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)

Tower Mountain and Golden Horn

Posted on October 6, 2015 by evejakubowski

Rob and Simon at the beginning of the scramble

Edit: Happy one year anniversary to the blog! Woo! Here’s a link to my first ever post… it’s come a long way, as have my photography skills (or lack thereof) and tendency to keep talking.

With much of the Cascades getting a solid amount of fresh snow on Friday, we figured we’d avoid potential avalanchey situations and check out the dry, east side. A forecast of “Sunny, 0% precipitation” turned into “Mostly cloudy, snow, and freezing temperatures,” but when has that stopped us? We met at the trailhead parking lot Friday night and got started Saturday morning for what I thought was a 7 mile approach. Hiked 9/26/2015-9/27/2015!

Distance: 24ish miles round trip (surprise! 10 mile approach!)
Elevation gain: ~7000ish?
Weather: high 20’s and snowing to 50’s and sunny. Yay, mountain weather!
Commute from Seattle: Just over 3 hours
Did I Trip: I fell on my ass twice and struggled like a beached whale to get over the final summit block if that counts
GPX file here (summitpost also has one for just Golden Horn)

Awesome topography in every direction

So there was one potential issue with this trip from the beginning that I neglected to tell my teammates: I was sick. For those of you who don’t know me, I almost never get sick. So when I do, I’m a victim of the man cold. It’s all over, I must be dying, what do I do? Do I eat soup and wash my hands a lot? I have no idea. Actually, you know what might cure me? 48+ hours of physical exertion, little sleep, no showers, and sleeping (trying) in a germ cocoon. Yeah, that’ll do it.

Kacie in fall colors

I knew John and Rob from Rainier back in August, but had just met Kacie and Simon. Simon pulled up in a manual transmission off-roading jeep and immediately offered me hot chocolate, so he had to be cool. Kacie made herself crack up all alone by changing the color of her inflatable tent lamp, so she had passed the test too. After a soggy night that staunchly defied the “0% precipitation” forecast, we got started.

From the beginning, the hike was gorgeous, even in the fog. The approach is entirely along the PCT, meaning mellow, well groomed, soft flat trails. Almost no elevation gain. We made good time. I had been worried about keeping up due to my abject lack of energy, but I did okay. Green trees and dirt gave way to white granite and larches, and soon enough we were all in a constant state of wonder. Everywhere you turned was beauty, it didn’t matter where you looked.

A few miles into the trail, I turned around and saw Simon talking on a banana phone, and Kacie exclaimed “You have service up here!? Do you have A Tree&Tree?!” and in that moment, I knew we had an awesome group.

Flat, well groomed PCT

We continued along the PCT with occasional glimpses of Tower and Golden Horn through the clouds, but it didn’t seem like weather was clearing up. The trail is very straightforward, since you’re on one of the most well-maintained trails in the state. The offshoot for Snowy Lakes is maybe a quarter mile after you pass beneath Tower Mountain, directly across from an open field with a few campsites (and in our case, four far ass marmots lying on a rock). The trail turns from beautiful flat highway to steep and rocky, but not too steep and rocky. We were just spoiled by the PCT, and being back on a less maintained trail was hard.

Snowy Lakes were stunning as soon as we came around the corner. We set up camp on a ledge sheltered from the wind at the lower lake, in a nook away from the mobs of people (all relative, it was like 20 people total). Luckily, there were rocks. I had been worried about setting up my tent. I hadn’t camped on a non-glacier in… well… a long time. Did I need stakes? What if there weren’t rocks? How do you keep it from flying off in wind if you can’t deadman anything!? Oh wait, there won’t be as much wind. It was pretty out of place, but damn if that orange didn’t look great against the yellow larches and bright blue water.

It’s a little out of place

Looking back at Mt. Hardy

We waited a bit longer before aiming for Tower, hoping for weather to clear up, but since it wasn’t improving, we got moving. Onward! We went off trail a bit to get to the talus slope, and from there you just work your way to a cave that’s very visible from Snowy Lakes. Cross to the right in front of the cave, and you will find yourself in the main gully. As you gain elevation, views open up, and the ridgeline that grows into Hardy was a very neat topographical feature. If only it had been clearer.

We made it to the cave, and someone said “Rave cave! We even have hula hoops!” I laughed and said “really?!” before realizing what a gullible idiot I was. There are no hula hoops in the wild. Except five minutes later, crossing the cave entrance, there were hula hoops! Holy shit, I didn’t think you were serious! Okay, perk for the way back. We were watching clouds drop lower and lower on Tower as some low hanging dark clouds came towards us from Black Peak, so we wanted to move fast. I announced that I didn’t think we’d get dumped on, we just wouldn’t have views.

Snow in the gully (Photo credit: John)

Well, I’d be a shitty forecaster, because within 15 minutes, it was snowing. I’ll work on that. We made it to the gully (continue east past the cave and you’ll see the gully on your left) where we ran into a four person team that had turned around and had been waiting a long time for the other half of their group to get back. Much of the rock was frozen over, icicles included, not to mention the gully was a bowling alley of rocks to begin with. We let them pass us since they were turning around, and decided we’d still give it a shot. The left side is smoother with more exposure, the right side is more jagged with more prominent footholds and handholds, and that’s the way I’d suggest going.

It didn’t matter, we didn’t make it very far. We turned around maybe 200 vertical feet from the summit. It just wasn’t worth it. Cold fingers, low visibility, snow, rock fall, icicles, the potential for the entire fourth class scramble to be a sheet of ice on our way down… meh. We turned back, knocking down a microwave sized rock in the process. The other group was long gone, but it’s still a little unnerving.

Why would you stay at home when you can hula hoop in a cave on the side of a mountain?! (Photo credit: John)

Nearly back at the cave, Rob turned to me and just said “we should hula hoop!” I thought he was joking, but to hell with it, we got to the cave and picked up those damn hula hoops and went for it! There is nothing more hilarious than John and Rob hula hooping in a cave in the snow at 8,000ft. Well maybe the human ladder that happened 24 hours later, but we’ll get to that. We hula hooped, we broke into bouts of Beach Boys songs and dancing. I had Surfin Safari in my head (why? it’s the furthest topic from what we’re doing) and had shamelessly sung the opening verse a few times, which eventually triggered a spontaneous performance of Barbara Ann since we had a perfect division of bass voices and sopranos (if I try to be shrill enough). Barbara Ann became the song of the trip, much like Come and Get Your Love back on Eldoardo. It’s just hilarious and makes me smile every time. Anyway, imagine hiking up to a cave and there’s a bunch of people hula hooping in snow singing that. That would have happened, except that no one else was up there, because it was gross out.

Rave cave! (There was a bivvy spot in the back if you’re ever stuck)

Jesus brings out the sun back at the lakes

Energy renewed and spirits lifted, we set out back down the loose talus to head back to camp. Simon had turned around earlier, and we wondered what he might have in store for us. More hot chocolate? A fire? No, that’s a lot to ask. We stopped to take pictures of the snowy larches, lament how the weather wasn’t doing us any favors, and joke about how it was so foggy there WAS no peak to summit, I mean if you turn around there’s just nothing there! At Rob’s suggestion, we considered pathetically yelling “Simon!” in the fog close to camp, hoping he’d get the Touching the Void reference. But it wasn’t foggy enough, and we were so excited by what Simon had for us back at camp that we forgot anyway.

Not only was there hot chocolate, there was a fire! In the snow! Woo! We had our hot drinks and crowded around it warming up, until someone turned around and saw the sun breaking through the clouds across upper Snowy Lake. We dropped everything except cameras (and in Simon’s case, his precious fifth of vodka) and ran to the upper lake to take pictures. A group of unhappy looking campers was making dinner as we excitedly ran past to see the sun on the lake, and the next hour was spent running everywhere like overexcited chickens snapping pictures, talking to other pictures, doing karate, walking on water, skipping rocks (or trying to learn how, for me – “did you even have a childhood?!”) and enjoying the situation to its fullest.

Sun sneaking beneath the clouds

“I’m a blackbelt what’d you expect?”

We finally figured we had overstayed our welcome at the upper lake. We were loud, and I proclaimed it was time to go back to our corner. We invited everyone to come to our fire, where we had plenty of food and drinks. Alcoholic or just cozy, take your choice. No one took us up on our offer besides a camper across Lower Snowy Lake from us, who couldn’t resist the offer of fire and warm drinks and hilarious jokes. We crowded around it again as night fell, and thoroughly enjoyed our Backpacker’s Pantry meals, tabasco hot chocolate (sorry Kacie, I’m not sold on it), spiked hot chocolate, various kinda of tea, and finally, an apple crumble dessert. From Mountain House. Dehydrated. It was delicious, and would make a great breakfast too. Take note.

My body finally caught up to me, and I retired to my tent. My germ cocoon. Friday night I had felt iffy, Saturday night was doomsday. Doomsnight. I snuggled in my sleeping bag, freezing cold, and waited out the misery. Come on, body. Get over yourself, you have shit to do tomorrow. I finally gave up around 6am and left the tent to explore the outdoors since sleep was clearly a hopeless endeavor.

Golden Horn reflected in Lower Snowy Lake

Mt. Hardy reflected in Upper Snowy Lake

I got to watch sunrise light up Golden Horn, and snap pictures of reflections in the lakes. I hit up the lower ridgelines to look out over the clouds at the ridge across the valley. Eventually everyone else woke up and we made tea and hot chocolate. Guys, I’m used to being up and moving within an hour of waking up. Sitting around for three hours drove me insane. I don’t work well with casual starts, apparently.

We finally got moving a little after 9am. There was a group ahead of us on Golden Horn that I had run into before the rest of my team woke up, so I knew we’d have company. I was a little worried about keeping up with everyone given how I was feeling, but eh, I’d play it by ear. We were in such a beautiful place, it wouldn’t even matter if I missed out on the peaks.

Looking back at Tower over Snowy Lakes

The hike to Golden Horn is almost entirely line of sight – walk across scree fields until you’re nearly at the base of the summit block, and then do a little class three scrambling to wrap around to the southwest side of the peak. A short gully will bring you to the final few steps. Here, stay on the southwest side of the peak, don’t try to go for the north side. The other group had been staring at the northwest side for a long time, and was about to give up when we showed up and scouted out the southern side. We all joined up, and Joe offered to lead it.

