Off the crutches at last!

I've officially gotten off of the crutches. For the past seven weeks, I have been slowly clack-clack-clacking around Seattle, not to mention on a trip to Banff as well as to visit my family in Oklahoma. I've traded up for the 'clunk clunk clunk' of a walking boot. Still not perfect, but much faster and less obnoxious than the crutches. The best part is that my hands are now free to do things such as carry a glass of water from the kitchen to the table, or go grocery shopping without bringing my mountaineering pack to load groceries into.

There were some highlights to being on crutches. They forced me to rely on the bus for my transportation needs during the day. Riding the bus during the day, and sitting up front in the seats for the infirm (e.g. me) provided constant, well, interesting interactions with other bus patrons. Most of these interactions involved people who were under the influence. The influence of drugs, alcohol, or mental illness, that is. First of all, they want to know what happened to me. When I give them my 'elevator' story (15 sec spiel), the first thing I usually get is tons of empathy, and supportive words. It's amazing - people on their way to the methadone clinic are usually say something like "You're not gonna quit climbin', are you, man? You can't quit!" I appreciate their dedicated spirit, even if I wish they didn't take the same approach to their, umm, hobbies. There's a surprising genuineness to these brief interactions. Someone with a lot of challenges, who may even be at the margins of society, knows a thing or two about hard times. I appreciate their kind words; I think they're from the heart.

Being on crutches means being slow. Which meant that for the first couple of weeks I was pissed off and late a lot. Slowly I embraced the slowness. Leaving my apartment a minute or two earlier than I otherwise would since it takes longer to walk to the bus stop. Settling on accomplishing fewer errands in a day. Yes, people on crutches run errands (think groceries and doctor follow-ups). Embracing the slowness led me to be more observant in my day to day routines. Again, the bus provides interesting sources of conversation and inspiration. One day, after hanging out at the beach (what else am I supposed to do? I'm unemployed!), I got on the bus, and had to wait a few minutes before it began its route. I was sitting silently reading, and the bus drive blurts out to me "What's a pachyderm?". No, I'm not having a weird dream. She asked me this. Before I could answer, she says "It's a camel, right?". I'm flummoxed. I can't see her clearly, and I am struggling for context. The best I could come up with in the moment was "I think a camel is a dromedary; a pachyderm is an elephant. Why do you ask?". She runs over the end of my sentence "So what's a kid lit pachyderm?". It starts to come together in my brain - she's working a crossword. I say "Maybe it's Babar", which I pronounce baaah-bar. She replies "Bay-bar? That kids book? Oh, right! Kid lit, like literature!". We went through a few more clues, and I proved to be of some use. "OK, fun's over, we gotta go to work now", and she starts driving the bus.

I ask which crossword she's doing. It's the New York Times, and it's a Tuesday, which explains the do-able clues. I tell her that I feel like a big man if I can finish all of Wednesday, and I'm hopeless on Thursday and Friday (they increase in difficulty through the week). She tells me she doesn't like it ever since Will Shortz became the editor. She then tells me about growing up, her mother worked the crosswords, and back in those days they required one to be well versed in literature and the bible; "all these foo foo clues were in the TV guide crossword, not the real one like they are today!" she complained. She says that she came from a family of 6 kids, and they would come together on Sunday nights and work the puzzle together.

We discussed our mutual love of crosswords, and then it was my stop. The story she told me sounded like something from a Studs Terkel interview. I felt lucky to have had this moment. It was unlikely, and stereotype shattering. The woman had a coarse way of talking, abrasive almost. She drove a bus, ostensibly not an intellectual vocation, but yet, in her own words, "schooled most of those Thursday puzzles, but started to get challenged on Fridays." I challenge you to find someone who can come close to schooling the Thursday NYT puzzle!

Living a slowed down life has led to quite a few interactions with people where our exchange was more human, more individual. Even if I can smell the vodka all the way across the aisle and it's 8:30am. Rather than being frustrated, I've managed to go with the flow and appreciate the slower moments in life. As I get back on my feet, I hope I can become as productive as I'm used to being without losing that perspective on savoring the slower moments, interactions, and sensations.

Calgary & Banff

Christine wanted to run a spring marathon, and chose to do Calgary. It fit in the right weekend with her hectic schedule, and was reasonably nearby. I lobbied hard, persuading her to go to nearby Banff with me for a day or two afterwards for some R&R. Originally, this was going to come right on the heels of my return from Alaska. It wasn't as whirlwind of a schedule that was originally planned, thank goodness. Christine ran a pretty awesome marathon, and was surprised a couple of weeks later to find a prize money check in the mail that had the decimal point a little further to the right than she expected (you go, hon!).

We stayed at a cute hotel, were lazy, and did some sightseeing. It was awesome.

Pretty mountains, pretty girl:


One alpine glacier-fed lake (Lake Louise), one elite runner (4th place open women at the Calgary Marathon!), and one Quasimoto:


More amazing scenery, and some cool looking climbing routes visible from Moraine Lake:


My parents used to drive me around when I was a colicky baby to get me to fall asleep. Apparently it still works if Christine does it - please note I was not colicky prior to this photo being taken:


More scenic lakes:


Cascade Falls in summer conditions - Gore Tex and rock gear recommended for an Eiger Sanction - style ascent through a waterfall :P


This trip was great! I did my best not to let injury and discomfort keep me down, and Christine was a champ about doing the driving. Thanks, hon!

Injury Follow Up - Feelin' Good

Having the ice my tools were sunk into delaminate from the rock was unlucky last week in Alaska. However, virtually everything else that followed involved a lot of good fortune. Starting with the limited nature of my injuries. Given the circumstances, a minor difference of the terrain below us could have led to more serious injury.

