June 21/22 – On the volcano

Mt Baker, via the Boulder Glacier route

This was a GCC graduation climb, put together for a few of the students who had just completed the 2014 OSAT Glacier Climbing Course. This climb was going on at the same time as two others on Baker – all going up different routes. The Boulder Glacier route is the longest (18 miles round trip) and most elevation gain (8000’), so it was not getting a lot of people signing up. The guys who were leading the climb wanted a full group so they started contacting people who had gone through the course in previous years, like my climbing partner Chris F and myself.

Once we got the invite, I did a little research on the climb. I quickly discovered why it wasn’t filling up very quickly.  This was going to be a tough one! Here is the cheerful description from the OSAT sign-up page:

Registration is now closed and those that signed up must suffer the horrors of the Boulder route. It starts with a brief bushwhack on an overgrown trail. Then 2 miles of blow downs, then a brief swamp, then a steep climbers trail. Then a brief rock scramble with full pack. After all that, the glacier climbing will seem relatively easy. The benefit will be the solitude and views of Mt Shuksan.

I wanted to do this climb to see if I was in any condition to try for Rainier later this summer. This would be a good test of endurance, since I have not completed a single significant climb yet this year. I was really nervous. The last time I had summited Mt Baker, last year, it was a painful experience. Made it, but just barely. I had a lot of misgivings about this trip.

  

Laying out all the goodies needed for a glacier climb

Everything neatly packed away. The stuff in the duffel are things that I'll put on at the trailhead (boots, gaiters, etc) and a change of clean, comfy clothes for the ride home.

The route was one of the more difficult ways to get to the top of Baker. It’s a two day climb – get to basecamp by midday Saturday, get some rest, get up later that evening, then head for the summit by midnight. The approach is from the ESE. No one else was climbing that route that day. On the way up, on Saturday, we did run into a smaller group who had summited  and were on their way out. They said there was a group of 12 camped out at 6,000’. We never saw them, though.

We met at the Sedro Woolley ranger station on Saturday, June 21 at 7:30am. Chris and I thought that was kind of late, and it was. We didn’t leave there until 8, and didn’t start hiking until 9. As we were getting ready in the parking lot at the trailhead, folks were weighing their packs. Even though mine had weighed in at 46 pounds at home, it somehow gained 8 pounds and was now a hefty 54 pounds. I was carrying 30 meter rope and a couple of pickets but that doesn’t add up to 8 pounds! Chalk it up to the mysteries of the mountains. People were comparing weights. Someone had the bright idea to have everyone carry an equal percentage of their body weight. I weigh 200, and was carrying just over 50 = 1/4 of my body weight. Others weighed closer to 150 and were carrying close to 50 lbs = 1/3 body weight. Whatever. The guys who only weigh 150 are 25 years younger than me and in better shape. 

 

At the trailhead, unloading and getting ready to go!

The trail was a real slog. I don’t mind trails like that for short day hikes, but when you are lugging a full pack and are trying to make good time, then those kinds of trails are not fun, at all. Here are some pictures of the slogginess.

 

At this point, the "trail" was just a creek bed

So much for keeping those nice boots clean...

First rest stop, a couple hours in. That's Russell, one of the leaders, behind me.

After a couple of hours we got our first glimpse. It was a clear day and it really was beautiful out there.

At 3.2 miles, the trail runs into a headwall. It’s about 50 vertical feet of rock. Time to do some rock climbing! Fun, but not something you want to do when you need to make time and you have heavy packs on. The problem was that there were a few in the group who had never done any rock climbing at all.  It took us 2 hours to get past that rock wall, including a little break at the top.

Approaching the rock wall, about 3 miles in. 

Halfway up

At the top of the rock wall. Made it! 

Now we were in the snow, and could see our path ahead clearly. 

We went on for another hour or so, then the leaders decided to call it a day. We were trying to balance between moving forward and sleeping later or stopping here and getting up earlier. We stopped at 5500’. Summit is 10,781. That left over 5,000’ elevation gain for summit day, which is more than what the typical ascent of Mt Rainier is. This was not looking good.

