more hilarious photos of my running career (if you can call it that). Moab did no such thing, all of my photos are awesome.

The parking lot jog wasn’t as awful as usual, but my dad did count to (I think) three thousand steps. Or maybe it was 1,500. He did it three times, because when he got to the end and we weren’t at the finish yet, he’d start over and do it again. Back in the woods I panicked briefly that we were backtracking on hte marathon course and had missed the finish. But we found the turnoff, we were right, and we ran across the finish line laughing at how pleasant the whole race had been.

Topping out on the scramble

Maybe it was the low expectations, or the assumption we’d suffer, or the multiple bail plans that we bailed on. Or the sun and the late fall foliage. Or everyone being so happy during the out-and-back. Or they put some crack in their electrolyte mixes, I don’t know. But it was a fantastic day. 10/10 race. If I’m ever injured to the point I can’t run, I’ll drag my ass out there to volunteer. It’s just a great event. Thanks Mom for putting up with my shit that morning and chaperoning us around, and congrats Dad on running a marathon without even training for a half marathon. Someday you’re going to be a mortal human but that day hasn’t come yet.

*Sometime around this, my mother was in a cafe in Moab, where she met the 2nd place marathon finisher. While we were still out meandering through the desert.

Woo!! Moab Marathon #5 is in the bag, baby!

Third Burroughs & Fremont Lookout

Posted on October 25, 2018 by evejakubowski

There is a tiny person in this picture. Rainier from the back of the second burrough.

What the title doesn’t mention is that this post is more like an anthology of pictures of random people that I don’t know who will never know they’re in my photos. But let’s get started.

I’ve never been to Sunrise. Over four years in Washington, multiple Rainier summits, and I had never set foot in the Sunrise parking lot. It was time for that streak to end. I’ve had the Burroughs on my trail run list for years and both those and Fremont Lookout on my OG hikes list from the list I compiled when I first moved here. I wanted some miles for my poor pampered legs (marathon next weekend… hahaa ahah ah…) and figured this would do the trick and have me back at a reasonable hour.

Distance: 11.5 miles

Elevation: 4500ft gain, 7,800ft highest point

Weather: 60’s and sunny

Commute from Seattle: 2:20 without traffic

Did I Trip: No! Suckers

Stay classy, Washington

I slept in until 7:30. Anyone who knows me knows how outrageous that is. And I was in bed at 9:30, it’s not like it was an alcohol fueled wild Friday night. I had tea, hopped in the car with my gear, shot Brooke a quick message so at least someone would know where I was, and drove myself out of the stagnant marine layer that has been plaguing Seattle mornings thanks to this high pressure system. I stopped at a gas station in Enumclaw and bought the rest of their paninos. Think pre packaged salami wrapped around cheese. They. Are. Delicious. And Rainier, unlike Seattle, had sunny blue skies and a sparkling mass of snow dusted glaciers. And was about ten degrees warmer than Seattle. Ah, yes. Allow me to roll down the windows of my car. Finally.

People frolicking along the first burrough

In the parking lot, I threw on a thick wool baselayer and stuffed my puffy jacket into my running pack and took off. I wasn’t sure where to go but I knew the trail started “northwest of the parking lot” so I went with my trusty strategy of “start walking and you’ll probably find it.” And I did. It doesn’t matter where you walk, all trails/roads will lead to a set of steps that takes you to the main trail which takes you to Sourdough Ridge/Frozen Lake, where it eventually branches out into the Burroughs, Fremont Lookout, and some longer backpacking loops (or trail runs for the less lazy) through the park. Frozen Lake looks a lot better in early spring, right now it’s a mostly dried up mini reservoir that supplies the buildings of Sunrise with water. But you cruise past that and head towards the monster that is Rainier, where the views will get better and better as you get up and over the burroughs and the crowds get more and more sparse. Oh, and I dropped my thick wool layer like immediately. Because it was 65 and sunny. None of that 40 and foggy Seattle crap.

Looking back at the first burrough

The first burrough has a cool plateau-like top and lots of people milling around. I snapped some photos of parties hiking along the trail, the first set of Eve’s Stalker Snaps. The views are good, but you should keep going. Dropping off the first burrough to the second burrough is only a short downhill before the elevation gain begins again, and cresting the second burrough is only an extra 0.7 miles beyond the first burrough, so not too far. Views from the second burrough top the views from the first burrough, but guys, there’s a third burrough. And the third burrough is where it’s at.

Did you catch that? THERE’S A THIRD BURROUGH. Don’t stop at two. Drop off the backside of the second one, where you’ll turn a switchback and be treated to one of the best views of Rainier in the park. I nearly tripped over my own feet. Some dude was trotting up the hill, making me look like a lazy runner hiking anything with a hint of incline. Meh. I guess I am lazy. I snapped some photos of a woman hiking with Rainier behind her, the scale is just crazy. Another creeper photo? Check. Rainier is enormous. And yet you can look at most of the Emmons route from here, the second most popular route on the peak.

Three tiny people admiring the glaciers

Glacier Peak over Grand Park

The terrain stays fairly mellow, until the final climb up the third burrough. The top of the third burrough is a long, mellow ridge. For the number of people there, it surprisingly did not feel crowded. I snapped a few photos. More creeper photos of others enjoying the views. See the theme when I’m alone? You’re all at risk.

As amazing as the views were, I wanted to get miles on my legs, so I started to jog back down. Running back down is a blast. You aren’t quite on top of the world, more like in open meadows on a wide, rolling ridge. Technically it is all alpine tundra, despite being at a relatively low elevation. The sparse plants that do grow there are very fragile. I was there in late fall, so everything was basically dead. The growing season here is wicked short, and we had a cold snowy snap in early October that I assume was the end of the season here. Not much fall foliage to be seen on this hike. I passed a woman who gasped “NO!” and then started laughing. “You passed us on the way up and you’re already passing us on the way down!” Her partner looked at their feet. “We’re wearing running shoes… we could do it too!”

To the lookout!

Back at the junction, I decided to check out Fremont Lookout. You can see the lookout perched at the end of the Fremont mountain ridge from the burroughs, and it was too tempting to pass. Can you tell I want a legit camera with a zoom lens? I had so many zoom shots here and my camera just doesn’t do the scenery justice. The trail to the lookout gradually gains elevation cutting across a hillside, where you weave in and out of small trees and shrubs with glimpses of mountain goats in the distance. I came across a happily family and shamelessly took a creepy ass picture. I mean this was the creepiest one. I didn’t even realize how good it was until I got home because I panicked while taking it (okay so maybe not shameless) and ran away (literally) as soon as I was done like the awkward creep that I am.

Family goals

Fremont Lookout

The lookout is a two level lookout, first I’ve ever seen. It was built in 1934 and is still occasionally used by park staff today, though it was boarded and locked up when I was there. The views are pretty ridiculous, and considering it’s only a ~5 mile round trip hike, it’s pretty accessible to everyone. I had a quick snack, took more creepy photos, and started on my way down, cursing my overeager eyes and stuffed stomach. Did I need six paninos? No. No I did not.

Obligatory lookout shot

At the junction for the last time, I had to tell myself it was only another 1.5 miles to the car. You can do it. Come on, legs. You got work to do. Give me an inventory of aches and pains so I know how screwed I am for Moab. I jogged past a group of girls who jumped out of the way (“move, bitches!” is what the last girl in line shouted, laughing) and as I went past I heard “oh my god she’s like a GAZELLE” which as many of you know is both hilarious and encouraging when you feel like a banana slug/foal hybrid trying to learn how legs work while moving at the pace of molasses.*

The wall I wish I had in front of my house

The last half mile to the parking lot was clogged with people, but my tired legs didn’t mind. I couldn’t resist getting a picture of the talus wall built along the trail, because I wish I could build it in front of my house. I got back to the car (which you can spot like a mile from the parking lot thanks to its amazing color) and chugged a La Croix. Yes, I now have those in my trunk, and they are PRIME after hikes/runs/anything. The only problem is that a) they kept falling out of my trunk when I parked in front of my house until I realized I was an idiot and turned the cartons around and b) my car occasionally stockpiles empty La Croix cans. Sorry guys.

