Black Peak: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Posted on May 3, 2016 by evejakubowski

Chelsea, JT, and Sam above Wing Lake

Here’s the “too long, didn’t read” summary. The good: the views, the snow, the skiing, the company, Chelsea absolutely crushing her first legit climb. The bad: the lack of sleep, turning around before the summit, Sam’s shitty splitboard skins, my moldy waterbottle. The ugly: the route that I led everyone up. I fucked up. My bad, guys.

Distance: ~11 miles round trip
Eleveation: ~4100ft (plus 500ft you lose and regain)
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: Three solid hours
Did I Trip: I was thinking about this on the way down from Lake Ann, because I hadn’t, but I jinxed it and wiped out on my skis minutes later.

Skiing down!

Black Peak over Wing Lake

When I was getting into mountaineering (I mean I still am), all the stories I heard were of success and accomplishment and the smooth trips where everything goes according to plan. Or they were horror stories, with storms and injuries or death, and you have the “it’ll never happen to me” feeling that us beginners have. No one mentioned the casual trials, the mental and physical and emotional discomfort, that often come with trips. Getting off route in a new area, or maybe you get to your destination but in the least efficient way. Choosing between being comfortable and sunburning or boiling in the sun with your base layer, or foggy sunglasses versus risking being snowblind, or do you sweat in your goretex shell or just get rained on? Or how being tired just becomes a constant and you figure out how to savor the ups and push through the downs.

JT skinning just past Lewis Lake

I don’t actually know where “snow hiking” or “backcountry skiing” turns into “mountaineering,” but it sounded catchier in the title than the other two. I tend to consider mountaineering anything involving technical glacier travel or alpine style rock climbing, but steep snow, avvy terrain, and needing basic skills like self arrest, self belay, kicking steps, and fake front pointing (we weren’t wearing crampons) and peakbagging all in one trip can blur the line.

Great visibility. Can I blame my navigation on that?

Sam had wanted to snowboard Black Peak for months, and the highway was finally open! We were originally going to overnight it, but Sam had to dog sit last minute, so we were limited to a day. But we figured a day would be plenty of time. We all drove up Friday night. Chelsea was first, getting there around 9pm. JT was second, I have no idea when he arrived. I got there at 11:59pm, just barely beating the crack of midnight. When I first got my Xterra, my mother said “don’t you dare ever sleep in it, it’s creepy and weird.” Spoiler alert: I slept in it. Sorry Mom. I’m guess I’m creepy and weird. I could set up my mountaineering tent on pavement on the side of the road in the rain and deal with a wet tent, or I could curl up in the back seat and avoid putting in any effort. Back seat it was. Sam showed up last, stopping to nap in Newhalem at 11:30pm, rallying at 2:30am, getting to the trailhead at 3:30am, and immediately passing out again. If only sleep were optional.

We got up at 5 to start moving. I was considering sleeping another half hour or so since it was foggy with low visibility and how are you supposed to get excited for a ski trip when there are no views? But with everyone else ready to head out, I conceded and grabbed my stuff. We could put on skis immediately thanks to the 4-5ft of snow at Rainy Pass, and I led the way to the start of the trail.

Nothing better than scrambling in ski boots! Oh wait, everything is better.

When I did this peak in summer, there were two areas where the trail meets the parking lot. One will lead you clockwise around the Heather/Maple Pass Loop (4 miles to Heather Pass) and the other leads you counterclockwise (2 miles to Heather Pass). This is the foundation of my error. I led us to the second trail. We started up, and began to traverse towards Heather Pass around 6500ft. Why didn’t I realize most people in winter went to the lake and then cut directly up to Heather Pass? Because it wasn’t mentioned in anything I read and I assumed because we all knew the area that we’d get there easily, meaning I never actually sat down to look at a map and figure out where the path of least resistance may be. But we knew where we were and where we had to go, it just wasn’t efficient, especially with ~50ft of visibility. Oh, and after a few pictures of us socked in by clouds, my camera decided it didn’t want to work anymore. Ok, cool.

Phone pic of Chelsea while the clouds finally dissipate

What reinforced my error was the “why would you even upload this” GPX track I had snagged from a Peakbagger trip report of a winter ascent. The guy is either a masochist or likes to fuck with innocent last minute trip planners. It led us straight to rocky crags above Lake Ann, where we broke trail, scrambled in ski boots, bushwacked through shrubs and trees and slide alder and thanked the sweet baby Jesus for veggie belays, fought postholes and tree wells, and had no idea how the hell whoever made this GPX track had been where the track said they had been. Sam scrambled up a section that he couldn’t downclimb safely, so he had to keep going up. Chelsea and I decided to drop elevation and stay on snow and traverse beneath the crags, seeing as the GPX track gained 800 unnecessary feet of elevation and had to lose all of it getting to Heather Pass (that should have been a red flag). JT took a separate route to try and find Sam up in the crags, and we agreed to meet at Heather Pass. If one team did not make it to Heather Pass, we would meet at the car at 4pm, and if not everyone made that appointment, we’d know to start worrying. Somewhere in the midst of all of the complications, the clouds blew through and the sun came out. I stopped to take a sip of my crystal lite, and instead nearly barfed. It tasted like death. Oh, you haven’t washed this water bottle in like 6 weeks. Could that be why?

Sam’s pic of Lake Ann as he caught up to me and Chelsea

Chelsea and I had a fairly easy time of the snow below, minus some ass deep postholes. I carried my skis and we took turns breaking trail, trying not to lose too much elevation so we’d hopefully pop out right at Heather Pass. We heard JT yelling for Sam, but it stopped before we could figure out what he was saying. Maybe 30 minutes later I hear “EVE!” And I look around wildly, “where are you?!” and it turns out Sam is maybe 200 yards behind us! He had hit a spot where he couldn’t scramble any farther, and had to find a different route down to drop on to the snow, where he followed our prints. We started yelling for JT, who we saw above us on the rocks, still scrambling along with skis on his back. There was an obvious easy gully for him to scramble down to meet us, so we kept walking, assuming he’d catch up quickly.

Black Peak from Heather Pass

Well apparently the gulley wasn’t as obvious from JT’s perspective. He did not catch up, and we reached Heather Pass and deliberated how long to wait before we should go look for him. Sam and I skinned back towards the rocks to see if we could shout and hear him, and after 15 minutes of looking I finally heard a response. “JT!” “Hey!” “JT?!?” “What’s up!” “YAY!” I couldn’t see him, but he was just below me somewhere and that meant he was off the rocks and close to Heather Pass. I went back to where Chelsea was resting and had a snack while we waited.

Chelsea coming up from Lewis Lake, Heather Pass is the saddle on the left behind the tree

And waited, and waited. Finally JT came popping around the trees, and we told him to stay there and we’d come to him. Which I think he appreciated, because he immediately flopped on the ground and took off his skis. After a quick bite to eat, he was ready to go on. Chelsea decided she was ready to turn around, but we all said fuck that and started off towards Black Peak.

JT skinning past a cool boulder

It turns out I’m not as terrible at skiing as I thought. For the first time, I was carrying a day pack, maybe 20lbs tops. Probably more like 15. And it was a blast! I was excited for every downhill rather than dreading it. I had no trouble balancing or turning, and my quads weren’t on fire every 50ft like they are going downhill with an overnight pack stuffed with a rope and screws and all that junk. Suddenly speed was fun and exciting and more like flying and less like “oh god I’m gonna crash with this heavy ass pack and not be able to sit up and I’ll have to take it off and untangle myself from pack and skis and PIZZA and why do I do this PIZZA EVE MAKE A BIGGER PIZZA OH no oh NO fuck.”

Sam and Chelsea trudging along

Chelsea was on snowshoes, but she was still ahead of Sam, who has the crappiest skins known to man. They kept falling off, they didn’t grip anything, it looked brutal. We took a few short breaks for sunscreen, snacks, and letting everyone catch up. My camera miraculously started again near Lewis Lake, so the photo saga continues! The terrain was a perfectly mellow mix of up and down and rolling hills (it’s all a boulder field in summer, far more enjoyable covered in snow) from Heather Pass to Lewis Lake and on to Wing Lake. Between the pass and Lewis Lake there are some very steep avvy slopes to your left which had strewn old debris all over our path, which almost had Chelsea bailing for the second time. She made a very good point that when you’re new, you’re 100% trusting whatever the people you’re with say, and it’s scary not knowing anything. But we were out of avvy terrain by Lewis Lake. I do wish the two lakes had been a little more melted out, since their colors are part of what make the approach to Black Peak so cool. I have a few pictures from my last trip (not blogged) that I will add so you can see how it looks in summer.

JT rests in the shade beneath a snow boulder

Almost at the ridge

We continued above Wing Lake, and JT chose a shady patch beneath a snow boulder to wait for Sam and Chelsea. Chelsea looked like she was about to stop at the rocks below. “Chelsea! No!” I yelled. “What?” “KEEP COMING!” “No, I think I’m going to stop and wait here… my ankle hurts, it’s steep snow, I don’t know…” JT and I started yelling jokes and encouragement. “That’s what ibuprofen is for!” “Army candy!” “At least come up to us and see the views from here!” You can’t stay at Wing Lake. The views get better and better as you go up. Heather Pass is pleasant, but then you get to Lewis Lake and it’s better. And the you get to Wing Lake and it’s pretty. And then you start stomping up to the ridge, and it goes from pretty to awesome to breathtaking to fucking unreal and it’s like a panorama from some IMAX movie except you ARE the center. And we figured if we got Chelsea up to us, we’d be able to convince her to keep going at least to the ridge. We’re good at dragging people along.

Chelsea on the last few steps

We agreed to all boot up to the ridge, though it could have been skinned. Sam and JT carried skis and snowboard, I left the skis below figuring I’d keep Chelsea company so she wasn’t booting down alone watching us all play in the distance. Plus, I could not have skiied the top 30ish feet. JT broke trail most of the way, including a very steep step over a cornice (we avoided the badly overhanging parts). Chelsea followed (“I can’t tell what he did with his feet!” so many of his steps had collapsed as he burrowed up), I scurried over it next, and Sam brought up the rear. We took a quick break. There had been two groups in front of us, one solo skier who stopped at the ridge, and three skiiers who blew by us on the way up, but also appeared to have stopped at the ridge.

Sam on the ridge with Goode in the background

We scrambled up the ridge with Chelsea leading the charge until we were forced to drop into a gully to the left. Now I got stumped by this last summer as someone had told me to NOT to take the first gully, and it took me a few tries to realize that the first gully is, in fact the correct gully, just to the left of the ridge. But there were footprints leading over to the second gully. Who do we trust?? Is it the gully I think it is, or is it the one where the footprints go? The second gully had recently had a small slab avalanche, so that was unappealing, and meant the first gully might be about ready to go as well. JT and I went to go investigate and see which looked like a safer, easier option.

April 2016

July 2015

Finally!

Turns out it didn’t matter. Sam shouted up to us that it was getting late. It was almost 4:30 and that was past our turnaround time. I had no idea it was that late. I hadn’t been checking, the sun was high in the sky, I was feeling great, spirits were high. We knew we’d be much faster on the way down since we knew skiing down to Lake Ann and following tracks back would be much better than retracing our “adventure route.” Sam offered to just chill and wait for us if we wanted to keep going. We had discussed coming down in the dark earlier that day, but for Sam to call turnaround he must be pretty done, and Chelsea had already pushed through several instances of “I’m going to turn around” and I wasn’t sure how many she had left, plus I wanted everyone to be sharp for those first few steps off the ridge. JT and I agreed that if one person turned around here, we’d all turn around, and so we started the trek down.

Chelsea coming down the staircase

Back at the saddle, I started downclimbing with Chelsea. This was Chelsea’s first “real mountaineering” trip (depending on your definition of mountaineering) and some of that snow was steep. Steep, and very crusty. Steep enough that if here had been a crappy runout below us, I would have offered to belay her the first 30ft or so. But there was just snow, and so I turned to face the slope and kicked steps into the crust so she’d have a staircase to take one step at a time. I stopped at one point to get pics of Sam and JT coming down on their skis and snowboard while I still had cool views. Sam passed me with maybe 3ft between us, resulting in an awesome picture. Once the slope mellowed out and was a bit softer from the afternoon sun, I turned around and started plunge stepping.

On the way down just above Wing Lake

And here comes the snowshoer

We met JT back at the snow boulder were I switched back to skis and Chelsea strapped on her snowshoes. Sam was ahead of us, knowing as soon as he was back on his miserable skins we’d all catch up. I finally got to click into my skis and enjoy the next 30 minutes or so of mellow skiing, stopping to wait for Chelsea at the bottom of every slope and laughing at the misery I could only imagine Sam was enduring. At one point Sam stopped and seemingly stared into space. “I think he just hit that point,” JT said. I was there a few weeks ago on Winchester at 3am (though I think we all were). I chucked, thinking of our train of misery. Well, I was doing fine. I think JT was too. Sam was cursing the world for his skins, and Chelsea was patting down steps in the side of the slope with her poles so she could take snowshoe more easily. Finally Sam gave up and strapped the splitboard to his pack, and Chelsea’s face lit up as she slowly realized she could ditch the snowshoes and take turns breaking trail with Sam.

How much fun are we having?! So much!

Okay now show everyone how you really feel

Back at the pass, Sam and JT skied/snowboarded directly to the lake, and I let Chelsea pick the route down. She went for the gradual downhill traverse, until she realized how long it was taking. Luckily we found a direct path to the lake “you’re going to walk across a frozen lake?!? People DO that?!!!” She sounded horrified. Maybe it’s because I grew up skating on ponds every winter of my life. I made sure to get plenty of pictures of her on her first frozen lake crossing.

Chelsea bravely standing on Lake Ann

And of course, there was a nice, well traveled path from the lake back to the trailhead. I don’t think we lost that much time on our adventure route, but it sure as hell would have been easier. And our friend Sammy followed our terrible tracks, though he says he had a similar GPX track so I’m not 100% to blame (sorry Sammy). It was pretty funny looking up at our tracks on the slope while we stood below on the easy trail, laughing at how hilariously off we had been. I should have taken a picture.

We made it back to the cars by dark, and headed back to Seattle. We had all driven separately. JT stopped for food. Chelsea made it home in one push. I nearly nodded off 15 miles from home, but put on some live Avenged Sevenfold and made sure to sing at the top of my lungs. Sam slept in a Winco parking lot somewhere in Everett. Wait, remind me why I like this?

(so I can sit somewhere like this)

Cashmere via Victoria’s Secret/NW Face

Posted on April 26, 2016 by evejakubowski

Looking back at Lake Victoria

For a socked-in-by-clouds summit, this was a pretty awesome day. 4.5 miles with 6500ft of elevation gain, I mean that always has to be fun right? Simon, Sam, and I all headed out to Leavenworth on Friday night. I had no plans. Literally none. I had all of my gear in my car and figured I’d play it by ear. I tried to make that abundantly clear to everyone. I didn’t even know if I was going to go. A brutal week had left me exhausted with an abject lack of shits to give about anyone else or any sort of planning, but Sam was already in Leavenworth and Simon was somehow putting up with my bitching and still wanted to come. He was just that desperate for mountains after a month of travel and injury. Oh, did I mention I found this route up Cashmere like two hours before leaving?

Distance: 9 miles round trip (varies based on whether you’re a route finding idiot at the time)
Elevation: 6500ft gain, baby! Buns and thighs!
Weather: 30’s and snowing and windy, 40’s and foggy, 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 with no traffic
Did I Trip: To the point where I had to self arrest, so yes, yes I did. It’s been a while since I didn’t trip on an outing. I’m getting uncoordinated. Maybe don’t rope up with me.

Don’t worry it gets cloudier

I mean, the route sounded awesome. Private property, bushwack, unmaintained/abandoned trail to a lake most people haven’t heard of, with a backdoor route up Cashmere. Awesome.

I got to Leavenworth around 8, and I stopped at Safeway, where I found a cheese I had not seen since moving here from Boston: Cabot’s!! It puts Tillamook to shame. I bought 3lbs of it (Seriously sharp cheddar and habanero cheddar) and some crackers and met Sam, who was napping at a nearby park n ride. Simon was still an hour out, so I cleared my back seat and followed Sam’s lead. Naptime.

Simon showed up around 10, and we headed to the trailhead. We were planning to start up Friday night, but what… what it…. we just… didn’t? I timidly posed the idea. Sam laughed. “I had been asking myself ‘why do we choose to do this?’ earlier tonight.” We agreed to sleep and get started around 5am.