 

Approaching basecamp, with a nice view of Sherman Peak (l) and Grant Peak (r)

The word went out that we needed to be roped up and ready to climb by 12:30 that morning. Chris and I split duties between melting / purifying snow to replenish the drinking water and setting up the tent. The actual setup of the Hilleberg is easy but it takes a while to dig out a smooth and level footprint.

The Hilleberg at basecamp, w/ Mt Shuksan in the background.

 

Saturday, late afternoon, view from the tent. 

After a dinner of Top Ramen + tuna, we hit our bags by 5:00 or so. But once again, I could not sleep at all. As seems to be tradition, I stayed awake for hours, tossing and turning, trying to relax, then dozed off a few minutes before it’s time to get up. This way, I get the least amount of sleep possible and am the most tired and disoriented when I have to get up.

The biggest benefit of the Boulder Glacier route up Baker are the views. There are no nearby peaks to block your view. There are no city lights that are visible, like there are on the Easton Glacier side. When I popped my head out of the tent at 11:40 that night, it was AMAZING. The stars were so bright. I could see the Milky Way very clearly, streaking diagonally across the sky. Wow. I fired up the MSR to heat some water for some warm food. We were getting yelled at by the leaders to get moving so I didn’t quite finish the oatmeal but I did wolf down two pop tarts and some water. No time for hot coffee. Chris and I knew we could get ready fast, and we joined the group at 12:20, and were fully tied in to the climbing rope before 12:30. And we stood there for another 20 minutes while everyone else messed around and tried to figure out how to tie a reverse figure eight by the light of a headlamp. Sigh.  

We headed out just before 1:00am. It was a nice feeling to finally get started but I was still pretty nervous about my ability to make it. At this point, it’s not a good idea to think about how long of a day it is going to be. Its 1:00am and you won’t get to the top for another 6-8 hours. Man that’s a long time to be walking up a hill, stomping around in big stiff boots with crampons on ‘em. You just don’t think about it. You look around and see if you can make out anything in the dark. You do a self-check to make sure nothing’s dangling off your harness that can snag your crampons. You force yourself to eat something at least once an hour, and keep drinking too. It really is one step at a time out there. 22,000 steps later (as per Chris’ FitBit), you get to the top. When we started, it was very dark out, so dark you couldn't even see the outline of the mountain in front of you. You just follow your headlamp, and the lights of the others ahead of you, and make sure you don’t step on the climbing rope. Far ahead, I could see the leader’s headlamp sweeping back and forth as he scanned for lurking crevasses. And you keep going.

As soon as we started out we smelled (and tasted) the tangy sulfur coming from the fumaroles of Sherman Crater.  Apparently we were downwind and that not-very-tasty smell stayed with us the entire ascent. It was kind of like chewing on rotten eggs wrapped up in tin foil. Many of us felt nauseous from the fumes, myself included. You just keep drinking water and hope it isn’t AMS.

Around 3, we could see an orange glow in the eastern horizon. You could start to make out the profiles of the North Cascades. It stayed that way for quite a while before getting significantly lighter. 

Around 4:30, we could make out the see the dual outlines of Sherman Peak and Grant Peak, which is the true summit of Mt Baker.  

Keep walking.

The moon rose up behind us, over the craggy tip of Mt Shuksan. I had never seen anything like that. It was a quarter moon, and the bright side was a dark, smoldering orange, like it had just been pulled from a furnace and was still glowing with the heat. Wow.

Keep walking.

The walk became steeper as we made our way up the mountainside. We had to start zigzagging up as it was too steep to go straight up. Even though it’s easier on your calves, zigzagging can be a drag because you eventually start traversing and that is scary when its icy. More on that later.

Keep walking.

It got light enough to see the details of Sherman and Grant. Sherman Peak is on the south side and it slightly lower than the true summit of Grant Peak. They looked a long ways away, and they were. We were into the hike about 4 hours now.

 

Sunrise over the beautiful North Cascades

Keep walking.

 

Sun rising beyond the formidable Shuksan. You can see some of the shininess of the ice on the slope.