He used two cams, 1 and .75 I think. There was a great horizontal crack in the second slab, and the second crack he utilized was between a flat boulder and the cube of granite that made up the final move to the summit. An elegant muscle up/shimmy combination, and he was on top! We let their team wrap up before sending John up to top rope our group.

Rob on the shimmy move

I couldn’t figure out what the hell was taking John so long to get a good anchor set up. He finally got it worked out, and I got Kacie roped up and ready to go on her first rock climb. Go big or go home! Rob was up next after Kacie tapped the summit, and he made the muscle up/shimmy move look easy. John lowered him, and it was my turn. Getting up to that top move was a breeze, so I figured it couldn’t be that bad. I hopped up, got my elbows over the edge, and immediately realized it wouldn’t be so easy. For anyone who knew me in high school and college, my eight-straight-pull-up days are long over, and it was a pitiful fall from glory. My shoulders and lats forgot how to exist. I told John to drop me back to the flat ledge. I was gonna give it one more try before admitting defeat. Come on body, one push, just one push. With a shot of luck and a bit of a jump, I managed to drag my ass over the edge, only slightly resembling a beached whale. Hell. Yes. (note: how are there no pics or videos of people getting stuck trying to get out of a pool?! That’s what it was like)

Kacie got a solid 10 pics of the struggle

Got there eventually! (Photo credit: John)

I snapped a few pictures, laughed at John’s anchor (which was amazing but impressively precarious to set up, which is why it had taken so long), and had him lower me back down. Naturally I had wanted to rappel, but he was reluctant, and I realized I was in no condition to argue given how shitty I was feeling, and probably not in the best state for any major decisions either. Great, I’ll downclimb.

We finally went to regroup with Simon, who had patiently waited at the notch while we figured out the technical pitch. There was a tricky ledge we had to get across. I scuttled down it just fine (I think my state of mind took away the “look what’s below you, or isn’t” fear) but Simon announced that the previous group had used him as a human ladder, and when Kacie wasn’t sure about getting across, he grabbed a rock at the end, hung his body along the ledge and said “Okay, go, climb me!”

Simon sacrifices his body for the greater good

Simon coming back down the scramble

I think I cried laughing. Kacie’s face says it all. John was up next, and finally we were all across the ridge. At one point, I think Rob had told Simon he didn’t have to wait for us, and Simon had said “No, you need me to get down!” We had no idea what that meant until the human ladder happened. Simon for MVP!

From there, we made quick work of the hike back to camp. Plunge-stepping down scree is much easier than hiking up it, and before I knew it we were back at camp. Which was great, because I was losing hearing in my right ear (it still hasn’t returned three days later) and was on my way towards becoming a very useless group member. We took a break by the lake while everyone packed up tents (I can pack up that tent in like 10 minutes now). We finally had the lakes to ourselves, since everyone else had left. I ate about 1500 calories in one sitting. A beef and cheese burrito, a full thing of maple butter, a bag of m&ms, a kind bar, the combos that had spilled all over the brain of my bag. “Cheese flavored filling,” not even cheese. Whatever, they’re delicious.

The way the light reflected off the lake was ridiculous. That’s Rob in the bottom left corner for scale

The hike back out was the perfect end to a trip. Sunny, smooth, greeting PCT through-hikers, golden hour, and (we had hoped) the lunar eclipse. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch a glimpse of the moon. We knew it was a supermoon, so when we saw tons of stars, we knew the moon had to be eclipsed. On the drive back, the moon was so bright it kept startling me when it flashed through the windows, and I stopped while crossing a bridge to get a good look.

I got back to Seattle a little after midnight, and succumbed to another miserable night. Turned out my bed wasn’t much better than the sleeping bag/tent/germ cocoon combo. And I probably hadn’t done myself any favors by going on that trip. But you know what? 100% worth it. Gorgeous area, awesome company, and one (and a half) stunning, enjoyable peaks. I think next year I’d like to turn it into a trail run if I don’t have time to take up a full weekend, and maybe take another shot at Tower. Or Hardy, which I’ll have to research, but I chatted with Dave at the top of Golden Horn and we thought it looked pretty doable. And I can only hope my next trip involves people as hilarious as the four I was with. Hula hoops and human ladders for all.

Fall foliage at golden hour

Mt. Shuksan (via Fisher Chimneys)

Posted on September 24, 2015 by evejakubowski

Whose beautiful Nemo tent is that

Turns out mountaineering gear is good for many things, like snow, cold weather, and the high winds that accompany sitting in the bed of a pickup truck on the highway. Okay, now between that and the title, you can probably already extrapolate exactly what happened. But assuming you’re here for pretty pictures and entertainment, you might as well read on.

Distance: 24 miles, I think
Elevation: I don’t want to know
Weather: Mountain-forecast is a liar. Fog, fog, snow, and fog, and 30’s to 40’s
Commute from Seattle: well that depends which trailhead you’re starting at. Fisher Chimneys is about 3 hours, Sulphide is about 2:30
Did I Trip: I slow-motion sat once
GPX file: haha, no, because then you’ll see how many tries it took us just to find the damn chimneys

I’m convinced that climbers keep this route description a little convoluted just to maintain the challenge, and keep us plebs out. I’ll see if I can maintain that while giving you a bit more to chew on.

We left Seattle at 6am on Saturday. I’m usually all about trailhead camping and early starts, but this seemed like it’d be a quick route, so why not be a little more casual? We had sunny blue skies pulling up to the trailhead, and Shuksan was snow covered and stunning with fresh snow. I haven’t been so excited for a climb in a long time. Fisher Chimneys had been a route I had wanted to try for months, and here was the chance!

Bonus pic: It totally looks like a bird. Seahawk Serac. (Go Pats!)

We set off on the trail, immediately hiking down into a valley full of fog. And… that would be the last time we saw the sun pretty much for days. With the exception of a few glimpses here and there.

Fall color starting along the Lake Ann trail

The trail to Lake Ann is very well maintained and easy to follow, though there are a few offshoots to other areas as well. We passed plenty of people on their way to and from the lake, everyone hoping we’d get above the fog. Fall color was just barely beginning to show, though we couldn’t see much of our surroundings due to the mist.

We chatted with a hiker who had been up the Fisher Chimneys route before, and I almost didn’t ask but finally caved. I had heard rumors of a composting toilet somewhere on the chimneys route: was it true? He laughed. “No, but it’s a great route for chuckadook.” I giggled. Chuckadook? Is that what it sounds like? “Yep, you find a nice flat rock, drop a dookie, pick it up, and use the rock to fling it as far as you can. Beats a blue bag!” I could have cried laughing. What was even better was the young girl with them (maybe 10) trying not to giggle, and the look of horror on who I can only assume was this man’s mother. We wished them a good hike and as they walked off I heard her go “TWO MINUTES AND THAT’S ALL IT TOOK FOR YOU TO TALK ABOUT POOP” “no no it’s okay they get it they’re climbers, it’s just a normal topic of conversation” and they faded into the distance while I tried to regain composure, still giggling about “chuckadook.”

Foggy Lake Ann from near the bottom of the Chimneys

We didn’t even know we had reached the lake until we were nearly past it, because you couldn’t see it through the fog. I hear it’s beautiful, I’ve seen pictures of Shuksan looming over it, and all we had was a wall of white. We took the boot path to the left, a much more well maintained trail than I thought. It turns out the trail goes all the way to the Lower Curtis Glacier. Which we didn’t realize, until it was too late.

Hint: The standard route departs from the trail several gullies before the Lower Curtis Glacier. We were socked in by fog, and finally decided to take a snack break and check a map to see if we could get our bearings. We heard a huge rumble in the background – what was that?! a plane? Rock fall? Who knows. We definitely need to gain elevation, and might have passed the turnoff/scramble that will lead us to the Chimneys… okay, so we need to backtrack. Whatever, goldfish and kind bars first.

And the skies clear! Upper Curtis and Lower Curtis

And the skies clear! Upper Curtis (where Hell’s Highway is) and Lower Curtis

And suddenly I hear “WHOA! WHOA OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHOAAAAA!” (double rainbow word for word with an equal level of enthusiasm) and I turn around to see the clouds clearing, and we’re sitting freaking 20 feet away from the Lower Curtis, which has a stark terminus full of jagged seracs all lined up, with hell’s highway and dramatic rocky peaks suspended above it. Hoooly shit. I nearly fell over. This is what it looks like. This is where we are, and we had no idea. That rumbling had been the freakin glacier! There was still a small pool of cloud hanging just over the glacier, but Shukan is a beautiful mountain. Nothing can compare.

Well, now it was certain we had overshot. So we backtracked to where the Fisher Chimneys trail turned off, which is clearly marked by cairns, I’m apparently just blind. This led us up to a stream, which we eventually concluded needed to be crossed, following by some vague scrambling that finally dumped us onto a boot path for a while. Thank goodness, because we were not doing so hot with navigation.

Bottom of Lower Curtis – those seracs!

For the next hour or so, everything went smoothly. We had trail, we had maps, we had cairns. Finally we reached the entrance to the chimneys. “It’s a really obvious gully” we were told. Well to whoever said that: you’re full of shit. We tested several different gullies before finally finding one that didn’t involve class 5 moves along mossy rocks, and we were off.

Guys, I love this shit. Almost as much as I love technical glacier travel. Fisher Chimneys was great because the few fourth class moves you encounter are like solving puzzles. There were several very exposed parts, so I would not attempt this one until you’re pretty comfortable on rock. We did belay Ben up one section, though I think it was all in his head because as soon as John had him on belay, he scaled the wall like it was nothing. Lucky for us, despite the clouds and occasional rain, the rocks were still pretty dry.

John during part of the scramble

We hit snow a few dozen vertical feet below the White Salmon Glacier, and upon cresting the ridge, I started to relax. The chimneys had gotten stressful towards the top since it turns out not everyone enjoys exposed scrambles as much as I do, and I was happy to get to terrain that everyone in the group knew well. We roped up and aimed for winnie’s slide, which we found like 15 minutes later. It’s close.

