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.

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!

Primus & Austera Ski

Posted on June 7, 2018 by evejakubowski

Mike comes up towards Austera with Forbidden and Klawatti/Klawatti Glacier in the background

The only time we saw Johannesburg

I teetered awkwardly on the 12″ log over the river, cursing the dark and the water and my shitty balance and where did the huge log that used to be here go?! That one already sucked enough! Did it wash out, like the ski pole I had just dropped, whisked away into the darkness never to be seen again mere feet from the parking lot? We weren’t even really at the trailhead yet, because the trail post is on the other side of the river crossing. Mother. Fucker. And I had just been telling the story of Kacie who dropped her oatmeal in the river when we crossed the same stream back in 2016. And here I was with one ski pole, a subpar sense of balance, and three long days ahead of me.

Distance: ~20 miles
Elevation: ~11,000ft (8500ish, top of Primus)
Weather: 30’s and socked in, 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 without traffic, 4 hours for us because we couldn’t leave on time
Did I Trip: I basically tripped the entire boulder field. Mike had a nice slough ride. And Brad… did he not trip? No I think he had one good stumble on the boulder field too.

Brad coming out of the clouds

There were other casualties too. Mike broke his nalgene. Brad snapped a strap on his pack. Mike tore a sock. I had like 7 chapsticks and none had SPF (RIP my lips). We wasted like 40 matches. My roll of toilet paper was destroyed (not by poop, jeez). Many gloves lost their fingers. And yet somehow we found ourselves on top of two peaks, sunburns and blisters and walking sticks be damned. Anyway, let’s get to the trip.

Naturally we wanted to do the full Inspiration traverse, but this is not the time of year to ford Thunder Creek and the bridge is washed out. So we figured we’d head in from Eldorado, bag Klawatti/Austera/Primus, and head right back out the way we came instead of going up and over Primus. So we drove up on Friday after I got dragged into several extra hours of work due to everyone panicking about the GDPR (I work in internet marketing) which meant we sat in traffic instead of beating traffic which means we listened to the same ~80 songs on my recently played playlist over and over again. Apparently Mike listened to mostly folk last time he was in WA, and instead with me he got a solid rotation of Satisfaction (Benny Benassi), Over my Head (Sum 41), Despacito (Luis Fonsi??), and a variety of Eminem and James Brown. My family asked when my taste in music became so terrible. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just that… 90% of it is bad.

Tendrils coming over Torment & Forbidden

We got started around 5am Saturday, an hour after I expected (this will become a theme). It took us several hours longer than expected to actually reach the boulder field, and then the notch, and then the shoulder of Eldorado. The forest is actually much better than it used to be. Much clearer trail, fewer trees to duck under (no more logs of sorrow!). I found a nice solid walking stick to use, and eventually deemed it Emily Stickinson as we bonded over three days. The boulder field is pretty much as I remembered it, except I didn’t have John’s happy bouncing face to follow dodging and weaving rocks. Instead I had only one useful hand, because the other hand was clutching the walking stick I knew I’d need for all the sidehilling to come, and the mental fortitude that comes with carrying skis everywhere because you don’t know how to ski.

Mike skinning to Klawatti Col (PC Brad)

Brad switched to skis halfway up the boulder field, but I had to put on crampons and continue booting because it was icy and I don’t have ski crampons (another recurring theme, continued from the prior week). The regular notch was good to go with its classic third class scramble move at the bottom which I assure you is more enjoyable with skis on your back, especially if you’re carrying a rope and a rack. I refused to take the snow ramp because I watched my buddy Sam tear an ACL going that way a few years back, so I scraped my skis along the barely melted out heather ramp on the side, sacrificing some polish instead of risking a fall. Nothing like the sound of scraping skis in the morning. There is another scramble that can be taken ~50ft lower than the usual notch, but I didn’t bother to investigate. Old habits die hard.

Mike moments before fall (I had a mid-slip-pic but this one looks better sorry Mike)

I finally put on skis at the bottom of the notch and we started skinning towards Eldorado. The glacier was very well covered still, and we actually never roped up for any of the glacier crossings. I finally noticed that The Triad has three freaking summits, hence the name (I always wondered). Clouds started moving in and I worried we were in for some surprise precipitation. We only had bivvies (Mike was cowboy camping, no bivvy necessary), so rain would have been less than ideal. We passed a couple of whooping skiiers coming down Eldorado who turned out to be our buddy Sammy Davis, who took beginner ski lessons with me last winter! Amazing how far we’ve come!