After that, there was the speed with which things were resolved. First and foremost, thanks to my partner Kevin for giving a good belay and having an adequate anchor setup to hold everything together! He kept his cool pretty throughout the entire thing. I was fortunate to have an experienced and cool-headed partner in this situation. He did everything right, including being very generous with his time in rounding up all of our gear from basecamp and helping get my stuff back to me. Also, sounds like he was able to salvage some of his time and got to experience the backcountry of Alaska in the wake of the accident.

Second, I had the great fortune of making it back at my apartment in Seattle about 24 hours after taking the fall (thanks to other parties assisting, and the weather clearing allowing me to catch a flight out). Second, the very next day (Tuesday) I was able to see a surgeon for a consult. I was operated on Thursday. Finally, the fractures weren't complicated to fix, and the surgeon reported to me that things went off without a hitch.

Injury Details: I had a complete snappage of the fibula (my terminology, I don't know the medical terminology), along with a distal fracture of the tibia (think a 'chip' off the side of it). The broken fibula bone kinda dislodged things in the ankle, so technically there was a dislocated ankle involved. The process of bolting the fibula back together with a big plate resolved the dislocation. The tibia will just heal itself in place; no scaffolding needed.

The first few days after surgery were, of course, a little uncomfortable. Compared with orthopaedic surgery I had 5 years ago to repair broken arms (yes, arms) from a bicycle accident, the pain was much lower. I was able to leave the codeine haze after only a few days. There is basically no pain if I am sitting still with the leg slightly elevated. Amazing!

I only had to wear a cast for 6 days before being switched to an 'air cast', which is basically a removable plastic boot with basketball shoe - style pump action (Christine promised to draw a Nike swoosh onto it to make it sportier). This is great; it can be cinched down tight to keep swelling at bay, loosened for comfort while I sleep, removed so I can change my clothes and not have to wear paper ER pants or shorts any more. Overall, this is a way better outcome than having a cast for weeks or months. Lady luck strikes again!

The greatest fortune I enjoy, however, are my great friends, family, and Christine. Well wishes from the climbing community, including a night of brews at Hale's Ales courtesy of the Bushwhackers and the delivery of tons of reading material to keep me occupied while sitting around, have kept my spirits high. My immediate family, Christine's family, and many of my extended relatives have all reached out. The support I receive has, and will, make this a much easier move forward for me.

Christine has been a champ. I do what I can around the house (our kitchen is small enough for me to hop around and continue my usual cooking duties, I can still scoop the litterbox and sorta do laundry), but Christine has been grinning through the thankless tasks of carrying plates of food to and from the kitchen, taking out the trash, grocery shopping, and doing other chores that I'm unable to do at the moment. Thanks so much, hon!

Finally, I have the great fortune of living in a city with good public transportation. A bus drops off and picks up about 200 yards from my front door. I am able to easily use the bus to get to and from the hospital for doctor visits, the grocery store, the library, and about anywhere else I need to go. If I lived in a smaller, more rural, or less well served urban area, my life would be a huge pain in the neck right now. And, of course, we'll be relocating to Washington DC this late summer, which is even a notch higher in its public transit, having one of the greatest rail systems in the US.

It'll be about 5 weeks before I can stop using crutches and begin aerobic activities such as riding a stationary bike or swimming. Put another way, however, is that I'm only really sidelined/couchbound for 6 weeks, and one of those weeks has already passed. I'll be able to to put the trainer in front of the TV in July when the Tour de France is on for extra motivation. Getting back into cycling was part of my plan in moving to DC anyway, and that it can be integral in my physical therapy / rehab from this injury has only hastened my interest in getting it going.

Like everyone else, I like to think I don't take things in my life for granted. That said, my recent adventures have helped me realize how lucky I really am. Thanks to everyone who has been supportive!

Alaska - Happy Thoughts

Despite the bad outcome, I got some cool pictures. Here are a few. Notably lacking are sweet panoramas of the Ruth; I was figuring I'd take those once we got back down from Ham'n'Eggs. Hopefully I can score some from Kevin's camera eventually; the setting was the most stunning place I'd ever been.

Only moments off the plane, Kevin and I bump into living legend Fred Beckey in the airport. He likely has more first ascents to his credit than anyone in history, and has opened famous routes in Alaska, the Cascades, the Rockies, and the Sierra. Quite the character, he's still making climbing trips to Alaska after making pioneering ascents there (including Mt. Hunter with Heinrich Harrer of Eiger fame) in the 1950s. He told us weather was good near the Moose's Tooth, where he had been on this trip. I look like a dork giddy meeting a hero. He was on the cover of a Patagonia catalog a couple of years back. Anyone still climbing at 86 is a hardman in my book.

Kevin and I were planning a 3 week trip, which required an absurd amount of provisions. Here we are sorting gear and food at Talkeetna Air the night before our departure. I still can't believe we crammed all this stuff into moderate climbing packs and a couple of duffels each. We weighed in with 268lbs of gear between the two of us. If Kevin is able to continue his trip, that guy is going to be eating like a king on all of my foodstuffs left behind on the glacier!


On our flight in, we got views of a lot of peaks. The eastern flanks of Hunter and the intimidating Mt. Huntington are visible.










Bye bye, plane! TAT disappears over the camp of another party after we've been dropped in the amazing Ruth Gorge.













Views of the Moose's Tooth from the Gorge. Ham'n'Eggs is the broadest couloir in the center of the photo. It is approached via an icefall and couloir well left of the photo. The big hanging glacier front and center sent down some big stuff the first afternoon we were there.



The approach to the Root Canal glacier from the Ruth Gorge would likely be considered a classic moderate climb in itself if it were located in the Cascades. Weaving through glaciers, negotiating a steep couloir with a little verglas - covered rock, and topping out in a broad gentle snowfield as sun came up was a nice first day of movement on the trip.