*Actually, molasses is kind of fast. It was once recorded at a speed of 35mph during the Great Molasses Flood in Boston. That’s a lot fast than me, unless I’m in a car or on a plane or you’re measuring my speed relative to the sun. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Molasses_Flood

Carne Mountain

Posted on October 15, 2018 by evejakubowski

Brooke walking back down the ridge to Carne

Admiring floofs and larches

We’re back in business, baby! After a three month unintentional hiatus. I can’t really explain what made this fall through besides a repulsive number of hours spent in the office (I sent emails from too many glaciers and rock climbs), the eventual burnout that smacked me across the face, and the ensuing surf vacations that I thought would cure the burnout but really just left me sitting at my desk a week later on Monday with post vacation blues wondering how I was ever going to change my day-to-day to something more stomach-able and oh my god am I lacking vitamin D already and why doesn’t Seattle have an ocean and thank god I have cool coworkers.

Looking in every direction

Well, my shit is not yet together, but it’s consolidated in one place. And I’ve been getting out to the mountains this whole time, some trips more ambitious, some trips more lazy. I’ll backfill all of them slowly, even if it’s short words with a dump of photos. I mean let’s be real you’re probably only here for photos and blue-bag-of-poop jokes (there aren’t any in this post, you can stop reading here). Anyway, yesterday is what finally lit the fire under my ass to start writing again.

Last week was the most brutal week I have had in a long time. There are a few things that keep me sane.

Mountains
Running (neglected)
Vertical World (credit to Amber and Andi for putting up with my groaning at 6am)
~~Craig Kimbrel~~
Eating
Writing (neglected)
Cooking (neglected)
Hot Tubbing

Fall foliage in the forest

So we’re bringing writing back into the picture. Because it’s easy to forget how much I like writing. And I fucking. Love. Larches. Don’t even read the words just look at the larches!!!

Every year I set aside a larch weekend. This year I hadn’t done that yet. I went to Leavenworth. I went skiing. I have the hunger for climbing, right? I go crazy if I don’t climb or ski on a weekend, and every year I swear I’ll make time for larches next year and by the time larch season rolls around I’d rather be going up cracks in Leavenworth because I’ve forgotten how great fall foliage is. I thought I had missed the window. Seeing larches twice in a year is like a blue moon, and I knew they were out the past two weekends so no way was I getting this weekend. But the mountain gods spoke and there was one last chance! Brooke had a crazy week and somehow I convinced her (it wasn’t that hard) to come hiking Sunday instead of working. So we drove up to Carne Mountain.

Distance: 8 miles (11 total since we went towards Old Gib too)
Elevation: 3600ft gain, 7000ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 3 hours
Did I Trip: We both had majestic wipeouts. I lost my pants.

THE BASIN [Homer Simpson drooling]

Buck over the larches

First things first, the road. It’s really not that bad. I had heard so many horror stories. High clearance is probably a must, and so is a spare tire (not a donut tire, that won’t help you). But I’ll take deep ruts over washboard any day. Chiwawa River Road > Cascade River Road. We can barter rides. I’ll happily drive Chiwawa if you drive Cascade.

The trail is pretty relentless for a hiking trail (as opposed to a climb approach). It starts out in the woods, which had their own fall foliage if the sunlight hit the trail correctly. The difference between the way up and the way down was wild. On the way up everything just looked dead in the shade, but on the way down with the sun hitting the trail the colors lit up. The forest is probably a solid 3 miles with no larches, only green. I started to panic, as I do every year on the way to larches. What if they aren’t there? Maybe the WTA report lied. Maybe they all dropped all their needles yesterday. Maybe they’re suddenly brown today. Maybe they literally all disappeared and no one has realized it yet. Anything could happen.

Drowning in larches

And then you turn a corner and break out into the basin. Basically heaven. A suddenly flat meadow surrounded with larches on all sides and the yellow is overwhelming. Brooke laughed because we just kept gasping and shouting and it’s not coherent but you’re just so excited. You just want to lie on the ground and roll around with all the larches. Walking through larches is like walking through tangible liquid sunshine. Like chugging water when you’re thirsty, except for your eyes. Or like being wrapped in a cozy blanket in a cozy cabin with a wood stove and it’s raining outside. Everything is amazing and the colors are bright and oversaturated except it’s real life. I know everyone obsesses about larches. Allow me to add to the problem.

Maude and Icebox Ridge over larches

Buck over Carne Basin

We continued up the trail taking pictures in every direction. We hadn’t actually run into that many people, either, which was amazing. At the opposite end of the basin the trail regains its steep grade because you aren’t done just yet. We went left at the fork to follow the Rock Creek trail, and once we hit the ridge, we continued left to summit Carne (more steep rocky bits). The larches were more sparse here, but the mountain views were outrageous. Buck, Glacier, Maude, even a peek of Bonanza. I had never been to this area before, and it is just astounding.

We shut up quickly on the summit when it became apparent the other people were enjoying the silence. Once they left we snacked on sour vampire bat gummies (halloween is approaching) and decided to head over towards Old Gib, which appeared to have larches.

Multicolored moss

We probably should have done the Carne high route instead, but I didn’t think we had time. The trail to Old Gib is mostly a traverse instead of the ongoing steep grade of Carne, but it conveniently avoids EVERY PATCH OF NEARBY LARCHES. Larches high? Trail goes low. Larches low? Trail goes high. Arrrgh. So we turned around after a bit, knowing we’d at least get to experience the Carne basin larches all over again on the way down.

Admiring them all over again

And it was just as good as the way up. The light changed and even more trees were lit up now. We ran into Anita and Steven who I hadn’t seen in a month. They narrowly missed seeing me absolutely eat it wiping out in a patch of mud. I made up for that later when I did a classic faceplant tripping over a downed log. In my defense, it was because my flare leggings got caught on it, tearing two large stab holes. RIP my pants. I’m leaving the pun there. I’ll show myself out.

Getting back to the car was pretty quick, but it was a bit of a knee banger. The fall foliage in the trees was lit up more than in the morning, so we still got to admire fall. And on the drive out, we admired the bright yellow aspens that kept us distracted from the road. Except the ruts, which are legitimately enjoyable driving if you have the right car. The pointy rocks, however, can eat a dick.

One more of that fall foliage

P.S. My car is the color of a larch. I have great taste.

Mt. Rainier via Emmons

Posted on July 29, 2018 by evejakubowski

Anita still chipper at sunrise

I’m not into the whole girl power thing, but I was lucky enough to be a part of the Peaks of Life All Women’s Rainier climb last weekend, and damn did the planets align for an awesome summit. Strong group, amazing weather, beautiful sunrise, summit all to ourselves, what more could I ask for? Maybe an IV to rehydrate but I’ll settle for excessive Mio and diet coke which will never make sense to me as a post climb craving because it has nothing useful. Separately, not together, jeez.

First view of the mountain

We’ll start with the week leading up to the climb. Nothing was going right. We were hearing terrible reports about the shape of the Emmons route. We considered postponing, we considered switching to the DC route, we considered bailing, we finally settled on sticking with the plan and going after Emmons. I was late to the team dinner. Anita left early to get permits but got stuck in traffic and couldn’t get there in time. Forrest got stuck late at work when his relief didn’t show up on time. My glacier glasses broke. I had to drive back to my house several times to get gear I told the team I’d bring but promptly forgot. All of the campgrounds near White River were full. Kara, Forrest and I ended up camping at a trailhead nearby while Anita traded beer for a spot in someone else’s campsite and Christina slept in her own cozy bed. We met at the White River ranger station at 7:30am, with banana bread made by Anita and instant coffee made by Forrest. Amazingly, Camp Schurman had spots open.

Glacier Basin, Interglacier around the corner

We parked at the White River Campground and started up towards Schurman. The trail is fairly flat (though not totally, as I learned on the way down) until you reach Glacier Basin ~3 miles in, and then climbs up to the base of the Interglacier. We did not rope up for the Interglacier, since the bottom was very mellow and well covered. There were crevasses towards the top, but we skirted left and gained the rocky ridge to Steamboat Prow a little early and avoided all major crossings. The lower Emmons was surprisingly broken up, but the upper glacier looked okay, and I started to think we had a shot despite all of the doom and gloom coming from everyone who had been up there recently. We had a quick snack of pepperoni-wrapped mozzarella and enjoyed the views. I took the best panorama of Anita every know to man that kept me giggling through the next 24hrs, and did I mention Forrest was wearing a dress, as an honorary woman for the weekend? It was a good start.