And we were just in time, because it was dark within 20 minutes. We were originally planning to camp higher, but this would do. We found two tent sites and set up. Clouds stayed where they were, and moments after I pitched my tent, it started to snow. We cooked in the vestibule, and I heated extra water so I could sleep with a warm water bottle.

Home sweet home (Winnie’s Slide on the left)

I spent the whole night freezing. I have no idea why, but I was so cold. Just not feeling it, I guess. I need a warmer sleeping bag, I know that. Mine’s rated to 15 degrees, but the “comfort” rating is 30 degrees. It wasn’t as bad as Shuksan back in August, though, because at least all of my belongings weren’t soaked through with water. Too cold to sleep, I more or less waited for morning. I figured I could nap during the day, since we knew conditions would be lousy and planned to lie low.

Morning came eventually, and I sat up when I heard John and Ben rustling around in their tent. I opened my door, and it was snowing real snowflakes, fat, white, cold snowflakes, like Christmas! I couldn’t help being thrilled, the first snow of the year always fills me with a childish joy, and this was real snow. We crossed our fingers and hoped for it to clear up, and spent the next six or so hours eating, napping, whatever kept us happy.

Crevasses and moderate visibility (not the worst we had all trip…)

Towards early afternoon, we figured this was about as good as it was going to get, and we packed up to move to a higher camp. Winnie’s slide was in better shape than we thought. Reports had said it was entirely exposed ice, but with the recent snow, we could kick steps, and the group before us had left nice tracks. The snow was pretty solid, though conditions wouldn’t stay that good for that long.

And it was a good thing we camped below the slide, because at the top were two tents from the other group! Unoccupied, so we figured they must have gone for the summit. We passed them and got onto hell’s highway along the upper curtis glacier, which was very, very heavily crevassed. Reminiscent of the DC route crevassed. Okay, maybe not that big, but bigger than we had dealt with on Coleman Deming, and bigger than Eldorado, and bigger than the Sulphide. We even had to set up protection across a crevasse with a dicey looking snow bridge that you had to climb down a bit to reach before traversing. John belayed me first with two ice screws as an anchor, I scampered across and set up a deadman’s on the other side due to lack of ice. The snow was basically concrete on the other side. Ben was next, and once he was across, I belayed John. We cleaned up our gear and got started again. We had known there was one tough crevasse to cross, and we figured that had to be it.

I bet it’d be stunning in clear weather

For once we were right, and the rest was clear sailing. Which is great, because it turns out crevasses are a lot harder to navigate when you can only see 15-20 feet in front of you. If we walk parallel to this one, will it end and we’ll be able to just go around it, or will it keep going until it meets a cliff or a bigger crevasse? You just don’t know. Fortunately, we made it to the base of the cliffs above the Upper Curtis, and we knew to hug those until we could hop up to meet the Sulphide, which came up quickly.

The ramp up to the Sulphide was a tough section. Very steep, and by now the snow had softened enough in the warmth that there was plenty of sloughing coming down towards us. We finally saw the other group on their way down. We moved over to the side below a small rocky outcropping to avoid the pinwheels they were triggering as well as any potential larger issues we probably didn’t want to voice. We’d move quickly. As they passed us, we asked how it was, and they seemed exhausted and unhappy. Rough, I assumed. Long day, summitting in those conditions from camp just above Winnie’s Slide.

Once they had passed and were around the corner below us, it was our turn to tackle the slope, and we needed to move fast. I headed straight up the shortest section. Suddenly there was snow tumbling towards me, not a slide, but some big chunks that had sloughed off the slope. I froze. Am I in the line of fire? Yes. Can those knock me off my feet? Yes. Shit. Can I move to the side? No. Okay great, duck. And that’s what I did. I hit the ground. Had I thought faster, I might have been able to get my pack over my head, but I haven’t gotten those reflexes boiled down to instinct yet. I threw my arms over my head after the first few large chunk hit my head (it was like getting hit with a watermelon at 20mph, my neck felt it for days) and stayed like that until I heard John yell 30 seconds later. I wiggled my arms and shoulders free and got the snow off my back and kicked aside the small wall of snow that had built up around my body. Fuck you, snow. And that’s one of the many reasons why we wear helmets. I’m just lucky it was sloughing and not an actual slide. Yikes. “Hint of avalanche.”

Towards the top, it got steep enough I was wishing I had used my ice tool rather than axe, not to mention that beneath the foot of unconsolidated snow was solid ice. But that was just a few feet, so some near-front-pointing with the crampons and good balance did the trick.

No, he isn’t crawling on the ground, it’s just that steep (photo credit to John)

Over the top, we could just barely make out the area where I had seen tents the last time I was on Shuksan. Except this time, there were two nice crevasses running through the flat area. Well, shit. I told Ben and John we’d keep moving until we found a relatively flat, safe area, and set up camp there. So we started heading up the Sulphide.

The fog got thicker. We did a fine job with the crevasses, which were far more prevalent than in mid August. The difference three weeks makes is amazing. The horizon started to blend everything together. Foggy sky was impossible to differentiate from snow, and I can see how people can get disoriented so easily. The crevasses were the only things keeping me in line. I pulled out the map, and it looked like there would be a flat ish spot up to our left. I pow-wowed with John, his GPS said the same thing. That’s what we’d aim for.

We finally got there. We knew where we were on the map, but had no idea how views would be. And we left the trusty blue shovel in the car, so leveling tent platforms was up to axes and crampons. I started scraping out a spot for myself, trampling it with my crampons like a dog walking in circles before it lies down. My tent is pretty small and all things considered we had found a pretty level spot, so it wasn’t a problem. I set up my tent, deadmanned the shit out of it (seriously, it was so well anchored it took me like half an hour to dig it all up the next morning) so if conditions deteriorated further, it was going to take some serious winds to toss me around. Yeah yeah yeah, I know it’s a true mountaineering tent. I’m scared of wind, if you can’t tell. Snow, whatever, rain, meh, fog, meh, wind…. as soon as it’s dark and windy, I’m gonna be on edge.

We heard voices above us, but couldn’t see anyone. I went to go pee. Guys, if I’m not back in ten minutes, come looking for me. Terrible way to go out. But ten feet from the tent, I was out of sight. Sweet. I got back, and got ready to cook. Suddenly I felt sun on my face, and looked up. I think John and Ben saw the look of wonder on my face. “John, turn around.”

The summit pyramid was out, covered in fresh snow, the sky was blue for the first time since Friday morning (and that one glimpse of the glacier) and we could see a group of three descending! I took some sweet pics of them beneath the pyramid, and waited for them to get closer. As they passed our tent, I ran to talk to them (And mostly to ask for permission to get photos of them walking past). Because Baker was out, above the clouds, with the sun shining behind it! Koma freakin Kulshan, in all her glory.

Mountain Madness

The three climbers were two clients led by a Mountain Madness guide. They hadn’t summitted due to the central gully being a bowling alley of rock and ice. The group that had accompanied us up Fisher Chimneys had gotten stuck on the summit for hours, waiting for conditions to improve before descending. Brutal day. I chatted with the second climber, Maureen, who was an upbeat, bright person whose laugh cheered me up immediately. She was thrilled about the pictures, too, and I set myself up to snap a few more as they continued down. I think this resulted in the best picture I’ve taken in my life to date.

After they were out of sight, we made dinner and went to bed. The clouds moved back in maybe 15 minutes after we chatted with them, and we were back to whiteout. We set alarms for 3am, and figured we’d play it by ear. I slept like a baby. Warm, cozy, tired, content.

The best picture I have taken in my life

The alarm went off at 3am, and I almost didn’t even get up. I had… not a bad feeling, but a general reluctance. It was clear, stars were out, but I was uneasy. I didn’t care if we summitted. And I’m an impatient, hotheaded kid, too. I interpreted my lack of drive as a bad feeling. John was feeling the same way. We waited an hour to see if it stayed clear, and it did, but we decided to just not go. Soon enough, we were enclosed in our foggy bubble again.

I showered myself with frosh in the morning, inside and outside the tent

We got up around 8am, and after a BLELGFDKSDGKFK of frost in my face when I sat up into the wall of my tent, I was excited to see a 6 person rope approaching. That HAD to be Miyar Adventures. I knew Anthony and Sandeep were leading a group, and I know how they feel about 6 person rope teams. I sat back and patiently awaited. 1) I was excited to meet Sandeep, who I had talked to but never met, 2) I was happy to see Anthony again, and 3) at this point, it had been decided that not everyone was okay going down Fisher Chimneys given the conditions, and we were going down Sulphide. And that meant, we might need a ride back to town.

Sandeep was in the lead. “Are you with Miyar adventures?!” I shouted. He seemed surprised. “Yes!” “Sandeep!?” “Yes, how did you know?” “I’m Eve!” He laughed and we shook hands. We chatted about the route, I told him what the previous two groups had told us, and then I went to go say hi to Anthony. He saw me coming, and recognized me. Is it the orange jacket? It must be the bright orange jacket. We talked for a bit and finally I explained the situation and asked for a potential ride. The answer was yes. I had a feeling we’d beat them to the trailhead, but if we made it down around the same time (or if we were still trekking along the road when they drove past us), at least we’d have a backup ride. I felt a hundred times better knowing that.

Pretty but not too happy with that windy lenticular

We packed up after the Miyar group carried on, and headed back down. I was excited for this, because it’d be a test of how well I could follow a route I had done once before, but in far lower visibility. We had tracks, but they branched off several times, and you never know when they’d dead end in a crevasse. Besides a few more sloughing slopes that we crossed quickly, it was smooth sailing. We made it off the glacier to the rocks with the tidepools I mentioned last time, and headed for the notch. It was a much easier downclimb than the chimneys would have been, I’ll give you that.