Kevin mixing it up on 5.6 moves on the first pitch of Ham'n'Eggs. For perspective, it was around 4:30am when this photo was taken. He led it in fine style, confident and in control. I had a good feeling about this climb. Too bad I was wrong....

I Fall Down

I am back in Seattle far earlier than expected. On my second roped lead of the trip, on the third pitch of the Ham'n'Eggs Couloir on the Moose's Tooth, I took a lead fall at the top of an ice step, maybe 12 feet tall. I fell onto a steep snow slope, where I sustained fractures to my right tibia and fibula. I continued sliding in a scary fashion before the rope came taut from the belay. Bye bye, Alaska. Bye bye, Mt. Hunter. Ham'n'Eggs was ancillary compared to Hunter for me. I would not even set up camp at the Kahiltna on this trip, unfortunately. That said, I made it home in one piece - something for which to be thankful. It could have been much, much worse. Also, despite the outcome, I continue to believe that Kevin and I approached this trip and these climbs with an appropriate amount of humility and respect.

A quick summary of the details is here. The terrain we were on was technically moderate, and I felt very comfortable climbing. Near the top of the ice step, my ice tools were plunged into neve atop what felt like a good layer of ice, adhering to underlying rock. When weighted (to allow me to move my feet up), the snow and ice suddenly came loose from the rock, and I fell backwards onto the snowfield, sliding down despite desperate attempts to arrest, eventually plunging over the cliff at the bottom before being stopped by the rope coming taut from the belay (thankfully with me free hanging instead of spattered on rocks further down). The ice in the step was thin and I didn't place a screw; it was also extremely moderate and I felt comfortable on it. The only crack in the rock that was ice - free was flaring and I couldn't get a cam in, either. There was probably 30 feet of rope out, and I took a complete, real deal factor 2 fall onto the anchor. We chose to leave pickets behind for this climb, and one placed at the bottom of the ice step wouldn't have prevented my injury, but it could have prevented me from sliding over the edge of the cliff. An alternate description of it is written here, with maybe a little more discussion of technical details of the fall.

Other teams were retreating from higher on the route due to challenging weather conditions (high winds, lots of spindrift coming down the couloir). About the time that I got back to Kevin at the belay anchor, these other teams arrived on their way down. They generously assisted in my evacuation, making it more orderly and less stressful. A party below on the Root Canal glacier witnessed my fall and me being assisted on rappel, and met us at the base of the rappel line with a sled to assist in evacuating me to the nearby glacier airstrip. From here, I was able to take a great photo of this beautiful line. What little climbing we did was aesthetic, and it appeared to only improve as one went higher. I will likely never know, however.

The weather cleared, and I was able to get on a glacier flight out to Talkeetna. A quick shuttle ride to Providence hospital in Anchorage followed, and with the help of some area climbers I was able to get to the airport in time to catch a red-eye flight home, 25 hours after I woke up to begin the route.

I am grateful to everyone who helped out - Sarah Fritz and Irena of Boulder, Jason Butrick and Galen of Anchorage / Talkeetna, and Ryan and ?? of Anchorage (I forget Ryan's partner's name, but will try to recover it from Talkeetna Air). Most importantly, thanks to Kevin for being a great expedition partner (if only briefly), and for catching my fall!

I am also grateful to all my friends and family who have reached out and been supportive. I go in for surgery on Thursday to put some bionic plates on my leg bones. I will be in an air boot / cast for about 12 weeks before I can begin to select my own activities. It is hard to say what role climbing will play in my life when I am healthy; for now I am concentrating on making a good recovery and staying positive during this challenging time.

I'm off to Alaska!!

The massive duffel is packed. The last food has been dehydrated. The final trips to REI and Feathered Friends have been made. I get on a plane with Kevin tomorrow to Anchorage. From there we will catch a shuttle to the tiny town of Talkeetna (we'll stop in Wasilla for groceries, I'm hoping maybe to get First Dude's autograph).

Once in Talkeetna, we'll take a glacier plane to the Ruth Gorge, stay for a few days and make an attempt on The Moose's Tooth, and later the Kahiltna glacier to give Mt. Hunter a shot. With any luck, we'll be able to squeeze in another technical day climb or two while up there. I'm excited and nervous. The planning that has gone into this trip has been a massive piece of work in itself, and it is a relief to finally have it here.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has helped and supported me in making this happen. First and foremost, the support of my fiancee Christine; she's endured endless jibba-jabba by me about the trip, my itinerant lifestyle climbing this winter and spring in preparation, and my extended absence. In addition, thanks to all my climbing partners, friends, and mentors (especially those at the Bushwhacker Climbing Club) who have given me inspiration, beta, and hooked me up with gear. Finally, the support of family (both mine and Christine's) has been very important. Thanks, everyone!

I'll return May 27th or 28th, hopefully with great photos and stories of the trip of a lifetime.

Mt. Shuksan - North Face

I've been busy getting ready for my Alaska trip picking up odds and ends as well as doing some outings with my friends at the Bushwhacker Climbing Club. The weather has been finicky in the Cascades the last couple of weeks, but this Thursday and Friday promised to be clear. I trolled cascadeclimbers.com for a partner, and Josh Kali responded with interest in doing Shuksan's North Face. This would be perfect - a bigger route requiring a bivy would be a good 'shakedown' before my big trip. Josh had made an attempt on the route earlier in the season, and I had skied the White Salmon. I had been battling a cold earlier in the week, but was feeling good and definitely stoked.

This climb offers a rare combination of experiences - a steep snow climb up a face with unrelenting angle and exposure, traversing of broad glaciers, a summit pyramid scramble, some narrow glacier traversing and steep glacier descending, culminating in a complete circumnavigation of a very large peak. I was ready for a 'full meal deal' of a climb!