I woke up at 4am. We all did, and telepathically agreed to not get up. I was in the middle of the best night of sleep I had had in well over a week and I was getting my extra hour.

Starting up through steep forest

At 5am I dragged my well rested ass out of my sleeping bag, packed up camp, loaded the cars, and started moving. With our day packs. Day packs!! What is a day pack?! It’s a pack that’s light, and doesn’t include a tent or sleeping bag or sleeping pad or liner or dehydrated meal or stove… and it is fantastic.

We trespassed immediately onto private property (part of the fun?), and walked down the road (driveway?) until we saw a blaze off in the forest. Sweet, time to head up. I had a compass bearing, but it wasn’t necessary. Just go up until you break into the burn zone, and then go up more.

At least it was a scenic detour

We made a slight mistake as I was not checking the actual trail map at all, only the mediocre GPS app I was testing, which did not have a map of the route on it. Our biggest issue was that you should keep going up until around 5100ft, but we headed left far lower than that, because I thought the drainage we were supposed to follow was far more east than it actually was. This meant some exciting creek crossings, steep snow, no shortage of devils’ club, and an abundance of elevation gain that was was more of a pain in the ass than it would have been had we stayed in the burn zone, which was a nice walk up. Also, there’s a nice series of blazes starting around 4500ft in the burn zone, which will help you find the route very quickly. We did not have that luxury.

Fun scramble near the lake

After a few facefulls of thorny plants, some steep snowy bushwacking, and bitching on my part (I don’t like stopping, I didn’t want to be in photos, I had some frustrations to take out and they wouldn’t be beaten by taking my time and relaxing, I’m not that type) we finally got to the lake. Clouds were roiling above Cashmere, so I made sure to lower my expectations. To the ground.

Heading around Lake Victoria, Cashmere being elusive in the clouds

We started heading around the lake, as it was too melted out to cross directly. Honestly I think we were a week or two too late to get the real experience here, since the snow had melted 2,000ft up over the past ~10 days (~5200ft we hit consistent snow). It’s usually a ski trip, but I didn’t bring the skis. I knew Sam would be booting it since he hates his skins, so I figured we’d all take turns breaking trail, and I was into this whole “day pack” idea.

About to start up the gully above Lake Victoria

Simon decided to chill at the lake instead of head up to the summit. Sorry Simon, with a grand finale like you had back at the trailhead I couldn’t leave you out of the post! With most people I’d be concerned, or turn around with them, but Simon is extremely capable and I knew that for him to draw the line, something had to be bugging him (he was coming back from an injury, too, so better to play it safe). Being as self sufficient as he is, I knew he’d be fine getting down on his own. So we carried on, agreeing to meet back at the trailhead.

Kicking steps up the gully

Sam and I got to the base of the gully and took a quick break for snacks and sunscreen. It wasn’t actually that steep, maybe 45 degrees at the most. We made fairly quick work of it, except 3/4 of the way up Sam demanded a sandwich break. Okay, let’s do it, I’m hungry too. He devoured a sandwich and I sat down and cut the cheese (stop laughing) to eat with crackers, and we carried on.

On more mellow ground in the basin, sun almost breaking through

Soon enough we were in the clouds. We kept hoping they would clear, and occasionally they’d blow past for a split second, but never enough to have views or even see where we were going. We got one glimpse of the true summit for maybe ten seconds, and made a beeline for it. It took us probably another 20-30 minutes from that glimpse to get close to it. I had a hard time breaking through the icy crust, so I strapped on my crampons (in the steepest, most awkward spot I have ever had to put on crampons) figuring I’d front point the rest of the way up. Some very steep snow (steeper than the gully), a few scramble moves, and some rock-ice blends that made me appreciate my few days of dry-tooling and briefly made me wish I had brought tools rather than the axe. I was shocked that any ice was still up there.

Final push!

Summit?!

Sam popped up to the summit while I negotiated a different route, trying to follow a steep snow finger between rocks rather than his scramble. Wouldn’t it be funny if we were at the wrong summit? I heard Sam go “uhhh.. crap.” The clouds lightened, and we saw… the real summit. 50ft to the east, and maybe 15 feet higher than us. At one point I was trying to stop swearing (in general, in life) but this was just comical. God. Dammit. All that effort, whiteout conditions, only to suddenly realize we were sitting on the wrong damn rock.

The real summit (back right). Crap.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I wasn’t going over there, are you kidding? No views, I was cold, it was windy, we’d have to downclimb and climb back up again, and 99% of our time above the gully had been completely socked in by clouds. It just wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe we’d have ended up on the third summit ish rock, there were a few that all looked similar in the clouds. We’ll make a revenge trip someday. Sam demolished a pop tart, and we scrambled down a separate route back to steep snow where we painstakingly downclimbed backwards, more or less trust-falling into our previous steps, some of which had punched deep through the crust. Sam finally put his snowboard to use, stopping every 100ft or so to make sure we kept each other within sight. Low visibility can be problematic.

Visibility getting better on the way down (that’s Sam snowboarding)

Going down the gully I did have to do an easy self arrest after the snow changed from powder (easy to plunge step) to ice (I went for my plunge step and just wiped out) and guys, I have one tip here. Wear gloves, sleeves and pants when you’re on anything that might require self arrest. I had sleeves and pants, but my hands were torn to shit by the ice, and it hurt. Your brain doesn’t care until a few minutes later, when you’re like “why are my hands burning” and look down to see bits of gravel and ice and scrapes and who knows what was in that avvy debris all in your skin. Gross.

Another tip that I loved is one that I originally chuckled at. Most crampons nowadays have plates built in to prevent snow balling up between the teeth under your foot. Well, it doesn’t always work. I had an IMG guide over the summer make me run down a steep slope whacking snow out of my crampons with my ice axe, which both looked and felt ridiculous. But that silly technique saved me from a few more slips on the way down, and the “clink! clink!” with every step gave me a funny rhythm to maintain and I imagine notified Sam of my arrival when he couldn’t see me.

Five blazes. Actually six, but the wind blew one out of frame

As usual, going down went faster than going up. We got snowed on, rained on, sunned on, and luckily found the regular route back down quite easily thanks to Simon’s footprints (thanks for breaking all that trail!) and the 8000 blazes that mark the route assuming you find it at the top of the burn zone. It’s pretty funny that we missed it by that much. I got a picture with six blazes in it at one point, and Simon had old-school cut blazes into a few trees in case we missed any of the hot pink flags. Sam’s colorblind, which made finding blazes hilarious (but not as hilarious as watching him try to follow routes at SBP).

Where Simon (I’m convinced) fell through, with an Eve shaped hole right above

We’re pretty awesome, and got down in far less time than it took us to get up. We false-summitted after about 8.5-9 hours (we spent a LOT of time in the whiteout deliberating over where we were and where we should go, not to mention our off route expedition on the way up) and were back down in 4. There was one amusing spot where I am pretty sure Simon fell through a snow bridge, because I saw a huge hole in the middle of a very thin snow bridge over a small brook and thought ‘oh, I’ll just walk next to it’ only to immediately punch through neck deep myself, laughing at my stupidity. Eventually we left snow cover, and after heading down through the burn zone we found an old logging road and some squirrely trails that got us back to the private road much faster, though we had to fight off thick ass slide alder to find the nice route. I heard dogs barking at one point, and started having paranoid thoughts about “the most dangerous game,” what if the owners of that house are avid hunters and send the dogs out thinking there’s a deer or cougar nearby? I wanted to be down by dark, and I remember several times where I was tangled in alder fighting my way through (why did I have this stupid shovel sticking off my pack!? At least it isn’t skis) imagining how miserable it’d be to be doing that, in the dark, wondering if we were about to be confronted by drooling growling dogs and angry property owners. Also, I was convinced the skin was sloughing off the bottom of my feet. I wore my like D-Team socks (A team is Darn Tough baby) and it just wasn’t working out.

Map (thanks to Summitpost & Wenatcheeoutdoors.org)

I couldn’t believe it when we hit the road. Awesomely fast. There were fresh tire tracks, but we didn’t see anyone. They must be used to the occasional climbers using their road and schwacking through their forest. We hiked back across the bridge where Simon was loyally waiting with hot chocolate ready for us, fretting about how we had never chosen a “call search and rescue” time for him to take action. He had settled on midnight – knowing our speed and experience and having done half of the route, he logically concluded that if we weren’t back by midnight, something had gone very wrong. Yes, I’d agree. We’d have to had seriously screwed up to be up there that late.

One more pic of Sam being bad ass

I opened my trunk door. It stayed open. For anyone who’s been in my car lately, the door wouldn’t stay up and I’d prop it open with a trekking pole. I looked at Simon. “Did you do this, or is it just working?!?” He had replaced the pistons in the door of my car, which I had (stupidly) left unlocked. Holy shit! A working trunk door, and hot chocolate, and shoes that didn’t have my shitty socks, and German food, and I tried schnitzel for the first time, and the lemonade that Sam had mentioned halfway up the climb that had been on my mind for hours… wait, I was in a great mood. What is this? I hadn’t bitched about anything in hours! I hadn’t whined or moped (well, besides lamenting the clouds and lack of sun, cmon Cashmere) or been snarky or rude or irritable. And it wasn’t even sunny. But I guess there’s something refreshing about 6500ft of gain in 4.5 miles, with steep snow and ice and bushwacking and bear prints and deer prints and a false summit because it wouldn’t be climbing without the occasional oops, right?

Nearing the top of the gully

In hindsight, that was one of the most awesome trips I’ve had in a while. Even if it was cloudy with mediocre conditions, it pushed it physically, technically (kudos to Sam, because I do not know many people who would have kept going without protection once it got steep, rocky, and icy but Sam basically doesn’t have a comfort zone, everything is fair game), and it’s pretty cool to look back and realize that we did that so casually, with no rush, no alpine start, no after-dark return. And almost zero planning, though I at least had a picture of a map on my half charged phone. So I had like, 6/10 essentials. Don’t follow my example. Prepare more, and don’t be a bitch. Yours truly, Proud Owner of a Healthy Trunk Door.*

*Car, or ass? You decide.

Winchester Lookout

Posted on April 19, 2016 by evejakubowski

Sam returning from his snowboard session

It was a dramatic weekend with the best possible turnout, really. A complete overnight climb sandwiched by towing trucks out of snow with a spicy self arrest on Sunday morning. For a lookout, this one was a bitch. Mostly because for the first 5 miles, you get no reward. No views, no cool terrain, no morale boosts, just a forest road switchbacking up a slope. In the dark. In the night. But we’ll get to that in a minute. Winchester Mountain Lookout, hiked 4/17/2016.

Distance: 11 miles round trip (4.5 to Twin Lakes, 1-1.5ish up to the lookout)
Elevation: 4500ft gain
Weather: 30’s and clear at night, 50’s and sunny in the day
Commute from Seattle: Solid 3 hours, longer if you get stuck behind a very slow very large truck
Did I Trip: Yes. Well, slid into a tree well, but let’s count it. And then fell up a slope thanks to a posthole. Within 10 minutes. Nature sucks.
Map here thanks to Summitpost. Direct winter route is in blue. On the way down, we ignored all routes and went almost straight from the summit to the southwestern lake. We hung slightly west so the skiiers could take advantage of that gully that’s smack between the winter and summer routes on the southeast face.

Road conditions (on the way down)

We met at the trailhead around 10pm. Well I got there at 7, parked by the snow, met Sam at 7:30, and started napping when Sam took forever to pack. Eventually it turned out the others were only 30 minutes away, so we figured we’d wait. I continued my fake nap. The sun set. The others arrived, and decided they’d try to drive farther up the road. They got stuck. Dave arrived, and followed the others, and also got stuck. Quinn towed him out. I kept napping, figuring they’d get the others out too. A true team player, I know. Eventually I got impatient and started skinning, and it turned out yes, they were stuck, and they were just going to deal with it on Sunday when we got down. Which was good, because if they were going to dig and tow everything out that night, I was officially going to bed and would start up in the morning. But cool, let’s get started.

It was 10:30pm. No one believed me when I said we’d get to the lookout just before sunrise. I halfheartedly suggested camping at the lake, knowing that by the time we got to the lakes I’d be in the “pissed off” state of exhaustion where I’d say fuck it and go the rest of the way. It’s only another mile (maybe a little more) to the lookout, it’s just that… well, that mile has 1400ft of gain.

Significant road washout a mile before the Yellow Aster Butte trailhead, 6ft deep on the left

The skin up the road was probably a dramatic mental battle for everyone, but it’s all blended together in my mind. At first, Calvin was leading the charge, followed by me and Sam. Dave felt sick and turned back. Tony and Quinn caught up to us. Sam fell behind. Sam decided to turn around. Sam said “I didn’t come this fucking far for nothing!!!” and chugged a red bull and turned back towards us. I started playing mind games, the first of which was “put your poles in all of Tony’s holes” which I’d probably have laughed at had I had the capacity for humor. Tony, Calvin and I made it to Twin Lakes at 2:30, maybe 3am. I was right, I was pissed and not camping at the lakes. Onward!

About 20 vertical feet above the lakes I realized I had no chance of skinning up this. Too steep, I’m too uncoordinated on skis to be that good at edging and sidestepping up icy slopes. Maybe I could have pulled it off it I was on top of my game, but I wanted to space out and not worry about coordination, which was lacking. This was clearly demonstrated when I fell into a tree well. I strapped skis to my pack and started to hoof it. It was 3:30am. I tripped thanks to a posthole and lay face down on the crust gathering my “eff this shit” wits, and five minutes later I hear a string of derivatives of the F bomb coming from ahead of me. Calvin had dropped his crampons in a tree well, and Shea (his dog) had given up carrying her bag, so he had strapped it to his pack and it slapped him in the face when heb bent over. I’m not the only one suffering. So I carried on. Postholing through crust, which is the worst, because you have to kick hard to break through it unless you want the sudden drop when you put your weight on it and then it digs into your shin or knee and it can be utter misery. Powder is better.

Tony’s footprints! Hallelujah!

Tony had to boot up the steeper slopes, so I would come across short spurts of footprints here and there. I nearly kissed the ground the first time I met his steps. But I was worried if I squatted I wouldn’t get back up. Once one person has broken trail in conditions like that, it’s a staircase for the rest of us. Of course they ended shortly as he put his skis back on, but it was a nice relief.

We followed the winter route up the gulley southwest of Winchester Peak. It’s an avalanche gulley, yes, but at night it’s quite safe (well, don’t slip) and in the morning it stays shady, so it isn’t nearly as risky as the summer route, which follows the southeast face (don’t slip on that either). The gulley is very prominent on a map, and requires almost no squirrely bushwacking or anything like that. It’s mostly an open snow slope once you’re in it, which is where I began my second mind game. Tony was back on his skis, and that left me to break trail. I assumed the others would appreciate it. I counted steps. Take 50 steps, okay now get to 60 because you aren’t a wimp. Okay, aaaaand break. Oh, Tony waited for me! Shit, no, that’s a star, not a headlamp. Rinse and repeat. Do not check the map until you’ve done that at least four times.

The cornice Sam nearly stood on the night before this pic

Finally I heard someone behind me. “Should we be heading right?” It was Sam. I laughed. I later found out he had been asking that question for like over an hour. And we still had several hundred vertical feet to go before we could go right. I said I wasn’t even going to tell him where we were, but no, it was not time to cut right. But I did tell him to hurry his ass up so he could come talk to me and distract me.

We eventually reached the saddle, with an amazing view of Larrabee. I shouted at Sam to get back from the cornice (to which he replied “I didn’t know Winchester had a glacier or crevasses!!” we were tired, it was like 4:30am) and left him there to take some night sky photos while I cut right (finally!) to get to the lookout.

You don’t see the lookout until you’re like 10 feet away from it. I said hi to Tony, dropped my pack, set up my sleeping bag and pad. We took the two best sleeping spots. I know, we’re assholes. Hike faster next time, guys!