Hobo burrito wrapper note

Back at the trailhead, I snagged the pen from the hiker registry and left a quick note for Anthony on my burrito wrapper, which I tucked beneath the windshield wipers of a car I was 90% sure belonged to someone in his group. Oh, by the way, that burrito had refrozen, and on the second night I slept snuggled up to a cold ass brick of a burrito hoping to thaw it so I could have a delicious breakfast. The note said something along the lines of “we made it down, if you see some sad hikers on the road, that’s probably us!” and I left a P.S. about how much Happy Corn I had eaten. That shit’s delicious.

**If anyone on the Miyar team is reading this, I can’t thank you enough for being willing to give us rides. Even though we didn’t need them, the peace of mind it gave me was much, much appreciated.

Figured I’d capture my “eff this shit” moment

We hiked six miles to the Baker Lake road. Ben noticed I was limping a bit – I have no idea what happened, but some tendon in my knee was not happy with the forest road. I’ll never know. I was dreading it, though. I didn’t think anyone would pick us up. I didn’t think anyone would even pass, and highway 20 was another 22 miles away or something hideous like that. I was resigned to having to tell my coworkers that the reason I didn’t come to work was because I was sleeping on the side of the road like a hobo.

We reached Baker Lake Road, and I dropped my bag and sprawled out on the ground looking as pathetic as possible. Within seconds, a pick up truck pulled up, and after chatting, offered us a ride. Oh my god. It was happening. We’d at least make it to Sedro Wooley. We threw our packs in the bed of the truck and hopped in. Into the bed of the truck. I think I did that once, as a kid. Once.

Like they’ve been doing it their entire lives

Let’s get something straight. I’m a hoity toity east coast city girl from a hoity toity rich bitch Massachusetts town where there’s a list of acceptable colleges to attend and most kids get brand new cars for their sweet 16 (I was not among those) and houses are judged by their manicured lawns and whether their owners rake in seven or eight figures a year or just a measly six. Hitchhiking was something from the 60’s, something that only bums did nowadays, or people who lived in rural bumfuck nowhere. And there I was, with my Weston-ass self plopped in the back of a pickup truck riding down a highway. And I loved it.

We got dropped off in Sedro Wooley, got sandwiches at Subway, and sat on the curb at a gas station with our gear while we ate. So I was three days of wilderness adventure with no shower, eating a foot long (6 inch sandwiches are for wimps) with a 40oz soda because AMERICA. Waiting for someone to offer us a ride. And eventually, along came another pickup truck with a man and a dog, and again we piled into the bed of the truck. I put on my puffy and my hard shell, John even put on his ski goggles. 60mph in a truck, no problem. We’re all geared up.

hoity toity east coast bitch (yours truly)

Hoity toity east coast bitch finally experiencing life (yours truly)

We finally made it back to to the Lake Ann trailhead, and I have never been so relieved in my life. The guy who picked us up was nice as can be, and lived in Acme, a tiny town between highway 20 and the Mt. Baker highway. We transferred gear to my car, thrilled to be back at the car before sunset, and took off towards Seattle.

And there you have it, folks. I hitchhiked. I put my tense, high maintenance city self aside and did it. And I swore to myself I’d pick up the next hitchhikers I see (subtext: if they look like normal people). Because as it turns out, it’s a fairly common thing to do, and normal people do it. The first two guys who picked us up had hitchhiked plenty before, and had no problem giving us a ride. The second one was the age-old-wisdom type who had picked up so many hitchhikers and had tons of stories.

Okay, hitchhiking aside, Fisher Chimneys was possibly my favorite route I’ve done up anything. I can’t wait to do it again on a clear weekend. It’s just so much freaking fun. Such a variety of challenges, and the route finding and low visibility and having to set up protection and belays a few times made it an unbelievably worthwhile experience. Shuksan’s a tease, but I’m helpless. I spent all of day 2 whining “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME LIKE I LOVE YOU” in my head, because Shuksan just doesn’t want to give it up. That’s okay, I’ll try again. Long term goal? The Price glacier. Get ready, Shuksan. We’re gonna be best buddies.

Eldorado via the East Ridge (Standard Route)

Posted on September 10, 2015 by evejakubowski

Looking back down the glacier at Mt. Forbidden

“What is your favorite peak to climb in the North Cascades and why?” was the question posed, and a wise, well-spoken man answered. “Uhh you mean, ‘what is your favorite mountain to climb, and why is it Eldorado?'” I knew about the knife edge ridge, and I knew the peak had a cool name. At the time, I didn’t really know where it was, or how to get there, or what it would entail, but I knew it involved that damn ridge, and I knew it’d be awesome. And when the opportunity arose (John didn’t mind going back for a second time) in August, we managed to pull together a group of four for a two day trip, and before I knew it, I was about to climb one of the first glaciated peaks I had ever discovered in Washington. Climbed 8/22/2015-8/23/2-15.

Distance: ~7.6 miles round trip
Elevation: 6800ft gain (yeah that’s right), 8876ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and hazy
Commute from Seattle: 2:30, longer if you’re slow on gravel roads like me
Did I Trip: I don’t think I did. Take that, Eldorado.
GPX file here (summitpost, easy find)

Eldorado from camp through haze and wispy clouds

John and Christina drove out Friday afternoon to secure permits, and I picked up Sam and headed out after work. The weekend started off with the usual buttload of traffic, and me taking inventory of everything I could have forgotten in my head. Ice axe? Got it. Crampons? Yep. Sleeping pads? Yes I can see them from here. Boots? Probably, I mean how could you forget boots. Headlamp? Check. Wait, did I forget boots? No, you’re just being paranoid. Oh you have to be kidding me, stop worrying. No? Fine, pull over and check the trunk [I pull over to the shoulder of the highway] just to double check AND WHERE ARE YOUR BOOTS YOU SCHMUCK?! Yeah, that’s right. We turned around and went back to Seattle. Through 6pm traffic. I hated myself. And there were my boots, innocently sitting next to the front door, looking up at me longingly with puppy eyes wondering why I had abandoned them. How could you.

So we arrived at the trailhead after dark and met up with Christina and John. I popped up my Nemo tent and went right to bed after having a beer, because why not. I had bought approach shoes (by which I mean minimalist trail runners) and packed plenty of unnecessary goodies since I expected an easy climb. We were planning on potentially bagging Dorado Needle too, but that didn’t happen. Oh, and my coworker hilariously suggested we try Johannesburg as a day trip the day before Eldorado. Anyway, I didn’t know how much the trail would kick my ass. Learn from my mistakes and research the approach hikes, folks.

Down to business

The trail gets right to it. It felt like a bushwhack. You cross a few logs going across a river (hope you have good balance with a 50lb pack) overgrown with branches, and pop out in thick woods on the other side. The trail is flat for like 500ft, and then it starts climbing. And climbing. With plenty of rocks and roots to hop over. One log was tall enough I thought I could jump onto it, but the weight of my pack pulled me back and luckily Sam was right below me to push me back upright before I fell backwards on my ass off a 30 inch tall log. Yeah, I gotta work on that core strength. And balance.

I have no pics of the boulder field so here’s the pretty meadow above it

After just over an hour in the woods, we came up to the boulder field. The boulder field from hell. We’ll get to that part. For now, it was my turn to carry the rope, appropriately nicknamed The Green Monster: 9mm, 70m, and clocking in at just over 9lbs. Yes, it’s a rock climbing rope. Add that to your 50lb pack and tell me you’re happy. Suddenly I found myself regretting the 20oz of southwestern-style -chicken, three avocados, and full pound of cheddar cheese that I had in my pack. Come on man, you’d have been fine with goldfish and granola and a dehydrated meal like usual, but nooo, your cocky ass brought a fucking feast. Buns and thighs, baby, working on those buns and thighs.

John and Christina on our lunch rock, Johannesburg in the background

And why’s it called the boulder field from hell? I mean it’s not really that bad. Scrambling is fun (if you can call it that), trail finding is fun, seeking out cairns is fun, and these cairns are actually pretty well made and artsy.. but after 30 minutes, where was the glacier? Where was the peak? Everything looked the same. We were making no progress. Johannesburg loomed in the background, which was cool, except the view never changed. And it didn’t feel like we got higher. The boulder field didn’t end. It just. Kept. Going. That’s why it’s from hell. Because you’re lugging 50+lbs of gear, in minimalist trail runners, sweating profusely because you only brought long sleeves and pants, because you’re an idiot.

Coming backwards down the gully

Finally, after an eternity of identical rocks, you hit trail again, and switchback steeply up a hillside into a gradual meadow. Blueberries!! Blueberries everywhere! Game changer. I felt better. I was double-fisting berries left and right. We took a nice long lunch break above the trees, where I tried to eat as much chicken and cheese and avocado as possible, because fuck if I was carrying that shit for the whole trip if we were in for more neverending boulder fields.

Slabby rocks, haze moving in

From the basin where we had lunch, you gain a small gully on climber’s left that then descends steeply to the valley where the glacier begins. Dropping over the ridge we got our first view of the glacier, and damn was it a good feeling. Going up the valley involved a bit more light scrambling along some rolling slabs of rock flattened by the glacier long ago. It’s pretty cool imaging where the glacier used to be (and a bit sad). There’s plenty of running water there, so we filled up. It’s line-of-sight/path-of-least-resistance to the terminus of the glacier on the right (the side that has a snow finger and isn’t completely broken up). There’s a “swiss cheese” rock that we used as a landmark, a black rock full of holes that, if you didn’t guess, looked like swiss cheese. From there, we aimed for the lowest snow finger, put on our boots (my feet have never been happier to put on stiff ass boots), roped up, and got moving.

The crevasse that blocked us

Sam and Christina were both new to glacier travel. It made me realize how desensitized to certain things I’ve become. When I first started, Eeery crevasse was new and awesome (and a little scary), stepping over them and looking at how the ice was falling and the bright blue color was a whole new experience. At this point, stepping over a crevasse is like walking over a crack in the sidewalk. Shrug. We did pass what we thought was a groaning crevasse, which was unsettling and eerie. On the way down we determined that it was running water, but the first time you hear the noise as you take a step, it’s unnerving. We moved across it quickly.