After some last minute preparations Thursday morning (more related to Alaska than this trip), I picked up Josh a little after noon. We got on the road up towards the Mt. Baker ski area (where we would access the climb). On the way, Josh realized he had forgotten his snowshoes. D'oh! No worries, we could stop at REI in Bellingham and he could rent a pair. After taking care of this and consuming some great energy food (Wendy's), we headed down Mt. Baker Highway. It was clear out, and cool once we got to the pullout near White Salmon Lodge.

Shuksan basically stares you in the face on the whole approach. I agreed to carry most of our group gear; both in an effort to simulate the pack weight I plan on carrying up Mt. Hunter next month, and also as a last conditioner. Rather than traversing out from the ski area through the trees, Josh suggested descending a clear cut into the basin then climbing back out. This went great, and was really fast. Probably the better option for snowshoe travel.

We agreed to take a liesurely pace in approaching our bivy, a ridge below the north face with views down into White Salmon basin and Price Lake. I started to move more quickly, however, when I realized we'd be getting to the ridge around sunset; I wanted the chance to take pictures. This was one of the more scenic campsites I've had in the Cascades. It was beautiful, with clear skies and no wind. We were really excited. After melting some snow (which takes a lot longer with a Jetboil than a white gas stove) and dinner, we crammed into the tiny tent. There is just enough room for 2 climbers in there, and about nothing else.

Winds picked up around 3 or 4am, and I had fitful sleep. That said, I was out hard when I suddenly awoke to there being light on our tent. I had slept through the alarm on my damned altimeter watch; the thing was just too quiet. No worries, I thought. We got up and out, broke down camp, and were on the move by a little after 6am. A little later than I wanted to be moving, but oh well.

We headed towards the slopes of the north face. The line was pretty obvious - straight up, weaving around rock bands. Down low there was some exposed crevasse/bergschrund terrain. Josh wanted to cruise over it, but being the worrywort I insisted on roping up. We belayed a couple of pitches to be on the safe side, and were quickly past this area. Teams attempting the climb soon would likely move over this terrain unroped just fine. The setting was beautiful; I was really happy to be out here, with cool temps, hard snow for great step kicking, and in such a scenic spot.


Once we moved right out of the way of some seracs, the terrain steepened a bit. I'm really bad at estimating slope angle; it always looks less steep when I'm not on it, and seems steeper when I'm on it. I would estimate the slopes to be between 35 and 50 degrees most of the way up the face (about 2000' vertical from camp), and pretty sustained - there weren't any surprise flat spots. That said, we were on snowfields and able to safely climb unroped. I noticed that Josh was moving a little slower. My original estimate for us was 2 - 3 hours to move off the face, but I backed off the pace to avoid opening up gaps and it took us more like 4 hours. The views from the north face were stellar, with the peaks as far as the eye could see to the east, and the Price Glacier (I think?) down below us to the east.

The slope was steep enough that I didn't want to have a 'packs off' break if at all avoidable. It had been awhile since I'd eaten or Josh had been able to drink (he doesn't have a dorky water bottle holster like many other climbing fashion victims including myself). We paused, drank, and then drilled it to the top of the face, where we gained the upper portions of the Hanging Glacier. I was starting to get more concerned about pace, and suggested an extended food/water break here so that Josh could get more fueled up. We were both very psyched to be out here on this climb, having sneaked in on such a narrow weather window. We also had the place all to ourselves, with no other footprints or bootpaths (a rarity on moderate climbs in the Cascades).

Josh led the traversing of the upper Hanging Glacier over the col to the Crystal Glacier. The wind was furious up there and I could feel my lips getting hammered. Once we dropped down, it abated. This side of the mountain had a 'way out there' feel to it, even though we weren't more than a few hours from the car. The snow was virgin, and I enjoyed the challenge we faced navigating the glacier to avoid steep sections and cracks. Unfortunately, Josh's pace on the front of the rope had not picked up after our break. Since our itinerary was a circumnavigation, and I wasn't too keen on downclimbing the north face at this point, we were committed. I knew that we were on pace to be out most of the day and probably finishing in the dark. No worries - we were both familiar with the way in and out. Besides, the day was just too fine to be too preoccupied. As long as we maintained a steady pace, things were gonna be fine.

We picked a line down low to avoid some cracks while crossing over from the Crystal to the Sulphide Glacier; Mt. Baker was in the background the entire time, staring us in the face. Eventually our traverse brought us below the south facing aspect of the Summit Pyramid. The 'scramble' looked like it had some steep snow sections, and maybe a little bit of steep stuff near the top. At this point it was 2pm. I had grown a little weary of the slow pace that Josh was able to muster, but we were a team and I've had tough days in the mountains, too. We discussed, and Josh told me he didn't feel like he had the juice to climb it. I was a little disappointed, and considered asking him to hang out for an hour while I soloed up the thing and came down. Ultimately I didn't present this option; I thought asking him to sit around and wait for an hour would only increase his fatigue. It would also delay us further. Besides, we had already climbed a massive north face, and were on track to circumnavigate the whole mountain, being on 5 different glacier systems. I was pleased with just being out, and stayed positive. We agreed to forego the summit scramble and move on.

I could tell Josh was bummed out, and tried to cheer him up. This was definitely the most scenic day I'd had in the mountains in a while, and I was very happy to be up here on such an aesthetic route and new terrain. Reminding him of what a good day we were having in this regard helped keep spirits high as we descended down the Sulphide towards the Hourglass (a.k.a. Hell's Highway). A short downclimb of the steeper terrain brought us to the upper Curtis Glacier, #4 for the day (after the Hanging, Crystal, and Sulphide). There was some wild crevasse terrain down lower, and this narrow glacier again brough more fantastic scenery. At this point, I was on the front of the rope, and was not shy about giving Josh a few helpful 'tugs' on the uphill section to aid in our progress. We went up and over the lower Curtis, and made a short descent to the tiny notch where we could cross over to the upper White Salmon (or is it Winnie's Slide? I can't figure out exactly where this feature is located). Neat crevasse features and views to the lower Curtis glacier (which has almost as dramatic an appearance as the Hanging Glacier) were the highlights of this part of the trip.