The lookout with Goat, Shuksan, and Baker

I almost went to bed (at one point I handed Tony my camera and said “take pics of sunrise for me” before deciding I was being lame) but decided I’d wait for the others. Sam and Calvin were next, dropping their packs and claiming ground space. Quinn comes wrapping around the corner, “NOW I see the lookout?!? And I’ve been carrying this fucking NASA moon rock anchor” to which we burst out laughing. He had taken Cheryl’s growler since she was carrying too much weight for a brutal overnight hike, and that thing was like a 12lb brick. Finally Cheryl came plodding up just as the sun broke over the ridge. I shouted “CHERYL COME STAND OVER HE- oh uhhh Tony, go stand over there so I can take a pic!!” I wanted a picture of someone at sunrise, and shortly realized that Cheryl could not be bothered to walk the remaining 20 feet past the lookout. She was going to bed.

The picture resulting from my demands that “someone go stand over there”

Looking back up at Winchester as I headed towards Larrabee

We snapped a bunch of pics and finally got to sleep around 6:30. Or I did, and I fell asleep to Tony prancing around outside singing “Here comes the sun, do do do dooo” and dancing to his own words (at least, I’m pretty sure that’s how it happened). Sam got up at 7 to get in some runs on the shoulder of Larrabee. I dozed until around 8:30 or 9, woke up, and ate half a bag of wheat things and a quarter pound of cheese. We spent the day lazing around the lookout, Tony and Calvin and Sam took some runs on skiis, everyone dozed on and off. At one point we hadn’t seen Sam in an hour or so (we had been tracking him along the ridge) and with snow softening so quickly, I started getting worried. There were two sets of tracks, both of which led straight into avalanche gullies. I grabbed some snacks and went to hike down and hopefully meet him. We knew he was probably fine, but I’m a paranoid person in the backcountry, and I’d rather be overly cautious than have the one time I don’t go look for someone be the one time they’re in trouble.

Yay, Sam!

Luckily I found him after an hour or so, and I passed along my snacks and took a bunch of pics of the terrain while I was at it. We headed back to the lookout for more food and a powernap, and despite how energetic I felt, I fell asleep for a solid hour or so and woke up to dinner. Guys, you HAVE to try the Good To Go Thai Curry meal. I couldn’t believe it. It is seriously so delicious and it actually tastes like real food. Cheryl had it at Hidden Lake Lookout and I tried some and it blew my mind, so I brought it for this trip. Plus it’s made in Maine and as a New Englander I’m partial to awesome states. Backpacker’s Pantry and Mountain House are good, but this was like something I had cooked instead of a fast food substitute. Runner up is the AlpineAire Three Cheese Chicken Pasta, which is my other favorite meal. And if you’re into Paleo, shameless plug for one of Cheryl’s PCT sponsors: Paleo Meals To Go is a startup with a few great meals. The Caldera Chicken Curry and Savory Summit Chicken have been my favorites so far.

We snapped a bunch of pictures of sunset, and a group of 4 arrived. We had been surprised no one else was up there, it’s a gorgeous location and despite our misery the previous night it’s not that bad of a hike. We made space in the lookout and hung out with their colorful lights and cooked meals chatting while Calvin flaunted his summit hat. They had brought a tiny dog named Finn with them, who was like not a real thing. He looked like a stuffed animal. Except unlike a stuffed animal, he had bodily functions that had not been attended to in far too long. He was running all over my sleeping bag and suddenly I realized it was wet – he must be covered in snow and ice from outside, poor guy! Wait. The girl carried him up in her jacket. He hasn’t touched the ground. Did he just fucking pee on my sleeping bag?

Interrupting for a nice pic of the sun setting over Tomyhoi Peak, Tomyhoi Lake, CBP, ABP, and Larrabee

Last light on Shuksan, framed by the twin peaks of Goat

Yes. Yes he did. We cleaned it up, and moments later, he returned to my sleeping bag. Was it to get cozy, because my bag is so unbelievably cozy? No, it was so he could take a shit. Let’s just get something straight. After my car, that sleeping bag is the nicest thing I own, period. It is worth more than my laptop and any piece of IKEA furniture in my apartment (but my furniture works well so stop judging me) and if The Big One ever happens, that bag is gonna be a top priority. Luckily, the Feathered Friends bags are as close to indestructible as a sleeping bag gets, so no damage done. In fact, let’s just look at it as a waterproofing test. Which my bag passed with flying colors.

Footsteps leading to the ridge

I went to sleep in my dog poo piss bag, smelling pleasantly like lavender, thanks to Finn’s owner who immediately jumped to help me clean and apologized profusely. I commented on how toasty it would be in the lookout. “Toasty and odiferous,” Tony added. Nope, just lavender. It was a great sleep. I woke up at 6:20 or so to Tony taking sunrise pics, debated getting up, and decided no way, I like sleep. I rolled over and went back to dreamland. No one else was up anyway, I wasn’t missing anything.

Around 7:30 I was barely conscious, and was rudely brought back to the realm of the living by falling off the bench. My sleeping pad had scooted a few inches too far, and I realized immediately after rolling over that the sleeping pad was no longer supported by the bench, and I was a human burrito trapped in a sleeping bag with no way of catching myself. Brace for impact! Thump. I lay there in defeat before clambering out of my bag. The guy sleeping under the table didn’t even notice. Tony did, and burst out laughing.

Tony skiing back down to Twin Lakes

I got set up back on my bench, and heard Calvin whine “noooo go back to BED TONYYYY” followed by the “whoompf” of the MSR reactor being lit. Tony was making breakfast. Dammit, Tony. Whatever, I’ve developed the ability to doze through most things, so I carried on.

The other reason I usually keep sleeping is because once I’m up, I’m up and moving and impatient and will pace around nagging everyone until everyone else moves. Which is exactly what happened. I got up, was packed within 30 minutes (which is slow), and stood outside whining. Guuuuuys. Whiiiiiiine. Finally everyone was ready, and we decided to head down the southeast face since I mean, the lakes just looked so close, right?

Tony skiing down to Twin Lakes, Calvin on his side

Quinn wiped out immediately (snowshoes are not great on steep terrain) and failed to arrest but was stopped by a patch of trees, where he discovered Tony’s feces from the previous night. Yuck. Chuck-a-dook only avoids the Leave No Trace principle, it doesn’t solve the problem. Calvin and Tony skiied down, Quinn… I don’t know what to call it. Awkwardly slid down on snowshoes? And Cheryl and I were on boots. I started plunge stepping, and at one steep section suggest that we turn to face the slope rather than going forward. It’s easier than looking down if you’re uncomfortable on steep snow, and easier to stay balanced.

As I watched her descend, Cheryl slipped, and started going the slope headfirst. I was about 50ft below her and a few feet off to the side, watching her tumble. She hit a small patch of trees that flipped her onto her stomach going feet first. “Can you arrest?! CAN YOU ARREST! ARREST! GET THE AXE AND ARREST” I could see the ice axe attached by a leash, but she wasn’t gripping it. She finally pulled it to her and managed to get it in the ground as the slope mellowed out. The scary part? The slope mellowed out for another 10 feet, and then there was a cliff band, which dropped straight down another 40ft.

Cheryl back on her feet climbing up post fall

I immediately went over to her to assess everything. She was shaken, but physically fine. Yeah, she’s tough. Carrying a 60lb pack down a steep slope is not an easy feat, and stopping yourself after you’ve fallen 50ft with that much on your back is even tougher. I climbed back up to grab the things she had lost (hat, trekking pole) and we sat and chatted about getting down. I had brought all of my climbing gear hoping to bag American Border Peak with Calvin, but we bailed when we realized just how far it was. But that meant I had a rope, harness, belay device, biners, anchors, the works. Worst case scenario, I could literally belay her down the slope.

We did have a brief moment of comic relief, or at least I did. I glanced over to see how Calvin and Tony were doing, and Calvin was making a huge snow plow with his skis, except facing uphill. Sliding downhill. With Shea, his trusty mountain dog, running back and forth above him. I couldn’t help but laugh. Even the talented skiiers have issues. Like when their on-leash dog makes them fall.

If you look closely, you can see the debris from Cheryl’s pack

Cheryl and I settled on lowering her heavy ass pack down the slope, and we’d see if she could “step-glissade” (that’s what she named it two hours later as we inched our way down the face) her way down. She leaves for the PCT in a few days, and had a bunch of her PCT gear in that pack, so we didn’t want to risk anything getting damaged by tossing the pack. After a few lowers, we decided to take the pack off the rope. It had only gone 5 meters or less with each throw, leaving me with 25+ meters of rope to deal with. So we coiled up the rope, and tossed the pack.

Enhance! A close up of the rainbow that is the contents of Cheryl’s pack

“Isn’t it a little ironic that as soon as I take the rope off, the bag falls 400ft?” I turned to Cheryl as we stared at her pack tumbling down past Calvin, Tony, and Quinn below us, shedding its contents as it went. Shovel here, pole there, beer on that side, stuff sack to the right. Tony came up to check on us after seeing the pack come crashing through a patch of trees above them. Shirtless, working on his base burn. Now that Cheryl was feeling a little more secure with the step-glissade technique (following my steps, step, step, butt scoot, repeat) I picked up the pace to go collect her stuff, and Quinn came along to help. Her stuff was spread out like a rainbow. Everything I came up to, I clipped to my pack. Growler. Half of a pole. The shovel. A jacket. A stuff sack. The other half of the pole. Another stuff sack. Another shirt. A third stuff sack. The pack took a brief break, and then kept falling as we watched helplessly. I looked ridiculous with a garage sale of random gear hanging from my pack and body.

Not taking any more chances. Pack is back on the leash

We finally caught up to it in a patch of trees, and tried to repack as best we could. We told Cheryl we’d lower the pack to the lake and meet on flat ground to go through it and assess the damage. Sure, sounds silly to put the pack back on a leash for the last 100ft or so but shit I wasn’t risking that again. If any of that gear had broken I’d have felt terrible. PCT, guys!

We got to the lake and there was one thing missing. Cheryl’s $400 waterproof OR down jacket. Crap. She kept telling us not to go back up and look for it, but I mean if I had left anything over like $100 up there I’d absolutely have gone back for it. Plus, it was right next to the last item to fall out of the pack, so we knew it had to be close. We didn’t know if we’d find it, but I still had plenty of energy. I turned to Quinn. “How’re you feeling?” I didn’t need to ask, I knew the answer. We were going back up.

We left our packs there and started climbing. I forget how easy it is without an overloaded pack. We were back where the pack had finally stopped, and I saw something in the shadow of a tree that didn’t quite look like bark. Holy shit. It had been the last thing to fall out, and there it was, sitting in a black mesh stuff sack in the shade. I lit up and grabbed it and shouted to Quinn (who was literally next to me) WE FOUND IT IT’S RIGHT HERE OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE IT THIS IS AMAZING we immediately took a celebration selfie and I let out a “whoop WHOOOOP” which has kind of become a routine call to these guys, so I knew they’d understand it was good news. We saw Cheryl waving below. She got it! Then we glissade raced back to the lake, light and free and clutching Cheryl’s puffy jacket. Those five minutes were the purest joy I have felt in weeks. Operation Jacket Rescue was a success.

Lazy bastards waiting for us across the lake

We skinned over to where Tony and Calvin had been waiting (so long that they decided to climb to a knoll on the east side of the lake and ski down) and had some water and snacks before starting the road slog back to the car. Road slog was uneventful, besides the fact I sunburned around my sternum strap, which is a great look. Especially when paired with a raccoon tan.

Back at the cars, we thought Tony and Calvin could just back out of their respective stuck-in-snow spots (much had melted over the previous two days). Tony succeeded, but Calvin ended up sideways. What you can’t tell from these pictures is that like three feet from Calvin’s front bumper is more or less a cliff. I’m too high strung for these things, but I was beyond thrilled to use tow straps and a manual winch, which I had never seen. Quinn and Tony totally killed it with the manual winch (taking turns having beer and working the winch), though we ended up using a very conveniently located tree as a pivot point to tow Calvin’s truck onto the road with Tony’s tastefully-colored FJ cruiser. I left my car in the safety of a snow free patch. Several road hikers passed us, one truck came up expecting to get further but after seeing our situation, turned around and bailed. Good choice, sir.

One more sunset panorama for good measure

We high tailed it (slow tailed it in my case, my car was making odd noises that I could not quite place) to Aslan Brewery in Bellingham for dinner. I had mac n cheese, a burger, and poutine. And a side of garlic aioli for the poutine fries in case the gravy was inadequate. But you’ll be relieved to know that the gravy to fries coverage was quite good.

All’s well that ends well. Cheryl will be off to her PCT in a few days which I can only imagine is far easier than the weekend we all just endured, Tony and Calvin I assume are off to the car wash, Quinn is working his night shift, and I’m sitting on my couch eating, which is what takes up 90% of the time I don’t spend climbing. Oh, and I’m going to enjoy sleeping through the night starting at like 9pm, instead of hiking. In my comfy bed, with my down comforter, which has no trace of dog poop.

Hidden Lake Lookout

Posted on April 5, 2016 by evejakubowski

Hidden Lake just after sunset. True summit on left, Sahale and Boston center, Johannesburg on the right

“I just broke my collarbone. Again.” That’s the text I received from Sam at 8am on Friday, 12 hours before we were supposed to be skinning our way up to the Enchantments. Well, I guess that’s out. I waited a few hours to confirm that there was definitely no way he was going to be able to pull off a “who-needs-a-damn-collarbone-anyway” miracle, and around 4pm we admitted defeat and I settled on joining Tony, Kacie, Cheryl, Dave, and Quinn at Hidden Lake Lookout.

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Clouds moving in and out along the ridge (Photo credit: Kacie)

Distance: 11 miles
Elevation: 4200ft gain to the true summit
Weather: 40’s and cloudy, teens overnight, 40’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:30
Did I Trip: I postholed, I slipped, nothing epic unfortunately. Dave had a full body posthole. The joys of snow covered boulder fields. Tony wiped out on his skis but no one saw. We only know because he lost his ski crampons. Sneaky bastard.
GPX files here (summer trail to ridge and true summit and lookout) and here (direct ridge from road to lookout). Both are dropbox, let me know if you’d like an old school map of if the link gives you issues.

I got to the trailhead around 11pm. Well, to where the road became impassable due to snow, at least, which was about 2 miles from the trailhead. Tony’s bright yellow FJ was parked and so was Dave’s truck, so I pulled over, pitched the tent, and got cozy. I didn’t sleep, because I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Quinn and Kacie. The other three had left for the lookout Friday morning, and were already up there.

Hiking up the road to the trailhead

Quinn and Kacie got to the trailhead at 3am, because who needs sleep. They napped (or tried to) for two hours, and we got up and had a snack and were moving by 6am. We had a feeling that the other group might have just gone straight into the forest from the cars (at the switchback on the dirt road around ~3000ft) since I had sent them a map detailing such but frankly it looked like a pain in the ass and I’m lazy, so I figured we’d take the winter route I knew.We headed a quarter mile or so up the summer trail (which was a brutal, postholing, snow-bridge-collapsing endeavor) and left the trail at 4000ft to head south-southeast-ish (that’s an intercardinal direction, I swear). The snow in the forest was patchy, and the undergrowth slippery. I stared at a three foot tall mossy rock for a solid five minutes, knowing if I slipped with this pack on my back I’d be crabby about it. Kacie had a more in depth stare down with a tall log. I was happy to hit snow solid enough to kick steps, and Quinn broke trail for much of the way as Kacie lagged behind fighting a sleepy mental battle with herself (Tony nicknamed her “Night Rider” because her travel seems most efficient at night) and I tried to mediate between the two of them so we wouldn’t get too far apart. Prints are easy to follow in snow, but better safe than sorry.

Forest opening up

The most sustained steep section of the climb was in the forest. There was still avvy danger, but we lucked out with snow conditions. It got flat enough around 4400ft that I switched to skis and Kacie and Quinn strapped on their snowshoes. I took off on the skis, floating across powder and zigzagging through trees and around slopes. Sunrise was a mental boost (Kacie proclaimed so herself), and as usual I started to flip out when we started to get views. “Look at that RIDGE” “Look at that avalanche debris across the valley!!!” “GUYS turn around and look behind you when you get to this spot!” I’m surprised they didn’t want to punch me in the face as I pranced around them on skis. Tripping over half of my kick turns probably made them feel better.

LOOK at that RIDGE GUYS

As we got higher the blue sky got lower and lower and I knew it wasn’t the ridge – do I crush their hopes now, or later? Finally Quinn caved and asked. “Is that the ridge?” I laughed. “Nope!” But I knew we’d be reaching a flat section, so I told them to hang tight and we’d take a break there. I dropped my pack, slathered my white-Seattle-winter face in sunscreen (living in Seattle in winter is like being a mushroom in a forest), and grabbed one of my few snacks. Honey Stinger Waffle and chicken salad leftover from lunch, yeah baby. Not together, jeez. Who do you think I am? I have standards.