John and Christina hanging out at camp

We did get sidetracked by one huge crevasse spanning a large section of the lower glacier. We had to backtrack completely, where we found a decent snowbridge to cross. The route at this time of year hugged the rocky ridge on the right very, very closely once we were past the first few crevasses. Like within feet of the rocks, with a few stretches on exposed ice (flat, don’t worry). Once you pop out onto the plateau with Eldorado in the background, it’s a straight shot to the ridge if you’re aiming to camp on the rocky shoulder below the summit. Which you should be, because it has the best views, running water, a short climb to the summit, and… wait for it….

“Due to unusually high use and lack of helicopter availability to empty toilet, this receptacle is out of service for the time being.”

A composting toilet!! WOOO!! I thought Christina was making fun of me when she told me there was a toilet, but there it was in all its glory, with a five-star view of the face of Mt. Forbidden, whose west ridge I’ll climb someday. And I will gaze out at Eldorado, and wonder if there is some majestic crapper looking back at me.

Don’t get too excited, because it was out of order. Due to overuse. That’s right. Overuse. Too much poop. Stop shitting, Washington. Take it from Chris Traeger. I walked dejectedly back to my tent. Oh, and the smoke and haze from wildfires dominated the view and you could barely see Forbidden, and you’d have no idea Moraine Lake was down below if you weren’t looking for it. So we had a useless toilet with no view. So really, just blue bags and smoke. Can’t win ’em all, right?

Throne “view”

After a relaxing afternoon at camp, mostly chilling and eating and whining about the views, I went to bed early. My last summit day had been fairly late (~5am wake up on Shuksan) and we were planning on 3am for Eldorado. You guys, I got the best night of sleep I’ve had in like months. Even including the times I’ve slept in a bed like a normal person. I was unconscious, cozy, comfortable, had the whole tent to myself, it was so wonderful.

Mt. Forbidden and Moraine Lake hidden by haze

I woke up feeling refreshed and still cozy, and hopped out to mooch off someone’s stove to make tea and wait for everyone to be ready. My gear is almost always packed the night before, so I can have time to enjoy my tea. And damn, did I enjoy that tea. I could see the entire milky way, a strip of dense stars, which I’ve only seen once before in my entire life (and that was peeing in a field on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Washington, so it was easy to top). And I sipped my tea, lying on a rock, gazing at the stars, listening to Come and Get Your Love playing from Sam’s iphone in the distance. Okay, I might have requested it. He tried to skip over it and I demanded that he put it back on because I had started laughing as soon as I heard the first few measures. Come on, cheesy upbeat music when you’re on a mountain wrapped in puffy layers at 3am looking at the milky way, waiting to start trekking up a glacier? It’s perfect.

Sun beginning to rise

We started off with me in the lead again. We knew there’d be an impassable bergschrund eventually, but I didn’t know when or where, so we hugged the rocks until it was plainly obvious. By which I mean right freaking in front of us. I had missed the ideal turnoff onto the rocks. In my defense I saw it, and asked about it, but we kept moving thinking we couldn’t be that close to the schrund. So unless we wanted to backtrack, we were on to plan B: a six inch thick snow finger, if you can call it that, which ran for five or so feet to the rocks. More like a diving board. I prodded it with the axe. Welp, we’ll go quickly. It’s early, it’s frozen, we’ll just avoid it on the way down. There was one near miss that involved some teeter-tottering, but we made it. And that was how I almost ended my team at 4am climbing Eldorado.

Just a small several foot jump, that’s all

Sunrise!

Once on the rocks, it was an easy class 2 scramble back to rejoin the snow. We weren’t going to scramble all the way up, hell no, we wanted that knife edge ridge. We took a quick snack break back on the glacier to watch the sun rise, and started up to the ridge.

Coming up to the ridge

The ridge is a dream. I was worried it’d be flatter now because of all the use over the summer, and it was, but it was still only just over a foot wide, with more than enough exposure. You slip, your teammate better hop off the other side (no I’m serious, that’s what you do). I savored every second crossing it to the rocks at the end. I’m not sure my whole team felt the same way, but I live for that stuff. You’re on top of the world. Where’s the helicopter swirling around me to take a crazy panorama while I stand there with outstretched arms, and we can throw in some awesome background music? A Go Pro won’t cut it, if I spin around with that I’m guaranteed to fall off the ridge.

Setting up anchors

This side wasn’t steep enough but damn was the background nice

We took a very long break at the top to take pictures and set up some practice ice climbing so John could test out his new ice tools. It wasn’t as steep as it looked, but that meant we could practice pretty safely. We set up an anchor with ice screws at the top so we could belay the entire thing, and took turns getting back up to the ridge from a starting point we chose. I had John lower me (I’m better at that now, I’ve finally figured out what being perpendicular to the rope feels like) before climbing back up. After maybe two hours, John and Christina went to see if you could scramble all the way back (the answer is yes!) and Sam and I roped up to head back down the glacier. We met back up on the rock by the impassable bergschrund, and took the glacier back to camp (easier than rocks).

Time to head down

Another long break at camp followed by the hike out, which I was dreading. That boulder field was going to be miserable and I knew it. At the base of the glacier I didn’t know what would be worst. Back to the minimal trail runners, or stick with the mountaineering boots? Both choices kind of sucked. I went with the trail runners.

Even before hitting the boulder field, I stopped to wonder what was going on. My feet hurt. Were my socks painfully bunched up somehow, or was all of the skin sloughing off of the bottom of my feet? I didn’t want to know the answer, so I didn’t look. Being absorbed in my feet misery I failed to collect blueberries, or even notice them. On the boulder field, it was me vs. my brain. The epic battle inside my head. It wasn’t on par with the last stretch of Paradise at Rainier a few weeks prior, but it was tough. I don’t even know why. It’s not a long climb, or that physically demanding, the boulder field is just damn tedious. Sam hopped along ahead of us, while I lagged behind relying on him to find the route because I wanted to just space out until the boulder field was past. We took a break after hours (maybe, in my head it was hours) and I whipped out the emergency Gu. Yeah, like my running snacks. I keep some caffeinated ones just in case, and it was time. I hadn’t needed one on a single climb this summer until now. I pounded one and Sam and Christina split the other one since I only had two. It kicked in after maybe 20-30 minutes, and I was feeling much better. When we hit the forest I knew it was only a matter of time.

It would have been gorgeous if not for the taunting stream

“This is where your torture begins” John said after a while. I had just noticed I could hear the river! We must be getting close! I asked what he meant. “We can hear the river so we’re close!” He laughed. That’s the torture. You just listen to it and realize how not close you are, and how little progress you’re making. And as usual, he was right. When we finally did reach the river, I chuckled because I knew crossing those logs would be damn hard with how shaky my legs were feeling, and how my feet were protesting any sort of involvement in my life. But we made it across, dropped out packs at the car, I dibsed the trailhead bathroom first (hell yea) followed by Christina, who had looked exhausted but excitedly exited the bathroom and proclaimed “EVERTHING IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD!” We ran to take a dip in the river inspired by two other climbers who had just beaten us back to the trailhead. Painful and relieving at the same time. I hobbled in on my half-skinned feet, half crawling while pathetically trying to avoid sharp rocks, and Sam and John joined. John literally just sat down. Clothes and all. Plopped his ass down in the river. There’s nothing like water after an exhausting day. It was a flashback to taking a dip in the ocean after a long run in Breezy Point. Just dreamy.

One more for good measure

Except the I had to drive three hours home before a real shower and bed. We said bye to John and Christina, and by some miracle, avoided all traffic. flipping through the photos the next morning, I couldn’t believe it. Sometimes you get saturated with views and forget just how amazing it is where you are. And then you look back at pictures, and are just stunned by what you did. That’s how many of my trips are. I don’t remember anything without the pictures. And instead, I can sit here scrolling through my own pics, making myself jealous. Great trip, great people, can’t wait for the next one! I hope no one’s sick of come and get your love yet.

Mt. Shuksan (Sulphide Route)

Posted on August 28, 2015 by evejakubowski

It’s literally just hanging like that, this isn’t distorted. Neat!

For maybe a month before this trip, I had been pestering my parents and Angie with the same question: it was guided, and it was four days long. I had totally the wrong attitude. I wanted a quick trip that would push my physical limits, but here we were looking at four days. To do a route that people I know did in a day, sometimes two. What the hell were we going to do for four days?! Angie reassured me. “It’ll just be super chill, don’t worry, we’ll just be casual, it’s your vacation, we’ll just be hanging out on a glacier!” Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. Grumble.

So what did we do with those four days? Well, on one (spoiler?) we summitted, on another we hiked back to the trailhead, and on the other two… we sat in a tent. Because of the rain, and the 30ft visibility, and the down-synthetic-blend lump that my belongings melded into after day 1. And I didn’t even have it the worst of the three of us. Let’s start from the beginning.

Distance: 15 miles round trip
Elevation: ~6000ft gain (9127 highest point)
Weather: Ha! 40’s and rainy to 50’s and sunny and everything in between
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 without traffic
Did I Trip: Gotta think about this one. Yes. I slipped on the way down. Count it!

Sunrise on Day 3 (yeah yeah spoiler alert too late)

After eating as much as I possibly could in tacos and Thai food (separate meals, not together) on Thursday, we woke up early on Friday to meet our guide at the ranger station in Sedro-Wooley. So it was already a hilarious trip, because that’s a hilarious name for a town. No one else had registered for our trip, so we basically had a private climb. Yay! Less bitching on my end. Angie’s in great shape, has more experience than I do, and naturally we could assume the guide would kick our asses. I was already feeling better. This meant I’d be the newbie. That’s awesome. It means freedom to pose stupid questions, ask “why?” every time the guide does anything.

Our guide turned out to be Jonathan Schrock, who, as we assumed (and later confirmed) had some killer climbs in his pocket. Awesome. We got group gear sorted out, I insisted on my two sleeping pads and two puffy layers, and we drove over to the trailhead and got started. I wore my trail runners for the approach, for once. I forgot what it’s like to not feel like you’re clomping all over the place killing flowers and moss and insect civilizations like mountain godzilla.