The best panorama of Anita ever (Little Tahoma over the Emmons in the background)

Climbers approaching Camp Schurman

We roped up (still not sure how Forrest worked dress plus harness) and dropped onto the glacier a bit early and played a little chutes-and-ladders weaving through some lower crevasses. Getting to Camp Schurman was a short trek through some flirty clouds that never stuck around long but teased us just enough with views of the upper mountain. We got to camp just in time to catch a group on their way out, which meant we could snag their already-shoveled-and-leveled tent platforms. Score! We fine-tuned everything, pitched our tents, and got ready for dinner.

Except we promptly ran out of fuel. Rookie mistake. Forrest bartered a sweet carabiner for another climbing team’s extra gas (they were leaving) but it meant we were down to one stove for five people. Yikes. I had the worst dehydrated meal of my life (largely my fault because I didn’t let it rehydrate. Who doesn’t like crispy rice?) and got the rope and gear ready for summit day.

Time to wake up!

We went to sleep around 6pm with a wake up time of 9pm. We knew we’d be slow, so we wanted as much time as possible to summit. We got up just before sunset, clipped into our ropes, strapped packs on our backs, and started up the long slog.

The first two hours went swimmingly. We made good time, ~1,000ft/hr, and realized we were on track to summit before sunrise. Shit. Everyone slow down. But the weather was fantastic, and for the first time on Rainier, I was not wearing all of my layers. There was almost no wind, I wasn’t miserably cold, I could feel most of my feet and maybe even some of my toes.

Out of camp you cross some very hollow terrain with snowbridges that probably don’t exist by now and some surprise holes-into-the-abyss that spring up at your despite being on what seems like 50ft of flat, tough suncups. That was probably the softest part of the route besides a section where we took a shortcut on the way down. Stay alert just out of camp.

Everyone’s still smiles!

Here you cross left to some seracs and then start ascending straight up to more overhanging ice cliffs, where you traverse far right (with some switchbacks). Some of the traverse was on sidewalk, and some was on steep exposed snow with steps barely kicked. Fine for bomber frozen snow in crampons, not so fun in the afternoon with wet mushy snow. Ah, well, problems for future Eve. We placed a few pickets on the way up and left them for the team behind us to use, only to regret not having them on the narrower sections of traverse. Not necessary depending on comfort, but it was technically spicier in my opinion than the slope we had protected in the beginning, so if you feel the steep straight up sections of the garbage disposal warrant pro then you should keep it with you for the traversing. But everyone’s footwork was solid and we continued on up, one step at a time.

Breaks varied from person to person. I ate food and chugged water. Forrest snacked. Anita groaned. Christina fed me dried mangoes and napped. We took a break roughly every hour as our pace slowed to a crawl, but I was happy to see that the upper route was in seemingly better shape than we had been told. We began the long ass traverse almost all the way right over to the Mowich Face (it has since been rerouted all the way left to the Emmons shoulder), where I swore we had all died and entered the Twilight Zone where we’d be traversing right forever as the sun rose in the distance.

Forrest’s team ahead of us, here comes sunrise!

We placed one more picket on a steep section where you climb right over the corner of the bergschrund, and took shelter from the wind in some seracs to grab glasses and sunscreen and prep for the summit. Christina napped again. I lay there like the michelin man in my puffy jackets. I had gone through every stage of emotion after the last break. I missed John, I hadn’t summitted since we scattered his ashes last year. I was annoyed with my lack of work life balance and angry that I couldn’t spend time doing what I loved and that a desk job could be so depleting. I was tired because it was 3am and I hadn’t slept in days and knew sleep wasn’t coming any time soon and I was wasting energy stressing over whether I had fucked up Facebook advertising for my company in the entire country of Germany before leaving Friday night. I was proud because we can wake up at 10pm and go climb Rainier like it’s not a big deal and now I got to enable others to do the same. And I was laughing, because it’s kind of absurd that you bust ass from 10pm to 7am and I could hear Anita behind me on the rope randomly groaning. Not explicitly bitching, just the generic “[deep breath] uggggghhhhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkkk” which made me giggle every time. Mountaineering sucks. It’s amazing, but it also sucks. Just keep plodding away. You’ll get there.

You think you’re close…

We finally fought through some very tedious annoying penitentes and dropped our bags just below the summit crater. Kara and I ran over to sign the summit register while the others went for photos on the true summit, and we all met up over there to get pictures with the sign. I wrote a small note to John on one page, I guess the Rainier summit is the closest thing I have to a memorial location for him. On the next I was happy to be the first entry for the day, because amazingly, we had the summit almost entirely to ourselves. I wrote everyone’s names down and something generic about great weather/great company/climbing for more than a summit. “Something must have happened with the DC route” I mentioned to Forrest. Usually it’s a party up there, it’s pretty special to have it empty. And to share it with a team that had just pushed so hard was awesome. Headaches, nausea, sleepiness, dehydration, they had quietly fought through everything, and there we were on a mountain so many people dream of climbing. Anita had tried for EIGHT YEARS to summit that damn mountain, and she put it gracefully. “Well if I knew how hard it was going to be I wouldn’t have tried for eight fucking years!”

Climbing for more than a summit!

Anita’s new least favorite thing, mini penitentes

We took a long break for snacks and more coffee before fighting through the godforsaken penitentes again. I knew they were killing Anita’s feet but she was still crushing it. The way down went faster than expected, partially because we managed to take a shortcut that cut off a large chunk of the route on the way up, including avoiding the narrow, now soft traverse. There was one very soft section of snow and in hindsight we agreed we should have scouted more and taken it more seriously, but instead we cruised right across it. Unfortunately, this shortcut left our pickets ~1,500ft above us where we had left them for other teams to use.

Back on smooth snow, world spread out beneath us

I let Forrest run up there (regaining 1,500ft is a privilege right?) to retrieve them while the rest of us took an extended ~~nap~~ break. The brutal part of Emmons is you can see Schurman from most of the route, and it’s so far away. It’s like looking at Paradise from the DC route. Or looking at Muir from the top of the Cleaver, except it stays that distance away forever because the cleaver always seems to expedite the elevation loss for me on the way down. But we managed to get back to camp with a couple slow motion sit downs and some short boot skiing and a lot of groaning and probable heat exhaustion and snacking on snow to try and cool down. Glaciers are like deserts in the sun. The sun reflects off everything and from everywhere and my eyes were sunburned and you’ve been on your feet for 13hrs already and you just want to drop your body in a shallow river and lie there while your temperature returns to normal and your feet remember they have work to do. So we wander the alpine desert, trying to ignore the general discomfort until we are back at camp.

A limerick for the situation:

Glaciers in sunshine and heat

Render water and shade obsolete

They reflect all the rays

Til I’m in a hot daze

And I dream of thick clouds rain and sleet.

Discussing the forgotten picket situation

Anita is sick of me taking pics

We got back to camp and took another extended break. We had left snow in pots to melt, which it did, but it was covered in an oily film that we didn’t trust, so we melted new snow. (and made more coffee). Just enough to get back to the base of the Interglacier, where rivers abound and hydration station awaits. Christina took another nap, Kara paced around camp with all the energy in the world, I bitched about my shredded feet and the heat rash on my calves, and we all lamented the size of the packs we needed to lug down another 7 miles. We finally got moving, and knocked out the last section back to the rocky ridge where we could finally stash the ropes. We dropped back onto the Interglacier higher than last time, and crossed two hollow sections that I did not like at all. Below those was a glissade chute built for the mountain gods themselves. I was walking next to it as Forrest cruised past me on his ass shouting “You look like you’re trying too hard!” and I hopped in the track behind him. I’m a slow glissader, I don’t like going fast. So I braked with my axe the whole time but who CARES sliding on your butt is WAY better than walking and we were down what felt like 15 minutes later after a few rounds of bumper cars where I’d hit a snow bumper and Kara would hit me and I’d paddle to get started again before Christina caught up.

Looking down at a snowbridge

We found a good spot on the trail by the river to get water and take a break while Forrest and Anita caught up. Anita caught up, but Forrest was still walking in circles. Anita and Christina started back to the trailhead. I ran up to Forrest, who had stashed his grey and black approach shoes somewhere but couldn’t find them. He had a gpx mark, but to no one’s surprise grey and black camouflage very nicely with gray rocks and black shadows. Kara waited patiently. We found Forrest’s shoes to the cheers of another nearby group, and finally started on our way back down, where we caught up to everyone at the Glacier Basin campsites before losing them again while we gave beta to a group on the way up.