“don’t sit no go stand over there”

Quinn caught up first, and before he could sit I told him to “go stand over there so I can get a pic.” He obliged. The pics I took the rest of the day were better. Sorry Quinn. He was low on water, but I had 3 liters and as usual had only drank like half a liter (I’m in a perpetual state of dehydration) so I tossed him a liter. My other waterbottle was full of a combo of salty Watermelon Gu tabs and Peach Iced Tea by Crystal Light. Disgusting until I was thirsty and needed salt, and then it was glorious. Quinn didn’t want to try it. I offered him sunscreen as well, but he insisted on working on his base burn. I get it, I get it. Any color is better than pasty. Even lobster red.Kacie caught up next, and soon enough we saw a skiier! “It’s Tony!” Kacie said. “TONY!!!” I yelled. “No wait, it’s Dave?” Kacie said. “DAVE!!!” I yelled. “Wait, no it’s Tony.” “Dav- TONY?!? TONY!” Followed shortly by Cheryl rocking her snowshoes. I honestly didn’t think we’d see them until the lookout since we had taken a different route. Yay, friends!

The Traverse

I followed Tony skinning up a shortcut to the saddle while Quinn and Kacie followed Cheryl along the tracks they had made the previous day. I snapped pictures in every direction. Getting close to the saddle, Tony laughed quietly and said “wait until you see the traverse. Kacie’s gonna hate it.” Okay, I mean how bad can it be? “Cheryl did it right? So Kacie will be fine, it can’t be that bad.” “Cheryl hated it.” We crested the ridge and bam, a classic flat steep 45 degree face sloughing off its snow in the afternoon sun. Oh, good. Well, everyone would get a taste of mountaineering at least.

Cheryl, Kacie, Quinn coming up the final ridge

We waited for the others to catch up and I debated whether to ditch the skis and put on boots and crampons or push the comfort zone and see if skis did the trick. Who am I kidding, I’m trying the skis. I have to know if I can do it. Tony went first with his skinny skis, and I followed with my fat ass powder skis. I could fit like one ski in both of his tracks. So it was one tiny baby step at a time, while laughing at myself because this whole situation was ridiculous. I did slip once, but miraculously caught myself and managed to balance well enough to get back on track. I met Tony and Dave at the other side of the ridge, and we snapped a few pics of the three snowshoers behind us.

Cheryl on the traverse the next morning

Quick tip, you generally want to spread out on slopes like that in case something does go wrong. 1% chance something happens, but if that 1% comes to fruition, you don’t want it taking out your entire team at once. Tiny chance, huge consequences. That’s how I look at mountaineering hazards. But I figured now wasn’t the time to tell anyone that, and chances of an avalanche were low. As for falling, at least there were no rocks below the traverse. Well there was one, so just aim your fall well. Tony will ski down to you while I tumble and curse behind him.

Talk about pushing your comfort zone. Cheryl cried off all of her sunscreen (no, not actually) and Kacie glared at the snow with lasers and disdain I didn’t know human eyes could convey. Quinn didn’t even notice he was on a slope. Once we were above the cornice on the other side, we scurried up to the lookout, dropped our gear, and devoured snacks. Kacie asked me if we had just crossed what I would call “a zone of danger.” I mean, I guess so. But how would you phrase that? A slightly more than risky zone? Dare I say… the danger zone?

We’d be good slave laborers, digging toilets

Dave eventually mentioned the pit toilet. There’s a pit toilet? With a five-star view? Did you know about the 50 Classic Craps of Washington? Why aren’t we digging it out right now?! Somehow everyone either rallied to humor me (I love digging and I think secret toilets are hilarious) or they were legitimately excited about it. Or maybe they saw the practicality in not needing to use blue bags. We all grabbed our shovels and ran down the slope, using a picture on Cheryl’s camera from summer to triangulate the location of the toilet. We got to the spot and everyone started digging. “I GOT THE EDGE!!” Dave shouted. We surrounded him and frantically dug and two feet later there was a toilet. It had been maybe 5 minutes. We all look at each other as if to say “what now?” Tony started hurling snowballs from above. Back to the lookout!

Is it a posthole if both your legs punch through?

Hidden Lake Peak on the left, Eldorado on the right

Cue another few hours sitting on rocks in the sun, snacking, sunburning, postholing in the snow, whining about Eldorado. Come on, Eldorado. Get your head out of the clouds. We met Gabe, a lone splitboarder who came up to the lookout only to find he had to share it with 6 barbarians. He boarded down to the lake to escape us. We timed how long it took him to get back up. He left at 3:17. No one checked the time when he got back. Crap. (Gabe turned out to have a ton of alpine experience in incredible places, Peru being one of his favorites. Ecuador and Bolivia are overrated. Take note, anyone who likes beautiful fluted peaks with steep snow and ice, I wish I had written down his peak suggestions).

Ask me how many pictures I took of my tent

I pitched my tent, freaked out by the swarm of mice in the lookout. I hadn’t seen them or heard them, but supposedly they had kept everyone awake Friday night. I panic when I hear mice around my camping stuff, because obviously they must be chewing through my bag or my tent or my food or the foot of my sleeping bag and shitting inside of whatever they just destroyed with their tiny mouse teeth. I knew I wouldn’t sleep if I stayed in the lookout. Also, I like putting my tent in awesome places. i tucked it next to a rock hoping to help block some wind.

Probably too many

We ate dinner and waited for sunset. I had some Mountain House Chili Mac which I highly recommend (I mean it’s hard to screw up chili mac). Kacie and Cheryl fell asleep. Cheryl let out maybe three snores, which was enough for a not-quite-awake Kacie to mumble a not-quite-coherent “who why snoring ugh god so LOUD” which she claimed to not remember saying when we told her. Of course once sunset came, we all burst out of the lookout for a photo spree. There is nothing like sunset or sunrise in a place like that. I took over 200 photos. 5% are cool pictures of people, 10% are identical photos of the lake, 25% are my tent, and 60% are Eldorado in various stages of cloudiness.

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The lookout at night
(Photo Credit: Quinn)

After sunset we hung out in the lookout, boiled water so everyone could sleep with hot water bottles, Quinn took some night pics, and I was in bed soon after. Not as cozy as I thought. Should have brought my sleeping bag liner. I have generally lost any motivation to keep my toes warm in my sleeping bag. You eventually get to the point where you realize okay, they’re uncomfortably cold, but they aren’t going to get hurt, so I’ll just doze. And so I dozed, and had stress dreams about work. Who dreams about Bogs fucking up Nordstrom POs in the mountains?! Can’t my subconscious do better than that?

Admiring sunrise

I had set my alarm for 6:30am, which was supposed to be 20 minutes before sunrise. Public Enemy woke me up, and it looked light outside so I frantically unzipped my tent and started snapping photos. Gabe (eventually renamed “The Gabe”) was standing on a rock overlooking the lake right there and I’m sure was less than pleased to see my bleary face squinting out at the light. I didn’t have contacts in, I put my boots on and ran around outside tripping and slipping all over the snow and ice in and out of postholes and obstacles I couldn’t see. But I got some cool pics and finally calmed down enough to put in contacts.

The fateful sunrise pic, featuring Eldoardo far left and Johannesburg far right

I had a healthy breakfast of Clif banana maple oatmeal (it’s actually delicious) and a double espresso clif shot. Breakfast of champions. I’m a morning person, and the last thing I need is caffeine. I ran up to stand on the big rock to get a good picture of the lake, finally nailed it (got Eldorado AND Johannesburg in one shot), and promptly dropped my camera off of the cliff.

Yeah. A ~200ish foot cliff. And I stood there, watching it descend, listening to it tap off each rock, getting farther and farther away, “clink…. clink……clink…….tap……….well…fuck.” I walked back to the lookout with a deadpan expression on my face. I brought this upon myself. Why didn’t I zip my pocket. Why did I stuff my pocket with socks, not leaving enough space for the camera. You always zip your pocket. You never have socks in your pocket. I’d rather have dropped my phone. I thought I could see it laying down below in the snow at the bottom of the slope, so I figured I’d go on a rescue mission once everyone was moving. I packed up all my stuff and paced in circles while everyone else patiently had breakfast.

Looking across the traverse at the true summit (phone pic)

I somehow convinced most of the group to check out the true summit with me. Quinn had boundless energy, I knew he’d be in. Tony would want to ski down from it, so I figured he’d be in too. Cheryl and Dave I wasn’t sure, but they were in, and as soon as Kacie heard she’d have the lookout to herself, she declared she was opting out of the true summit and was going to enjoy having time to just be.

I decided on boots and crampons for the traverse on the way down. It was much more icy in the morning, and I’m very comfortable on almost anything in boots and crampons at this point. Skis, I’m like an awkward duck. Quack quack. Quinn and I headed across the traverse first, and went on Operation Camera Rescue while we waited for the others. I walked across in crampons and turned around to front point to drop down lower towards what I thought was the camera. When I turned around to front point, I realized Quinn was wearing microspikes. On a 60 degree snow slope. In light hiking boots. “Do you know how to self arrest?” “Well.. maybe, sorta.” I stopped where I was and laughed. What else can you do? We were just on snow, no rocks, so I mean… it wasn’t the WORST place to learn how to self arrest. I showed him the basic position and he kind of backwards hopped down the slope self arresting on his stomach. Hey, it worked.

Well what I thought was my camera turned out to be a stick. You’ve got to be kidding me. I was pissed. All I needed was the memory stick! I debated going lower to check out a small black patch, but it was probably just another branch, maybe I should climb up and check the rocks above us. As I was traversing back to our starting point, I saw a shiny square. Something metal. Something metal, labeled with bright red letters. “SONY” it said. Sony! Yes! Battery!!! Ahh! I snagged the battery and looked directly below it at the black patch. That HAS to be the camera. Or pieces of the camera. Shattered dreams. I front pointed extra quick to drop down to the camera (too icy to glissade, I prefer my tailbone intact) and there it was! Scraped, dented, but memory card intact, and the craziest part is I put the battery in and turned that fucker ON AND IT WORKED. I was like soccer announcers celebrating a goal. In my head I was running around with both hands in the air “GOOOOOOOOALLLLLL” but all I could was awkwardly front point and stumble over to where it was mellow enough to run back to everyone.

To the true summit!

Dave and Cheryl were down from the lookout and ready to go. Tony realized he left his ski crampons at the lookout and we waited another 20 minutes while he went back up to get them. I debated between leaving my stuff at the saddle, or bringing everything and skiing down. I thought I saw some easy slopes, and again, who was I kidding I had to try it. I hadn’t used these skis downhill at all yet, they’d been training weight and glorified snowshoes for the past few months. It was time.

We skinned almost the entire way, but had to take the skis off for the last few feet below the summit. I stuck them back on my pack because we had some steep ice. Too lazy to don my crampons, I kicked myself a staircase through the crust. It was an exhausting 15 vertical feet. Balancing with 55lbs on your back kicking steps thrice with each foot because one kick isn’t hard enough to make a full step and you don’t have your axe out to arrest with so if you slip you’re just toast. But we pulled ourselves up onto the summit and spent probably two hours taking pictures and relaxing. Everyone needs a pleasant summit once in a while.

The lake from the true summit. Johannesburg, Hurry Up, Spider, Formidable, Old Guard, Sentinel, Dome, Glacier, and I’m forgetting a few in between

PEANUT

The snowshoers headed back first, and Tony and I hung out with two skiers and their adorable dog Peanut, who was in doggie heaven. When he dies he’ll go right back to that spot. He was flopped over in his owner’s arms while she scratched his belly and his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth. She’d stop and he’d just lazily nudge her with his paw, half asleep, “why’d you stop??” They had set up camp at the base of an avvy slope in the Sibley Creek drainage we had avoided when they saw a huge avalanche on a slope that they thought was done sliding. Be careful no matter how it looks, folks. We spent a while chatting with them and schmoozing with Peanut before deciding it was time to head down ourselves.

I booted it down those first 15 feet to where the slopes were easy. Green circle slopes, get at me. I kept the skins on like training wheels. The first two or three turns were about as awkward as you’d expect. I had a slow motion fall, and once that was out of the way, it was all better. I actually made a few decent turns. Big, slow, snow-plow turns. Hey, you gotta start somewhere. My quads were on FIRE. Which this morning I realized probably wasn’t me being “out of shape” as much as it was the 45lbs on my back. I’d make a turn or two and have to stop and move my legs to relieve my quads. Skiing muscles are a thing, apparently. A thing I really need to develop. I’ll start doing squats and wall sits at my standing desk.

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Coming down the bunny hills with a sun halo (Photo Credit: Tony)

Tony showed me a video of myself at dinner after the hike. I burst out laughing. In my head, I was going so fast and turns were crazy because I’d go even faster for a split second as I pointed directly downhill briefly until I completed the turn and dug in my edges. And Tony’s video was like watching a slow motion skier showing how to do the pizza. One inch a minute, perfect snowplow, cautious timid turn. But you know what? It’s still faster and way more fun than snowshoeing or hoofing it. And there’s nowhere to go but up(down?)! Huge, huge thanks to Tony for waiting for me three or four times while I inched my way down the slope. It was freaking awesome and I can’t wait to do it again. I’ve got the skiing fever.

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One more because I’m proud (thanks Tony!)

We beat the snowshoers to our meeting point by a few minutes. We thought they might be ahead of us since we spent so much extra time on the summit, but the tracks were old so we knew they hadn’t come through yet. We hung out there for a bit once the whole group joined, giving Tony enough time to build a snowman. I swapped skis for boots since I wasn’t sure I could handle the forested section (I think I could have done the beginning up high where it was still wide enough) and started the postholing journey down.

Postholing isn’t bad once you’re in a rhythm of postholing. It builds character. The worst is when one foot sinks two feet and the other only sinks a few inches. Or when there’s a crust that occasionally holds but most of the time fails. If it’s all evenly deep powder, it’s doable. I trailed the snowshoers, giggling when they slipped or fell, embracing the misery of postholing. Tony had disappeared into the trees on his skis. I just plunge-stepped slowly down the slopes. It’s awkward to fall when you have skis on your back. Don’t risk it.

One more of Eldorado

We were down in a little over four hours. Back at our cars I had a half lb of cheddar cheese, Tony had pretzels, and Quinn donated some beef jerky. Perfect smorgasboard of post-hiking snacks. Oh, and Rainier beer. Yes.

On the way out, we stopped at Train Wreck in Burlington for dinner. It’s not quite on the way back to Seattle if you take rt 9, but it works if you take i5. And it’s worth the extra few minutes. I recommend ordering several plates of cheese curds and whatever burger has the pico on it. Or the regular burger and add avocado and cheddar. Just make sure you get lots of cheese curds, because they were the best curds I’ve had since I moved here from the Midwest. We also discovered that Kaliber is a great non alcoholic beer (made by Guinness, apparently) – Dave had been talking about it for the whole trip and the waitress totally lowballed the delivery. “We only have Kaliber, sorry…” as our faces all lit up “Yes!! That’s what we were hoping!” and did I mention the cheese curds? Next time I go I’ll just get three plates of curds for myself and nothing else. Maybe five plates of cheese curds. And a Kaliber.

One last look at the lake

Drove home, hit traffic at exit 190 because you can’t drive around the greater Seattle area without it even at 9pm on a Sunday, and eventually pulled into my parking garage, surprisingly wiped. Showered, straight to bed. I had a pound of buffalo chicken at 9am the next morning because I was ravenously hungry at work. That’s recovery right there. Gorgeous, successful weekend with good company, and I think everyone got to expand their mountain horizons whether it be the dicey traverse, learning to self arrest, or showing off their recently perfected pizza slice on their new favorite toys.

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New favorite toys (Photo credit: Quinn)

Mount Baring: When Turning Around is Still Awesome

Posted on March 28, 2016 by evejakubowski

Baring’s true summit on the left

We all have to turn around on some hikes and climbs, that’s just life. You underestimated time or overestimated your speed, or conditions were worse than expected, or weather took a turn for the worse or the sun heated those avvy slopes a little too much. Or maybe there was just too much horse poop and spiderwebs and you said fuck it and bailed. Wait, who did that? ~~It wasn’t me~~ ok, it was me, shut up.