As we began losing elevation, Josh and I had very different desired paces. We popped over to the upper White Salmon glacier. Steps traversed far to the west, and I was skeptical about where they led. I pushed for a more direct line of descent down the glacier. It was steep enough in places (35 degrees plus), much steeper than it had been earlier in the season when I ski toured here. I knew the steep parts would require some downclimbing, but figured that straight down would be better. Josh found the downclimbing tedious, and we didn't descend nearly as quickly as I wanted - I had to make sure not to pull on the rope going down (which made him uncomfortable) . I knew that he was tired and that pushing him to go faster would likely make the situation more stressful, so I did my best to keep a moderate pace.

After what seemed like hours, we were eventually able to turn around and plunge step down. At this point it was late in the day, and the snow was really soft. The bottom of the glacier had steep exposed rock, and we had to traverse into the line of fire of the Hanging Glacier to complete the descent. We hauled ass and eventually were down! Finally! Strapping the snowshoes on, we made our way down into the cirque for the walk out.

We reached what we thought was the clear cut for the 'descent' (which actually required about 500' of climbing). It darkened, and after awhile it became clear this was a drainage but not the drainage. I was pretty worked from being out all day, and ready to be back at the car. I pushed for us to continue to ascend and then traverse to the ski area, rather than descend and search in the dark for the 'right' drainage. Nothing like a little bushwhacking in the dark to wrap up a good day of Cascades climbing.

Overall, I had a really good day. Josh's technical game was tight, and with a little more conditioning he will be a great partner for big challenging routes in the mountains. Thanks for partnering up, Josh!

Mt. Hood - Leuthold Couloir

Weather was forecast to be good early this week, and Jason Schuman replied to a post I had on cascadeclimbers.com looking for a partner for Hood. I haven't been up it before, and had my eye on the Sandy Glacier Headwall. Jason had been up Hood quite a few times and countered with a suggestion of Leuthold Couloir due to the recent warm spell.

Mt. Hood has a reputation for being quite crowded. The access is the easiest of all the Cascade volcanoes, and its proximity to Portland is also a contributing factor. Our plan was to get an early start (or a late start, depending on how you look at it). After a quick dinner with Christine, I got on the road at 7pm. I met up with Jason at a P&R in east Portland around 10p made our way out towards I-84 (and I'm pretty sure we saw some ladies of the evening on our way out), and headed out towards Hood.

Jason and I shot the breeze. He's an educated guy with a strong climbing resume and a young family. Like me, he's caught a case of "unemployed"-itis. Easy conversation passed the time on our drive out. We got the parking lot around 11:45pm. To my surprise, the lot is completely lit up by floodlights. I found this quite odd; how could anyone bivy out here? I guess they don't.

We left the car five minutes past midnight; I figured we'd have the mountain mostly to ourselves, given the late night start and weekday. I couldn't have been more wrong! As we made our way up along the Timberline ski lifts, I saw the lights of several parties ahead of us. There were also lights of several parties coming up behind us. A group of 3 overtook us pretty quickly - they were really moving. We kept a steady pace, occasionally stopping, turning the lamps off, and taking in the amazing views of the stars on the clear night.

I felt unnervingly warm and dry breezes from the west as we made our way up along the lifts. The snow was hard (though making your way on the cat track trail left something to be desired for sure). The warm air made me nervous about stability. As we gained elevation towards Illumination Rock, those fears abated as I froze my ass off. There was a party at Illumination Saddle roping up for Leuthold's as well. We decided to take our time roping up to give a good distance between us and them. My teeth were chattering and I was shivering in my thin Micro Puff coat as we flaked the rope, tied in, and coiled it up. I was impressed by Jason wearing nothing but a windshirt and softshell.

When it looked like the other party was far enough ahead, we dropped down and made our way across the glacier. As we got underneath the couloir proper, there was tons of snow and ice coming down - like a small waterfall. We figured it was from the other party above, and took shelter below a rock on the north side of the couloir thinking it would eventually abate as they moved higher. After a generous food/water break, the stuff was still coming down. At this point it was about 4:30 or so, and we decided to get a move on. We each took hits to the helmet and shoulders - nothing serious, but almost enough to get your bell rung. This motivated me to climb faster, and I kicked steps as fast as I could. We agreed that the terrain was mellow enough to go up unroped, which helped contribute to speed and efficiency.

Eventually we got to a junction, and opted for a narrow couloir to the right. This was literally a waterfall of little ice and snow bits. At this point first light was upon us. We had made considerable progress, and the couloir looked short. We went up it quickly, though my steps blew out giving Jason some difficulty making it up. He commented to me that he thought we might be off - route in an adjacent couloir, but that it should link back up with the regular route. I was nervous that I'd top out on the couloir only to find myself on top of a fat cornice or something. To my relief, he was correct, and some straightforward traversing led us back to the route proper (and the steps of previous parties, a good sign). As the sun was rising on the other side of the mountain, it cast a long shadow across the valleys to the west.

My altimeter suggested that we had another 1500' or so before the summit. By now it was after 6am, and I was getting fatigued - the extra 2 gallons of water ballast I tossed in the pack for 'conditioning' was getting old fast, and fatigue from being awake since yesterday morning was starting to set in. Fortunately, my altimeter was off. We topped out on the final snowfield and summit ridge to amazing bluebird skies, views of the other Southern volcanoes, and warming sunlight. The setting was awesome. We followed the well - worn path to the summit proper, where there were at least 5 other people already, including the party that was ahead of us. A quick look down to the hogsback showed at least a dozen other people headed up to the summit. This was indeed a popular mountain! We lounged, ate, and I finally dumped the water.