There are three people in that photo if you look closely. They’re about 30ft away, not even

Weather deteriorated quickly. I had done an admittedly shitty job of packing my bag, but at least the essentials were protected (puffy, sleeping bag… food… phone… ipod… okay, not essentials) so I wasn’t worried yet. Plus all of the forecasts I had read called for sunny weather Sunday, so what would two days of rain be in return for a summit day? Meh.

Well, by the time we got to the top of the ridge, it was Stephen King “Mist” level fog. Minus the tendrils. For now. Jonathan decided that it might be better to camp low and hope to move higher in the morning. Angie agreed immediately, I was about to whine in my head (the usual) but realizing just how wet and generally soggy I was, I admitted temporary defeat. Okay, let’s set up the tent. Tent conditions: small swamp.

You know what’s great about having a guide? I didn’t expect it, but Jonathan told us to chill inside while he guyed out the tent. Ha, okay! I can do that. I’m really good at that. Sitting. I’m good at other things too, like snacking. Unfortunately, I wasn’t doing so hot at drying off, which is tough when it’s 100% humidity. Resigned to our fates, we hopped in sleeping bags and literally sat and slept for the next 24 hours. And ate. We took a break at one point to move the mid (intended to be the food tent) over Jonathan’s tent, which was letting in more rain than it was keeping out. But we pretty much only left for bathroom breaks. Like bees on cleansing flights in winter.

Spectacular views

Jonathan apologized for the dinner we had the first night (the only meal that didn’t require water for cooking, since we were nowhere near a water source). We were eating in our tent, and as soon as he passed it through the door, my face lit up. Spinach dal! Angie’s family and my family always got Indian food together on Friday nights! IT’S FRIDAY! Tradition continues! Dal is delicious. I was pretty content. Angie’s hilarious, we can entertain ourselves pretty easily.

I tossed a garbage bag over my feet as a last ditch attempt to get some sort of warmth into my toes, which were already stuffed into my mittens. Bedtime. Jonathan radioed the IMG HQ or whoever it is he talks to and mentioned the gross weather, and they asked “how the clients were doing.” The response? “Well, they’re giggling, so… pretty well?” Tent conditions: medium swamp.

I woke up around 5 the next morning and dozed on and off until 8, when my bladder demanded attention. I’m not generally jealous of guys, but really, you can basically roll over and pee out the door. I don’t have that luxury. Maybe with practice. Anyway, I dragged my ass out and was officially awake. I always expect the world beyond the tent to look different the next morning, and I opened it up to the exact same wall of fog that I shut out when I went to sleep the previous night. What do you even do on a morning like that? You can’t sit outside and enjoy the views, so… back into the wet, stuffy tent. Yuck. Tent conditions: medium swamp, going strong.

Angie woke up about when I did, and shortly afterwards, we heard Jonathan from a few feet away. “How’d you sleep? And just how damp and wet are you?” “Not… bad…” we answered. It was true. I mean my sleeping bag was just about soaked through, but besides some uncomfortably cold toes, I was fine. Thanks to my two synthetic puffy layers. And the extra sleeping pad that kept most of me out of the standing water in our tent. Nailed it. “How’s your tent holding up?” we asked.

Hour 18

“Yeah… I’m going to have to run to the trailhead and swap out every piece of gear I brought up.” I think we both burst out laughing. Shit. That sucks. Jonathan’s tent conditions: Extreme Swamp. Okay, we’ll hang tight here, and thanks for giving us the good tent. Jonathan offered to take our trail runners (mine literally had puddles of mud inside of them) back down. I mentioned I had the Nemo Tenshi, a four season two person tent sitting in my trunk. I brought it in case we needed it – IMG supplies group gear like tents, but I don’t know, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have it. It’s a heavy tent, but if conditions stay shitty, and especially if wind picks up, it’d be nice to have since Jonathan’s backup tent was a lightweight backpacking tent. So, I handed over my keys, Jonathan took all of his gear back to the trailhead, swapped it out, and came back up. In the meantime, Angie and I made tea and sat in the tent.

Lower section of glacier before high camp

For hours. Once in a while, we’d hear voices, and I’d step outside to investigate. “What’s the tendril situation?” Angie would ask. Sometimes we saw climbers, sometimes we didn’t. Never any tendrils, so we were safe from Stephen King’s world, at least for the time being. Jonathan got back to the tent and we decided to pack everything up and aim for high camp, which wasn’t actually too far away. Luckily, Jonathan had brought an umbrella to shield himself from rain, which kept me 100% amused all the way to high camp. You follow the trail to the Notch, which turned out to be a dip in the ridgeline. At the notch, you drop down east of the ridge and traverse north until you hit the glacier, which was sitting above a bunch of “tidepools” in slabs of rock. Conditions never cleared up, and I didn’t know we were at camp until we were literally standing on top of it. We did not rope up on the lower section of snow before high camp. Jonathan guyed out the tents (fuck yessss) while we organized our soaked belongings as best we could. My once-fluffy down sleeping bag was about the thickness of a hefty garbage bag and probably just made me colder. Good thing I had mittens for my feet. Tent conditions: Large swamp.

Hell yea, clear morning!

The view from the Ridge Throne

The best part of high camp? A toilet. A human waste composting toilet. Nestled high up on a ridge. From shitting in a bag like a pleb to sitting atop a throne fit for kings. The cherry on top? The throne looked straight at Mt. Baker, which I discovered the following morning as dawn lit up the sky before we left for the summit. So my first real scenery and jaw-dropping view of Baker was from a human composting toilet. Angie had the most hilarious line that day: “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I hope it’s not foggy.” Out of context, it’s perfect.

I sipped my earl grey, watching the sky turn orange beyond the Pickets, and soon enough we got started. And you know what? We moved at the perfect pace. For the first time, I wasn’t wearing one (or both) of my puffy layers while climbing. I was warm, but not sweating. It was amazing. I didn’t know it was possible. Guys, it’s possible, and you should all aim for it.

Pickets on the left, Mt. Terror (I think) center, Blum on the right

Hugging the rocks to the left

The route out of camp swung farther to the left than usual to avoid some open crevasses. Given the weather this year, that wasn’t surprising. So we hugged the rocks before traversing east, zigzagging around a few smaller cracks before reaching the plateau before the summit pyramid. Honestly, this all went fairly quickly, being much more straightforward than Baker and Rainier the weeks before. I just kept drinking in the views. Screw Baker, that’s a slog up snow for far less beauty compared to this. And why deal with the objective hazards and crowds on DC when this is so much more beautiful? Talk about bang-for-your-buck. Actually don’t, because then everyone will want to climb Shuksan.

Plateau towards the summit pyramid

Just below the base of the summit pyramid, we stashed our unnecessary gear, and Jonathan said we’d climb the SE ridge instead of the central gully. The gully is a class 4 scramble, the SE ridge is a low class 5 rock climb. Literally the first step of the “climb” part stumped me. Jonathan edged up a mostly flat section, Angie went up a gully of sorts, and I flopped around on the rope like a fish before realizing Angie’s way was definitely easier than trying to follow a professional rock climber on what was really only my second real rock climb.

Part of the rock climb (not the move that stumped me)

And that’s pretty much how it went. Jonathan glided, Angie scrambled, and I flopped. There was one 5.8 move that he made look easy, Angie had a bit of trouble, and I got up to it and stared and thought “well, shit.” I managed, but it took a minute of clinging to some small downsloping edges with one foot and one hand and one knee (not recommended, now bruised) while my other hand grasped for anything and my other foot poked around looking for edges. Finally found an edge and clambered over the ledge. From there, it was all relatively clear sailing.

Mt. Baker

Anthony and Ben joked on Baker that Shuksan is a cheaper guided climb because it’s basically an advertisement for Baker. It’s true. You look at Baker the whole time, and it looks amazing the whole time. With Rainier, you’re ON the big majestic thing. With the Coleman-Deming route up Baker, you’re on it until you can finally see things like Twin Sisters, and Shuksan, but those don’t appear until you’re near the top. With Shuksan, you’re staring at Baker, Blum, the Pickets, Glacier, Rainier, THE WHOLE TIME. You get to the top (or the ridge) and you have Icy and Ruth and American Border Peak and Canadian Border Peak and it’s just ridiculous. You’re in the middle of the mountains, surrounded by jagged, rocky peaks, and it doesn’t even matter what direction you look. On baker I only wanted to look west. On Rainier I only wanted to look at the crevasses and seracs around me. On Shuksan, I could spin around and around and never get bored (though I might puke).

Looking across the Nooksack Cirque, Icy Peak on the left

Another climber on the way up the gully

No summit register, but there was a quilt! With a piece of paper, upon which I wrote my name, because fuck it I’m petty and like to feel like I marked it somehow. After a lengthy summit break, we alternated between being lowered by Jonathan and downclimbing the central gully. It took me several tries to successfully be pushing off the wall while being lowered instead of (again) flopping against it. Turns out you want your body to be 90 degrees to the rope, which feels like you’re lying down. Which makes sense, now that I think about it. I was trying to sit too much, which just resulted in awkward dangling. Whatever, we’ve established how uncoordinated I am. it’s a work in progress.

Obligatory crevasse pic

We took another break back where we stashed our stuff, and a second mini-break to grab some water running down the rocks just above high camp (melting snow takes FOREVER and uses so much fuel, so avoid it if possible). Clouds were writhing over camp, but they didn’t look too threatening. We got back and immediately emptied our tents and lay everything along the rocks hoping it would dry. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, drying things out (almost), and eventually, watching one of the best sunsets I’ve seen in my life. The clouds around Baker cleared up just enough to let the sun through, and lit up pink and yellow like cotton candy. Eventually there was a cloud just above our ridge, making it look like nighttime over Shuksan and sunset over Baker. We took probably hundreds of panoramas in what Jonathan deemed “panoramextravaganza.” Diagonal panoramas, vertical panoramas, a whole new world of panoramas, which resulted in the best picture of Angie Diana that the world has ever known.

The best pic of Angie Diana

Ridiculous sunset

Sunset means bedtime when I’m on mountains, so that’s exactly what I did. My bag was now only damp and had regained some of its fluff, and I was almost comfortable the entire night. The following morning had equally incredible weather, and we had a pleasant one-push hike out, minus a break to de-layer at out old campsite from day one and make fun of Jonathan’s back-up base layer, which was a long sleeved shirt that (due to some run ins with trees) was now missing an entire sleeve.