Two weeks ago, I took a vacation day from work (anyone who knows me understands the personal sacrifice right there, I ration vacation days like Seattle rations its sunshine) only to be turned around by time constraints on Colonial Peak, despite what I’d consider to be perfect conditions. Perfect meaning temperatures in the low teens, low avvy danger, great views, and a deep, empowering satisfaction with my ability to plow through powder mindlessly for hours on end without hating everyone and everything despite the 55lb pack on my back and the skis awkwardly extending 2ft above my head.

So the following weekend, I lowered the bar and set my sights on Mount Baring. Without skis. John and Rob had talked about how amazing it was and it had been on my winter list for a day hike, and Saturday’s forecast was “partly sunny” so I thought great, let’s see if we can get a crew together. Cue Simon, Kacie, and Cheryl all being ready with ~18 hours notice. You guys are awesome. I packed my bag at 5:30am.

Distance: ~6 miles round trip
Elevation Gain: 3700ft
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 1:30
Did I Trip (/slip/posthole): The real question is “what’s the farthest you got without tripping” and the answer is “three steps.”

Steep forest, already hitting snow

We met at Sultan Bakery at 7. I rushed everyone out knowing we were in for a 10+ hour day, and we got started from the trailhead at 9:15am, a much later start than in my dream world. Everything in my dream world starts at like 5am because I’m too impatient and don’t like waiting for life to happen. “Does anyone have a blue bag?” Kacie asked. I had a stash of them in my car, with some Immodium as the alternative. Pick your favorite!

The trail starts on the abandoned road behind the outhouse at the trailhead. Go down the road a few hundred feet, and you’ll see the trail heading straight up the slope to the right where a small creek crosses the road. It’s marked with a large cairn that looks just like a large pile of rocks. I honestly didn’t notice it until the way down, but the orange blazes were a good hint.

I admire a cool snow formation while Kacie fights a butt-deep posthole

We started up the steep slope, and 10 feet up, Kacie says “Wait. I can’t find my water.” Uh, okay. “Is it because you forgot your water?” We laughed. “No, I filled it I swear!” She never did find her water, only an empty camelback, which she filled up in the small stream. The water will forever be a mystery. It wasn’t all over my trunk, at least. I think she forgot it.

The trail goes up, and up, and up. We hit snow almost immediately. There are a few fixed lines through some scrambly sections, but none felt necessary and they’re looking a little old so test them well before use. We did use one on the way down above what was a legitimate class 3 scramble move, covered in ice and moss and running water. Brutal combo.

And some more steep forest snow

The trail up to the ridge is very well blazed already with orange tape, which was helpful. But the gist is “head straight up, stay to the right of the gulley, drop into the gulley for the last few hundred vertical feet, and suddenly you’ll be on a ridge.” We had ~~some~~ a shit-ton (is that metric?) of postholing, some root scrambling, some surprisingly legit rock scrambling, and plenty of crawling over and under downed trees. Simon took a chunk of ice to the head – the trees were shedding their snow and ice in the warm temperatures, and we all heard the thunk, followed by a string of expletives. I donned my hat for protection.

Flat section of the ridge, gorgeous forest

It was very slow going up to the ridge, but the terrain flattens out for maybe a half mile once you’re up there. The forest was gorgeous in the sun, and the ridge was very knifey for a forested ridge, which I thought was so neat. It was a winter wonderland, with the sun lighting up the moss on the trees and snow all over the ground. At this point I knew we didn’t have a shot at the summit especially if it got steep again (spoiler alert: it did), so I settled on a conservative 2pm turnaround. We’d see how close we could get, and reevaluate accordingly depending on conditions, speed, and how everyone was feeling.

Kacie and Cheryl downclimbing a not so flat part of the ridge

Eventually you run into a cliff band along the ridge. My advice here is to drop juuuuust low enough to the right to avoid the cliffs. Don’t go lower than that. You’ll cross a gulley beneath the cliffs. Go straight across it with a slight upward trend. We went slightly down, and had to regain elevation, which sucked, especially in the powder. It’s amazing how long it takes to regain a measly 20ft of elevation in steep powdery conditions.

Like I mentioned, some masochistic part of me loves breaking trail in powder. It sounds like I wasn’t much help for anyone else, as Simon postholed through my kicked steps, and even some of his collapsed when Kacie and Cheryl came along. We fought for every step. To be fair, I don’t think I put my full body weight on many of those steps since if you use your poles as flotation devices it spreads out your body weight so you can skitter across some of the powder without falling through. That’s my favorite trick climbing steep powder now, ice axe be damned. With powder like that, it’s tough to fall far since you sink 2ft deep as soon as you land.

Looking out at Gunnshy, Tailgunner, Gunn, and Merchant across the valley

Well I’m in heaven minding my own business ~~struggling~~ frolicking in powder and eyeing the blue sky ahead of me (you know when the blue sky gets lower, and lower, and you know you’re getting close to the ridge, and your excitement starts creeping up again since you have a tangible goal and fuck it you didn’t come this far for nothing) and I hear Simon shout behind me “Eve! 2pm!” Crap! I shouted back “I’m pretty sure I’m looking at the saddle! Let’s give it a few more minutes!” I picked up my pace (from .000001mph to .000002mph) and broke out along the ridge, looking up at Mt. Baring draped in dusty white snow and hoar frost, admiring the baby cornices along the ridge, and wary of the size and conditions of the avalanche gulley that was the next step.

Windblown baby cornices along the ridge, avvy gully on the left

I had anticipated the avvy gulley being in the shade (I had also expected to reach it much earlier in the day), and I had expected colder temperatures as freezing level was supposed to be below 4000ft. Instead, the slope was partially in sun, and was only going to receive more direct sunlight as the day progressed, and everything was melting around us in the warm air, as exhibited by the conflict between Simon’s thoroughly bruised skull and the light snow falling off the trees, which hurt. I also knew, given our slow pace down low, that realistically we’d need several more hours to get the whole team up to the summit. I figured I’d consult with everyone else, but I had a feeling we’d be calling it here. I am usually willing to push it if the team wants to, but I didn’t think anyone would.

I shouted back to the others, no response. I started to worry that Kacie and Cheryl were turning around, and I wanted everyone to see the views from the saddle. It made everything worth it, it was the icing on top of the cake that was our hilarious day. I gave them a few minutes and ran back down and shouted again. This time Simon responded, and they were all coming! Yay! I was too excited and antsy and had already taken a bunch of pictures, so I started trying to stomp the last 30 or so steps down extra good so they’d have an easy time getting to the top.

Panorama as the clouds moved in

Breaking out onto the saddle, everyone was all smiles. We snapped pictures of everthing, Simon took 12 selfies with my camera, Kacie requested a photo of Cheryl taking a photo of Simon taking a photo of Kacie taking a selfie, and we broke out the plethora of pastries we had gotten at the bakery and jerky that Cheryl and Simon had brought. Delicious. And of course, we all agreed that we were not going any farther.

Well okay, maybe not all smiles (looking at you Kilo Charlie)

Tried to get mountains in Kacie’s glasses

Turning around always sucks on some level. Naturally everyone wanted to summit, but we were all wary of the gulley, and I think everyone understood that we’d need hours to make it to the summit, and although we had appropriate gear to come down in the dark, no one wanted to. Would it be worth the effort to keep going, only to turn around halfway up the gulley, and risk the gulley sliding the entire time? No way, we’ll all be happier with a casual break here. What made my day is that no one cared. I’m sure there was some disappointment, but my biggest concern is that someone will be tired and crabby about how we had to fight through all the powder only to turn around, or that someone was miserable on the way up and didn’t voice it, or that I’m the only one having fun and everyone else is just following me because it was my idea and not actually enjoying it. But no, with these folks everyone was just thrilled to be there, proud of how far we had come, and cracking fart jokes and archer jokes and laughing at how miserable some of those lower slopes had been. And that’s how it always should be. So we sat in the sun, enjoyed the views, and played the “airplane or avalanche” game as we listened to peaks shed their snow all around us.

The dirt glissade

Cheryl negotiating the scramble move

Clouds moved in as we sat, and after nearly an hour we decided it was time to head down. We followed our tracks most of the time with a few exceptions to save elevation (turned out we had been much much closer to the “standard” route than I thought on the way up). The way down went much faster until we were off the ridge. Getting from the ridge back to the road was possibly more difficult than going up. We could glissade the gulley for first few hundred feet, but eventually the snow was too thin. Then came the scrambles, covered in melting ice and snow, and the wet mossy tree roots, and the mud beneath an inch of snow. I slipped more times than I could count. Kacie took an axe to the face when she lost her footing downclimbing one of the scramble moves. I accidentally glissaded down a 15ft muddy stretch while everyone laughed, only to make the same mistake themselves. Ha!

The microspike-veggie belay!

Somehow, Kacie got her microspikes snagged on a tree on the way down. She sat there in defeat, silently staring off into the distance, unable to climb back up backwards, incapable of moving forward because, well, her microspikes were stuck on a small tree. We laughed, and took pictures, and then continued a casual conversation while Kacie sat there, still silent, still dejected. Until I finally couldn’t maintain conversation anymore because I was laughing too hard at Kacie sitting there, quietly waiting for help, while Simon and Cheryl talked so casually. Cheryl helped her get unstuck (“You’re loose!” Cheryl proclaimed, as Simon and I stood below hollering “HOW ARE WE NOT DOING PHRASING!?”), and we continued our hilarious downhill slog.

The profanity was truly impressive

We made it back to the cars at 7:15 and went straight to Red Robin for bottomless fries and burgers. It was. So good. Except just a heads up – the containers of fries are literally bottomless. Keep that in mind, and don’t spill them everywhere.

So guys, the moral of the story is it’s okay to turn around. We’ve all been there, and the more you do it, the easier it gets. I recall talking to an IMG guide who said eventually it became a mock fight to see who gets to turn back with clients. They’ve all climbed the mountain dozens of times, and you get to the point where you just think “yeah I’ll go hang out at the tents and nap and snack, that sounds wonderful!!” instead of “Ugh if I don’t summit then I did all of this for nothing and it’s embarrassing” or whatever runs through your head the first few times you need to turn around. I’ve heard (and probably thought) every reason for not turning around, and eventually you realize that none of it matters. Getting back down safe, sound, and preferably happy is what matters.*

*Often the happiness comes later. Type II fun is very common in mountaineering. Or type III, in which case the happiness is only present because you’re so happy you bailed and didn’t fuck it up even further and as a result you lived to tell the story to everyone else so you can bond over the (hilariously?) miserable times.

Safe, sound, and so very happy!

Ancient Lakes

Posted on March 21, 2016 by evejakubowski

With a high wind warning and a potential 15″-17″ of snow over the weekend (according to NOAA), we figured the backcountry was out of the question. Don’t get me wrong, I love some good snow, but I’ve hit a point where I’m not going to spend two days in the wet unless it’s going to have a huge payoff. And I had to work at my office sample sale Saturday morning, so I couldn’t escape until around 2pm anyway. That should be my excuse, instead of admitting I’ve turned fairweather.

Luckily for me, Sam had just gotten a new camera and had been going stir crazy trying to find places to get some night photography for the past week, and he suggested Ancient Lakes. I had never been out there, it’s a long drive, not a technical hike or climb, and I’m lazy unless we can do something awesome. But this weekend, after months of said aforementioned stir crazy, it meant sun, stars, and a whole new section of Washington I had never touched before. I drove through it, once. Literally once. Anyway, here are the Ancient Lakes, several small bowls of chemical-contaminated farm runoff water in some eastern canyons, hiked 3/12/2016. Don’t drink the water!

Optional Distance: 12 miles round trip if you do the full loop (we did not)
Real Distance: 1 mile. No, we probably went like 1.5 miles out, but it’s like a playground for adults. As much or as little as you choose.
Elevation gain: ~900ft for the loop, we probably had similar since we did some scrambling
Weather: 40’s and sunny, 40’s and cloudy
Did I Trip: No but Sam slipped on a rock. Count it!

Rolling hills and canyon walls

I took off from Seattle at 2pm on the dot and drove around 3 hours through dead stopped traffic (who closes all four lines on a highway?!), open freeway, sun, rain, wind, snow, and best of all, HAIL. Large marble sized hail. As in the bigger-than-average marbles. Cars were pulling over because once there’s an inch or two of big marbles on the highway, you can’t go 75mph anymore and your windshield might break and did I mention they’re rolling all over the ground while it’s sunny at the same time and why wouldn’t you pull over to gawk at that?! No rainbow, though. I laughed after the brief hailstorm was over (it lasted maybe 5 minutes) because I wondered what I hadn’t driven through yet, and the answer was “a tornado.” Okay, let’s save that for next time.

I did get to play my favorite what-do-you-do-when-you’re-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-in-the-car game, called “scan every radio station and see what the options are.” Past Cle Elum, you have various styles of preaching, an abundance of country music, two pop stations, three Latino stations, and station 100.3 which I can only assume makes all of its money by playing “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics, on loop, 24/7.

Sam starting off in the meadow

Finding Quincy, WA was easy. Finding the trailhead was not. I mean it would have been if we had looked at WTA directions, but we did not. I was using my TomTom and Sam was using GoogleMaps, and we both ended up on private roads in the middle of some sort of orchard (separate private roads, might I add). After a few too many “NO TRESPASSING” and “PRIVATE PROPERTY, NEW OWNERSHIP” and “CAMERAS FILMING” signs I decided this could not possibly be where the “public fishing area” was. I eventually found Sam just outside the orchard and we managed to find the trailhead. Follow WTA’s instructions, guys. Seriously.

Another meadow at dusk

The trailhead said things like “no overnight parking” and “no overnight camping.” We said things like “ha!” and started hiking. I forgot how light an overnight pack is when you don’t also have a rope and ice screws and crampons and ice tools and all that junk. Just a meal, water, tent, layers… very pleasant. The sun had set, and we had some evening glow remaining, so I snapped the few pictures I could as we hiked down into the canyon. There were several other parties there, and we eventually scrambled up the opposite side of the canyon to a spot overlooking everyone. There was an awesome rocky outcropping that I hoped would look awesome with stars above it, and a little notch in a cliff across the way with the same idea.

We pitched tents on soft grass (SO much more comfortable than camping on snow and ice), made a small campfire, boiled water for dinner, and ran around taking pics and time lapses with the camera. Or, I ate while Sam took pictures. I forgot to bring an eating utensil and dumped boiling chicken vindaloo all over my face trying to eat it out of the bag. Some things you just never learn.

Feeding the campfire by our tents (photo credit: Sam)

It was a warm night, but windy, and clouds were in and out. The wind made things a bit complicated. We couldn’t get any good pictures of the notch (okay, maybe the pic above) because the vantage point was too exposed and the wind would blow the tripod just enough to blur things. But Sam got some great ones of our tents, that rocky outcropping, and the number of stars is just incredible. That camera is coming everywhere. I’ll sleep while Sam does the hard work.

Another lake below the canyon walls

I went to sleep in my cozy sleeping bag with my cozy liner which I haven’t talked much about but I can’t believe I ever camped without a sleeping bag liner. Seriously, if you have room for luxury, get a sleeping bag liner. It’s soft, it’s cozy, if you’re a little wet it wicks away the moisture and I swear you dry off more quickly than when you’re right up against sleeping bag material. I adore it. And supposedly (not convinced) it adds a bit of warmth to your bag. I’m cold all the time, so I’m not sure about that one.

We woke up to full cloud cover. Well, Sam woke up. He told me it was cloudy and I whined about it and dozed for another hour. We had set the clocks ahead okay?! I get my extra hour, this is a casual trip, I don’t need no alpine start. Sam went and scrambled around the area while I kept sleeping. Eventually I got up and we packed up and left. I snapped a few pics on the way out to make sure the trip was adequately documented. All the other groups were making eggs and bacon and fancy things for breakfast and I had leftover twix bites and toasted ritz chips in my car. Don’t get me wrong both of those are delicious, but I mean…. you can do better.

Sam following the trail past waterfalls

We made it back to the cars, with no tickets for overnight parking or our abject lack of Discovery passes (apparently required for this trailhead). Sweet. We hit the road, dreading the conditions at Snoqualmie. I stopped in Cle Elum for a steak (which I later overcooked – [expletives]) and gas, and interestingly, while it was snowing heavily in Cle Elum, there wasn’t much to worry about at Snoqualmie. The i90 bridge was worse, ugh. Big waves and wind and shaking, weird stuff. I made it back to Seattle, only to find out that minutes later they closed both the i90 bridge and the 520 bridge due to high winds and big waves.