The Pearly Gates, the typical South Side ascent/descent route, was iced up so we followed everyone else in descending slightly to the west. The snow was steep and very rime-y, with ice
chunks that seemed like shale. We quickly got down to the Hogsback, changed clothes as it was warming considerably, and proceeded down. The descent is a bit punishing; you can see Timberline Lodge as well as the parking lot the entire way! We squinted and Jason was pretty sure he saw a white speck that was my car. On top of that, the posts from the ski lifts were quite visible. I figured we'd dispatch with this descent really quickly. Wrong again - I think it was foreshortening or something; it seemed to take hours to descend, but only took a couple. Jason has excellent glissading skills. My bantam weight, which aids on ascents, puts me at a distinct disadvantage in this arena. Unless it is steep such as here. As Jason made progress aided by gravity, I had to keep plodding along.

Jason also had a brilliant idea and sweet - talked the ski lift operators into downloading us to the bottom of the Magic Mile, probably saving us a half hour. All we had to do was look a little pathetic to them (not too much of a stretch at this point), and they bought it. Sweet. A quick stroll past the lodge (movie buffs note: this was where The Shining was filmed) brought us to the car in just under 11 hours round trip. There were sunny skies, it was probably in the 60s, and was about the nicest spring day I've seen this year in the Cascades.

We changed clothes, exchanged war stories with other climbers in the lot, and signed out our permit before heading down to Government Camp for a huge burger. After I dropped Jason off at his car, I began the long drive back to Seattle. It was about 1pm, and I'd been awake for 31 hours. I caught up with Joe and Mom on the phone, and then pulled over at a rest stop for a quick snooze. I made it back to town just in time to pick up Christine from work; ever the sweetheart, she cooked me a big fajita dinner (I had already digested the 1/2lb burger plus fries from a few hours earlier and was ready for more). I was passed out on the couch by 7pm or so. Good days these are, good days.

Mt. Si Relay

On Sunday Christine and I ran in the Mt. Si relay race with a doctor from her work (the Polyclinic), her boyfriend and his friend (both employed at Amazon). We ran under the name "Team Polyzon"; certainly makes more sense than "Polyunempzon" :P

Christine had given me the impression that Dr. Frownfelter and friends were into running, but maybe this was going to be more of a "fun" event than a competitive event. All hopes of such an outcome were dashed when Christine put in a blistering sub 6:30 per mile pace for the first leg. The bar was held high throughout the whole day. We ended up 6th out of 115 teams, and 2nd in the "mixed men/women" category. I ran as hard as I could, but I'm not in the hottest running shape. These folks were serious! Everyone was laying down fast times.

Each competitor ran two legs. Most of us ended up with a longer first leg (6 - 8 miles) and a shorter second leg (3 - 4 miles), save for Matt who made a very heroic 7 mile run up to Rattlesnake Lake for his second leg. I ran a 6.1 and 3.4 mile legs, and felt more wasted at the end of the day than if I had run 9.5 miles all at once.

Matt had an awesome GPS watch that gave current and average pace estimates, as well as distances travelled. I now have a serious case of tech envy for such a device. It's a real motivator while racing, as I worked to keep my pace high.

This was a really fun event, and a cool way to make a running race more interesting. Thanks for inviting me along!

California Day 3: J-Tree Cragging

I woke up before most everyone else (probably because I didn't have too much booze last night), and went for a trail run up a nearby peak. It wasn't very far, maybe only 5 miles and couldn't have gained much more than 1200', but it was steep enough to get my lungs a-scorchin', as well as a remind me that Ihadn't run in a few days. I didn't bring my running shoes, but my climbing approach shoes were mostly up to the task. The temperatures were very mild, and the air so dry compared to what I'm used to up in Seattle. It was quite pleasant, and I was happy to sneak in a workout before everyone stirred.

After I got back, we lounged around, ate breakfast, and decided what to climb that day. Kevin's friends were a club of climbers; some took off that morning after already having been there for a couple of days, but we joined the remainder for cragging around Sheep Pass. The pace was quite relaxed, and the group campground was pretty comfy - we had definitely had a hard time getting going (see picture). Eventually we got a move-on. We each led up a route, and then took laps on the others. With such willing belayers, I got in several laps on each before we called it good.

The climbing on the J-Tree slabs and domes is what I would call "no bullsh*t" compared to most modern crag areas. With a strong trad ethic guiding route development, bolts are sparsely placed. The first climb of the day I led was a fun 5.7, but it was about 20-25' from the last bolt to the anchors. I haven't been rock climbing tons over the winter, and had to focus to keep my head straight to avoid getting cheese-grated down the slab if I screwed up.

We through a toprope on a 5.10 route called "3 Bolts Closer to Divorce", and it hurt my feelings. The flakes were so thin, by the end of flailing on the thing my toes had about had it. The first one on it, I made all kinds of embarrassing noises in my effort; I didn't feel so bad when everyone else following suit did the same.

After a few laps with the toes and fingers a little spent, we called it good and Kevin's friends took off back to LA. Kevin and I squeezed in a couple of more pitches as sun set, including a moderate J-Tree classic called "Lazy Day". Kevin did an excellent lead up a 5.8 where he got suckered into a chimney and was forced to not use all of the easy holds on the outside face. I was very impressed with his focus and determination on the routes. For my part, all of the alpine climbing I've been doing (as opposed to leading hard routes at the crags) led me to climb these routes really quickly, which was a definite confidence booster.