I went to go check out the composting toilet (it’s one of the 50 Classic Craps of Washington after all) but either it was buried or I didn’t look hard enough. You could see the south face of Klawatti from where we were and I could already see the open bergschrund, so that route was out, which was a bummer because that’s the route I had my eye on. We continued moving in and out of clouds, traversing over to Klawatti Col. Which is over a mile, even though it looks wicked close. And more up and down and slower than it looks, especially when the clouds close in and suddenly you can only see 7 feet in front of you so you stop and grumble about no views and wind is cold and Emily Stickinson is so heavy and whiiiiiine and wait for your buddies hoping they don’t have a hard time following tracks. Soon enough we found ourselves on the col that leads to Dorado Needle, where the clouds conveniently lifted for just long enough for me to realize we had traversed too high. Shit. I knew I would do this. Oh, and my right arm was wiped from repeatedly lifting a tree branch instead of a ski pole. Thank you, Emily Stickinson. Get swole baby.

Shitty pano of our K-A Col moat campsite

Savoring sunrise (PC Brad)

Brad was nice enough to take Emily Stickinson for a bit so my arm could have a break, and we dropped down a couple hundred feet and continued on our way. Luckily the clouds had mostly passed at this point and we had line of sight, which makes the traverse very easy. Until the last stretch to Klawatti Col, which was steeper and slushy, and being the skinning chicken that I am, I booted it. And I was validated when I heard a stream of F bombs and turned around to see Mike slow-motion slide out of view riding with a small slough. I dropped my shit and started running back. He was fine and also insisted on more skinning. When I get spooked, it’s back to boots. And I get spooked a lot. Skinning chicken, but I’m really good at walking.

At Klawatti Kol I took a look at the SW buttress route and decided I didn’t want to lead it. It was late, I was tired, I don’t know the stoke just wasn’t there. At all. So we decided to see if we could camp at Klawatti-Austera col to set us up for success on Primus and Austera. And we had heard that the North Ridge of Klawatti was a class 3 scramble, so we crossed our fingers for that. The traverse to Klawatti-Austera col felt like 10 minutes compared to everything else we had done that day. And upon our arrival, we found an easy way to drop into the moat and a sweet little snow bowl to camp in that was (somewhat) protected from the wind!

Brad scrambling the ridge of Austera

The view of Klawatti and Eldorado from Austera

We dropped our packs, set up bivvies, and started the 8hr process of boiling water for 3 people in a Jetboil that’s probably older than I am. The lighter didn’t work. The matchbox didn’t work. The lighter still didn’t work. The jetboil ignition hadn’t ever worked. Oh shit I got a match lit!! Get the shovel I need a wind screen! We dug snow coffins (Brad’s was legit, mine was half-assed, no, quarter-assed, and Mike slept on a mostly crooked rock), and watched sunset from the ridge. Oh, and I used my barely-utilized InReach to get a weather forecast from Simon, because we had two more days up there and if weather was moving in for real I wanted to know. But nope, forecast was still good. We can hope.

Brad & Mike on the false summit

We woke up to one of the best sunrises ever. Blue skies above us, sea of clouds below us. I spent all year dreaming of being above the clouds, and once or twice a year I get lucky. It’s an incredible feeling. Once again it took us an hour longer than expected to get ready, but soon enough Mike and I were racing Brad with his ski crampons across the Klawatti Glacier, looking out across an ocean of cotton candy clouds. It was pretty much line of sight to the base of the scramble, where we stashed our skis. I dropped my pack too, thinking it was an easy walk to the top. Dreams!

I topped out on the ridge and realized I would definitely want my pack, and probably the rope and maybe even rock shoes. I turned around to grab gear, and we scrambled along the ridge. I didn’t see the third class scramble, so we roped up thinking we’d pitch it out to the top. But the trip reports are right. If you follow an obvious ledge to the right from just before the chockstone notch, it’s an easy third class scramble to the false summit. Barely third class. Once around the corner I laughed at the fact we had roped up. But the rope helped with the final notch, which was full of snow and ice. And I was in rock shoes. Which aren’t great on snow or ice. Oops.