The best part of the hike out was when we caught up to Anita. Forrest announced we only had like 15 minutes left to the campground. We kept hiking, and 15 minutes later we came across… the Emmons Moraine campground. Which is still like over a mile from the White River campground where we were parked. Dammit Forrest. My feet were crying. We finally caught Kara and Christina just as we reached the parking lot, but it was one of those “I’m not stopping until I am at the car” situations. I even managed to get my car keys from the brain of my pack while walking. I parked at the far end of the parking lot, screw you Past Eve.

Fumaroles steaming on the summit

I plopped my pack in the trunk and immediately took off boots and flopped on the ground to wait for the others. The post climb yard sale at the car is one of my favorite parts of climbing. Gear scattered, tired climbers in various states of sitting/sleeping/grumbling/eating, and the general satisfaction of a great climb. We agreed to meet for burgers in Enumclaw, and begged the waitress for water ASAP because we were all so thirsty. I mistakenly ordered a burger with BBQ sauce, which was sad because I don’t like BBQ sauce unless it’s on pulled pork. Or chicken sometimes. I checked my eyes in the bathroom mirror and they were nicely bloodshot, hooray eye sunburn. Don’t look in mirrors immediately post climb.

We began the sleepy drive back to Seattle, which wasn’t terribly long. Forrest is very good at the keep-the-driver-awake game. Kara less so, because she immediately passed out in the back seat. But I had both of them home by midnight and had myself in the door at 12:05, which is not too terrible all things considered. Still made it to the gym Monday morning.

Forrest studies the lower Emmons (PC Christina)

I take a lot of things for granted. One of those is Rainier. These trips are an awesome reminder of how incredible it is to be able to summit that mountain. Most people will never have the chance, the turnaround rate is still 50%, you fight objective hazard like rock and ice fall and crevasses and add exhaustion and altitude and heat to that and you’ve got quite the challenge. It’s not like a marathon where it’s over in four hours and you run through crowds and can see progress as you pass by new street corners.* It’s pushing through the dark of night, one foot in front of the other with no tangible reward, no one cheering you on, too spaced out to chat with your team. It’s just you and your thoughts and the snow and the sky and the night. And yet, you’ll keep going back time and time again just to do it all over again.

Micronaps ftw (PC… Anita?)

Huge congrats to Kara, Christina, and Anita for earning that summit with every step and reaching the top for the first time. Thanks to Forrest for leading the climb at the last minute, thanks to the rangers for the beta and the absurdly nice restroom (way better than Muir), thanks to Anita for anchoring my rope. Thanks to the guys who traded stove gas for carabiner. Thanks to the Germans for shoveling great platforms that we could steal. Thanks to Rainier for letting us summit, and with such perfect weather! Thanks to Peaks of Life for letting me be a part of such an honorable cause. It was a whole new angle of appreciation seeing everyone’s successful Facebook posts the day after, I swear I was sitting at my computer just glowing. Climbing is great in itself, but there is something just 100x more rewarding about going with a group like this, chasing a greater cause, and using your favorite hobby to give a little bit back to the community. So here’s my successful post. A huge day for the Peaks of Life women’s team, incredible conditions on the mountain, and I’m happy to say that through it all we raised $4,500 for Seattle Children’s!

Camping above the clouds. Something special about being up there.

*Unless you’re Eric Carter, who has summitted and skiied down in 3hrs, 51minutes.

Shuksan via Fisher Chimneys

Posted on July 20, 2018 by evejakubowski

God I love this mountain. Baker in the distance.

Clouds part enough to see Baker Lake

By now you’re probably all heard me rave about the route. Fisher Chimneys is one of the best alpine routes in the state. My sample size may be small, but I swear it’s just the gift that keeps on giving. A pleasant hike through a lush (too lush) valley to a small alpine lake oddly situated on Shuksan Arm to a scramble-catwalk-scramble to steep snow to glaciers to another fantastic scramble, this route has everything. So when I had the opportunity to lead a rope on a few trips with Peaks of Life, naturally I called dibs on the best route.

Distance: 12mi
Elevation Gain: 6,200ft gain (9,131 highest point) but you lose elevation from the trailhead immediately so it’s technically a bit more than that
Weather: 40’s and rainy, 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 3hrs
Did I Trip: No but the others made up for my alpine grace

Beta pic. Chimneys on the left (they wrap out of sight), Upper Curtis is the downward sloping glacier, Hell’s highway is the clear notch on the right.

Let’s talk about the route real quick first. Many of the sections on this route are labeled incorrectly on the USGS map. And caltopo. Interestingly, the GAIA app seems to have it right. Here’s a link to a caltopo route of Fisher Chimneys (the northern route, the southern one is Sulphide) with labeled sections. Winnie’s Slide is southwest, you hit it right after a short walk along the White Salmon glacier after topping out of the chimneys. The Hourglass (not labeled) is the first snow ramp up to the first dip just southwest of the summit pyramid, it will not be continuous snow besides early season. Hell’s Highway is the obvious ramp that connects to the Sulphide at the south end of the Upper Curtis. Okay, now that we have the map cleared up, let’s talk route conditions and get to the pictures which is why 90% of us are here.

Very cool swirly rocks

We grabbed permits at 8am on Saturday, snagging the second to last spot and being told there were 17 others on the route. Oh god. I hate people. I knew the route was popular but we had it all to ourselves last time so I didn’t expect to actually see that many people. We were at the trailhead and moving around 9:30, with no views in any direction besides ping pong ball whiteout and the occasionally raindrops. As expected. Shuksan doesn’t love me like I love her.

The hike to Lake Ann always takes longer than I expect, and given that it was immediately covered in snow we had to actually pay attention to the map instead of following a trail or prints. And the trails in the swampy section were just straight up rivers. Just above the lake, we passed a group of 5 heading out. They hadn’t even made it to the Chimneys. They came in the prior day, hung out in the rain, and bailed Saturday morning. Great. Well, Sunday was supposed to be gorgeous, so we had our fingers crossed. And that meant only 12 people on route. Sweet!

Foreboding traverse to the chimneys

Shortly after that two guys from SMR passed us (Hi Jim and Matt! Fancy seeing you here) and we yo-yoed with them for a bit while each crew had to figure out trickier spots. They passed us for good on the first scramble section, which was a soaking wet mostly waterfall ~15ft section of 4th class. I scrambled up after allowing most of the waterfall to flow straight up my goretex sleeve and announced I had found the first rap station (a few steps of the Chimneys are rappable on the way down). Jim looked up at me and jokingly asked for a belay. I laughed and then realized wait, actually people on my team might want a belay. I shouted down to Forrest and the answer was affirmative. Okay, hang tight guys, let me get set up. Jim and Matt cruised past us as we began our first “technical” piece of the climb.

At the base of a fun little snow finger

Beyond that you scramble up past the rap station and are back on alpine bootpath for ten minutes before hitting the talus field (conveniently covered in snow) that leads to the actual start of the chimneys. We stared across the traverse at the foggy chimneys, in and out of the clouds. Artemiza told Forrest to do something about it. We sat there in suspense while Forrest drew a huge breath in, and fell over laughing as he let out a huge fart noise. Yeah, that’ll help.

When this traverse is melted out, I believe there is a small bivvy site halfway across. The orange arrow pointing out the best chimney was buried in snow (or gone). Last time I was up here we wasted probably 30 minutes looking for a good entrance and trying various chimneys that got too spicy, until we realized there was literally a bright orange spray painted arrow pointing to an easy corner. I will never know how we missed it despite searching so hard.

Alpine catwalk

We walked up a tenuous snow finger (it’s just walking) and hopped onto the rock and yeah baby let the scrambling begin. We scrambled most of it, besides the fourth class steps. Knowing I had done it before with an even larger overnight pack was good for my confidence this time around. I knew less back then, and naivete = confidence (and overpacking). You can even tell by reading my first post about the route. “Not everyone likes exposed scrambles as much as me” omg past Eve shut up. And I used to be even less patient than I am now. Now I’m more patient and my appreciation for exposed scrambles wanes every day.