We topped out on Lazy Day at sunset, rapped down, and got on the road back to LA. 3 days, nearly 5,000' of vert on Whitney, 20 pitches of rock, and 1200' vert on a trail run. It was a fun - packed trip, and Kevin and I spent the car ride discussing our ideas about Alaska climbing. I was very stoked, and Kevin seemed to be, as well. Thanks for the cool trip, Kevin!

California Day 2: Alabama Hills Cragging

So yesterday the mountains got a ton of new snow on them; this more or less ruled out any chance we had of getting on technical rock routes up there (the original plan). I brought rock shoes, so we decided some cragging was in order. This was still useful in terms of climbing together - seeing how we each manage rope, lead, protect, belay, etc is important stuff and transfers directly to how things would get done in a bigger setting.

The Alabama Hills is an area right off of the road up from Lone Pine to the Whitney Portal. It is famous for being a setting for numerous western films; the roads there have all sorts of names relating to this history, and there is even a 'film history museum' down in town. Kevin had the guidebook, and assured me the cragging was high quality and short approach. How short of an approach? "You can belay out of the car if you want." Reassured by what I thought was hyperbole, I was surprised to find out that one could literally belay from the car for numerous routes!

I was too busy climbing today to be taking good pictures, but we climbed a whole ton of stuff. Sticking primarily to moderate bolted routes, we knocked off about 10 pitches today on the Sharkfin and at Paul's Paradise. The granite down here is amazing to climb on; nothing like what I am used to from the Cascades. Very high friction with tons of flakes. The setting was outstanding, as well; the mountains were in the background for the entire day we climbed. Kevin is a smooth and efficient rock leader, and we knocked out the pitches with a quickness.

After we had our fill, we got in the truck and headed down towards Joshua Tree. Some of Kevin's friends had a group campsite reserved, and we figured we could crash down here and do some cragging in J-Tree tomorrow.

The high point of the day for me was getting a California burrito from Santana's just outside the park. A California burrito is a trifecta of goodness: home fries, carne asada, and lots of cheese. Matched with a horchata, it is an essential southern California experience. Of greasy cheap food, that is.

We got to the campground, pulled up around the campfire, got introduced to some folks, and settled in for the evening. Too lazy to pull all my stuff outta the truck to sleep in the back, I was content to throw the bag/pad down on the ground and call it good. I had dreams of coyotes licking my face and chasing me, and I can't say for sure that it didn't actually happen during the night. So far, I'm having a good time and feeling pumped to climb more.

California Day 1: Mt. Whitney

I flew down to LA to do an 'interview' climbing weekend with Kevin, a prospective partner for Alaska in May. I've had some difficulty finding a partner around where I live, and Kevin replied to a post I made on a popular climbing message board. He has a really good climbing resume, including a summit of Denali two years ago. Phone and email correspondence revealed that we had similar preferences for routes. Since weather in the Cascades is so iffy compared to the Sierra, it made more sense for me to head down that way.

We departed LA Thursday evening and headed up to Lone Pine, and on to the Whitney Portal. We had a crappy weather forecast for Friday, but with limited time decided that an attempt on Whitney in marginal weather would be a good fitness barometer. We slept in the back of the truck up there at 8,000', and woke up with the sun maybe 6:30ish. We cooked breakfast and had a leisurely start. About 5 minutes after departing the car, light snow started falling. It fell pretty much consistently the entire day.

Nevertheless, we made quick progress. I wanted to demonstrate to Kevin that I was motivated and fit, and volunteered for the lion's share of the trailbreaking. We followed steps to Lower Boy Scout lake, and then more or less made our own way from there. Kevin was definitely fit, and we made good time. Unfortunately, as we got higher, visibility got poorer and the snow got deeper.

Eventually we reached the basin of Iceberg Lake around 13,000', at the base of the Mountaineer's Route/Gully. It had taken us about 5 hours to get to this point. I jokingly asked Kevin which gully we should take. Jokingly because we were in about 100% white out conditions. Additionally, though there was only a few inches of fresh on the ground down lower, there was about a foot here. It would have been tough work making our way up the gully. We didn't have to discuss very long before we decided the day was done. That we were both ready to pull the plug was evidence that we have similar ideas about risk; this mattered a lot to me in terms of a prospective partner for the mountains.

As we turned around and headed down, I started to get a headache and a little nauseated. Kevin led the way most of the way down. I told him that I was not used to the altitude, and was having a little difficulty. He soldiered on the whole way down; being a Sierra local, he had no troubles at all.

We got back to the car late afternoon, got out of our wet clothes, and made a bee line down to Lone Pine for some pizza. We dropped by the Lone Pine Hostel, where we ran into some of his friends and hung out for awhile. I was pleased with day one of the trip, and optimistic about our ability to bite off a bigger trip in Alaska.

She said yes!

My sneak - attack proposal today went off without a hitch (pun intended). Christine treated me to a nice dinner for my berfday at one of our favorite restaurants, and I popped the question. She said yes, and I am was so happy! It took every ounce of strength I had to not pop the question once I had the ring in my hot little hands the previous days.

Canada Ice: Day 6 - Dissed

Our last morning, we packed up and headed south. The plan was to take a more southerly route home to avoid the stressful driving conditions we encountered on portions of the Trans - Canada, instead dropping down into Idaho and taking I-90 back to Seattle. The plan was to climb at Gibraltar Wall, a spot conveniently on the way.

The drive was really pretty, as we were able to get a totally different perspective on the southern part of the range. As we drove further south, and the sun came further up in the sky, I began to get concerned over the lack of snow and ice we saw.

The climb required Matt to drive down a logging road for at least 30 klicks. The further we drove, the less and less likely it appeared that we would suddenly come upon a fat waterfall. The guidebook suggested it was a reliable route, though, so it was worth checking out.