Brad skiing down from Austera

Identical except better photo of me skiing down Austera (PC Brad). If only the lake were melted out!!

I downclimbed into the notch, choosing to stay roped up for the short “traverse.” No one had brought ski boots or crampons or an ice axe, all of which would have made this a piece of cake. The first few steps were wicked icy but Brad had forgotten to take the shovel out of his pack, so I chopped small steps for my rock-shoe-clad feet. Beyond that, it was bucket steps in slush and then 6′ of soft steep snow, and I self-belayed with the shovel (bomber anchor, guys) to a pseudo-stem-across-a-small-moat-onto-a-ledge move. Supposedly there’s a 5.7ish slab move to deal with when it’s all melted out, but it was buried in snow and I preferred our moat hop. I set up on the summit and alternated hip belay/using the rope as a hand line for the others to get across. I was whooping and shouting back to them about the peaks we could see – “Guess what that pointy one is?!” GOODE!” “AND THE HUGE MASSIF IS LOGAN!!” I was going crazy. Everything’s amazing and so few people go past Eldorado even though there’s all of these incredible peaks and ridges back here!

Primus looking primo

The views back at Klawatti, Eldorado, and Dorado Needle are spectacular from Austera. And looking back along the ridge and all of the towers is absolutely wild. We searched for a summit register to no avail, and eventually traversed back over where we just downclimbed the scramble and ended up back at our packs. We had set out water bottles stuffed with snow in the sun to melt, and they had melted!! I know, we’re so smart. We chugged water, stuffed more snow in the bottles, and talus-hopped back to our skis.

And then we enjoyed 1,500ft of the best backcountry skiing I’ve ever had. Unbelievable. We hit perfect corn. Mellow slopes. Mostly covered crevasses (one bunny hop, which is good, because I can’t jump). And the backdrop. The fucking BACKDROP. LOOK WHERE WE ARE. You can’t help but look around and just start laughing because you’re in a place that’s so wild and so remote and so beautiful and so untouched by anything.

Mike and I stopped perfectly (PC Brad)

There are many slopes that look like they’ll drop onto the North Klawatti glacier, but the first real access comes at the ~6,800ft shoulder of Austera’s south ridge. I packed the skis because it was steep, uncomfortably slushy, and the runout was a cliff drop if you didn’t stop in time, so boots it was. Oh, and we had dropped a bit too low and needed to regain elevation anyway. Start packing. Good news is, Emily Stickinson is basically an ice axe except lacking the ability to arrest. But for self belaying (stupid fancy phrases for basic techniques), walking sticks work pretty damn well. Like an alpenstock.

I booted up and north for what felt like ages and finally came to rest at the bottom of the mostly flat basin below Primus. Brad and Mike were switching to skins a few hundred yards behind, so I sunscreened up, mushed my shirt into the snow to try and cool down, and decided to brush my teeth, which I neglected to do that morning. Brush brush brush. I giggled surveying my surroundings. Bet this is the coolest place I’ve brushed my teeth.

We skinned to the base of the slopes and I pitched the idea of ditching all of our heavy crap. Ten minutes later, we had a pile of puffy jackets, a rope, small alpine rack, goretex, stove, spare snacks, a mini yard sale. And light as feathers (hahahaha not) we started skinning up the face of Primus.

Brad and Mike coming up Primus

At first it was awesome. Perfect zig zags, avoiding the occasional rock island. And then it started getting hot. Really hot. And there’s no shade. And everything is reflecting at you. It’s basically a bright white desert except you can roll around to cool off briefly. I hit the talus around 400ft from the summit, thinking 400ft was a lot closer than it actually is. And the talus was shitty, rubbly, everything-wobbles-when-you-step-on-it talus, not fun rock hopping talus. And I lost the bottom half of my whippet. And dragging a huge walking stick in one hand is tedious and means you can’t really use your hands. Dammit, Emily. But I had packed the skis and didn’t want to unpack, so I sucked it up until I met Brad, who had passed me skinning. Stashed the skis, and walked up to the summit, which was like a football field you could totally camp on. Besides the huge slumping cornice, so we didn’t get a great view of the Borealis Glacier, but seriously, everything is still amazing.

