Green Mountain Lookout


Glacier Peak in the distance


Amazing for running!

Given the success of my hike the prior day, I figured I wanted one last easy alpine trip before calling it winter. Many of you know that when I first moved here and had no job and no friends and no family and nothing to do, I started hiking. That meant my hours of sitting were spend on WTA, learning everything I could about trails, discovering new areas, new views, new peaks (I didn’t know what Adams was!), new lakes (Lake Ingalls? Mind = blown), new adventures. So I started listing all of the hikes I wanted to do in a word doc. They were in order of driving distance, with notes like “this would be a good trail run” and “leave this for when you have more mountaineering experience” and “has lakes and rivers so good for cloudy days!” Many of them I have now knocked off as approaches to climbs, like Lake Ann or Heliotrope Ridge. But some are standalone hikes, and still deserve their own recognition. One of those on the list was Green Mountain Lookout. Finally hiked 10/29/2017!

  • Distance: 8.5 miles
  • Elevation: 3,300ft gain (6,500ft highest point)
  • Weather: 50’s and sunny
  • Commute from Seattle: 2:45 if you drive normally, 3:15 if you drive like a granny on gravel roads (me)
  • Did I Trip: Just a stubbed toe!


Fat grouse. Come be my dinner

My original hiking partner’s social life got a little out of hand, so I found myself waking up at 5am to go hike solo, which was actually fine by me since I needed the head space anyway. Green Mountain it was! Basically I drove like 6+ hours round trip just to hike for 3 but whatever, gotta get out. The Suiattle River Road sounds nice, but is actually a million miles of terrible washboard gravel road and it was a relief to get onto the Green Mountain turnoff, where the road became just rocky and not washboard. My car is awesome, but washboard absolutely destroys me. Apparently the term is “crabbing” where the car just skids sideways and it feels like the entire frame is shaking violently and falling to pieces. Potholes, get at me, rocks, you are my bitches, snow, meet my European mountain-snow-rated tires. Washboard…. ah, crap.


Let the foliage begin!!

After an eternity of skull-chattering road I parked next to the lone pickup at the trailhead, wolfed down a ton of peanuts, and started up. I had brought my hiking boots instead of trail runners expecting a bit of snow, and I wish I had brought trail runners. I did leave the axe and crampons in the car, so I didn’t look as foolish as the last trip.

The trail through the forest is a spectacularly smooth soft dirt trail and the elevation gain is quite mellow, or felt mellow compared to Sourdough the day before. The air smells wonderful, which I thought was a one-time thing when I was at Downey Creek back in June since it had been so long since I had been to mountains but I guess it’s just delicious regardless. And you aren’t even in the forest that long! After 1.5 miles you break out onto meadows slopes that dip in and out of trees, and I imagine they’re vividly green in the summer because the slopes were covered in ferns. But this time of year, it should be called Patchy-Red-And-Brown-Mountain, because there was no green to be seen.


“Green Lake”

I trekked up through dead and dying ferns, with occasional bursts of yellow and red foliage. The first slopes you see are not the slopes to the summit, but a lower-lying winding ridge that you could follow to the top if you so desired. But there was no snow, so I stuck with the summer trail. It wound past a small lake that had started to freeze over, which is where you get your first views of the lookout. And – blueberries!! It’s the end of October and there are freaking blueberries! They were mostly overripe, but there were a few gems in there. I alternated snapping pictures and stuffing my face. Glacier Peak hovers over you to the east for the entire hike, and Sloan, Pugh, and White Chuck decorate the horizon south and west. Pretty cool being able to say you’ve been up those (with the exception of White Chuck).


First glimpse of the lookout (center)

The trail traverses the slope beneath the lookout and then continues its switchback pattern beyond the basin, up and up to the ridge east of the lookout. You finally top out to spectacular views of the Downey Creek drainage, where my Patagonia jacket lies in a nest for whatever wild animal found it back in June. RIP. Dome looms massively one ridge over, and you can see all of the peaks of the Ptarmigan Traverse and the lesser known Buckindy Traverse (shh, don’t tell anyone about that one). The final hike to the lookout ends in what is remarkably similar to a sidewalk, except in the sky. It was windy, so I dropped my pack and huddled on the sheltered side of the lookout drinking in views of Snowking and Mt. Chaval, two peaks that are probably underrated just because you can’t see them from any major highways.


Ptarmigan Traverse peaks and Downey Creek drainage, RIP my jacket


Baker, Chaval, Shuksan, Snowking (cut off)

I whipped out my peakfinder app to confirm it was Mt. Chaval, and it turned out I had cell service, so I made sure to whine to everyone in the city about how I had forgotten my peanut butter snack and was stuck with salami and cheese. A lone female trail runner caught up to me and took a break by the lookout just as I started to head down, and a few minutes later I ran past yet another solo female hiker on her way up. Ladies, represent!! I hear so many people panicking about women hiking alone, or being concerned that I’m hiking alone, or being surprised to see me on the trail hiking alone, I get pumped when I see others. It’s normal, guys. I used to be scared of people on the trails and on the forest roads leading to the trails but it turns out it’s just a bunch of other Eves. Get out and enjoy the world, there’s so much to see!