I swear we weren't out of the car at the base of where we saw the obvious falls for thirty seconds before some loud booms were heard from up high. Dripping waterfalls were plainly visible on this sun - exposed wall. It probably was a great climb a month ago, but the warm temps as of late had not been kind.







Not to be skunked, we decided to head up a gully to the right which also contained a recommended route. There was no snow on the ground, and so we bushwhacked up a ways on steep terrain. It was dense with brush, reminding me of the Ozarks where my grandmother lived. It was also really warm out. Up high, I saw some whiteness through the brush at the top of the drainage. It appeared to go up and around a corner, so I went up to check it out. Meanwhile, Jordan and Matt were picking up pieces of tat that appeared to be remnants of V-threads past. Only now they were laying in piles of leaves and brush.

Up above the short step, we saw the falls for what they were - a waterfall. There was an impossibly thin free-standing pillar with water cascading down one side of it. At this point, we were victims of our own ambition - most reasonable climbers would not have even left the car.

We rigged a quick rap, which was also foolish and time consuming since we could have just downclimbed, and got down to the car quickly and continued on our way back to the good ol' US of A. I think I was declaring my disdain for this climb in this photo. Either that or burping, I don't remember.









I snoozed in the car for awhile, and woke up just in time for us to partake in this photo. FYI, Jordan is the miner, I'm the wife, and Matt is the baby girl.

We made a smooth passage through the border, and whaddaya know? It's raining in the Pacific Northwest. Aaah, good to be home. We stopped for the final food indulgence of the trip, some good Mexican in Spokane after swinging by Mountain Gear and searching for sales (none were to be had). We got back to Seattle around 10pm, and Matt and Jordan dropped me off at my place (thanks, guys!).

This was by far the best climbing trip I've ever been on, and I'd like to thank Matt and Jordan for having me along. This is a trip they had planned for some time, and were gracious enough to have me along. I had a great time sharing climbs, laughs, and beer with them.

A side note - we got home just in time. Matt's wife, Cindy, was pregnant and due in mid - April, but went into labor the night after we got home. Congratulations to them and Jackson, their newborn son! We got home in the nick of time!

Canada Ice: Day 5 - Guinness Gully

Friday brought us to another moderate classic of the Canadian Rockies: the Guinness Gully. All of the climbs on Mt. Dennis have beer names, and this was one of the more popular moderates, rated at WI 4.

A kind of lengthy drive from Canmore brought us to the tiny little hamlet of Field. The first thing we saw out of the car was a warning to ice climbers that these routes were threatened by avalanche slopes. There had been no fresh in days, so we weren't too worried.



The approach was short and steep to the base of the route. Jordan took the first pitch of WI 4, and styled up it nicely. Shortly after he took off on lead, another party showed up behind us clearly wanting to get on the route. They chose to hang out down below. I thought they'd left at one point, but was pretty sure I heard harmonica playing. Harmonica? Seriously? That was kind of amusing.

Jordan brought us up, and the next pitch was purported to be the crux. It had gotten so much traffic that there were practically steps going the whole way up, so I volunteered to take the lead. The base of the pitch had a funky overhang/cave feature that gave Matt a sheltered belay and Jordan the opportunity to take some pictures of me that greatly exaggerated the steepness. Not to say that it wasn't steep. Arcteryx, if you're reading this, I'm unemployed and climbing. Hit me up. I'll pimp your stuff.

The next pitch was a really wide ice curtain that was also really tall. Jordan took the lead again, and made it look easy as usual. The other party came up and climbed on the opposite side of the curtain. Conversation revealed that, yes, they were playing harmonica (I asked). They had accents that I couldn't really discern, I guess a sort of eastern Canadian thing. The younger member of the party was telling us how he was getting ready to go down and do some desert rock at Zion and Indian Creek. Such a charmed life! I can't complain, with an Alaska trip in the works. Still though, I wouldn't mind cruising down to Utah for a month to become a hardman crack climber at the Creek or do some big - walling in Zion. I hadn't touched rock outside (without gloves on) in months!

A quick 'move-the-belay' pitch brought us to the end of this climb. We debated continuing further to the "Guinness Stout" pitches, supposedly 45 minutes up the gully. We opted to call it good so we could get down and back to Canmore early enough to get some good grub. As the guidebook recommended, we traversed off right to look for the descent route.

I don't remember if Jordan said "Oh snap!" when he came upon the glissade path, but that's sure what this picture looks like. The guidebook indicated that there is usually a glissade path (a.k.a. butt-slide path, a.k.a. otter slide) going down through the trees from this route almost all the way to the road. I wasn't too terribly excited about this; I've historically not been a fan of glissading. I figured that doing it through the trees would just shred my pants and involve me hitting my ass on rocks and roots. Jordan and Matt were stoked, though, and quickly took off in front of me.

I did my best to keep up booting down, but it became clear quickly that I should follow suit in order to keep up. Also, despite my prejudices, they made it look really fun. So I sat down. Did I have fun? Watch the video and be the judge yourself. I did in fact have buttcheek-to-rock contact. I showed Matt and Jordan in the hot tub later, and they thought it was hilarious! It was pretty funny I guess, but it was more funny when I could walk right a couple of days later.

We got back to Canmore quick enough to hit up another bar-and-grill spot, where I wanted to order Poutain (Canadian french fries served with gravy and cheese curds), but chickened out. We drank some beers, shot some pool, and enjoyed our last night in town. A guy could get used to this (ice climbing, hot tubs, swilling beers), but I was ready to get back home to Seattle. Tomorrow we would hit the road and try to climb something on the way. I was so psyched to have had such a great trip with great friends in a great climbing area.





Jordan's eyewear of choice? Mickey Mouse sunglasses.