Beautiful place for a memorial.

There was no summit register. We found a glass jar, and expecting a celebratory list of names I was rendered speechless as I slowly realized what it was. Hmm, a jar, not a brass register? Okay. One sheet of paper? A pic of a young kid? I unfolded the paper. “In loving memory of John V Yoder, Died May 10, 2016. Age 19. We miss you son.”

I sat there trying not to cry. I knew if I spoke I’d cry so I didn’t. I had only ever been up and around Eldorado with my friend John, this trip I was doing was supposed to be with John, a different John but still a wonderful John who was ripped away far too early in an unexpected accident in May a year after John Yoder. I do not know this family, I probably never will, but they just got one more person in the world to know their son, and that’s a hell of a good way to remember him. Hopefully they’ve gotten closer to finding peace (not sure you ever truly get there, but everyone kept telling me to find peace so who knows). I’ll never know why they chose Primus, but it’s one of the most remote and beautiful places in the North Cascades and I hope the jar hangs out up there for a long time.

Summit nap

I pulled myself together as Mike caught up and whipped out a summit brownie (no, not of the pot variety) that Brooke had made a few days earlier. At least I don’t think she snuck anything in there besides whatever crack she uses to make desserts so delicious. It was a little mushy and a little warm and we split it three ways and it was the best god damn brownie I’ve ever had in my life. Chugged some Mio to rehydrate, took summit naps, and got ready to ski.

Aaaaaand bring on the next best 1,500ft of backcountry skiing I’ve ever had. Light packs, untouched corn, ridiculous scenery, sunshine and fresh air and the whooping of friends as we party ski down (Mike skiied too fast for pics) to our gear pile on the glacier. We’re so lucky. I don’t know why I climb. Most people seem at least capable of enumerating their reasons, but I either have 500 sort-of-reasons (views, workout, escapism, community) or no reasons, because my favorite hobby has also caused the worst days of my life, during which none of the above mattered. All I can say is that more often than not, I love every minute I’m somewhere like this, I just occasionally have to make sure I’m out there for the right reasons.

We repacked our bags, skiied to the shoulder that wraps around the south ridge of Austera, and booted it. And we actually booted it all the way back to camp. Even after we were back on the Klawatti glacier, it was so slushy and steep enough skinning would have been a pain in the ass, so we made a staircase back up. And when it mellowed out, I was too lazy to transition (you get in a rhythm with booting you know?) and carried on with my steps.

Brad skiing Primus

Heading back to camp. Too lazy to transition.

Oh, and there were ice worms! I hadn’t seen those bad boys since Glacier Peak! They come out at dawn and dusk, and while it was still bright and sunny at 3pm they were getting more and more dense as more came to the top of the snow. We marveled at the tiny creatures and apologized for stepping on some of them. We scrambled back over the ridge (3rd, maybe 4th class move? I handed Emily Stickinson to Brad so I could use my hands) and dropped down to our bivvies (after javelin-throwing Ms. Stickinson off the ridge into the moat). Ahh, so satisfied. Besides the fact that this alleged third class scramble route on the North Ridge was completely evading us. I couldn’t even begin to make out where it might start (unless you can hop some schrunds earlier in the season). I think the SW buttress would have been the route to do it anything, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to pitch out a legit climb with one rope of 3.

In some separate world, glaciologists make six figures and I’m a glaciologist. But in this world I have a desk job until further notice. And I use the weekends to pretend I know things about glaciers. This was a sweet trip because you cross five glaciers (six if you drop onto Borealis after Primus!) and end up on some of the most rugged, wild terrain in Washington, maybe in the lower 48. Wait until I retire. I’m going to get to so many glaciers. Unless they die first.