One of the “walls”

But honestly, even the two “walls” (they’re well known) have great feet on the right side, and mountaineering boots can edge on the tiniest things. There is rap tat in pretty good shape at the top of every fourth class section, so it was quick and easy to set up a guide belay with the 30m rope at the top of each. And between each scramble step is a surprisingly well worn tiny trail winding around alpine catwalks thousands of feet above the Lower Curtis, reminiscent of the Corkscrew Route on Sloan, one of the only other places I’ve seen with a trail like this.

Belaying up the wall

The second to last stretch of the chimneys was steep snow or an awkward wet slabby moat/snow stem if you prefer that. I was happy to have my steel crampons, because I am a lazy POS who hates transitioning, and I’d just leave them on for half of the rocky sections. A 60m rope will get you to the base of the snow slope in two rappels on the way down, more detail on that later. The final stretch of the chimneys was melted out with some third class moves to keep the spice alive, and we topped out next to a super cool dual-color patch of phlox. We dropped onto the White Salmon glacier and hoofed it to camp at the base of Winnie’s Slide, which is about 5 minutes past the top of the chimneys. Or 30 minutes if the clouds are FINALLY clearing and you can FINALLY see blue sky and oh my GOD LOOK at the clouds coming over the ridge and all five of you are standing there jaws on the ground snapping pictures in every direction.

Dual colored phlox!

At camp we found three nicely melted campsites. I got the three stoves going while everyone else set up tents. I left the bladders for last because nalgenes can handle boiling water (sorry bladder folks). I destroyed my meal and went to lie on my slowly-leaking sleeping pad, well aware of my soon-to-be fate yet helpless to do anything about it. I looked EVERYWHERE for that leak the prior night and found NOTHING. Makes it easier to get up for alpine starts though when you’re sleeping on pointy gravel. Oh my god I don’t even care I love alpine bedtime so much.

Coming up the White Salmon to camp

We got up around 3:30 expecting to be moving around 4, but were slower getting everything together than expected. Winnie’s slide was straightforward thanks to the staircase that had been kicked in it the prior day and bomb ass snow for crampons. There were two tents on snow at the top of the slide that we trekked past as we started up the Upper Curtis Glacier, where we topped out just below the hourglass and waited for Forrest’s team to make wardrobe adjustments as we watched from above. Once they caught up we began the downward traverse to Hell’s Highway, which is usually a cruise except that Amber and I faced the same issue: repeated intermittent untying of shoelaces. Double knots are no match for La Sportiva’s slippery laces, paired with grommets that I need to plier shut so the laces stop popping out. Two people, four boots, multiple stops.

Wakey wakey everyone!

This section was also WILDLY different from 2015. 2015 was a drought year, with no snowpack and hot weather and the glaciers were very open by the time I went (September). We had multiple sketchy crevasse crossings (including my first in-real-life-placing-snow-pro), some snow bridge collapses, and more questionable falls than I ever hope to experience again. And no views to make up for any of it. I spent like 4hrs in my tent on youtube. This year, everything was completely covered with solid snow. It’s crazy knowing what you’re walking across, yet there are no signs besides snow texture and curvature. And views in every single direction. What a route.

Amber on the Upper Curtis as the sun hits Baker, tents at the top of Winnie’s slide. UGH it’s so PRETTY

Up to the top of Upper Curtis, Hell’s Highway center

Hell’s Highway was in good shape, with a shortcut going up right next to a hogsback type feature. Steep, and with less of a staircase this time, but still bulletproof snow. Forrest hammered in a picket for a mental safety running belay at the top. We took a short break as we met the Sulphide glacier (I was finally warm enough to de-layer) before starting the walk to the summit pyramid.

Approaching the summit scramble, we heard some significant rock fall followed by shouting, and a woman yelling that she had been hit in the head. Well if she’s yelling that loud she must be fine, we thought. We got to the patch of rocks below the start of the scramble and realized there was an actual mini-rescue going on. Good thing the two SMR folks were ahead of us. I waited with the team while Forrest scrambled up to see if he could be helpful at all. It took around 90 minutes for the woman’s team to get her down, unhurt but very shaken. In the meantime, Artemiza napped, Kristen and Amber and I joked with a few climbers we met, and Forrest placed every single piece of his trad rack on the wall near him while waiting for us.

Approaching Hell’s Highway

We made it maybe 60ft up the scramble before realizing we needed to turn around. We had waited far too long for the rock fall party, and it was looking like we’d have to pitch out the summit pyramid, which was going to be too slow to have us out at a reasonable hour. As a three day trip, maybe we could have swung it, but as a two day trip, you need to be able to just scramble the top. But hey, it was a beautiful day with fantastic views already and the best part of the route was behind us (because it’s the chimneys and also alpine bedtime). So we walked back to Hell’s Highway, glissaded down (or in my case, tossed crampons, glissaded, arrested next to crampons that I had thrown like someone with T-Rex arms, threw them again, rinse and repeat), and started the trek back to camp. Back up the Upper Curtis, down to Winnie’s Slide, face in downclimbing to get back down the slide (Forrest is FAST), and a far too leisurely pack of camp.

Finishing the snow ramp below the summit

In the chimneys, Forrest and I leapfrogged rappels. We started with a rap off to skiier’s left of the snow slope, and I sat atop my perch and made sure to give people shit for how to not rap and how to definitely rap on snow. Forrest went first and rapped right past the best rap station halfway down the snow and instead made use of what was probably a bail anchor from a previous party, but it worked. And it was better than dismounting a rap several feet off the ground in 5th class scramble terrain (the rap station wasn’t truly en route) in a snow moat, which was the alternative. Two 30m raps got us to the base of the snow where we could continue the scramble, and from there the rap stations were the obvious ones at the top of each fourth class move. Two “walls” (I thought there was only one infamous “wall” but there are two), one section I didn’t remember belaying up but we rapped down, and the waterfall. The raps were interspersed with what I like to call the alpine butt scoot, some easy downclimbing, and some outrageous catwalk trails that FINALLY had views! I finally got to see what the route looked like when you can see more than 10ft in front of you! And instead of rapping onto a nice flat section of snow, we went back for the snow finger, which is really just a matter of walking but walking is scary when the volume beneath you is 20% snow and 80% air. Trust those feet, stand up straight, and walk like you own the world! Which you basically do, because you’re on top of it.

good sandwiches make everyone happy

Various states of scrambling

And finally we were back on standard trail. I was pleasantly surprised at how much of a trail it was, it was genuinely a trail with a North Cascades National Park Boundary market (hah! Now we can poop anywhere!) and not just a schwacky bootpath. And the VIEWS. Baker, Baker Lake, Shuksan (the Curtis glaciers and the multiple pyramids are just stunning) and there were wildflowers blooming everywhere! This route was way better in July than in September. Have I mentioned yet that Shuksan is the best? Shuksan is the best.

We made good time back to Lake Ann where Forrest grabbed some water, wrapped around to the swampy section of the trail, and immediately got off route (you’re welcome) following other peoples’ tracks. I TRUSTED YOU. We caught ourselves before it was too late, but still an annoyance we didn’t want to deal with, plus Amber took a textbook posthole-into-a-creek-and-make-a-flip recovery which I’m sure her knees did not appreciate. I was handing advil out like candy. We found the trail again and it was a beautiful forested sort dirt path that I wished would never end but of course we got dumped back into the swampy section for the final push. Oh, and then you regain a couple hundred feet to the car, so don’t use up all your energy trying to keep your feet dry hopping creeks. Am I making it sound like we were making good time? Because the reality is we had left camp at like 3:30 and by now the sun was setting. It was a good thing we turned around when we did.

Amber peaks her head out as the catwalk wraps around a corner. Baker… you beautiful bastard

Traversing back to Lake Ann

We finished up the trail in the dark and were back at the cars at 10:30 exactly. Okay, 10:31 maybe. We chugged the water in the car, I took shots of Mio, and we started driving. Until we saw Forrest on the side of the road. Oh shit. Did they break down. I pulled over and rolled down the window. “Do you want to…. go to the first McDonald’s we see on the way home?” Everyone laughed. And shouted yes. Who doesn’t like 1am burgers in Bellingham? Forrest’s car won that – they went to Bellingham, I took i9 south and went to Mt. Vernon, and our McDonalds, despite being en route instead of slightly out of the way, HAD A CLOSED LOBBY. We had to do drive through. Crushing.

On our way home!