So that’s that. A solid what, 18 hour escape? 24 hours if you include the drive in both directions? Not too shabby! And it feels like an entirely different part of America. Like I was in the middle of a road trip out in Arizona or northern Colorado. A much needed change of scenery.

Kachess Ridge

Posted on March 10, 2016 by evejakubowski

Savoring that last bit of snow

Another blog post?! So soon? I told you guys, I’m getting back on track. And I was bored. This one’s a shorty, but it counts. With trips planned this weekend and next weekend, I’m on a quest for blog content. And hopefully this means we’ve turned a corner, and the hikes will start to flow. I’m seasonal, you know? Seasonally in shape (summer), seasonally introspective (winter), seasonally good looking (summer), seasonally good at cooking (winter), seasonally into country music (summer), seasonally whiny (~~winter~~ ok always).

Distance: ~9 miles round trip
Elevation: 2200ft gain
Weather: Snow, hail, rain, and sun, maybe high 40’s?
Commute from Seattle: 1:20
Did I Trip: No!

Well, I had a few hours free on Sunday, and after getting a late start (getting up at 7 is late), I met Sam at the Kachess Ridge trailhead. He beat me there by about a half hour, maybe more, I don’t want to know because I can’t believe he waited. He sent me a picture of sunny blue skies while I was driving through torrential downpour at Snoqualmie Pass, so I knew there was hope out on the east side.

On second thought, maybe the road is not driveable

I found the Kachess Ridge trailhead (well, the road that leads to the trailhead), and we made it maybe 500 yards past the “road closed” sign before I chickened out. I was just keeping the road in good shape for snowmobiles by not driving it, duh. We packed up our stuff and started walking. Sam brought his cheap snowboard, I left my skiis in the car because I’m a noob and didn’t think I’d be good enough at avoiding rocks.

Blue skies, baby!

We savored the sunshine as we hiked along the road. After ~.8 miles, you turn right onto an unmarked road, which will take you another .6 or so miles. Soon enough we were at the trailhead, right where there’s a sharp hairpin switchbck turn in the road. We took off into the woods, and as the trail gained elevation, the south-facing slope meant most of the snow had melted. We did hit snow quite abruptly around 3800ft, and the trail disappeared. We headed straight for the ridge, kicking steps in the snow.

Gaining the ridge

We stopped on the shoulder of the ridge to snap a few pictures. I swear we had the only patch of blue sky in the area. And even then, we were randomly spit on by rain, hail, and snow, alternating with sun. And no rainbows, which is bullshit. If it’s gonna rain and be sunny, I want a rainbow. Add it to my list of grievances, mother nature. At least here I don’t have to shrink wrap all my windows in winter like I did in Chicago, I guess.

We stayed in the trees along the ridge until the very top, negotiating a few baby cornices. Snow was pretty consolidated and kicking steps was easy. For me. Sam had overdone leg day the day before, so he was having a harder time. He was also carrying a $20 snowboard, which, being $20, I can only imagine weighed twice the weight of a desirable snowboard. But the good part about having a crappy board is you have no fear of scraping it over rocks.

The tower! I think there’s a small shack beneath it. Buried in snow.

I wanted to get to the radio tower because I like destination hikes, so I dragged Sam up the last few hundred yards and climbed up the tower to see what I could see, which was i90 and a bunch of clouds. Bummer man. OH shit, my tea is still in my pack. That’s disgusting. I’m disgusting. I’ll go clean that right now. Hold please.

Okay, nothing freaky grew in my thermos. Cool. Anyway, climbed up the radio tower, not much to see, so we headed back down (I did not stop to drink my tea). Sam strapped on his board, I did the slow-powder jog so I wouldn’t get too far behind. I was hoping to get some sweet pictures of him but with all the trees it was tough. We’ll save it for a better trip.

“Oops”

Sam did trigger a few sluffs, which are… like baby avalanches. The top few inches of snow creating a mini slide. It’s pretty nuts watching sluffs happen and imagining the exact same thing but several feet deep. Scary stuff. Sluffs can be good news if it’s just a layer of fresh snow that goes without triggering a deeper slab, but we weren’t about to wait around and find out, and it’s not like there was that much to snowboard anyway.

Looking back on the sluff

Going down was way faster, and before we knew it we were back at the road. We ran into a man with his two sons, one of whom was a geology major and was looking for blue schist. I wonder if he found any. I’m not quite sure what it is, but according to his dad he was pretty excited about it. We got back to the cars just in time before the skies opened up, and I devoured some jerky and cheese and headed back to Seattle in time for a lazy afternoon.

I was going to say that Sam might have been the last one to ski/snowboard Kachess Ridge for the season, but we got slammed with a solid storm last night and have another one on the way this weekend, so the snow isn’t done just yet. I don’t know, skiing is chill but I’m ready for climbing season and some trail runs in the high country. Don’t skip leg day, folks. Even if it means a sufferfest the next day. It’ll pay off in the summer. And who doesn’t want sweet buns and thighs?

Sam coming up along the ridge

An Abridged Collection of Winter Hikes

Posted on March 9, 2016 by evejakubowski

So I gotta give a quick thanks to Simon for dragging my sad ass up to Lake Serene a few weeks ago. In a world of exhaustion and shattered muscles and low red blood cell count and probably dehydration, someone recognized me from this blog. From the Mt. Hinman run, which was literally the opposite of my trek up to Serene, which I tackled with Simon and the Choose Mountains crew after a week of no sleep, running twice a day, and donating blood 24 hours prior. That’s how I deal with stress, what can I say? He was probably shocked that this panting, sweaty hiker had pulled off a 24 mile trail run. Yeah well in July 2015 I had all of my red blood cells and the legs of a fucking gazelle. In February 2016 I was more of a pre-hibernation bear.

So guys, I’m still here. I swear. Just lurking in the thick clouds and rain and snow that the Seattle winter has thrown at us. I mean shit, we broke a record for wettest winter on record. Meaning it was rainy by Seattle standards. So here’s a full dump of what I’ve been doing to try and survive the winter. This is where to go when avvy conditions are high, when you don’t want to lug 50+ lbs of gear, when you have no friends to tow your stuck car out of a snowbank because it’s 6am on a Saturday.

Where To Go When In Doubt

One of the waterfalls (doesn’t look as big here)

1) Boulder River. Here’s a better report from last year. I seem to always be the only one suggesting this one. What’s not to like?! It’s unbelievably green, and reminds me that the Seattle winter is good for some things. Many things thrive in these conditions. I am not among those things. It’s a 9 mile hike if you do the full trail, but honestly feel free to turn around after the third waterfall. It’d be a killer trail run too if you want a moderate distance without the technicality or elevation.

Mossy heaven

Boulder River gives you lush green moss, a rushing river, and a few surprisingly huge waterfalls, especially this time of year. The road is easy, it’s just over an hour from Seattle, and you get to enjoy the silence of the woods. Best of all, spring flowers should be popping up any day now! There is a great campsite about 4.5 miles into the trail right next to the river, and a few ~1 mile in if you want an easy one. In fact, if you duck off the trail at a certain point just before the first campsites, you’ll move from second growth forest to a much denser, older growth, suddenly surrounded by emerald colors and hanging moss on a small cliff above the river. But let’s keep that section vague enough to stay secret.

Fresh cedar blowdown

Warning: Pretty big blowout about 2 miles in. Other than that… super muddy. Basically its own mini river at some points. Bring your goretex everything.

Tip: Less of a tip and more of a fun fact. This used to be the approach for Three Fingers! Now the trail just fizzles to an end, but it used to be that you crossed the river and continued on. It was abandoned in the late 60’s when they built FR-41 to the current Three Fingers trailhead.

2) Heather Lake. February 2015, again February 2016 (no pics this time).I spend a lot of time at Heather Lake. It was one of my first hikes out here (my first was really the DC route up Rainier, but that’s more of a climb, and is a hilarious answer when anyone asks). The WTA description says something along the lines of “good for a kid’s first ‘real hike!'” and my roommate and I thought “great, that means it’s good for moms!” We took our mothers here back in August 2014. Besides that, it has been a winter trip for me.

The road can be snowy, but usually not too bad. Clocking in at 4.2 mellow miles round trip, “Lake TwentyTwo Lite” is what I like to call it. Less exposure, not as steep, less avalanche terrain, and the same steep cliffs in the backdrop but slightly shorter. In winter you will want to bring microspikes, maybe snowshoes if the snow level has been low lately. But avvy danger is low, the trail is straightforward, and the lake is beautiful, especially if you can see the snow-dusted crags above it. In spring, you might be lucky enough to see frost flowers below the cliffs, which Jonathan and I encountered last year.

Warning: Look before you sit, because I dropped my trusty pocket knife up there. It will bloom with the tulips.

Tip: You’ll appreciate poles or a walking stick. Most blowdowns have been cleared, but if there’s snow up there, it get slippy and there can be a lot of postholing and falling, which means general hilarity when lots of people try to get to the lake.

The Enchantments from Hex Mountain

3) Hex Mountain. Sometimes you’ll be lucky and the east side will clear up. So if you’re bold enough to drive through blizzard conditions at Snoqualmie, this is when you go hit up Hex Mountain. 6 mile snowshoe, the occasional steep section, but mostly quite manageable. If you have an affinity for slogging through powder (or more fun, running back down through powder), you could give it a shot without snowshoes. Great views of the Enchantments and even a peak at Hinman and Daniel if you’re lucky.

Warning: very tight parking, and the road (though paved) is quite icy. We got towed out of a snowbank after trying to dig the truck out with our ice axes. My buddy had forgotten to bring chains, but remembered his tow straps!

Tip: stop at Owen’s Meats in Cle Elum on the way home and get a steak. Or some jerky. Crap, I’m drooling. Get the ribeye. Or the NY strip. Filets are for the weak.

Rain or shine, Skyline lake is always a win

4) Skyline Lake. This is a sweet snowshoe or ski up by Stevens Pass. It’s 3 miles round trip, so if you’re camping, you can set up camp, ski or snowshoe back to the lodge for burgers and beers and real bathrooms, and then return to your snowy paradise to sleep. I have yet to spend the night there, but I have several friends who (miraculously) found their way back to camp after enough whiskey to inebriate a buffalo while I happily drove home in my warm dry car to sleep in my warm dry bed.

Warning: Get there early, or the parking lots will be full. If you have 4WD, tell them you’re dropping something off and you’ll definitely find a spot that the plebs in their sedans and summer tires couldn’t ready. Don’t drink and ski. Okay, drink a little and ski. I’ll watch and laugh.

Tip: If you’re stalking me and the winter weather looks bad, there’s like a 60% chance I’ll be at Skyline lake. I have a bad ass set of friends who basically just camp there every weekend since it’s relatively safe in bad avvy conditions. So if you’re bored, come on up.

5) Kendall Peak Lakes. Or Gold Creek Pond, which is where we thought we were going, until we had been snowshoeing/skiing for two hours and I knew we couldn’t possible take that long to go a single mile. Gold Creek Pond is 2 miles round trip and very flat. Kendall Peak Lakes is 9 miles round trip, and not as flat. I. Freaking. Counted. 1600 Steps. And turned around to Surafel and yelled WE DEFINITELY MISSED THE POND but we had gone too far to give up. But it was a lovely snowshoe along a wide road and trail until the very end, and I hear the views are lovely when you aren’t socked in by trails.

And I ran into Michael at the lake, who came up Rainier with us in the summer. He introduced me as “mountaineer extraordinaire, who has climbed Rainier twice!” to his snowshoeing class, and then they all got to watch me work on my pizza slice and faceplant on skiis instead of be a bad ass.

Warning: Don’t test out new ski boots on this one. I had a blister the size of a silver dollar on my heel. I had to wear flip flops for the next three days. In January. I looked great at work.

Tip: Make sure you’re on the right trail. Don’t be lazy and stop caring about life and love and beauty just because the Seahawks are down 31-0. Also don’t take off your skiis before packing down a nice spot to sit. I hopped off my skiis and landed in chest deep powder. Which is nice and fluffy and fun, until you realize you’re stuck.

Okay full disclosure this is totally from the parking lot. ADA accessible!

6) If you get lucky enough, and it’s clear, head up to Artist Point. Here’s your packing list:

The ten essentials (lazy start here) x3 for your noobie party
Hot chocolate or tea (the 11th essential in winter)
Common sense and bravery
Wrists that did not just get rebuilt with steel plates and screws after being shattered
Two fully functioning ACL tendons per person, one in each leg
A general knowledge of snowshoeing and acceptance that snowshoeing is not always just around a golf course a la Eastern Massachusetts
Optional: A zen mantra to repeat when your helpless party members flail in snow and realize they do not know how to snowshoe

Mom and Ned on the flat section (“ohthankgod”)

My mother and brother visited in mid February, and I mean let’s be real I’ve been waiting 18 months to show them what freaking Shuksan looks like in person. You all know how I feel about Shuksan. Ned had just gone snowshoeing and loved it, my mother said she’d be fine despite her fresh wrist, okay great I’ll go reserve some rental snowshoes for the weekend and we’ll go to Artist Point woo!! I was pumped. The forecast was grim but we thought what the hell, let’s go for it. Ned had 24 hours of music he wanted to share that he had collected over the past few months and my mother had a year of pent up gossip and questions, so a 3 hour car ride would be okay.

Clouds finally clearing up

The beginning was great. Ned had no idea how to put on snowshoes and kept tripping himself. My mother was already behind. I was decked out in my usual mountaineering gear, realizing I’d probably have fit in better if I had showed up wearing jeans. “We’re going up THAT?”! They were both shocked. I forgot my mother was afraid of heights. And my brother was already complaining he was tired. And my mother couldn’t risk falling because she had a broken wrist. And two barely functioning ACL’s. And there I was, telling both of them that they had told me they’d be fine, simultaneously realizing they probably would have been fine if it was a New England snowshoe around a lake, and eventually coming to the conclusion that I had taken them to a snowshoe that miiiight have been pushing it a bit.

I dragged them up the slope because I’m a selfish unforgiving person, took them across the flat part to where they could have seen Shuksan if it was clear, and sat down to have snacks. We did not tackle the final section to actual Artist point, which was a bummer because I like showing people how deep the snow is using the parking lot bathroom as a scale (it’s usually buried).

Not even steep enough to glissade. Sorry mom

On the way down, Ned was fine. My mother hid her eyes on the slope. She joked that she needed those horse blinders that only allow you to look forward. The powder was too fluffy to glissade, but the slope was too steep for her to walk. I should have shown her the pic of my friend diving headfirst down a similar slope into powder. The pinnacle of hilarity was her sitting on her ass in the middle of a learn-to-backcountry-ski group working on their kick turns around her while she tried to scoot down a six foot slope and I debated whether to laugh or cry.

There we go Mom!

The two of them are troopers and made it back to the parking lot alive, and by then it had started to clear up! We dropped the snowshoes and poles in the car and I made them walk over to Picture Lake so they could get a glimpse of Shuksan towering over everything. Had to make the 3 hour drive worth it. So you could say we drove 6 hours round trip for a 2 hour snowshoe and a five minute view of Shuksan from a parking lot. They’ll never get the “in the middle of the mountains” feeling at this rate.

Warning: Don’t be afraid of heights or deep powdery snow.

Tip: No, the skiiers in bounds will not randomly ski out of bounds. No, the backcountry skiiers will not crash into you. They assume you as a snowshoer have no idea what you are doing and will dodge accordingly. You are a traffic cone. Especially with those red REI rental snowshoes.

(Disclaimer: my family is great and Calvin and my father whined just as much going to Blanca Lake as my mother and Ned did going up Artist Point. It’s a Jakubowski thing. If we aren’t whining we’re probably bored.)

Where Not to Go

My face says “hahaha!” but my soul says “WHY DID WE DO THIS” (photo credit: Simon)

Answer: halfway up Eldorado. “I’m sick of bailing because of weather!!” proclaimed John, a few days before my birthday. It looked like there might be a clear window Saturday morning, so we grabbed Simon who had just learned crevasse rescue and headed out Friday evening to start climbing at 8:30pm. I strapped skiis and snowshoes and avvy gear onto my pack, laughing at the hilarious idea of me carrying that much weight on the Eldorado approach. The very approach that made me swear last time to not ever carry more than 40lbs up that shit again. Psych.