Bad ass trail runner cresting the final ridge to the lookout


Buckindy group beyond the first ridge

I was back at the car about an hour after leaving the top, which was almost a bummer because it was such a beautiful day. I always feel like I wasted a day if I’m back before te sun sets. Should have traversed the ridges, or chosen a longer hike. But it was awesome to finally get to see something that’s been on the list since 3 years ago when hikes like Snow Lake or Kendall Katwalk blew my mind. You need to get back to your roots and remember why you hike, or why you climb, and I’ve spent a few months doing exactly that. It’s been a long time since I was excited for every corner, for every switchback, for every patch of color and every view even if it’s a view I’ve seen a million times. And that’s how the past few trips have been.


Looking back along the ridge from just below the lookout

Vesper Peak via Ragged Edge


Sperry from the hike route on Vesper

Last minute plans are sometimes the best plans. On Friday night I was bitching about no one wanting to go on an alpine climb (we were going cragging at Index on Saturday) when JT suggested Robert and I go do Ragged Edge after cragging. I thought Ragged Edge was a 5.9 route, so I laughed and ignored the idea. Turns out, Ragged Edge is a 5.7, and lucky for me Robert brought all his overnight gear to Index. So when I said “hey, wanna drive to Vesper and hike up after this and do Ragged Edge in the morning?” the answer was uhhh, hell yeah! Climbed 8/5-8/6, in the midst of the near-apocalyptic smoke from the BC wildfires.

  • Distance: 8 miles
  • Elevation: 4200ft gain, 6200ft highest point
  • Weather: 90’s 70’s and smoky
  • Commute from Seattle: ~2:30, 2 hours flat if you drive like Robert
  • Did I Trip: No! Suckers


Smoky pink sunrise over Morning Star

We got to the trailhead around 8 after a round of post-index burgers, and started up the trail at 8:30. The road is reported as closed, but it’s not. There was a sign but everyone was driving past it. Do so at your own risk. We settled on bringing hiking boots and rock shoes, and left traction and ice axes at the cars. The bright side of hiking up at night is that the heat doesn’t break down your mind and body and soul like it does from 11am-3pm, so we cruised up to the talus field below Headlee Pass without issue, minus some whining about the soft kitty litter scree on the trail. The cairns along the trail were actually helpful(!) and perfectly spaced out so that when I stood by one, my headlamp just barely illuminated the next. Headlee Pass itself was a series of surprisingly pleasant switchbacks in the dark. I reached the top, went to pee while Robert caught up, and then we took off across the talus traverse to the lake. We agreed to camp at the first damn spot we found, and that spot was a nice flat grassy clearing just above the outlet stream. We popped open some cider, talked about how incredible everything was, and spent the next 6 hours alternating between fighting off mice and dozing while the mice got back into our packs. Okay, my pack.


Robert checking out the hazy sun over Sperry on the approach

I woke up to a mostly eaten doughnut (…dammit) and a partially consumed apple cup (DAMMIT). I did a bad job of defending my food. Apparently nudging it with your foot when you hear munching isn’t enough to get mice to run away. Plus now they’ve tasted the glory that is Sultan Bakery, and they’ll be hungry for more. We debated whether we should pack up the bivvies and stash them in bushes (risk an unsuspecting hiker carrying them down or back to town thinking we forgot them), or leave them there to be clear it was a campsite (risk them being stolen or eaten). We settled on the latter and headed off to the start of the route.


Dying glacier, not sure if it has a name

Whatever directions you’ve heard about the approach, forget them. Just follow the regular trail towards the summit until you finally get above the last clump of trees (~5500ft) and cross slabby rock to the right. The notch is very, very obvious, with several cairns, and the route is so popular you’ll probably pass campsites the entire way. From the notch there’s a series of ledges you follow until you’re at the start of the route. There were two groups already there, one that was starting up the layback variation and one starting up the original. The guys on the layback were already climbing whereas the group on the original was still roping up, so we figured we’d follow the variation.


Robert leading the second pitch

The first pitch of the variation starts with a sweet layback (that can also be climbed just as jugs besides the last move, which I forgot) and then follows basically some nontechnical terrain to the base of the second pitch, which honestly… we never really found it. I just sat in a comfy spot on some 2nd class ledges with only a horn slung as an anchor and belayed Robert up, who continued onto the second pitch. You can sling or thread an enormous boulder as well. Robert scrambled up a diagonal ledge behind me trending west, up and onto slabs, where he could clip bolts (turns out this route is half sport) and finally discovered the “faint white dyke” that supposedly marks the start of the pitch (lies, I tell you). From the slabs he traversed right and up a short gully to the bolted anchor. The slab traverse sucks, but if you go nearly to the top of the slab there’s a nice horizontal crack you can follow with your hands for a bit instead of just smearing sideways forever.