On a particularly steep hill, someone up ahead yelled  “phone!”. I looked up in time to see the outline of a black iPhone tumbling down the slope past everyone. Someone had been taking pictures with their phone (like I had been doing) and had not put a leash on it (like I hadn’t done) and had dropped it (no, it wasn’t me!). Off it went. As humorous as it may sound, it was not a funny scene. You see, when you are on an icy grade, things that are dropped or sliding down the hill do not slow down. They speed up. This phone was hauling ass by the time it went zipping by. Tumbling end over end, catching some air. I turned to watch it go down. There was no thought of going after it – if anyone had tried they probably would have died. So you stand there and watch it go. I quit watching as it went over the edge and I could hear a solid “whack” as it hit the upper end of the cleaver that was below us. Someone said “now you know where you will go if you fell”. Thanks buddy. Scary thought, but he was absolutely right. That phone took the path that a person would take.

Keep Walking.

 

Full daylight now. This pic shows the large bergschrund that is at the top of the glacier. We went above that but below the rocks of the summit. 

We were now at around 8,000 feet – about halfway. The route got a little steeper, and there was an icy crust on the snow. There were crevasses all around us and we were not gaining much elevation as we went back and forth to avoid them. The leader was no longer able to kick steps in the snow – he was now using his ice axe to chop out steps. I had never seen that before. He was at the front and I was bringing up the rear of the group. May times, I was directly below him by a hundred feet or so, and the ice chunks that were busting loose from his digging would go whizzing by me down the hill. There was a constant herd of fast moving ice chunks clinking off the icy surface all around me. I didn’t like that sound as it was a nice reminder of how hard it would be to get your ice axe to purchase in the event of a fall and self-arrest. Some of the larger pieces were about as big as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (on Wonder Bread, of course). None hit me (I kept an eye on the larger ones) but one did whack into my ice axe right next to me with a bright “Ping!”

Keep walking.

 

Our leader, Andrew, seated. 

We crossed above the Boulder Glacier Bergschrund. It was starting to warm up – the sun was hitting us and I was sweating underneath the Smartwool baselayer and lightweight puffy that I had started out the morning with. Hands, feet and face were still freezing, of course. A bergschrund is where the top of a glacier is separating from the mountain as it slides down. This is usually a long, wide crevasse. This one was pretty good sized. We crossed below it, then circled around and came back over above it. We were now on a big long traverse. The snow was still icy, so much so that there were no steps any more – just little scratch marks from everyone’s crampons. This is where I started getting a little worried. One slip. Just one little slip. After hours and hours of climbing and thousands of steps. One little slip and off you go like that unfortunate cell phone. Those are not happy thoughts and it’s really not a good plan to be thinking about that. It is important to focus on each step. Don’t vary your pace. Don’t speed up, don’t slow down. Keep it consistent. In these situations, you always keep at least two points on the ground. Take a step forward. Firmly plant your crampon on the ice, hoping for a solid purchase. Start to lean forward – take your axe and whack it down in front, on the uphill side. There’s a nice little metal tip on the end and it usually will stick to the ice. When it feels like you have a safe foothold and your axe is dug in, then you can move your other foot forward and it starts over. You never want to be moving your foot and the axe at the same time. That leaves only on point in contact with the ground, not two.  It’s a balancing act, really. You want to lean into the slope, but if you lean into it too far, then your feel will slide out from under you and down you go. If you remain too vertical, then you run the risk of simply tipping over and down you go. So you find a balance. The fun part is when your axe punches through the ice and hits the soft snow underneath. In those cases, it sinks down to the head and you end up leaning way over to the uphill side. Gingerly get back upright but don’t overcompensate! Oh boy!

Keep walking.

 

The final traverse

We cleared this last traverse and took one last break below the summit. We were at 10,100’. There was a small hill, not a bad slope on it, leading to the top of the volcano. I could see people up there, milling around on the summit. We were that close. Since I was at the end of the last rope team, I was always the last one to join the group whenever they stopped to rest. By the time I made it off that nasty-ass traverse and approached the group, I heard the leaders saying “That’s it. We’re calling it”. What?!? Dammit! I had just spent the last 4 hours staring at that summit, savoring the anticipation of getting another summit pic. I had on a t-shirt from Boston College that Rachael had given me for Father’s Day and I wanted to get a picture of it at the top. This one was for her. I could not believe it. To say that was an emotional moment is like saying Puget Sound is deep in a few spots.  