We crossed the first log over the river without dying. We got slightly sidetracked in the dark and eventually found the trail after fighting through downed trees and branches and mosses. I was in a world of misery. It was raining, it was 11 pm, this is so steep, why did I wear these shoes, why am I carrying skiis, why did I also bring snowshoes, why didn’t I work out all winter, when are we going to be at the boulder field, WHAT WAS I THINKING. I almost gave up like 6 times. You guys know me, I’m usually a head-down-plow-through-it-eff-everything type. Not on this. I was a “waaahhhhhhh, helpppp, my liiiiiiife” type. I also drank all of Simon’s water because I knew if I took my pack off, I would not be putting it back on. The skiis stick up two feet above your head and hit every branch, and stick down a foot below the pack so there’s no good way to put the pack down. Brutal. And there’s nothing like army-crawling under logs because you can’t figure out how to get the skiis to fit.

This encompasses 60% of the trip

We made it to the boulder field, excited for snow, hoping for perfect crampon conditions, or at least good snowshoe conditions. No. It was 45 degrees and raining, not 25 and snowing like the forecasts all said. It was a mess of slush and slipping and getting stuck in snowshoes and after like 100 vertical feet we pulled over to the side, gave up, and set up camp. I love digging, and was beyond thrilled to be shoveling out a platform. It was 1am, that’s past my bedtime, and if the snowpack were a person, I’d have punched them in the face. I take a lot of pride in being decent at breaking trail, but this… no sir.

The next morning (happy birthday me!) we took off to try and gain elevation. John and Simon were optimistic. Or maybe they were pretending. Needless to say, snow conditions deteriorated as we started climbing, and eventually with a few mini avalanches and plenty of postholing (in snowshoes) and slipping and fighting up the slope, we decided to just go back to the tent and hang out. John snowboarded down while I got myself stuck several times and Simon… I don’t know, he seemed to have a fine time walking. I needed a personal helicopter, or a zip line to the bottom, or the power of teleportation.

And this encompasses 30% of the trip (I’m leaving 10% for “maybe part was fun”)

Back at the tent Simon and John surprised me with a birthday cupcake and Sweet & Sour Pork which I’m pretty sure is the best and hardest to find dehydrated meal out there. We napped for a few hours (4-5 hours of sleep Friday night was not much) and woke up around 5, debating whether to go down then or not. Nah, let’s just stay. Nothing to do back in Seattle, plus if we wait until Sunday we can go out for steaks on the way back.

And that’s exactly what we did. The trip back down was not as miserable as the way up, and went much faster. I have never been so happy to see my car.

At least we had Simon’s sweet tent (okay, 100% fun)

Tip: Stop at Rhodes River Ranch in Oso and get the ribeye, or the Oso burger, or the bison burger, or the prime rib. It is amazing. Also, the bathroom at the Eldorado trailhead is five stars right now. Fresh two ply toilet paper, no stink. Love it. And the brewery in Darrington has free dinner on Friday nights!

Warning: Mentally prepare for a butt kicking. If the boulder field snow is hard packed, you’re going to have a great time with crampons and you’ll be up it in an hour. If it’s slushy melting rain-on-snow threatening avalanches, it’s not worth trying. But hey, you got a workout carrying all your crap all the way up here right?!

And that’s what I’ve been up to the past two months, with intermittent doses of indoor climbing. There have been a few other trips as well that I will perhaps get around to. Like Round mountain, which was an awesome trail-less snowshoe climb just outside of Darrington. Or Lake Serene, which I didn’t really discuss. And once the weather clears up, climbing season is just around the corner and this will be full of weekly reports of what’s awesome, when you should go, and how you get to all of it.

Ixtaccihuatl and Orizaba

Posted on December 1, 2015 by evejakubowski

Popocatepetl over Ixta’s ridges

A week full of sunshine, limericks, guacamole, and a little bit of climbing. What more can you ask for? Well for starters, the guac-to-chip ratio in Mexico seems to be much lower than it is in my kitchen. And the sunshine was a pleasant surprise. Even Mountain Forecast, the notoriously optimistic mountain weather predictor, was calling for snow up high every. Single. Day. Psych! We had perfect weather windows for both climbs. Man, I almost don’t want to write this entry, because once I’m done with it, the trip will officially be over.

Well let’s start with getting to Mexico. I’m not a traveler. I have left the country once in the past eight years, and it was with family, so I mostly ignored everything that was going on. I woke up on the plane to some vague Spanish forms sitting in my lap. Okay, these must be for customs. Got those filled out. Passed out all of my extra pens to needy travelers in the customs line (I was politely reprimanded by my boss for not having a pen at a meeting, and now there are like 15+ in my purse at any given moment in time) like a Customs Hero, and picked up my absurdly large canvas duffle bag that my boss lent me before running into Angie (yay!), Erin, and Kali, who had all planned to meet at the airport. We swapped dollars for pesos, hopped into a cab, and headed to the hotel.

How weather was much of the time (featuring Angie’s Bottom)

The first night was quiet. Everyone was just getting to know each other. Erin was from Seattle, Dave was from Evanston (where I went to college), so there were a few connections. A few climbers already knew the guides, Dallas and Austin. Dallas knew our guide from our ridiculously fun trip up Shuksan well and had some funny stories about the two of them. Everyone was talking about their experiences: Denali, China, Aconcagua, treks well above 13,000ft, Ecuador volcanoes. And what did I have? I, uhhh, well, I climbed Rainier a few times, and some smaller peaks in the Cascades? And one time I ran 10 miles at 10,000ft in Colorado while looking at mountains, does that count? I passed out that time though, so maybe not. What does diamox feel like? When should I take it? Does 20 degrees feel colder at 17,000ft than it does at 14,000ft? Maybe I should have asked Angie’s dad if I could borrow puffy pants in addition to his soft shell pants. I glanced down, concerned at the number of chips left without guac on my plate. The other end of the table doesn’t like guac, maybe I can get theirs. They don’t know I’m a human garbage disposal yet.

We headed up for a light day hike at the base of Ixta the next day. Light packs, short mellow terrain. It’s crazy that there are trees and roads up to 13,000ft in Mexico. To reach that in Washington, you’re either on a glacier or a plane. I put Angie’s fancy Suunto in my bag, because I realized I didn’t notice the altitude until someone else pointed it out. Maybe if I just didn’t know what we were at, I’d never notice.

Nassella Tenuissima (mountain grass!)

The hike was pleasant. A jeep engine overheated (not our group, just a Mexican family who kept honking the horn as if that’d fix it – turn the heat on full blast, that helps at least a little), a few runners were getting in some high altitude training, and the grasses were amazing. I asked what the grass was called, and got “mountain grass?” in response. Of course immediately after I post pictures on Facebook, my horticulturalist mother jumps in – “Nassella Tenuissima!! I just planted this in breezy!” Well, I’ll have a little taste of Ixtaccihuatl in Queens, NY next summer. Sweet.

We went back down to the town of Amecameca (~8000ft) to sleep low, climb high. We almost got nailed by cars crossing the street to get to dinner, but made it. Dramatic 20ft run. I ordered paella, which I knew had shrimp in it, but i wasn’t expecting it to also be stuffed with seashells with a whole fucking crab on top. For those who don’t know me, even the smell of seafood is enough to send me running to the nearest vomit receptacle (bathroom doesn’t convey the urgency involved). It was a brutal dinner. Luckily we had ordered an outrageous amount of appetizers, so I was pretty full anyway.

The next morning, we carried gear to high camp. I’m a chatty hiker, and frequently need to find ways to entertain myself. Like a 5 year old. But as a wise man once said (okay, dad) “only boring people get bored.” So I started writing limericks, and got Angie to try her hand at it too. The first one was about Angie getting sunburned. Spoiler alert: It was me who ended up sunburned.

Poor Angie is already burned
You’d think that by now she’d have learned
She’s whiter than flour
And fries in an hour
And soon the outdoors she’ll have spurned.

The hut on Ixta

Those last lines are damn hard, every time. Soon enough I got Barb talking about lizards (she’s done all sorts of cool research in Baja) and that kept me occupied for a bit, and then Kali told us about some of her military training. I soon realized I would need a belt for the pants I had borrowed from Angie’s dad, and spent the rest of the hike mentally sorting through the few belongings I had brought to Mexico. Eventually I settled on a prussik and a runner, neither of which would be necessary on the climbs. I girth hitched them together to fit around my waist. I’ll refrain from making a fat joke.

We spent that night in a hut around 13,000ft. Dinner was quesadillas, more guac (enough guac this time), tortillas, man I don’t even remember at this point but it’s 7am and I’d freaking love that meal all over again. Popocatepetl poked out from the clouds a few times, and Kali pointed out a few constellations and navigational stars, which was pretty neat. We’ll see if I remember them. I think I’ll be relying on an app (I’m sure there’s an app for that) like the pleb that I am.

The next day was back up to high camp, where we relaxed for the afternoon and went to bed early. I suck at sitting around without something to distract me (a book, netflix, music, you get the idea), so I wrote another limerick as I demolished an entire 12oz box of Wheat Thins. Appetite: 1, altitude: 0.

No one is hungry up high

No cravings when you touch the sky

Just headaches and pee

Unless you are me

And could devour a whole goddamn pie.

High camp on Ixta

Apple pie sounded amazing right then and there. But alas, no pie. Angie wrote a few hilarious haikus (you can read her full poetry collection on her blog here) which were ten times as funny because she made herself laugh so hard she couldn’t even recite them, she had to write them down and have me read them. Here’s a great example when I suggested we write limericks about “I dunno, rocks, we’re surrounded by rocks?”

Writing about rocks is hard
When you don’t give a damn about rocks
Shit that doesn’t rhyme
I guess I just need some time
To have an opinion on rocks.

Once she decided to nap, I just dozed in the sun and listened to some trance until it was time for dinner and an early bedtime.

Halfway through the night I realized my face was sunburned. It was burning against my warm zero degree sleeping bag. God dammit. I didn’t sleep much. You could hear Popo grumbling in the distance, which was oddly unsettling and fascinating both at once. I had taken a half dose of diamox for the first time and was dealing with all the tingliness that comes along with it. Luckily it didn’t make me have to pee constantly, which is apparently the other main side effect.

Popocatepetl from high camp on Ixta

We got up around midnight, had a quick breakfast, and started off. Kali suggested playing “the country game” which goes like this: name every country that starts with A, then every country that starts with B, etc. I was fifth, and it was my turn. “Albania!” Already said. Hmm, Australia! That was said too. Armenia? Yup. AZERBAIJAN! No one knows that one, I thought proudly. Except everyone laughed, because Angie had just said it. Fine, uhh, Argentina. Fuckers. The morning was off to a great start. I suck at geography. We gave up at C.

Ixta is mostly a kitty litter filled scramble full of ups and downs and it would be pretty miserable if it didn’t have so many ridges to walk. There was snow for maybe a quarter mile if that, and the rest was just rock. Apparently the glacier used to be a large, crevassed beast, but what’s left of it is small and mellow. It was still damn cold, and Fozzy’s hot gatorade (it’s better than it sounds) was an awesome treat at every break. Much nicer to drink than ice cold water. I have a hard time drinking fluids, so I had made all my water bottle into raspberry lemonade hoping it’d make hydrating more fun. Should have made them all hot gatorade.

There’s a false summit, too, so don’t get your hopes up. Fozzy had warned us, so I was ready. He probably only mentioned it because I’m like a little kid in a car. Except instead of “are we there yet?” it’s “is that the summit?” I was trying to figure out how the body parts of Ixta worked and couldn’t just ask “where are the boobies?!” We weren’t on that level yet.

Ixta summit selfie!

We actually beat sunrise to the top, so Angie and I took a great summit selfie in the dark. We were at the top I swear. Angie hilariously couldn’t get her goretex pants to fit over harness, and laughing kept me almost warm in the pre dawn morning at 17,000ft.

Dallas and Austin’s rope teams coming down the ridge

The way back took longer than expected. We flew down the first section and paused to wait while I snapped more pictures of sunrise and the rest of our team coming down the ridge. Orizaba poked out in the distance. That’s where we were headed next! Clouds rolled in as we descended. Back to high camp to pack everything up and then to the vans down below, where beer, fresh sandwiches (mayo, avocado, cheese, turkey… oh man, amazing), and coke with real sugar(!) waited for us. Yeah, I ate the extra sandwiches.

Sunrise on the way down from the summit

We shipped our gear off to Tlachichuca, the town we were staying at below Orizaba, and hopped into the vans with our casual wear. “It’ll take 2 hours to get to town” we were told. And by 2 hours, they meant 3 and a half hours down bumpy dirt roads, so don’t expect to sleep in the car. Austin sniffed his clothes and announced that he “had a certain stench about him,” so I took the liberty of writing a limerick. Anything to stay entertained on that damn dirt road.

Our guide smells like sweat and B.O.

We wonder “oh when will it go?!”

But we can’t give him shit

Cause we have to admit

Do we smell like roses? Hell no!

Two climbers along one of the few icy sections

We spent the night in Puebla, which is a major city, not a small town like I expected. We checked out a few cathedrals, and got an amazing dinner followed by desserts on the house. Desserts were delicious, and so eloquently described by Erin – “sugary and the crust is just delicious!” Okay Erin, that’s about what we expect from a cookie, care to elaborate? You have such a way with words. The restaurant was also where we suffered the only injury of our entire trip: Barb tripped over a flower pot and got a sweet bruise. Orizaba and Ixta dealt no damage, but man those damn flowers were a hazard.

The hut on Orizaba

The next day we went up to the hut around 14,000ft on Orizaba. This was one of the coolest parts of the climb. I’ve never climbed outside the Cascades. The hut on Orizaba had so many climbers from so many different countries! Spanish, English, Italian, and German were all being spoken, and probably a few others that I’m forgetting. It had been foggy all day, and we only got a glimpse of the peak for 15 minutes but everyone ran outside to look at it and was chattering in whatever language came to mind first (English because I’m a true gringo).

Rainbow! Yeah baby!

There was even a rainbow! I had gone outside to use the bathroom and nearly fell over when I realized there was a rainbow and whipped around to go tell everyone. The Armenian team (I think) laughed at me but let’s be real they were just as excited about it. But besides those few brief moments, we were socked in by clouds.

Given the weather, we expected to leave camp in full goretex for the climb. Ugh. Just wait until I’m out the door. Even if it’s five minutes after we leave, just let me leave the hut in dry weather. I scurried up to my top shelf bunk (like the fine liquor right), popped another half diamox (please don’t have to pee please don’t make me have to pee) crawled into my sleeping bag and watched Fozzy, Dallas, and Austin cook. Angie and I narrated it like it was Iron Chef. That was hands down the best dinner we had the entire trip, in my opinion. Better than the place in Puebla, better than the steak restaurant we went to the last night. Orizaba Hut Kitchen was the best.

Fozzy’s team (I think) with Orizaba’s shadow

After dinner I drifted in and out of sleep listening to a few other guides and teams chat. We woke up around midnight again, to clear, starry skies! Yes! And it wasn’t even that cold! Fuck yes! I had brought overboots for my Nepal Evos because I couldn’t track down plastics quickly enough (or cheaply enough) and I was hoping to not have to use them. What I didn’t say is that my crampons were so damn old and rusty that they’re almost impossible to adjust, and that’s the real reason I didn’t want to deal with overboots. I tossed them in my pack and hoped for the best.

I actually felt pretty crappy starting out. Dehydration, probably, knowing me. Just sluggish and unmotivated. I was a little psyched out for the climb since I had only heard how tired/dehydrated/destroyed I’d be on the way down, and how long/tedious/cold the glacier was. I mean seriously guys, the bar was on the ground at that point. My expectations could not have been lower. During the first break Steve asked why no limericks, and I recited the most recent one about Austin being smelly to a few chuckles. It actually made me feel way better. Everything is a mental game, I guess.

Team above us on the way down, just before middle man tripped

Aaaaaand my feet were fine. As I was warned before the trip, they were uncomfortably cold, but they were fine. The rest of me was uncomfortably cold too, because we never really got moving fast enough for me to completely warm up, and breaks were miserably long and cold. And once we hit the glacier, the rope teams got a bit separated and I didn’t have Fozzy to pamper me with hot gatorade. I reverted back to my old distraction – taking photos. I suck at photography, but it kills time. So I have 50 pictures of the other two teams below with the mountain shadow in the background, and a team climbing above us. The team above us had one picture come out great, but what you don’t know is that the middle person is about to trip. He saw me taking pictures. He knows I documented it.