It was incredible seeing what views we had been missing the entire time. The approach is a gorgeous hike in itself, and our tent was right in front of a panorama of Baker that we didn’t know existed because of the fog. I had been measuring visibility in trees during those foggy days. One tree visibility was maybe 30ft. Two trees meant I could see the slightly further away tree, so ~50ft. Going back down, hundred-thousand-tree-visibility!

The view from out campsite on day one. Who knew?!

This is a climb I can’t wait to repeat, and I never say that. I hate repeating peaks. Even doing DC again earlier this year I was hesitant, but thank god I did that one. I doubt I’ll go back up Coleman-Deming, but who knows. Shuksan… oh man. I hope I get another chance to go up before the approach is too long in snow. And a chance to try the Fisher Chimneys route, and the north face, which I hear is just lots of steep snow (and a bitch of an approach). Shuksan is just spectacular. I climb for views, and Shuksan delivered on all accounts. If you ignore the first two days spent in a 6’x3′ tent in a wet down sleeping bag with garbage bags and mittens on my feet and water dripping on me every time I touched the walls of the tent.

Summit selfie!

Oh also I took a panorama selfie during panoramextravaganza. I am a woman of many talents. Haven’t decided whether to be proud or ashamed.

Panorama selfie…

Sourdough Mountain/Stetattle Ridge and some Bad News

Posted on February 4, 2015 by evejakubowski

Capital “B” capital “N” type Bad News. The blog will most likely be on hiatus for a while due to a lack of transportation. I was unfortunately rear-ended (sandwiched between two cars) on i-5 a few weeks ago. Sadly, I had been on my way to climb Mount Saint Helens. What I thought was a fender-bender ended up being two new bumpers, a new trunk, new side panels since the back of each was warped, and a new seatbelt, which apparently added up to a totaled car (sorry folks, I’m not exactly driving a benz out here). And the bastard who hit me drove off when he realized the extent of the damage. So here I am, shackled to the concrete jungle on account of some bum who is probably freely whizzing around in his bigass SUV with nary a scratch on his shiny, chrome grill.

Anyway, my priorities are out of line and last Friday I caved and rented a car to take advantage of the sunny weather. Really, it had to be sunny and gorgeous for the first two weeks that I had no car. But hey, I’ll put part of my retail paycheck into a rental if it means getting out on a great day once every week or two (to think I used to be out there 2-3 days a week, damn). What I forgot was that renting a car leaves me at their mercy: if they open at 8, I get a car at 8. I can return it first thing the next morning and have it count as one day, but I can’t pick it up the day before, use it the whole next day, and return it first thing and have that called one day if that makes sense. So I had to either leave after 8am or be back by 6pm. Okay, I’ll leave at 8am, that’s the safer choice.

So, 8:05 I stroll into the Enterprise a few blocks away and luckily they had a car ready to go, which apparently is rare. Sweet. And the woman who helped me was the daughter of my college chemistry professor back at Northwestern! She saw my last rental was in Evanston and we chatted. Ha, small world. Anyway, I’m sure I looked hilarious walking down the street with my ice axe, snowshoes, microspikes clipped to my day pack, the works. It was game time. I dropped everything in the trunk of a shiny new Hyundai Elantra and got behind the wheel and realized shit, there are no gears, how do you know if you’re in drive!? Does something on the dashboard light up if you’re in drive? What do I do with my left foot? Nothing? Oh, no, the light up letters are next to the stick, okay. No clutch, just… put it… in… reverse… and now drive… and… that’s it. Great, I was on my way. Aside from instinctively trying to downshift the first few times I came to a stop light (and every time I exited a highway), it was smooth sailing. No left-foot-braking over here.

Could be a summer trail

I arrived at the Sourdough “trailhead” around 11am, which was maybe four hours later than I’d have liked but hey, rentals. This was only the beginning of my problems. I found the sign for the trail, but where the hell was the trail? Someone had told me to “just start walking and you’ll intersect with it” so that’s what I did, until I was still bushwacking after 15 minutes and turned around. The trailhead is to the right of the building! A solid 100ft from the sign! After that wasted half hour, I was eager to get moving.

It was unbelievably warm and sunny, and I wondered if I’d even need the microspikes. Snowshoes were certainly overkill, but I wanted to put my new day pack through some rigorous activity. I’m product-testing a new pack for REI (which has been less fun than I expected now that I have no car) so I figured I’d keep the snowshoes.

Sneak peeks of views!

The trail was up. And then up some more. And again. Turn a corner, more up. Much of it looked like second-growth forest, and between the sun, the ridiculously warm weather, and the green, it could have been a summer hike. I expected to go off trail around 3800-4000ft, so I was keeping an eye on elevation gain and topographical features. You get sneak peaks of the surrounding mountains, and boy did it look spectacular. I couldn’t wait to get up to the Stetattle Ridge. Alas, after weeks of no hiking and sporadic running, I am not in marathon shape anymore! My ass is slow. And I lost the snowbaskets on my hiking poles. But it was great to just be out again, especially in an area I was so unfamiliar with. I had done hikes that got me close to North Cascades National Park, but I had never been within it! I didn’t know any of the surrounding peaks.

View from my tea spot

My unfamiliarity led to a classic rookie mistake. Rather than following the maps I had laid out of the winter route, I found a bunch of footprints and decided to give those a shot instead. They’re more likely to have experience with the area, right? We’ll just see where they go. Well I imagine that eventually they ended up at a saddle between Sourdough and the ridge I was aiming for, but I didn’t have the time to find out, and they got tricky to follow after a bit anyway. These guys had been post-holing alone a relatively steep slope through trees the entire way, I can’t even believe they made it as far as they did. When I hit my turnaround time, I headed back to the boundary between the national park and forest and sat on a log looking over a valley for snacks and some tea since I clearly wasn’t going to make it to the actual ridge without descending in darkness. Which I considered, but given my luck thus far, I probably shouldn’t push it.

Hiking in the day pack

Plus, my day pack was not impressing me. At all. In fact, it had gotten quite uncomfortable. Yes, I overpacked it by every definition of overpacking (the snowshoes were strapped onto the outside with an ace bandage because I was “resourceful” aka “too cheap to buy a real pack or bungee cords or cut my 50-yard-rope”) but I didn’t think it’d be that bad. It was probably the snowshoes that pushed it past its limits, since everything else fit inside. But the thin straps were digging into my shoulder and the hipbelt did nothing with the weight of the pack besides keep it from bouncing up and down when I hiked. The chest strap pulled the weight forward which was nice, but it was still centered on my shoulders, and I was starting to feel it. But it’s more versatile than the pack I’ve been using, at least, which doesn’t have any outside straps or hip belt or chest strap.

When I first stood up from my snack I was discouraged. Bummer to go all that way to not make it to the top, but you can’t win em’ all, and I’ve had some great hikes out here. The way down went much more quickly than the way up. Well, quickly at first, until I realized a song was popping into my head. “Ey yo Vanilla! Kick it one ti-” No. No! I did not come here for this! It was worse than hustling down Alta Mountain with “It’s Raining Men” in my head and that was pretty bad. Luckily I was down in about an hour and a half – if I had known, I’d have played around a big more at the top – and this fancy rental had an ipod jack (whoa) so I could listen to anything I damn well pleased. And clouds moved in as I was descending, so I don’t feel like I missed out on much. I managed to snap a pic of the day pack in use (okay, I could have tried harder) but I’ll have to take it on a few more excursions. I took it for a few runs in Seattle and it was actually fine for those, though I didn’t pack it with much at all. But this time, I was relieved to take it off back at the car. Though I couldn’t help but think it should have been my Accord waiting at the bottom.

I will definitely have to head back to the Stetattle ridge area if the weather clears up again, maybe in early spring. I’ve seen pictures of groups snow-camping up there, and it looks absolutely incredible. For now, it looks like we have a solid stretch of rain ahead of us, so maybe I will find some cute cafes to read in and have to live vicariously. Or I’ll be the chick arrested for bivvying in the arboretum.

Hidden Lake Lookout

Posted on November 26, 2014 by evejakubowski

This was the best hike I’ve had in ages. What I intended to be a five-hour excursion turned into a full day adventure. Not to say the other hikes haven’t been great, it’s just that this was so beyond incredible. I’ll start you out with a mediocre picture. 11/18/2014.

Distance: 8 miles round trip (10 if you scramble to the true summit)
Elevation: 3300ft gain/6900 highest point (at lookout) 3600/7200 at summit
Weather: 30’s and mostly cloudy, but high altitude clouds
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 if there’s no traffic
Did I Trip: Slipped, tripped, postholed, you name it

Starting out, I wasn’t sure I was making the right decision. Forecast was supposed to be okay, but the Snoqualmie guru the day before had predicted clouds, and it looked like he was going to be right. But I headed out anyway. The first obstacle: road to the trailhead. Good god. I should have taken a picture just to show what my heroic Accord handled. “Handled” is generous – I bottomed out only once, on an exceptionally steep narrow rutted rocky washboard uphill section where I was worried if I stopped, the hill start might prove risky. Yes, that’s just about every negative word used to describe gravel road besides potholes. Is it possible to be too rocky and steep for potholes? That was the road to this trailhead. Second obstacle: gas gauge suddenly flipped from half a tank to around 1/8th of a tank. Okay, mid-mountain-road-drive wasn’t the time to worry about it. Get to the top and worry later.

The sign for the trailhead was a welcome relief. The parking lot had two other cars, both high clearance all wheel drive. Damn it, this hike better be great after the four miles of abuse my suspension just took. Especially if I’m going to run out of gas halfway down a terrible mountain road on the way back. AAA won’t be too happy about that. I loaded up my trail running pack and headed off.

Trail is unsuspecting at first. Flat and almost gravelly, it turns into forest quickly, where you have to cross some pretty icy bridges. No microspikes just yet. After about a mile you pop out into a creek drainage valley, and after crossing a creek, you start to switchback up through meadows. Or what would be meadows, if everything wasn’t dead like it is in late November. As you get higher, Baker comes into view. Great! So at least I saw Baker. But nothing breathtaking, still not sure I made the right choice coming up there.