 

10,100'. This is as far as we're going today. 

They had made the right decision, of course. This is how it works on mountains. If we had pushed on, at our pace, it would have been another 60-90 minutes to get to the top, plus another 30-45 minutes while everyone enjoyed the moment, got some food, took selfies, congratulated each other. That meant another two hours, probably three before we were back at this spot again. All that sunshine was quickly changing the consistency of the snow. What had been crunchy ice just minutes before was now slush. I thought it would be so nice to have steps and not be skating around on top of the snow for the descent, but the rapidly melting snow meant we would be post-holing in a very bad way. Up here, the snow is very deep and when you post-hole, you usually sink down to your knees or hips. Then you need to work your way out of that hole without tumbling down the mountain. Also, self-arrest would be harder. I have slid down slushy hillsides before and tried to do a self-arrest with the ice axe. It just doesn’t work. There is nothing for your axe to grip – it just slides through the snow like a sailboat keel through choppy water.

After about 5 minutes rest, we started back down. Sure enough, people were sinking down to their knees every 2^nd or 3^rd step.  It took two hours to descend to the next stopping point, which was 900’ below. That’s a long time. We were now at 9,200’. Basecamp was at 5,500’, another 3700’ to go. Fortunately, once we cleared the bergschrund and the majority of the crevasses, we were able to do some glissading and this saved us a lot of time. Glissading is fun, but believe me, there is a reason why they say don’t do it with crampons on. Just saying…

 

Not sure what the hell is happening here, but this is on the way down, with a nice little field of crevasses in the background. I think we may have stopped for a second and folks just sat down on their packs to take advantage of the short break.

We hit basecamp a little after 1 – twelve hours after we had started out. The group decided there would not be any naps – just everyone get ready and we will head out as soon as everyone’s ready. Once again, Chris and I were done pretty quickly and we (im)patiently waited while everyone else finished their snacking and packing. We didn’t get out of there until 3.

The descent from basecamp went quickly, until we hit that fun little rock wall. There was a lot of water trickling down the rocks and it would have been too dangerous to down-climb so the leader set up a nice little rappel system. We all carry belay devices on our harnesses so all we had to do was hook up the belay device to the double rope then hook it into the large locking carabiner on our harness. It was a little scary stepping out over the rock wall, again with a full pack, then lowering yourself down, but it wasn’t bad once you got going. Kind of fun, really. When there is a double loop through the belay device, with a thick 9mm rope, there is enough friction to easily lower yourself without fear of the rope slipping uncontrollably through your brake hand. I pushed myself straight out from the rock wall, so I was perpendicular to the wall and horizontal to the ground, and slowly walked backwards down the wet rocks.

 

Folks hanging out while others rappel down the wall

An example of a double rope through a belay device. Yes, this really works. 

The walk down to the parking lot seemed to go on forever, as they always do. On, and on, and on. It took 5 hours to get from basecamp to the cars. My poor feet were screaming at me by that time. The newly adjusted boots had performed admirably and held up very well for the first 16 hours or so. Any more than that is asking a lot of a boot, especially the stiff ones needed for mountaineering.  

Being denied a summit was very disappointing, but we all made it back home without major injuries and that is always the most important thing. We got close enough for me to know that I could have made it easily to the summit. This was a far better experience than last year.  

Chris and I are trying to get one or two other guys lined up for a private climb of Rainier in two weeks. I am nervous about this, of course. But I feel like I am ready, and its time. We will be going up the most common route, via Paradise/Camp Muir/Ingraham Flats/Disappointment Cleaver. It will be crowded, and the route should be well marked. The plan is to spend the night Tuesday night at Paradise (6000’), get an early start Wednesday morning (July 9), hit Camp Muir (10,800’) before noon, continue on to Ingraham Flats (11,300’), make camp, rest Thursday, then get an early start Friday (July 11) for the summit (14,410’). At least, that’s the plan.

I’ll try to get another blog entry in before we go.

KCM&DS

-Scott