We took a long break just below the summit. Kali and I were bitching about being cold. “Put on your goretex pants!” Austin suggested. “Or just go faster…” Kali muttered, to which I perked up and added “or shorter breaks!” A few second later we saw something black tumbling down the glacier from one of our other rope teams. “That looks important…” Austin said. He was right. RIP Dave’s Camera. ~~Hope we didn’t lose any awesome photos of me. I mean,~~ hope you didn’t lose any great photos. Hopefully we took enough to make up for it!

After we got started again, I was laughing at how many switchbacks we had made and heard Kali exclaim behind me “What are we taking, the scenic route?!” and I burst out laughing and from there on out we were Team Scenic Route.

Team Scenic Route on top!

We finally made it to the ridge along the summit, and holy. Shit. That crater is awesome. I was expecting a Rainier type crater, but this was way more dramatic. Deep enough you couldn’t see the bottom, and surrounded by jagged, icy alpine edges. Totally neat. We spent almost an hour up there, I think. Pictures, snacks, frozen goldfish, frozen maple butter, crystal light (it is more fun than water). Apparently it was a surprisingly warm day for Orizaba, and thank god it was. No complaints here.

The awesome crater. Yeah yeah I know I need to fix the sun

Austin with Kali about to do a handstand on the edge of the world

We went back down the glacier at a moderate pace with Kali leading the charge, and that was the only time I was warm that whole day. We got to the bottom and waited another half hour (at least, that’s how it felt) for everyone to regroup and have some snacks and water. By the time we were moving, I was cold again. Man. The rest of the way back down the rock (and through the labyrinth, which I still have no idea how anyone knows where they’re going) the clouds were closing in, and we heard a bit of thunder. By the time we were nearing the hut, it was completely foggy again. We had gotten the perfect weather window for climbing.

Small section of the labyrinth

Back at the hut we packed everything up and loaded into vans to head back to the Reyes compound for the night. Their food is SO good. I mean I stand by my earlier statement (Orizaba Hut Kitchen was best kitchen), but the Reyes’s have some awesome food. And background music. We made a fire thanks to Austin’s boy scout skills, and sat around it figuring out what the hell to write in the guest book. We wanted a limerick, but I had to sleep on that one.

Bedtime was glorious. I slept so freaking well that night. The next morning we had a quick breakfast and piled back into the vans to return to Mexico City. I scrawled a limerick (okay, I made Angie write it because my handwriting is so bad) in the guest book. Barb had written a beautiful description about everyone’s efforts, the amazing weather windows we had on each peak, and the generosity of the Reyes family for hosting us in such a lovely place. And I followed that up with this:

Glaciers will stubbornly test

Whether you can get by with no rest

Put showers on hold

Just deal with the cold

And shitting in bags is the best!

Perfect contrast.

The way back to Mexico City was uneventful besides 1) the coffee place was out of the oreo mocha milkshake which was a bummer, so we got ice cream next door at 10am and 2) we thought the car’s air conditioning was broken until we were like 15 minutes from the hotel in Mexico City. We finally all joked about baking in the car and the driver was like “why didn’t you say anything?!” I just assumed the AC was broken! Jeez, it had gotten to the point where I got excited every time the car had to curve slightly right because it meant air from the front windows (back windows didn’t open) would reach the back row and blow in my face.

Orizaba summit selfie!

We got there in the early afternoon, and us ladies went out to explore a nearby plaza. Instead we ended up with tacos, margaritas, and mojitos at a bar. And it was great. Round 2? Why the hell not? It was warm, sunny, and finally felt like a vacation! I have no idea what the guys did, but there’s no way they had as much fun as we did. We had a quick siesta back at the hotel before meeting up with everyone for dinner.

The lovely bathroom accomodations on Orizaba (photo credit Steve)

That night was full of wine, steak, tequila (“…We… we need more!” was the immediate response to the waiter when he brought the first few glasses of tequila over) and general hilarity. At this point, everyone knew each other much better than the first night, and with a few drinks to fuel the fire, I think I almost cried laughing at several points. On the way back to the hotel we stopped off so everyone could get nice mescal with Fozzy’s advice, and back at the hotel… we decided to go to a bar instead. One last hurrah.

Sunday morning was a gloomy, sad-to-be-leaving affair. Angie and I ran into Dallas and Austin at breakfast, and later saw Barb with her friend Georgie as well. I was busy being mopey. The flights back were lame. Everything was lame. I got a crappy bag of cheesy chips that were overall disappointing. The security agent in the Mexico airport didn’t believe I didn’t have a laptop or tablet. I forgot to buy cheez its for my flight. I had a layover in Atlanta. The Entourage Movie was underwhelming. I had to pay to watch Amy, so I didn’t watch it. But I did get to watch Fast & Furious 5, 6, and 7 all in a row, which was nice I guess. And I got a huge beautiful SUV cab back to my apartment for the same cost as a regular cab because there were no regular cabs. Small miracles.

Oh, and then upon my return I threw everything into the wash, including my ipod. RIP tiny nano, you have served me well. Mexico was a great last hurrah.

Group summit photo on Orizaba! Stolen from IMG’s blog, no idea who took it since it isn’t in our shared folder 😦

Seriously, awesome trip. Great people, great location, unbelievably well organized. That Orizaba Hut Kitchen meal will never be repeated but it’ll be in my top 5 meals for a while (with Ruth’s Chris in Seattle once, the big mac I had the other night, this restaurant I can’t remember in Barcelona that was near our apartment, and New Park Pizza after Hurricane Sandy). Everyone in our group was easygoing with a great sense of humor, and I couldn’t have asked for better company. Team Scenic Route, it’ll be a dream if I get to climb with you guys again! Congrats on two spectacular summits and a fantastic trip.

Gunn Peak

Posted on November 1, 2015 by evejakubowski

The three musketeers!

I wasn’t totally convinced about this hike, but I hadn’t made any of my own plans for Saturday, so I figured why the hell not. Rob and John are good company, so worst case scenario I’d get a good laugh and a bit of a workout. I ended up getting both of the above, as well as a pleasant reminder that stunning, untouched scenery can be found without driving 3 hours into the wilderness. Hiked the first weekend of October, 2015!

Distance: no idea. 9 miles? 7 miles? Short for how long it takes.
Elevation: ~4000ft gain, 6210ft highest point
Weather: foggy until we got above the clouds, and then 40’s-50’s and sunny!
Commute from Seattle: 90 minutes
Did I Trip: I was going to count everyone’s slips/trips/wipeouts on the way down but I forgot to keep track! But yes. And we had two twisted ankles, some muddy butts, and a very tired dog.

Tarns in front of Townsend

Now I’m writing this three weeks late (and posting four weeks late) because I’m ~~busy~~ lazy, so we’ll see how much I remember. We drove out in pouring rain. Halfway there, sitting in traffic (on Rt 2!) in the dark dreary wet weather I realized I didn’t even care, I was just happy to be getting out. We were listening to Reel Big Fish, who can’t be happy listening to that? We even stopped on the way to get steak and veggies for a campfire meal. I’ve never really cooked over a campfire before besides sausages and stuffed mushrooms and other wrap-it-in-tin-foil-and-go, so this was new.

We pulled up to the trailhead, still in pouring rain. I set up my tent and layered up for the weather, and we started grabbing big rocks to set up the fire. With some small miracles (and a starter log, or two) we had enough of a fire going to heat up food, and John cut up the steak while I handled veggies. I eventually admitted I had never made a shishkabob when John had to assist with the peppers. The only instructions were “make them a good size so they don’t fall off the skewer” which I apparently could not handle. For you other newbies, that means like ~1″ in diameter.

Post-shishkabobs, it was bedtime. Another rainy night in a tent built for snow, though at least I remembered to open the vents this time. We had alarms set for 5am, and soon enough, we woke up to… more pouring rain. The general consensus was that we’d keep sleeping, so I rolled back into my sleeping bag burrito after peeking out the door.

Ripley looking damn good on one of the first scramble sections

We got up for real around 7, and made hot chocolate and coffee. After about an hour, the mist started to brighten, and then clear, and we got a glimpse of blue sky. We had originally resigned ourselves to doing Barclay Lake or Mt. Baring, but… you know what? Eff it, let’s try for Gunn. Might as well. Summitpost said it might take around 9 hours, and we had 9 hours. We all had headlamps and were content coming back after dark if necessary, assuming we had good blazes. Sweet.

The trail is back down the road, maybe a tenth of a mile from the Barclay Lake trailhead. There’s a small dirt road that leads to a campground, and it’s right before the campground that you’ll find the trail heading off to the right. When we were there, it was nicely blazed with hot pink blazes. Rob had brought orange tape for us to use, though we didn’t need it in many places.

Up and up and up

The trail goes maybe 150ft through a forest before you cross the stream, which was easy enough with plenty of logs and stones to hop across. I imagine when the water’s higher, it’s a bit more tricky. Once on the other side, the trail continues along what might have been a logging road at one point. I couldn’t tell besides the flat grade, but when someone pointed it out, I could totally see how it might be possible.

Don’t get complacent. The trail starts to go up, up, and up after a quarter mile on the flat forest-reclaimed road. It was reminiscent of the Eldorado approach, except I wasn’t carrying 50lbs. Just lots of roots, steep sections, and eventually, something I forgot existed: scrambles in the woods! After pushing aside plenty of tree branches along the bootpath and constantly being showered by water, we reached a rocky cliff, at which point you turn right and pretty much hug the rock for a while.

I always associate scrambles with open views and exposed rock. But there are some that are surrounded by trees, moss, roots, all those foresty things. We had Ripley (John’s dog) with us, and he had brought her life jacket (it has a handle on the back) in case we had to do a doggie belay and carry her up some sections. The first scramble was just a very short “traverse” to stay on the path, covered in moss and dripping with water because of the previous night. A few minutes after this, we reached a section that is probably a beautiful waterfall on occasion, but was pretty dried up this time of year. Cross that and immediately scramble up to the left and back into the trees. Yeah, this hike makes you work for those views.

Finally getting above the trees and brush, Baring in the background

Eventually the trees shrink into bushes and brush, and it feels like you’re making progress. But the brush isn’t much better. It’s thicker, harder to push out of the way, and does a damn good job of obscuring the path. And since it was all still wet… it all rains down every time you squeeze between bushes. But thanks to those blazes and the fact that much of it was trampled, there were few spots were we had to guess. I honestly expected it to be much more of a bushwhack than it was, but I think this late in the season, enough feet have been up there that it’s a little more well traveled.

I mean there was some fall foliage

Despite it being early October, there was only one section with real fall foliage, but damn was it vibrant. Finally we were out of trees, out of tall bushes, and surrounded by low colored, blazing heather and blueberry bushes and some scrubby plants I don’t recognize. I stood around snapping pictures constantly, and since Baring was in full view standing over the clouds I couldn’t stop. I had NO idea that there were pics so dramatic so close to Seattle. I thought most of the hikes within an hour or an hour and a half were more “rolling hill” style, with rounded tops, below the tree line, things like that. Not the sharp, dark rock we were looking at here. It felt so much more remote than I had expected.

Looking back at everyone approaching the talus field, Townsend and Merchant in the background

There was a bit of a bootpath through the fall foliage. We reached a saddle between Tailgunner and Peak 5760 (which I admittedly might be confusing with Point 5760), just east of Tailgunner and just south of a small valley with a few tarns near the base of Peak 5760. We dropped down almost to the tarns but rather than take a pleasant dip we hung left towards the talus field. The route to Gunn Peak is effectively straight across the talus field to the highest clump of vegetation right below a prominent rocky outcropping on the south face of the peak.

Aim for that highest slanted strip of trees below the rocky outcropping in center frame

Rob on the 3rd class scramble

We each chose our own way across that, and rejoined below the cliff band, which is where the real scrambling starts. Ripley had been a champ so far, but the 3rd class scramble was a bit too much for a dog. Ben, Vazul, and Evan agreed to hang with Ripley and take her over to Tailgunner while Rob led John and I up Gunn. We agreed to meet back at our lunch spot on the ridge between Tailgunner and Peak 5760.

Rob scaled the scramble with ease, and I waited below for him to clear the loose sections. When he was out of sight and well beyond the trees, I went up. I will say that some people (such as Rob) are very graceful scramblers. I am not usually among those. But there was nothing too hard, and I was up and in the trees soon enough, trying to find Rob. I had been making fun of him for putting up blazes for the entire hike, and now I didn’t know where he was. Ooh look! A blaze, just beyond the trees! Yes, aim for that, he must have put it there!

Nope, just a leaf. God dammit. But I was back out on another talus slope above the trees, and saw Rob up ahead of me scouting out the path. I figured we should wait for the others, so we decided he’d scramble a little further to figure out where we were headed and I’d wait to see who else joined.

John on the way back across the catwalk

After 10 or so minutes of waiting, the two of us were ready to continue when we saw John pop out of the trees below us. Sweet! We waited for him to catch up. You keep to the base of the cliff, negotiating talus until a gully opens up on your left side. Follow the gully, path of least resistance, and cross a notch when you reach the ridge. On the north side is where you’ll encounter the catwalk. It’s not Kendall Katwalk, it’s much narrower with a harrowing drop of 1000+ feet. Don’t fall. Follow that ridge, and soon enough, you’re on Gunn Peak! Which, despite being only 6200ft tall, is #29 on the most prominent peaks of Washington list with over 3651ft of prominence. Wow.

We couldn’t find a summit register. And damn did we look. It’s either not there, or it fell off the cliffs, or some asshat buried it under too many rocks. Ugh. We took a few photos, cracked open beers, and Rob laughed and called us the three musketeers. The three who made it to the top of Rainier back in August, and now the three who made it up Gunn Peak. Kudos, guys, you’re fantastic climbing partners.

Rob soaking in the views: Townsend, Merchant, and Baring all visible

Back through the fall foliage, even more vibrant in the late afternoon sun

Just as we sidled up to the clearing, we saw the other three coming back down. Perfect timing! We had spent quite a while on the summit, and I thought the rest of the group would be waiting for us. We met up and took a quick break before heading back down. I thought the way down went faster than the way up, but I’m a bad judge of time. Vazul and Evan and I were flying, and I got into a nice steady downhill rhythm. We stopped occasionally to wait for the others. At one point we were convinced they were lost near the sometimes-it’s-a-waterfall crossing, between someone yelling to ask where we were, general shouting, and the warnings (“ROCK!!!”) and what sounded like mini rockslides everywhere. We sat on the steep trail and waited for them to successfully make it over to us, where we were solidly back in the trees on dirt trail with no scrambling left.

Evan on one of the foresty scrambles

In my head, I was comparing it to Eldorado, which had a bitch of an approach. Going down from Gunn, that’s what I was expecting. But the forested section was much shorter than Eldorado, and I was thrilled when we were on the flat what-once-might-have-been-a-road section. Poor Ripley was exhausted, but had kept up with us the whole time! Every time we stopped on the way down she sat on the ground and tucked her paws beneath her. But she didn’t seem to want to admit it, because she still looked damn happy.

We had been hearing gunshots for a while, and as we got closer to the river, we realized we were pretty close to the shots. I was unnerved, but didn’t think much of it. I think I’ve already mentioned I grew up in east coast cities, dealing with gunshots in deep, dense woods is not among my talents. Ben and John started yelling from the back, and Evan, Vazul and I looked at each other and said holy shit, we didn’t even think of that. Duh. Make lots of noise. The shots stopped, and John and Ben kept yelling periodically just to make sure. Within 15 minutes, we had crossed the river and popped out near the campsite, and apparently surprised the shit out of a few guys doing target practice, aiming across the river. Right where we were. But they had heard us, and had stopped, and I learned rule #1 of being close to gunshots while bushwhacking: make it clear you’re a person.

The best time of day for the woods

Up and down within 9 hours, never lost, no injuries, amazing weather up above the clouds, and we were back before dark. An unbelievable day, well worth the soggy night at the trailhead. Ripley was too tired to jump in the car, and from what I heard, spent the next few days mostly sitting and occasionally limping around the apartment.

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout

Author Archives: evejakubowski