Robert waiting at the second belay

I took the third pitch, which goes one step right and then up and left across (woohoo!) more slabs! Keep heading left until you reach the arete. I stayed just right of the arete, where there is a crack for gear, a bolt, and a fixed pin (I’m not confident in my pin-evaluating skills so I backed it up with a nut just in case). The mini arete takes you to a short ledge, where you traverse right for an awesome gear anchor in a corner crack below the blocky boulders of the fourth pitch. If there’s already a party in the right corner crack, then there’s another crack right above where you top out on the ledge just barely to the right of the arete. Coordinate with the other groups and make new friends, there’s plenty of space. This pitch was a blast, possibly my favorite of the whole climb. And it lends itself to awesome photos.


Robert coming up the third pitch


Robert leading the fourth pitch

Robert led the fourth pitch, which was blocky climbing to a variety of choose-your-own-adventure cracks to another bolted belay, where I followed after taking like 50 pics of the group below us. We swapped gear and I continued up onto the fifth pitch (can you tell how amazing swinging leads is from this), which I had read was exposed but honestly it’s not that bad. It follows thin cracks and edges (which might as well have been slabby feet with finger cracks, ugh) up and right to another bolted anchor on the arete. The first few steps were awkward, I remember being very aware of the exposure until Robert started singing Gaston (yes, from Beauty and the Beast) and naturally I joined in, clipping a cam while admiring how many eggs Gaston eats for breakfast. The pitch ended up being more traversing than up, yuck, but it was a fun one. At the chains I belayed Robert awkwardly (made the anchor a bit too long so it was hard to pull up slack quickly and he’s a damn fast climber) up and we decided I’d lead the last pitch too. Awesome. Nothing like topping out on the final pitch of a climb.


Robert coming up the fifth pitch

I started up and it was all going smoothly until I dropped the entire carabiner of nuts on my feet. Well, my foot. Which was nicely jammed in a crack. How do you squat to pick shit up when you’re hanging in a crack with a hand jam and a foot jam? God dammit. How did I let this happen. I tossed in a cam and clipped into it just in case. And then I started the awkward process of collecting the various pieces, which miraculously hadn’t fallen off my foot. Don’t lean left, don’t lean right, don’t even breathe on them. It probably took me a solid 5 minutes to collect everything and get moving again. Apologies to the group behind us – we had always been stuck behind the group in front of us, but while I took my sweet ass time scattering gear like dandelion seeds the burden of slow-ass team was on me.


Robert coming up the last pitch, Copper Lake and Big Four in the background

Past that I cruised up the arete (which must be the only “ragged edge” of this climb) overanalyzing gear placements and one-inch heather ledges until I was at the top, where I whooped and slung a fat horn. That’s an easy anchor right there. Robert asked me if I had built anything. Don’t trust the horn? I threw two cams in a crack too and brought him on up where we raved about how amazing alpine climbing was and how cool it was even with the smoke and how it was addicting and why would you ever go cragging and I can’t wait until next weekend. We finally took off our rock shoes and put on the hiking boots we had carried on our harnesses (hahaha… ahaha… ah… bring trail runners), downed some snacks, and headed back to see just how much of our gear the mice had eaten.



You can avoid the snow on the way down if you want to, but it’s not bad. The slabs are quick moving, and we were back at camp to rescue our gear from the vermin. I filled up my water bladder at the outlet stream as a guy jumped in for a swim right upstream of me. Now I have all your slick sweaty body grease in my water source you jerk. Robert didn’t fill up (I offered him my iodine tablets, to which he responded “yeah but I want to be able to DRINK the water” – iodine tablets taste like dump), but requested my “giardia water” several times on the way down. I haven’t been sick out both ends yet, so I think we avoided the giardia. Knock wood.

We were back at the trailhead around 3. My legs were surprisingly tired. Robert had mentioned chicken bacon ranch sandwiches on the way down, and I had not been able to get the image out of my head for hours. We needed to know where the closest Subway was. We didn’t have cell service. Okay, whoever gets service first googles the closest Subway and tells the other. Robert took off, passing two other cars on a gravel stretch while I laughed in my car because I knew I had no chance of passing them. I might have made it past them like 35 minutes later in an actual passing zone, but by then Robert was way ahead.


Rolling down easy slabs with Morning Star, Del Campo, and Gothic in the back

We rolled into Subway basically drooling. Robert drank a gatorade before even reaching the counter. The cashier laughed as we lit up over sandwich ingredients, and apologized when she saw Robert had taken an empty beverage from the fridge (“he drank it he didn’t find it!!!”). That sandwich was one of the best things I had ever eaten. And it was still sunny out. I was home at a reasonable hour, in bed at a reasonable hour, crazy shit was happening. It was amazingly nice to have a whole weekend go that smoothly, that successfully. Ragged edge is a sweet route, probably a softer 5.7 in my opinion, and somewhat crowded. But if you’re the type to complain about crowds, you shouldn’t be on that route. Oh, and I strongly recommend bivvying, because it makes everything that much more pleasant.



Sweet silhouette pic on the approach