Sunrise on Memorial Day

I got all snuggled in my sleeping bag while the sun set and announced that I love my life. We’re so freaking lucky. Well, Brad and I were lucky. Mike had had “Despacito” stuck in his head for two days at this point and was probably quietly going insane. And I rescind my prior statement about being so smart, because if we were smart we’d have brought a black trash bag to fill with snow and melt on the rocks while we climbed so we’d return to water instead of hours of jetboil chores. A watched pot never boils and by that logic… well maybe not all of our water actually boiled. I had a several hour staring contest with that stove. I demolished some spicy pumpkin seeds, had some dehydrated food, and topped off the night with a cup of tea courtesy of Mike, who carried like 40 tea bags on the trip. MVP.

We woke up and figured we’d use the whole day for leaving, thinking we’d need all day to get down given how long it took us to get up. That was false, since we got moving around 6am and were out around noon, maybe a little later. We started an hour later than intended again, but I’m chalking it up to the difficulty of putting contacts in our eyes when it’s windy and you’re just in a bivvy. Crux move of the trip. JUST STICK TO MY EYEBALL DON’T BLOW INSIDE OUT whyyyyy you gotta be like that?! I saw Brad fighting the same battle a few minutes later. Everyone get Lasik.

Brad takes a break below the east face of Eldorado

Back at Klawatti Col I took one last look at the SW buttress to be positive we didn’t want to give it a shot. The stoke still wasn’t there. How can I have so much summit fever and so little motivation at the same time?! I think if I had known more about the route maybe I’d have been more into it, but all I had was a vague “it starts as 5th class, then 4th, then 3rd class.” Blah. Next year. Plus that way I have an excuse to come back here, and I bet Klawatti could be done in a long day (JT, you reading this?).

The skin back over to Eldorado was even more scenic than the way in because the clouds were lower instead of socking us in with ping-pong-ball views, and besides a brief sting of why-am-I-carrying-skis-and-rack-and-rope grumpiness I was in my happy place. We debated climbing Eldorado just for kicks (or turns) but I was concerned about getting down in time since we were about to drop into whiteout and the stoke wasn’t there, so we kept moving.

Glacier Peak and Eggplant (hahahahaha I know I know) in rolling clouds

Skiing down to the notch was amazing and terrible at once. I don’t like skiing in whiteout on glaciers. But despite stopping every four turns, we still got to the notch in what felt like 15 minutes compared to an hour or more on the way up. The scramble up was easier than the way down, and we dropped onto the boulder field and put skis back on. Except this was low angle and sticky and gross. After a few turns I wasn’t feeling it. So I packed the skis.

They told me there was no way booting was faster than skiing. So I started jogging, and eventually lost them while they negotiated trees and rock patches and I assume the occasional wipeout? I finally waited at the official end of the snow until they packed the skis and caught up, and we took a short detour through the forest west of the boulder field (which is open, for now) before popping right out in that terrible-slide-alder-or-slabby-scramble section of the boulder field. From there, it was navigating boulders and scraping skis off every fucking rock and cursing Emily Stickinson until you’ve gone emotionally numb from stress and anxiety and guilt over destroying thousands of dollars of gear and finally you’re back at the forest.

Skinning with Purpose

In the forest we decided it was every man for himself, we’ll meet at the car and backtrack to the trailhead if anyone takes too long. So I took off. That meant no one was there to see me au-cheval the log crossing because I was fed up with balancing and I wasn’t about to lose my other ski pole. I laughed at the people in the SUV who drove by and stared as I stepped out onto the road from the bushes. I made it back to the car, stashed Emily Stickinson with her new friend, another stick that had to have been used by someone else as a walking stick because it was too perfect (Charles Stickens?), changed into new clothes, and threw my car camping setup on the ground for naps. And ate the half pound of pulled pork I had left in the car. That’s right, for three days. You can judge me or be awed by the immune system of steel, I know you’re jealous. IT WAS DELICIOUS. And I didn’t die, so I think I’m in the clear.

Bonus pic of me skiing Primus (PC Brad)

Brad popped out 10 minutes later as did Mike, and we piled our stinky ass gear into the trunk and marveled at the damage we did to our feet. Thank the sweet baby Jesus for flip flops. And there we were, headed back to Seattle! It’s a crazy feeling getting back to civilization after a trip like that where so much of it is just you and the mountains and views and silence. Finally took advantage of a three day weekend, and waking up above the clouds two days in a row is a pretty damn good deal. I think the skis are hung up for the season (I’m too lazy for Turns All Year guys I know), but that just means it’s time for rock climbing and trail running and maybe even some biking. So much to do, so little time!