This is still one of my favorite alpine routes out here. I loved it in 2015 socked in by clouds, and I love it even more with clear weather and views. The scenery is seriously just jaw dropping and you get such a good mix of hiking, glacier travel, steep snow, and scrambling. I know I’ve said it before, I love Shuksan and Shuksan does not return the sentiment. I’ve never had a perfectly clear trip. I’ve had several bail trips. I’ve slogged through whiteout to end up with spectacular summit days (and an inversion day). And it’s just so freaking pretty. And it has such a wide range of routes. Sulphide is one of the biggest bang for your buck routes in the Cascades. Fisher Chimneys is the best moderate alpine route around here. The North Face is a fantastic steep snow route. The Price Glacier is a premier ice climb in the lower 48 (I’ll get there someday). Just such a versatile peak, and the fact I’m always socked in by clouds for the first half of every trip just maintains the mystique. Shuksan’s such a tease. But I’ll keep going back for more.

More than a summit!

Le Petit Cheval: Spontaneity Arete

Posted on July 2, 2018 by evejakubowski

Le petit cheval on the left. Sooo cute.

Robert heading up the second pitch

I don’t usually write about trips that are mostly rock climbs (as opposed to hikes/glaciers/true peaks) but I figure I should start since it’ll hopefully be a solid chunk of my summer activity. So here is a spontaneous trip up Spontaneity Arete, an underrated climb I’ve had my eyes on since 2016. As many of you know I had a slow 2017 largely thanks to an abject lack of confidence following a friend’s climbing accident, and while it’s taken over a year, climbing is finally starting to feel good again.

We drove out Saturday afternoon so I had time to get house chores done. We went straight to Winthrop for food and two hours of me dreaming about a Mazama cabin after filling up gas at Marblemount (this is important later). We ran into our buddy Alexei in Winthrop, surprisingly the first time I’ve randomly run into someone I know out there. Robert destroyed a ribeye while I devoured a burger covered in pulled pork and oh how I wish they’d just have thrown the burger and pork in a trough for me it was so good.

Wish it was my den but I’d probably be evicted by a bear

We drove back out to WA pass to camp at the “trailhead” for Le Petit Cheval. The trailhead is more of a pullout on the side of the highway, but we set up our bivvies next to the car and got a solid night of sleep beneath the two stars that were occasionally not obscured by clouds. We got hit by a few raindrops, but not enough to make us worry.

Scrambling with the Needles in the back

We got up at 5 and headed up the approach at 5:30. It took us around 90min to get to the climb and we spent a lot of time looking for the route start. The approach is a pretty clear trail that has yellow blazes after you cross the snowfield (talus field in summer). It swings to the right of the talus field and then back left following ramps up to the start, where you cut further left in front of the large buttress you’re about to climb. It was much more pleasant than the gulley approach sounded, and finding blazes is like having a scavenger hunt and distracts from the uphill. The route start says something like “look for two corners and an old snag” and you’re standing there like there are 8 snags on this ledge and 5 corners?? But we found one that went.

Robert following the third pitch. Such a blast

I’m still not 100% convinced we were on the actual first and second pitch, but they went, and they were 5.7ish. I led the first pitch, which was a kitty litter corner (see, probably not the route) that we followed up to some rap tat. From that it was up another corner and around a small roof to a second set of tat. Maybe the pac man overhang is just dramatically photographed on Mountain Project but the mini roof wasn’t very pac man ish.

From there, and this is why I think the MP rating is so low (1.8 stars!), you need to scramble and hike another 15min. We eventually got impatient and said fuck it we’ll just climb to the ridge from here. So I started up and as soon as I pop up on the ridge maybe 25ft later boom we’re at the start of the 3rd pitch. I shouted back to Robert. I think I’m just gonna keep going. I dropped a big ass purple cowbell hex into a #3 crack. Save the #3 for later. Psh. Who needs cams when you have hexes.

Robert starts up the bomb ass fourth pitch

THE THIRD PITCH WAS AMAZING. I started laughing a few moves later and just said “oh my GOD” to which Robert shouted “everything okay?!” and I responded “it’s just so much FUN.” It was a fantastic mix of ledges and cracks with good pro and sharp holds. It could have gone on forever. I was having such a blast. I finally (sadly) found some tat and figured I couldn’t have had that much rope left anyway, so better stop here. Except the mantle to the left looks more fun than squeezing past a dead tree so I went that way and set up a gear anchor instead. I belayed Robert up, and heard him burst out laughing at the fat hex. It’s like leaving a joke behind for someone.

Come on guys they aren’t so bad. They make music as you climb!

Robert got up to the belay and continued on to the fourth pitch, where he followed a crack up to the right, faked me out and went left to duck under a roof which popped him out onto a beautiful short finger crack and dropped him off on a belay ledge (with more tat). He belayed me up and after fighting to retrieve a hex and a tricam he had placed I started up the fifth pitch. Oh and I made him move the belay so he’d have a better picture of me climbing.

Me starting up the fifth pitch (PC Robert)

We were worried about time, having taken like 4.5 hours for four pitches plus a 15min scramble. But we spent a lot of time looking for the start and figuring out the first two pitches and then looking for the 3rd pitch and at least now we were on a ridge where routefinding consists of “go up.” And I was thinking we had to be close. I cruised up these fantastic parallel cracks, scrambled a bit, wrapped around right and went up a juggy chimney sort of feature and set up my belay again nearly at the end of the rope. The rest to the top was just a scramble. So basically we did 5 pitches whereas MP says it’s 6 and the book says it’s 8. It’s a 600ft climb so if you do 8, they must be pretty short.

Robert just below the summit

We admired the views (Robert convinced me to make what I consider an exposed slabby move to get the best views) and then figured we needed to get our asses down since I was supposed to be getting dinner with a Peaks of Life climbing team to plan a fundraising climb the following weekend. We scrambled back to the first set of tat and started rapping down.

The raps are perfectly spaced for a 60m rope. Maybe one or two 4′ downclimbs. Not sure how many we did, maybe 9 rappels? Didn’t feel like that many but I think it was a lot. BRING YOUR APPROACH SHOES. The scramble sections and the “second approach” between pitches 2 and 3 were brutal in climbing shoes. Funnels of gravel straight into my shoes. We found the blazed trail again on the way down and were back at the car by 3pm.

Spicy move getting back around the summit boulder

This is a seriously awesome climb for someone looking to build confidence in swinging leads and leading 5.7. Most of the pitches didn’t feel like 5.7 and only the second pitch got a bit run out (but like I said, not sure we were on the true second pitch). The upper pitches are just fantastically fun, solid climbing and somehow we only ran into two other parties. One bailed after the second pitch and the others were still hiking up as we hiked out. So we basically had the whole thing to ourselves, which is insane for a 5.7 climb at WA Pass with a 1hr approach.

Robert throwing ropes in trees

It brought all of my rock climbing stoke back into action. I hate downclimbing and I did a fair amount of it on the way down and felt pretty good and the entire climb was just so solid, I never had the the frantic clip-and-take or the slam-and-jam or the hug-and-cry or the stuff-and-pray. Finally starting to feel like my 2016 climbing self again and hopefully it is only up from here. I left that pullout feeling on top of the world.

Between pitches 2 and 4

…and then we almost immediately ran out of gas. Which made no sense. Because we filled up in Marblemount and had only driven 157 miles. Some good samaritan Canadiens saved us (on Canada Day!) driving all the way to Mazama and back to us with a can of gas, and those two gallons of gas took us the 50 miles to Marblemount. Which for the record is a small miracle given my car averages 18 miles per gallon. The cars behind me probably weren’t too happy with my coast-at-40-mph-in-neutral-for-as-long-as-possibly. Pulling into the Marblemount gas station was the best feeling ever.

Second best, after topping out on a sweet climb. Or maybe third best after alpine bedtime. But I’m sure my relief was palpable as I filled my “20 gallon” tank with 21 gallons of sweet, sweet gasoline.

P.S. I think “petit cheval” means “little horse” which is sooooo cute

Even the highway didn’t bother me too much (PC Robert)

Luna Peak

Posted on June 25, 2018 by evejakubowski

Brad hikes beneath Fury and the northern Pickets. It’s hideous, I know.