And soon I started to rescind that thought. Ice forced me to throw on microspikes, and I caught up to a trail of yaktrax prints. Great, others were up there somewhere! After what felt like an hour of switchbacks, I finally got to a more level area, where there was a few inches of fresh snow covering everything. Beautiful. Except for where I noticed a pee arrow (I met the proud artist later) pointing off to the side of the trail. Cool, I’ll just ignore that. The trail cuts along an open slope, and eventually El Dorado comes into view, followed by Shuksan, which I was psyched to see. Though I will admit, it’s prettier from the other direction.

The trail continued through some snow fields, alongside some boulders. It was a neat glimpse of how deep the snow already was, despite it being a relatively dry season so far.

Eventually, I crested the ridge, and the lookout loomed over me, several hundred feet up what looked like a rocky scramble. How the hell was I supposed to get up there? Jesus! Zoom in on that picture to the right, you can just barely see it on the higher peak. I followed the yaktrax, they had been pretty dependable and everything was clear so I wasn’t worried. I hiked up to a saddle between the real summit and the lookout, and ran into a hiker named David. He was headed to the lookout as well, but claimed it was a scramble. Eager for adventure (and stupidity as usual), I put aside my poles and followed him.

There’s something about sitting on a rock jutting out above an incredible view that just makes it a more raw experience than standing on a trail. Halfway up, David seemed pretty wiped so we took a break and looked out over the lake (picture to the left). There were a few points where I looked at the boulders above my head and doubted my climbing abilities, but those years of pull ups paid off. Motivation to start lifting again, seriously. We finally flopped over the summit to where David’s buddy Michael (the urine artist) was waiting with two others he had just met: Jeff and Brian, the owners of the yaktrax I had been following.

I dropped my poles, gloves, and bag while they snacked and ran to check out the lookout. Luxury, by lookout measures. Books, games, a stove, extra food, even a freaking full size bed. I’ll be up there watching sunrise someday. Preferably in a bivvy by the rocks or a hammock set up on the rafters, but I’ll be there.

I went back over to the other four, and Jeff and Brian had decided to go scramble to the real summit across the ridge. The panorama above this post looks straight at the real summit. That’s the ridge we followed to get there. They asked if I wanted to go, and at this point, I couldn’t come up with a good reason to say no besides being imposing, and so I figured I’d tag along. I expected it to take us maybe half an hour ish, and then I’d be on my way down.

Half an hour.. right. We followed Michael’s tracks (he had already been over there) but that didn’t save us from plenty of post-holing. Every time I turned around, Jeff was thigh deep in snow. Which may have been due to my mediocre trailbreaking skills, sorry Jeff! But after trudging through the snow and scrambling over boulders, we were at the true peak. Amazingly, we were looking down on the lookout (pic to the right) in the distance, framed by three fingers and another mountain, which I can’t believe I forgot. Here’s a close up of the lookout:

Did I mention how awesome the clouds were? They were high enough that we could still see everything, even as far as Rainier, and they lit up beautifully in the sunset. We spent a few minutes taking pictures at the top (Brian, if you’ve made it this far, you have a great eye for pics – thanks for taking a few of me!) and then decided it was time to head back. Jeff was wearing mesh running shoes, and I was already cold enough in my goretex hiking boots (which were full of snow) thank god I hadn’t worn my trail running shoes. The two of them did have gaiters, which I was sorely missing. As a side comment, wool socks are great. That snow melted and left me sloshing around, but at least it got warm and stayed warm as it melted.

On the way down, which went quickly, we got some glimpses of the sun. There’s a pic of the sun reflecting off snow on a nearby peak. I saw alpine glow (the way the sunset hits the snow and turns everything golden) for the first time in my life, and somehow did not take a picture. Even on Rainier we went to bed before sun set, so I missed it then.

By the time we got back to the forest, Jeff and Brian’s yaktrax were completely trashed. Broken springs sticking up in every direction. Microspikes were totally fine – I guess I’ll admit they’re worth the $60. But taking off the microspikes meant we were almost back, and the sun was behind the mountains. We finished up the hike with headlamps (which I did not have), and I got into my car and realized I wasn’t done just yet: I had to survive the road again, and then find gas. I was the first one to leave the parking lot, but the other two cars caught up to me before the end of the gravel road. I thought I was making good time, too. I stopped at the first gas station I saw, and was rewarded with a “tenth-of-a-gallon-per-minute speed” pump. Five gallons later, I gave up, knowing it was enough to get home (the gas gauge jumped back up to 3/4 of a tank), and headed back to Seattle. Back to the city, back to work the next morning (okay, work isn’t that bad), back to rain and sidewalks and being woken up by the bus stop beneath my bedroom window.

10/10 day. I could relive it all over again. Scrambling to the peak was the perfect unexpected side trip that made it more than my average solo hike, not to mention I had company for more than half the time I was out there, which makes the hike back down that much more enjoyable. Especially when I turned around to see Jeff, Brian, and David all sliding on their asses down some ice on the trail. Hey, whatever works.

Park Butte

Posted on November 18, 2014 by evejakubowski

I know I haven’t updated in a while, but I hiked this last Wednesday, 11/12/2014. From the desert of Utah to the freezing snow of the Cascades!

Distance: 7.5 miles round trip
Elevation: 2200ft gain (5450 highest point)
Weather: high 20’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:30
Did I Trip: Yes.. slipped on ice

Beginning of the hike, Baker peeking out

Beginning of the hike – is that really Baker?!

So I consider this my first real snow hike. Silver Peak a few weeks ago was fresh snow, nothing compacted, nothing icy since it was the first snow of the season. Park Butte started out on a dirt trail that was already half covered in ice once you reached the forest, and it was freezing. I didn’t have a puffy layer yet, but at least I had microspikes and poles. I wanted to test out my new boots though ($5 at the REI garage sale, score!) so I left the microspikes in my bag until I needed them. I hadn’t used my own poles yet either, so those were put through some trials as well.

It is Baker!

There were a few other cars in the parking lot, so I figured there had to be some hikers ahead of me. Park Butte is pretty popular, even on a weekday. I didn’t run into anyone until about halfway up the hike in the meadow. Once you break out of the forest, you’re in a meadow (or a snow field at this time of year) with Baker smack dab in front of you. I almost didn’t believe it was Baker at first since it was so close. Anyway, one of the first hikers I ran into briefly convinced me that there were cougar prints (dog prints) since he was such a good tracker. He was pointing out fresh tracks and who he thought had made them and I was standing there just happy I could recognize fresh prints. Looking at Baker from the meadow felt like you could just walk up to it, it was so close and blended in with the snow.

Just rescue copter things

There was a navy(?) helicopter doing rescue drills for several hours! On one hand, that meant it was noisy, but on the other, it was pretty cool watching it hover, people rappelling down, climbing back up, and whatever they were doing. Sometimes it disappeared to the other side of Baker, but you could still hear it. When I first saw it, someone was dropping down on a rope, and I thought they were making a legitimate rescue. Turned out it was just drills, but still neat to watch. Just a helicopter doing copter things.

The lookout!

Another thing once you’re at the meadow: you catch a glimpse of the lookout for the first time. Don’t worry, it’s still a mile or so away. So don’t get too excited, because you still have to hike quite a bit to get there. But the views get better and better as you go.

Trail heading back with Glacier Peak in the background

Here’s the trail (this is on the way back down techically, unless you turn around on your way up) heading along a slope with Glacier Peak in the background. Baker might be the star of this hike, but there are plenty of other peaks to check out as well. Panoramas don’t do it justice because Baker is massive and makes everything else look tiny.

Lookout selfie

When I was a few minutes from the lookout, three hikers were on their way down bundled up in puffy jackets. Why!? I was overheated climbing up there, how could they possibly need the puffy layer? Well, when I stepped onto the deck of the lookout, I got it. Blasts of wind in my face. God dammit, I couldn’t feel my fingers after a minute. But I knew I had to suffer through taking a few photos, so I sucked it up and snapped some shots, including the selfie to the right. You know what’s stupid? I didn’t go in the lookout. I repeat: I did not go into the lookout. Why? I don’t have a good reason. I regretted it ten minutes later when I left.

Neat light in the valley

Looking west from the lookout, it’s hard to believe there’s a huge mountain behind you. Just a valley with neat shadows and mostly green trees, and some smaller peaks. This side was out of the wind, thank god. On the way back down I ran into the guy who was good at tracking, who asked if I had passed three hikers. He hadn’t seen them yet, but he had seen their tracks! I could never tell if there were three versus two or four. We saw them a few minutes later. They had hiked off to the side of the trail to get some views (or use the bathroom, who knows).

Frozen sap

After maybe an hour of hiking, I realized I was freezing. Fingers, mostly, but I was chilled. That’s frozen pine sap on the right. Ice also freezes into really cool grass-like crystals, which I had never seen before.

Frost crystals

Turns out they’re all over every frozen trail here, so nothing too exciting. I’m still wondering how they form. Besides the neat ice, the hike back down was boring and tedious, and I was eager to get back to the car. Oh, and like usual, I had forgotten to put out my parking pass. And not only that, but I had passed a ranger on the way up as well. I almost asked him what the fine was for not putting it up. So I started to hurry, which meant lots of slipping on the ice patches. But I didn’t want to take the ten minutes to put on microspikes, so I kept on moving. Finally got back to the parking lot after only three and a half hours of hiking, which was surprising. But I haven’t had a shower feel that good in a long time.

Woo!

Edit: You can see Shuksan! I think it’s the tiny peak jutting out just over the right ridge of Baker in the following picture:

You can juuust barely make out the tip of Shuksan

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout

Category Archives: North Cascades Highway

Hidden Lake Lookout

Tower Mountain and Golden Horn

Mt. Shuksan (via Fisher Chimneys)

Eldorado via the East Ridge (Standard Route)

Mt. Shuksan (Sulphide Route)

Sourdough Mountain/Stetattle Ridge and some Bad News

Hidden Lake Lookout

Park Butte