Oh, and I think I’ll be buying some ski crampons. Waking up every morning carrying skis cramponing crust while Brad got to have them on his feet was mildly annoying. Skis weigh a lot. My back and shoulders hurt more than the rest of my body the next morning. Yes, I know, my pack doesn’t fit great if that’s the case, but I think with enough weight there’s no such thing as a perfectly fitting pack.

Mike skinning up Primus, Baker in the back

Abernathy Peak Ski

Posted on May 24, 2018 by evejakubowski

Gardener and North Gardener peaks

Thistle!

I wanted a lazy overnight trip because I had barely unpacked or organized anything after moving into my new house on Wednesday. Luckily Brad was willing to wait an extra morning to have company, so I got to spend Friday night and Saturday morning making my house look habitable and we took off around noon on Saturday after I even managed to knock out a St. Helens blog post. How’s that for a productive morning?!

Distance: ~11 miles (13 because we went up and down twice)
Elevation: 5,000ft gain, 8,321ft highest point
Weather: 40’s and rainy, 60’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: don’t look 4:41 with no traffic
Did I Trip: Nope!! Slipped on skins a bit in slush but no faceplants thank you very much

Indian paintbrush and… a yellow wildflower!

We got started from the trailhead around 5:30pm, taking advantage of the long summer day to get up to camp. We were planning on camping on the ridge, but the approach took longer than we thought. Or we left later than we thought. Or (my excuse) the drive was way longer than I thought. And when we got to the trailhead, the road was blocked off with caution tape. Shit. We looked at each other and said fuck it and ducked underneath it. Falling trees be damned. We hoped they were just talking about the trees near the parking lot and campground.

Abernathy in the clouds above Scatter Lake

We started booting it up the trail, skis strapped to packs. The trail was low grade, pleasant, winding through green forest with intermittent sunshine and drizzle. Wildflowers were out! You could smell the pine needles in the air. We started to panic. Where the hell was the snow? We thought it was a 3 mile approach to the lake and it had been almost two hours. Shit. A) we’re still not at the lake and B) Where. Is. The. Snow. What if there is no snow?! The guy before us in the trail register said his destination was “snow!” but he never confirmed whether he found it or not! Oh god.

Switching to boots (Photo by Brad)

Skinning up as the skies clear

Luckily we ran into patchy snow and consistent snow soon after (~5,500ft). We continued to boot it because I’m too lazy (stubborn?) to transition and the snow was perfectly consolidated for booting. You finally break into sparse trees, but wait! There’s another like 600ft to the lake, and you have to make it a rising traverse from left to right or you’ll cliff out. It went on forever. Probably because the sun was setting, the approach was a solid mile longer than we thought, we were carrying skis because of my stubbornness, and you know when your’e so close yet so far? It was like that.

We finally got up to the lake just at twilight. The top of the peak was in clouds and we booted out to a rock patch on the other side of the lake to have a better starting point. I popped up my tent while Brad set up his bivy. I enjoyed a hot meal of chicken chili, first dehydrated meal of the year I think! I’ve barely camped! I boiled some water so I’d have a hot nalgene, and went to sleep. And slept like a baby. At least, once everything dried. The first hour was a little damp from the drizzle.

Standing there with his stupid ski crampons

My first alarm went off at 3:30, but the peak was still socked in by clouds and it was drizzling yet again so I turned it off and went back to sleep. The second alarm was at 4:30, and I dozed for 15 minutes before asking Brad if he wanted to give it a shot anyway. We started up just after 5, and holy crap it was the right choice. The clouds lifted and cleared as we got higher, and by the time we summitted it was blue skies and views! It’s a very straightforward snow walk up to the top from the lake. I stopped skinning halfway up because I was getting weirdly anxious skinning on crust and felt better in boots. Brad amazed me with his skinning confidence on the ice until I realized he had been wearing freaking ski crampons the whole time. Dammit Brad.