Local riff raff

I. Hate. Log. Crossings. We can start with that. Ask me how many log crossings were on this trip. Actually don’t because I’ve probably blocked half of them from memory. I need to get a balance beam for my basement so I can work on my fear of log crossings. But this trip was good practice, and we did a lot of close-to-the-ground-log-walking during the bushwhack, and my confidence in log crossings grew over the course of 36hrs despite being stuck with Brad “Fearlessly Dances Across Logs” Geyer. He’d cruise across the log while I stood there having the “Okay can I do this maybe ugh should I no do I want to I don’t really want to but ah fuck you can’t just stand here ok GO” internal debate/pep talk. Oh, and on the way back I didn’t care about wet feet and said fuck the logs and waded anyway. Oh wait, that was most of the trip. “When life gives you lemons… say fuck the lemons and bail.” The frigid waters numbed my poor brutalized feet, which was a blessing in its own way.

So, I present to you: Luna Peak. I have a list that I call “The Selfish Ten.” It is ten peaks that I will bail on anyone and anything in order to complete. I’m sorta breaking that rule because I swore to JT I wouldn’t touch certain ones until he’s back, but besides those exceptions, the list stands. And Luna was on it. Doesn’t matter who, doesn’t matter when, it’s happening. And here was the opportunity. Cassie had pitched the idea months prior, and I said hell yes. Assuming weather is good. Because I’m fairweather all of a sudden.

Distance: ~32mi round trip* (I estimated 26mi… not even close)
Elevation gain: 6,700ft gain (8,311 highest point)
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2.5hrs to the boat, 15-20min hike to boat, 10min boat ride
Did I Trip: I had a full body posthole but that was the worst of it. Didn’t even fall off a log.

That… is the trail

We got the boat at 8am, which was the earliest they’d take us. In fact I think the driver (boater? Can you call him a captain if it’s a small motorboat?) was still asleep when we arrived at the dock around 7:45. By 8:30, we were hopping off the boat at the Big Beaver Trailhead, ready to start the first 10 miles towards Luna. The easy 10 miles.

By “easy,” I mean mostly flat. And mostly shady, and it was mostly cloudy anyway, and there aren’t twists and turns and there’s only one switchback in the entire 10 miles. To 39 Mile Camp it was beautifully maintained. Beyond that, we ran into one section where the creek became the trail (that took us a while to figure out), multiple sections with huge blowdowns (some had bootpaths around them, most were up and over), and if I’m really being a princess, some creeks that had to be waded but who am I to complain, I had way worse conditions coming up. Oh, and mosquitoes constantly threatening to bite your face and through your shirt and through your pants (I kept my goretex on ~~try to eat that you dumb shits~~) and let me tell you the only thing that can make a log crossing more miserable is having mosquitos and biting flies swarming your face because the number of swatting motions you make is directly correlated with your likeliness to fall off of the log and into the river.

Who needs a knee anyway?

We made it to Luna Camp spurred by Cassie’s proud bargain hunting stories and outlet-store-gear-flipping dreams and the hour that it took me to understand what a packraft is (it’s cool and I want one). Just past Luna Camp, we took a 90 degree turn off the trail and headed at the log jam at 48.8395, -121.2090. This was like a mile closer to Luna camp than the log jams we had tried last year, which had all been underwater the first time. At first I thought it was the one, but there’s no WAY this huge one was ever underwater. There is another log jam at 48.8451, -121.2164 that we were told about on the way down that is closer to where Access Creek meets Big Beaver, saving you some schwacking, but let’s be real if you didn’t like schwacking you wouldn’t be here. Anyway, our crossing was a massive log jam that even I wasn’t scared of. Eve “Slowly and Timidly Tiptoes Along Logs” Jakubowski. There are logs 2ft across and the skinny ones are usually doubled up so you can still spread out (I like to be well grounded, okay? My legs are lazy unreliable bastards). And from there, it was a hundred feet of devil’s club dueling followed by varying log walks, fern clumps, skunk cabbage swamp hops, and pine needles getting stuck in my bun and sticking to my neck and we were at Access Creek, which is not very problematic if you’re already resigned to wading. If your feet are still dry, then I bid thee good luck.

Big ol’ Luna log jam

Are we having fun yet?

We started up on the north side of Access Creek. Near the creek was brushy and miserable, above the creek was mostly open forest with a few patches of annoying brush. Oh, spiderwebs abound. Just give up and let them dangle off of your face and live your worst nightmare with resignation and disgust. Just catch the occasional spider cause some are still hanging out in the webs. Cassie and Kyle announced they were going to bail around 2,800ft. Cassie had a “tweaked knee” that turned out to be a freaking torn MCL. That she tore on flat trail. Not on a log, not on the bushwhack, but on the beautifully flat trail. Cassie “Can’t Walk On A Flat Trail” Cassidy. So I’ve hiked with Cassie for like a net 8hrs and already know she’s a freaking bad ass who will always understate every injury. I’m sure her hike out was lovely with 1.7 knees.

How about now?!

My stoke went from like 9/10 to 0/10 real quick after that. I was enjoying the company, I was excited to share the summit, I had just met Cassie and Kyle, and now my only motivation was purely selfish and that’s not the right reason to climb a peak. Yeah it was on my selfish ten list, but I’ve calmed down a lot since I first started climbing and I don’t like summit fever/selfishness to be the only reason I keep going. I strongly deliberated turning back with them, but I knew Brad wanted the summit so I used that as my “non-selfish” excuse to keep going. I gave Cassie a look. “Don’t you dare argue with me.” She waggled her finger. “I CAN SEE YOU’RE ABOUT TO ARGUE WITH ME. NO. YOU GUYS ARE GOING.” I laughed. Shouldn’t have any guilt about continuing on here.

FINALLY a view of Luna! Don’t worry, you still need to wrap around another face of the peak

We tried crossing Access Creek at 3,000ft as suggested by a recent trip report but bailed back to the north side shortly because slide alder is the worst (and yay wading!). Standards were getting lower, we were getting lazier. We never quite found the bootpath, so we weren’t very fast but it wasn’t 100% miserable. I wasn’t as defeated as when I was lost on the way down from Snowfield, or coming down the Bachelor Creek drainage after the Ptarmigan Traverse. We crossed back to the south side at the usual 3,700ft, not really bothering to find a log crossing because like I said wading had become the norm. We popped out on some boulder fields that alternated with short, not-too-terrible stretches of slide alder, and as we finally reached the basin we saw two climbers on their way down. And I knew one of them!!

Brad coming up the couloir to the shoulder

Running into Ilia brought my stoke from like 2/10 up to like a 7. Perfect timing, I was so thrilled to run into someone I knew out in the middle of nowhere in one of the most remote ranges in the lower 48. But he brought up some concerns. It was already almost 5pm, and it had taken him and his buddy 6 hours from where we were to the summit. 2hrs to the SE shoulder of Luna, 2hrs to Luna Col, 2hrs to the true summit. Great. That would have us summitting at 11pm, which I didn’t want. We’d have to nap and immediately start heading out to make the 5pm boat if it took us 15hrs to summit. Well, we had a rough timeline, and we knew we had to beat it if we wanted to top out before sunset. Time to get moving.

Brad just after gaining the shoulder, Elephant Butte and the southern Pickets in the back

Luna Col up and left just out of frame

Ilia and Devin continued down as we went up. We swapped approach shoes for mountaineering boots and put on crampons for the gully which was surprisingly firm for the afternoon. It took us roughly 1:45 to the SE shoulder. At one point I wondered if this was irresponsible, but figured we’d see what happened. The question I ask myself dates back to John, my first climbing partner. “What would I do if I was alone?” I wasn’t sure. I figured I’d top out at the shoulder and make the call there if I was alone, so I kept moving. At the shoulder I was slightly below Ilia’s predicted time, so I shouted at Brad that we had to move faster and started out towards the snow field, cruising along heather slopes until I realized my ankles were bleeding. I had left my low socks on thinking my leggings would be enough to save my ankles from chafing, but I’m an idiot. I switched into different socks and caught back up. We followed Ilia’s tracks, our newly proclaimed spirit guide, and I knew we’d make it.

Fury watches over camp

Looking up at the false summit

At Luna Col, I just about lost my mind. Getting to the ridge is my favorite part of every climb, usually even better than the summit. Seeing the views on the other side, finally having the world open up beneath you after all the effort you’ve put in, it’s just spectacular. I checked the clock. ~1:15 from shoulder to col. I turned to Brad. “Dude, I think we have a shot.”

I kept moving and found a party of three already set up at a bivvy site, luckily they pointed to another patch just below them that we claimed as our own. We dropped our overnight gear and started up towards the summit at 8pm. It’s just a talus walk for 1000ft to the false summit with the views getting bigger and bigger until you’re on the false summit looking at the oddly diagonal true summit, wondering why the hell so few people come here and how no one has made a trail and sweet baby jesus how much traffic would this get if there WAS a trail? I take it all back, no one blaze anything. We heard the party back at camp whooping and whooped right back. Call and response in the mountains. The best.

Brad approaching the false summit, southern Pickets in the background

Looking at the true summit from the false summit

I told Brad to go first on the scramble. I don’t like exposure, but if someone goes ahead of me then I space out and end up in my own 3ft world and everything’s fine. And the ridge didn’t look bad at all. And we were on top of the world and it was sunset and there was an inversion layer to the north and if I didn’t have pictures I wouldn’t even believe this had all happened. When we got to the true summit we found the world’s tiniest summit register.

Like a sidewalk to heaven!

While Brad signed the register, I FaceTimed JT. What a freaking world. Enough 4G to do a quick video chat with someone in Afghanistan, that’s so wild. The connection wasn’t great so I couldn’t tell what he could actually see, but we were standing on the summit of a wicked remote peak with a spectacular sunset looking right at Fury which JT and I have tried and bailed on (long story) and can’t wait to get on again. I signed the register myself and we headed back down the ridge, me going first this time because I wanted Brad to get a picture of me with my Bruins flag.

Gotta stay busy in the offseason somehow! Photo credit Brad (@hellomynameisbrad)

Brad on the way down, southern Pickets and Fury in the back

I had left the flag in my climbing accessories bin for some reason, and decided Friday night “yeah, why not” as I was packing. We were freezing cold and eager to get down so we didn’t set up the picture perfectly (I didn’t want to make Brad wait for me to get back to the false summit while he stayed on the true summit which would have been the perfect shot) but it came out okay. We walked back down the talus and took a gully down the north side of the ridge to a snowfield that we could walk across almost all the way back to camp, way faster than trying to talus hop.

The last of sunset over a sea of clouds

We made it back to camp just before true dark. The snow we had put in the pot had melted (yes!!!) so it was quick to boil and we had our meals and went to sleep. Brad forgot his sleeping pad, so I gave him some shit and went to bed only to realize an hour later that my sleeping pad had a leak, and wouldn’t stay inflated. So we had a few hours of fake sleep. Pseudonaps. Brad got up at like 2am to take pictures which I half slept through and probably wouldn’t have remembered at all if he hadn’t asked the next day.

First light on the southern Pickets

The dumbest bird in the world woke me up. I had heard it the prior night and thought the other party was making animal noises, or a marmot was being tortured. I still have no idea what this bird was (I’ve listened to more bird calls in the past 30 minutes than in my life to date) but it’s the most effective, obnoxious alarm ever. It was already getting light (yay summer!) and we strapped on crampons, grabbed ice axes, and started across the snowfield. My ankle started bleeding quickly due to another separate ankle issue despite my thick socks, but whatever. I need new boots but I’m sooo lazy and sooo cheap so I sucked it up minus the silent crying and figured I’d bitch about it later. Crampons are amazing on steep wet heather, but sidehilling is still miserable. Back at the shoulder we found the couloir to be softer than the prior night, which made for a fairly easy descent though I couldn’t truly plunge step it so I had to go for the awkward hobble side step. I alternated between that and glissade-to-self-arrest to speed it up.

Fury, you magnificent bastard!

Small bear print?

Back in Access Creek Basin we switched back into trail runners. Oh my ankles were so happy. My feet not so much but at least it was slight progress. We followed a similar trail back to 3,700ft where we crossed to the north side of Access Creek again. You can see where the forest starts and the slide alder ends on the north side while you’re talus hopping on the south side, and that’s where you want to aim for the crossing. Yeah, you’ll have to fight through some slide alder to get there.

On the way down we stayed higher above the creek, and actually found parts of the boot path! Or maybe it WAS the boot path. In which case the boot path is more of a sporadic suggestion, a “hey go this way for 15ft it might be nice” until it disappears and you curse the North Cascades for being so lush and healthy and green and dense. We were back in the land of bugs, and the mosquitoes and flies started to swarm. We saw the occasional blaze but I swear they only marked the obviously trodden sections of bootpath, not the “ok do we cross this marsh or do we push through the alder or do we go up and over that log” sections where you really could use them. But soon enough we were at the mouth of Access Creek which we waded (surpise!) and suffered the half mile schwack back to the huge log jam.

Waist high skunk cabbage

Getting back to the trail was a great feeling, until 20 minutes later when I realized that despite being well graded and mostly maintained, the exfil was going to be a tedious affair. My body was wrecked, my tendinitis was in full force, the flies flying around my head were like a lei crown except of bugs that kept getting stuck in my hair. It got hotter and more humid every minute as the sun rose and the trail got drier and drier as we got close to the exit. Brad sat down towards the end and I was like dude you’ll catch up (we had been booking it) but I gotta hobble to get moving again. So I started hobbling, borderline delirious, nearly out of water but too impatient and desperate to stop and eventually I resorted to the old, trusty”count-your-steps” until I reached the dock. Where I immediately threw my shirt in the water and wrapped it around my head like a du rag.

Reaching the lake was like finding Jesus. I could have cried and crawled to the water and laid my head in the shallows and curled up in the fetal position until my body temperature returned to normal but I pretended like everything was fine. I took off my shoes and put my abused feet in the lake and eventually Brad caught up followed by the whooping 3p party and we all jumped in the lake. It was freaking heaven. We hopped on their boat since we had gotten back early, which even meant we got a partial refund!

Finally cooling off my overheating & dehydrated body

Oh, but when the boat docks, you still need to hike like a mile to the car. Uphill. All of it. One of the guys did it in flip flops. I had gotten a second wind after lake jump, nap, and boat ride, and felt pretty okay. Turned out I knew one of the guys through SMR. Small world, two other parties on Luna and I am lucky enough to know someone in each. Running into no one is nice, but running into people you know purely by chance all the way out there is pretty damn incredible.

Everyone says the Pickets won’t let you off easy. And they haven’t. Cassie paid her dues via MCL, I paid mine via near mental breakdown last year (just after a close friend passed in a climbing accident, I lacked the mental fortitude for this no matter how badly I wanted it). Brad’s gotten off easy (lucky bastard). But the Pickets aren’t going to give themselves up for no work. It may not be a technical climb, but Luna is strenuous, and the bushwhack no matter how “non bushwhacky” if you find the “bootpath” is still a tedious affair, especially with no views to reward yourself. Only mosquitos and humidity and branches to bitch slap you.

Well, my Selfish Ten list is down to 8 (the other one I’ve knocked off is the Torment Forbidden Traverse). I’m not sure if I’m going to let myself backfill the spots I’ve opened. It has to be something seriously appealing in order to make that list. No you don’t get to know what the rest of them are. I suppose if I find another route I haven’t heard of, or one that I can’t climb yet but may be good enough for in a few years, then I’d reopen the list. But for now, two down, eight to go. And damn, was Luna worth it. Even with all the mosquitoes and slide alder and devil’s club and dehydration and flies and those mother. Effing. Log. Crossings.

Actual Beta:

Bring approach shoes and maybe even spare socks.
Bring bug spray.
Be willing to wade.
The log crossings are 48.8395, -121.2090 (huge logs, but ~0.5 mile bushwack to get to Access Creek) or 48.8451, -121.2164 (smaller logs but right where Access Creek meets Big Beaver)
The gully to the SE shoulder of Luna is the middle gully. There’s a narrow steep one on the right, a slightly wider slightly less steep one in the middle, and a broad mellow one on the left. Go middle. You won’t see all three until you’re already partially up the slope above the basin.
Tons of running water on the traverse this time of year. Only snow at Luna Col and higher, though this may change as it melts more.
The scramble really isn’t that bad. Exposed yes, but lots of ledges for feet and jugs for hands on the exposed parts. And you can drop to the south side and traverse for 50ft or so on an easy ramp (like a walking traverse not even scrambling) though it’s a 3rd-4th class move to get back up on the ridge. Or you can au cheval most of it! Yeah baby!
Luna Col is gorgeous. Camp at Luna Col.

*suckers, that doesn’t include the ~2mi round trip walk from the car to the dock. Ha!

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout