Climbing
Mt. Shuksan
By Colin
Reedy
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| Woke
up about 1:30am and stuck my head out the tent at our base camp. We pitched
it inside a waist-high crescent of rocks left by previous climbers. The
rocks would block the wind on this exposed point, but the night air was
almost still. At 6500 feet, the stars come out big. The Milky Way splatters
across the night sky like a stripe of white spray paint. So clear.
How you feeling?
What time do you want to start climbing I ask Yancy whose head is at the
opposite end of the tent.
Mmmm... later
he mumbles.
Sounds good
to me. We fall back asleep. We’d had a late start out of Seattle
the previous morning and hiked five hours up almost 4000 vertical feet...
with full packs.
A clear autumn
day with gorgeous views over Baker Lake lightened the load. Plus, we hiked
through fields of changing colors and the summer’s last blue berries.
Usually, on
these summit efforts, we wake up at 1am or so and start climbing with headlamps.
The idea is to reach the summit in the morning, before too much melting
of the snow occurs. Wet slushy snow makes the slogging harder and the chance
of avalanches higher. The snow freezes each night making a hard crunchy
surface.
Easier walking
with crampons (metal boot spikes). This time, we didn’t start until 7am.
From base camp,
we immediately step onto the glacier and face a maze of cracks and ice
crevasses. The black rock summit, our goal, is in view. I’d made a set
of boot prints to follow through the worst of the cracks the day before...
figuring we’d hit that part in total dark, and some path would be nice.
But we started so late, no need for that now.
We leave most
gear at the tent, taking only what we need to reach the summit and return.
Probably a six or seven hour round trip. |
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The fun part about
Mt. Shuksan is the range of challenges. First, a scenic hike to base camp
hoping to spot bears and mountain goats. Only bears munching blue berries
this time. Then, after a brief sleep, a few hours of roped up glacier trekking.
And finally, a steep rock climb. Selecting gear becomes critical. You hope
for no problems, but you bring lots of solutions for whatever happens.
Rope, snow anchors, helmets, ice screws, loops of webbing, and little mechanical
devices that can be set into the rock to protect yourself in case of a
fall. We spot each other on the more difficult points and belay with rope
from safe ledge to safe ledge.
The reward
is looking over your shoulder at sweeping views thousands of feet below.
I love looking down at clouds. Cool.
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Even
though I summitted this peak a couple years ago, each winter brings new
conditions and changes the route slightly. Late September is a good time
because no snow has fallen for a couple months. The path and its dangers
are usually evident. Five inches of recent snow hid some cracks, but nothing
we couldn’t jump. Each time we cross a crevasse, one of us gets ready to
hold the other if the crosser falls in. Sounds dramatic, but it’s a take-turn
routine after a while. Until Yancy slipped up to his waist in a small crack.
We laughed.
Four and half
hours brought us to what climbers call the summit pyramid. Several hundred
vertical feet of dark rock. Big chunks of white quartz and slabs of green
schist litter the ground. I found a nice clear crystal last time here.
This is a young volcanic mountain thrust up and shattered into huge splinters
of rock. The north side with its jagged ridges and hanging glaciers is
a common local post card scene.
We stand back
examining the climb ahead of us.... discussing best options, pointing to
cracks and chimneys that look feasible. Strategizing where there might
be hand holds and safe ledges. Then we leave our glacier gear at the base
and start up.
With proper
rock climbing shoes, ascending the summit pyramid would be relatively straight
forward. However, were wearing heavy mountaineering boots. Good edges and
toe jamming, but clunky still. We space ourselves apart on the most vertical
places to avoid knocking rocks down on each other. I go first to a safe
point, then spot Yancy on his climb. We do this, leg after leg, until we
make it on top an hour later. Nap earned.
Standing on
top of a mountain after 2 or 3 days of effort is a sense of accomplishment
I don’t often get closer to sea level. No deep spiritual revelations,
just the purest air and sun on my face... and a reminder of the word vast
as I look around at a riot of rock peaks in all directions. New observation:
those peaks look a lot like frothy ocean waves at about 25-30 knots.
The climb down
is always scarier than up. But with ropes you can rappel the worst parts.
I don’t rappel enough to take it lightly. As much as I love it, there is
still that initial sense of trepidation to overcome as you ease yourself
backward over a steep drop. Doesn’t matter how many times you check the
gear and set up, hanging by a rope off a cliff is always a bit freaky. |
My First Senior
Moment
After a 5+
hour hike down the mountain... one hour in the dark with headlamps... our
legs were noodles. Nothing looked better than the car waiting for us. I
was so beat, I set my camera on the top of the car. Then drove away. Yep.
I’d dunked
my other camera in Panama just before leaving, so this was my only camera.
And now IT, with all my climbing pictures and two big memory cards, WAS
GONE. Incredibly stupid. How could I do that And I am in no position to
replace it these days. I NEED a camera for work... and life.
I didn’t realize
the loss until 10am the next morning as I unpacked my car at home. DAMMIT!
I don’t have time for this. What am I going to do now Consequences and
repercussions start flowing in. GOT TO FIND IT.
I drive back
immediately... 1.5 hours to the trail head. Driving like a caffeinated
maniac with Pops old radar detector on guard. Hoping no one else went up
that road yet and found it. Hoping it just plopped off the back as I drove
away... and is waiting for me near where I parked. Within a mile or so
of the trail head, I slow down going up the gravel road... eyes sweeping
for any sign of a black camera case. Then I arrive at the trail head. No
luck. DAMMIT. Now what I drive back down the road stopping at every corner,
getting out and walking, beating the ferns and peering into the dark woods.
This is a needle in a haystack story. How long did the camera stay on top?
Which corner did it fly off? Did the roof rack hold it a while? After
an hour searching, nothing.
New idea: go
back to trail head. Park car exactly as the night before. Find a flat rock
about the same weight as the camera. Wrap it in a damp towel to simulate
the leather case on the roof top. Place the bundled rock on the cars roof
in the same position as the camera. Now, drive back down road. Any place
that rock falls off, look REALLY hard.
Another hour
later, and the third time the rock flew off... I FOUND MY CAMERA! Amazing.
Just as amazing, that camera had held on for almost two miles past two
hairpin curves and several other twists... before getting flung off the
roof and into some low ferns.
No damage.
Works great. Huge relief.
I must say,
THAT feeling was even better than standing on top of Mt. Shuksan.
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