Horsheshoe cloud around Reynolds

We walked the “ridge” to the summit and savored the views for probably an hour. Scanned all the names in the summit register to see who we recognized, snapped pictures in every direction, mocked my friends with pictures because I had Alpine Verizon cell service, took some naps… gotta kill time until the crust turns to corn. We finally got impatient and I decided I’d just boot it down if it was still crusty. Ugh. So not stoked. So Brad switched to skis as I booted down the ridge.

Except by the bottom of the ridge, the crust was getting softer. And 100ft below that, it was feeling a little corny. And Brad shouted back up to me. It only gets better!! I stopped and clicked into my skis. Bring on the corn baby!

Skiing mellow corn (photo by Brad)

Seas of peaks

The ski back to camp was phenomenal. Hero corn (with a few patches of crust here and there) which makes you feel like an amazing skiier. And straight down the line of fall, at least for the most part. We were back at camp within minutes. We packed a little bit, had some snacks, and realized it wasn’t even 10am. Do you… what if we… we should go up again. Maybe just to the rocks below the ridge. It would be a waste to get back to the trailhead at like 11am. And so I skinned all the way up this time, breaking trail through slush (Brad’s crust crampon trail was too steep). I had second-summit-fever and wanted to ski off the top this time. I waited for Brad for a bit but didn’t see him, though I did meet the only other person in the area who was headed for the Northeast couloir of Abernathy, a dope ski that I’ll shred in my dreams but never in real life. He had been hoping to ski down that side and then hit up Gardner and North Gardener, never did hear if he was successful. They’re melting out fast.

Woo!

I finally just switched to downhill mode and took off to find Brad. I made my first turn and immediately set off a small slab avalanche that went right out from under my feet along with a shit ton of sloughing, which ran for a few hundred feet down a gully that was not part of the standard route, thank god. The slab was barely 8′ across so I ski cut the rest of the slope to send whatever else was left on its way and headed back down the way I came up. Spring skiing! After mildly shitting myself I skiied the lowest angle terrain back to Brad, who was just above the only other section I was concerned about. I told him what had happened and that we were doing this one in shifts. I skiied down to a tree patch that was out of the way if he set anything off. No more slab, but plenty of large sloughing rollerballs to ski through. I waved him down and we skiied the next section separately until we were on mellow terrain, where we cruised back to camp once again.

Back at camp

This time we decided to officially head down, since it probably wasn’t going to get much better up there. 2,000ft of turns isn’t too shabby for one morning.

We skiied more on the way down. I switched to downhill mode for the traverse down from the lake but left the skins on thinking we’d have flatter skinning ahead. Brad started down in walk mode. I passed him. Brad switched to downhill mode and took skins off. Brad passed me. I lost a skin and had to trek back up to get it. I put the skin back on my ski (why, Eve?!) and went back into walk mode. I practiced my telemark turns and grumbled about everything steeper than 20 degrees. We ran out of snow pretty quickly though, and switched back to booting it. Oh god. My feet. The hotspots were fine when moving, but getting moving after stopping for a few seconds was brutal. Oh, and Brad lost a ski strap. And then I broke a buckle on his pack. But hiking a few miles of what was basically summer trail with heat and sunshine and wildflowers… damn if it isn’t beautiful.

What is this tree?

I’m stumped (ha) by the tree on the left. I stopped dead in my tracks because it’s like a weeping willow, except it’s a conifer. It has pine needles. Those aren’t broken dropping branches, they just grow like that. I don’t know anything about the flora out here and I’m super curious what this is because I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it. Between this and the wildflowers and the dappled sunlight and the soon-to-be-stifling heat, it felt like July. It was hard to believe that we had just been making turns on several feet of consistent snow and that it was only mid May. Shoulder season is the best.

We popped back out at the trailhead around 1pm and went straight to Winthrop for burgers and cold beer. Ahhhh. And we enjoyed them at Old Schoolhouse Brewery, which is right on the river. I’m getting my Mazama cabin someday, just you wait. Maybe in 30 years after I’ve paid off this house. 2048. I’ll have a jumping off point for everything in the northeastern Cascades, the one corner I barely touch. Imagine coming from a sweet peak like this back to your log cabin by the river on a sunny day, it’s not even fair. Spectacular area out there, and just as wild as the west side.

Surrounded by peaks? Better focus on the ground

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout