Visit the lovely North Cascades!

by fdk, purple bits by KD

Trip reports have many different functions-- instruction, entertainment, bragging, humble-bragging, even monetary gain (not likely around here!).  But this is an unusual trip report because it’s supposed to be a sales job, using my three week trip to the North Cascades to sell the whole area to my California crew.  BG doesn’t like it when I go out by myself, so I want to convince you, the assembled WCAC, that it is worth exploring some new territory, even though it requires flying! But here's the thing-- it really might be worth it. The North Cascades is big, wild range with deep forests, beautiful peaks, tons of glaciers, and almost no Californians! You've got to see it. But I should show, not tell. On to the trip report! (I can vouch that it IS worth it!)

AMTL1

For the first two weeks I was on a course with the American Alpine Institute, in part because I couldn't convince anyone else to take the month of August off of work to come play with me. The course covered glacier travel, basic trad climbing, and some other general mountain travel skillz, but I'll just give you the highlights.

We spent the first half of the course goofing off on Mt Baker, walking around on crampons like clumsy toddlers, throwing ourselves down snow slopes, trying to rescue backpacks out of a crevasse, pooping in bags, and finally summiting the mountain.

Cloud inversion below us from our base camp on Baker

The Baker-horn!  You can see the large glacier leading up to the summit crater.
We spent a lot of time on that glacier!

Sunset over the Twin Sisters, with Puget Sound visible in the distance.
The Twin Sisters are suppose to be very nice climbing. 

Me on the pile of rubble that forms the high point of the crater on top of Mt. Baker and is therefore considered the summit. Mt. Shuskan is just behind my left hand.

One of our guides, Wade Spiner, is also a professional photographer (http://www.wadespiner.com/), so I'm going to include a few of his awesome pictures because, well, this is a sales job!  Good material is really helpful. 

Baker Glacier, photo by Wade Spiner

Me, feeling stoked on summit day, photo by Wade

Sunrise on Summit day, photo by Wade Spiner, but seriously it really was this awesome!

I think I'm going to get a print of this one for the wall.

From the top of Mt Baker you can see a lot of land, and I got pretty excited about other places I want to visit. Just next to Baker is a group of peaks called the Twin Sisters that I really would love to check out (see above). You get good views of Glacier Peak (more on that one later), Mt Rainier, Mt Shuskan, and countless other peaks, including Sloan Peak, which will also show up again later in this story.

Summit photo by Wade.  You can see Glacier Peak, Mt. Rainier, and Sloan Peak, and a bunch of others. 

Then we drove out to the east side of the Cascades and spent a few days in Klipchuck campground near the lovely mini-hamlet of Mazama, WA, which has the magical Mazama store and a mighty fine swimming hole.  The climbing at Washington Pass was beautiful, and it seems like there are a ton of routes over there and a lot less rain than the rest of the Cascades. (What, rain?  Who said anything about rain?) Again, like the peaks from Mt. Baker, there is so much near here that I’d like to get to explore! Just a few that look very inviting: South Buttress of Cuthroat Peak, Wine Spires, and Silver Star Peak.   

Mazama Swimming Hole.  Thank goodness, it was HOT on the east side!

Climbing Liberty Bell

Summit pano, many peaks

The last part of the course might have been my favorite-- the “student-led objective.”  For our objective we climbed Sloan Peak, a peak of medium height but distinctive shape with an unmaintained swampy approach trail that does not see a lot of travel.  I was one of the people in charge of navigating the swamp and I more or less failed, and I walked into a hive of bees and was stung 8-10 times, mostly around my ankles, in the process.  Many other mishaps occurred while the lunatics were left in charge of the asylum, but in the end we had a really beautiful summit day and made it back down (almost) on time and without serious injury (I think).  

Traveling across the glacier

Sloan Peak from a distance-- it has quite an attractive summit

Cougar Creek Falls

Snow bridge's last day

Sloan Peak summit, Wade Spinner

Another Glacier Peak sunrise! photo: Wade Spiner

The WCAC in Glacier Peak Wilderness

When the course finished I got my scraped-up legs and swollen ankles into the car and drove directly to Everett, WA, where I met Natalie and Kelsey in a dingy Travelodge, and gratefully took a long shower, and tried to wash my clothes in the sink, which proved to be a bad idea.  After a truly beautiful bed-sleep we were ready to spend an hour plus sorting food and gear, and head back out again!  

The plan was a 4 day loop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness that would actually start off the same road that we used for the approach to Sloan Peak.  I had got the route out of a very good book called, I kid you not, Hiking from here to WOW!: North Cascades.

It very hot the first day of our hike, so we hung around town and killed time for a while, and hiked in towards the late afternoon.  We didn’t need to worry so much, because the beginning of the hike was through a deeply shaded forest of old growth trees, including old-growth cedars, which I had never seen before.  

Forests don't really photograph well.
It's something I respect about them.

The forest caught us in a spell, and we dubbed it the Fairy Forest, because we felt there must be fairies about!  There was even a forest squatty potty that was magically odor-free?

I swear it smelled only of loam.

While we were hiking in we saw a party of about 5 running out with ice axes and helmets strapped on their running backpacks, and when we asked they explained that they had gone up Glacier Peak that day.  This is a 30 mile round trip on the approach + actually getting up the mountain.  Seriously impressive feat-- if I had cards* I would have given them one and asked them to call me for their next outing, as if I could hang.  We stopped a bit earlier than planned on the first day because the campsite in the forest was so lovely.  While darkness closed in around us in the trees I began to get a taste of the fact that this would be a different sort of trip.

The next morning, after our enchanted rest, we had a serious slog up 3000 feet in 3 mile to reach the top of the ridge, where the views really started to open up as we approached White Pass.

Kels at White Pass

Monte Cristo Mountains

Working on our twinsies game on the way up to the pass,
with Sloan behind us.

 We needed to cover about 10 miles a day, which is a substantial distance but doesn’t take all day, so we go to do a lot of side trips, not all of which were good ideas! (They are worth it for everyone with competent knees!)  We ended up with about 10 miles a day with packs and another 5 miles without packs off galavanting.

A through hiker named Tunes took our picture on a quick side trip to Red Pass.
I wonder if he made it to California...

Stopping to smell the flowers

The chances to explore off the path and forage really typified the slow joys of backpacking without a tight schedule, which I had kind of forgotten.   

Wild blueberries in my oatmeal make me a happy little troll.

Approaching Very Very Blue Lake

In the evening the weather started to change, and we hunkered down amid wind and spitting rain.  What the hell is this “weather” that they have in Washington?  But we did get to perfect the art of cooking in a backpacking tent! After getting a late start (late by C and G standards) in the morning we climbed an un-named knob instead of Kodak Peak, due to a little directional confusion, but we named it Fenalsey Peak, a nomination that is pending before the USGS.  After some scrambling up and over a ridge on an unmaintained trail we dropped down to beautiful Blue Lake.  This name is such an understatement-- it should at least be called Very Very Blue Lake!!  

Marmot sentry above Very Very Blue Lake

 We lingered all afternoon on its shores, encouraging the sun to come out from behind the clouds and admiring the perfectly clear water.

Our campsite on the shore

Sunset over the Monte Carlos

On the last day we had to get going early because Kelsey had a flight to catch.  I didn’t mind getting up because I was freezing my ass off in my sleeping bag-- I had foolishly brought my summer weight bag, but we had frost overnight, and I was not prepared for it!  Again with the weather, North Cascades!  We had a beautiful sunrise start, and some awesome views of Sloan Peak, Mount Rainier, and Glacier Peak on our way out.  The views of Glacier really made me want to go climb it!  So, stay tuned for that trip announcement, perhaps next summer.

Sloan Peak, again, with a nice view of the glacier

Oh, and Mt. Rainier

Dr. Suess flower

Glacier Peak looms over it all!

Backpacking with Nat and Kelsey was such a lovely trip, and reminded me that there’s space for a lot of different ways to enjoy being outside with your friends, and they each have their upsides. But here’s a pro tip you can count on: regardless of where and when you find yourself sleeping out, try to bring a warm enough sleeping bag-- you’ll be a lot happier.

* Thanks to Kelsey I now have cards! HBD Felice :)

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Down Tenaya Canyon

main text by fdk, (lavender parentheticals by CR)

There has been a lot of ink spilled, and even some metal defaced, to describe the perils of Tenaya Canyon.  

But here’s the truth: To travel from Tioga Road to the Valley floor via the shortcut provided by Tenaya Canyon you need to be able to do three things confidently:

1. Read
2. Walk
3. Rappel

You probably already think you can do all of these, but seriously, each will be tested on this journey. Depending on conditions you may need to do one more thing: swim.

First, the reading.  There have been a lot of great trip reports written on the best route down the canyon, and the route finding is basically a reading comprehension test.  One of the best descriptions is on one of the worst websites I have ever seen:

http://www.dankat.com/swhikes/tenaya.htm

There are many other descriptions on the internet and in the famous Secor guide to the high Sierra, and it was very helpful that CR had prepared thoroughly and read quite a few different accounts, and I had done some homework and stared hard at a topo map as a back up.  

By the way, here’s the topo map that goes with the above linked description:

http://www.dankat.com/swhikes/maps/tenaya.htm

If you’re thinking of doing the route here are a few other trip reports to check out:

Lots of pictures: http://www.supertopo.com/tr/Tenaya-Canyon-Hike-TR-9-9-05/t402n.html

http://www.outdoorproject.com/adventures/california/climbing/tenaya-canyon-descent

And one to scare you a little: http://www.outsideonline.com/1896851/how-i-nearly-killed-my-father

Here’s the relevant text out of Secor:

Now onto the walking.  Once we left the trail near Sunrise trailhead, coincidentally right around sunrise, we didn’t see another human until we reached the valley floor trails.  The solitude was awesome, but occasionally a little disconcerting.  Had civilization collapsed?  Was it actually possible to find this much lightly trodden territory in the middle of Yosemite?  I loved it.  

Looking into the canyon 

Sunrise slabs

The route felt a bit like a video game with different challenges at different levels of the canyon.  Early in the route there is a lot of walking on polished granite slabs-- I wore my climbing shoes for added stick, and CR was in approach shoes (Felice, I don’t understand why you’re not going into more detail about your canyoning outfit?).  In running shoes I think these slabs would feel pretty sketchy.

Whenever we started to get sketched out we would re-evaluate our route finding and re-read the description, and correct our path. If it feels dangerous (class 4 or 5) then you are probably doing it wrong!  

After navigating the slabs down towards and then up and around the Pywiak Cascade we encountered the next level’s challenge-- extreme bushwacking (Imagine trying to walk straight through a garden hedge. It was marginally easier than that.).  I would prefer not to discuss this section-- it was quite difficult and unpleasant, but I am pretty sure it is the right route.

Me, almost lost in the bushes

CR, emerging victorious?

You are basically using a band of dense vegetation to avoid slabs that are too steep to easily traverse.   After descending back down to the stream the boulder hopping resumed in earnest. It wouldn’t be a proper trip with me without a good fall, and I took a doozy while moving from one big rock to another when my leading foot slipped and I fell hard on my right knee.  After a moment where I tried to imagine how I would get out with only one patella I determined that I was fine, and kept walking (Thank god FDK is unbreakable!).  The canyon here was truly gorgeous, and we were just starting to get into a kind of rhythm when we were suddenly at the next important task.

cool erosion in the canyon

That’s right, kids, it’s time to rappel. There are rumored to be six rappel stations on the route, four of which are useful for almost everyone, and two of which are more optional, but certainly came in handy.  A big component of the rappelling challenge is finding the rappel rings, but the locations fall into two categories: they are either well described in the route (see: reading) or they are right where it seems like they ought to be (She is downplaying this. Felice is like a drug-sniffing dog, but instead of drugs she finds rap rings. I thought they were hard to find).  The first rappel was a bit jittery, since it was the point of real commitment, but once we found the rings it was relatively straightforward.  The second rap was through a waterfall and into a pool, and was actually really fun for me, but might have been less fun for CR, who thought she might have to really swim at the bottom (I hate swimming, which might limit my canyoning career).  

Me, leaving the pool after the waterfall rap

Wading, rock-hopping, and rappelling moved us slowly down canyon as the sun started to reach us.  I lost count of the rappels, but one of the later ones was the rap into Emerald Pool, and I thought we would have to swim here for sure.  When you start to rappel you can’t always really see where you are going, and this rap down a steep, polished slab held quite a surprise.  I was waiting up top and it got very quiet, and I didn’t hear C-dawg at the bottom, and I started to get concerned that she might have drowned in the pool. Could I sprint down the slabs and dive headlong into the pool to save her? Hell no. Luckily, it turned out that she had just fallen into a huge hole in the rock! (Oh, the unsung joys of rappelling. This is not as bad as the time I rapped into a tree full of fire ants.) Once she extracted our ropes and somehow climbed back out again she sorted the whole thing out and carefully explained to me how not to fall in the hole as I came down.  There’s a lot of good reasons that she goes first, whether ascending or descending. Re-reading the trip reports several of them do mention the giant hole, which came as a complete shock to us.  See: reading.

CR in the hole.  I went down to the rivulet side of it.

CR finally gives in to the need to go swimming

 It was worth it because Emerald Pool was gorgeous.  We didn’t really need to swim across it, just sort of wade in waist deep water, but if it wasn’t super dry in early September then swimming probably would have been required.  And even though we didn’t have to swim, certain bodies of water cannot be passed up.

The emerald pool

After Emerald Pool the canyon widens, and now the challenge was following faint climber's trails down into the valley while sweating your ass off and fending off clouds of bugs.  Then, suddenly, we were on the trail near Mirror Lake, and we thoroughly confused some British tourists when we tried to ask directions and they wanted to know where we had been.  It turns out that scrambling, boulder hopping, rappelling, and bushwacking are slow and difficult modes of travel, and to get to this point took ~9.5 hours.

I think this pot belonged to J. Muir himself

There was one other interesting logistical challenge-- getting back to where we left CR’s car, Grendel.  Since I don’t live in CA anymore I don’t have a car, so we couldn’t set up the recommended car shuttle.  But CR researched the bus schedule, and it turned out that there was a YARTS bus that we could catch that would take us back up to Tioga Road.  This imposed a pretty tight schedule on our trip down the canyon, but we made it to the Yosemite Visitor’s Center with about 45 minutes to spare before our 5:45PM bus, so we were able to get chips, beer, and a coke before getting on the bus. If you didn’t get the bus you ought to be able to hitchhike back up, but I’m glad we didn’t have to. (Also, for some reason, we didn’t have to pay for the bus?? Because we had no cash? Even though we brought our really smelly wet rope into the bus with us.)  And, through pure, unadulterated luck, we woke up just when the bus finally got back up to Sunrise Trailhead, and we scrambled off and headed for fish tacos.

CR, trying to miss our stop

Lyell Solo, or CMR versus the bergshrund

Iain and Felice already posted a trip report on Lyell. But I've been curious for a while about what it might feel like to go out and do a big day solo. And Lyell seemed to have a large enough margin of safety that I wanted to give it a go. 

So I jogged up out of tuolumne meadows to where the trail turns to go up Donohue pass. For the first hour it was dark and all I could hear was water running down the Lyell fork and the sound of my own raspy breathing in the thin air. I turned off the trail and headed towards Lyell. 

Lyell Canyon in the dark

I could see a row of peaks poking up out of the Lyell glacier and I picked what I thought was the tallest and started up. The glacier felt low-angle and easy, but when I got to the rock something felt off. It was challenging to me, although I was wearing sticky approach shoes, which I use to climb up to fifth class in. How did felice and Iain do this in running shoes? I continued on, making moves that I thought were harder than 4th class. I almost turned back several times, but finally rounded a corner to see the summit... and also, the real Lyell, a half mile further down the ridge! I had climbed the wrong mountain!

Which one is Lyell? Trick question! None of them are! But I climbed the pointy thing on the left. 

Feeling like an idiot, I followed the now-solidly-third class ridge over to the Lyell summit, passing another minor peak on the way. Yikes, this is why I usually take a partner! At the summit I took a few pictures, and then started to descend the normal Lyell route (breathing a sigh of relief that I did not have to downclimb the way that I had come up). 

Obligatory Summit Pano

On the way down, about 50 feet above the glacier, the terrain changed from solid (ish) class 3 into blocks stacked on kitty-litter sized pebbles and ice. I figure that early in the season, the glacier/snow field covers this part of Lyell, and when it recedes in the fall it leaves behind this detritus. And also a rather large bergshrund (large for the sierras, at least). I stood there looking at this mess. Should I somehow try and downclimb this? Or should I return to the top of Lyell and try to walk off towards Maclure, or even back the way I came along the crest?

While I was thinking I shifted my weight slightly onto my back foot and the kitchen-table sized block I was standing on cut loose from Lyell and went sliding down the kitty-litter ice slope. I've only been in a handful of imminently life threatening situations in my life, and my experience is always that my rational brain quits and then my body does something and i can't remember the whole experience very well after. 

Do you see all the blocks on the glacier? Where do you think they came from? Oh, they fell off the chossy west face of Lyell. I'm pretty sure my death block is in this picture somewhere. 

What I think happened is that I lept off the block; I can remember watching it rocket towards the glacier, jump the bergschrund, and then fly down the snow like a crazy sled. But I had jumped onto the kitty-litter/ ice and now was maybe 15 feet above the glacier. I couldn't hold on to Lyell and started a slow, awkward slide before falling unceremoniously into the 'schrund. 

Greg jokes that I'm made of rubber because the few falls I've taken I've walked away from without a scratch (knock on wood). This was no exception- I sustained a pinky abrasion (which was actually quite bloody and got all over my clothes and the glacier). And as I picked myself and brushed the dirt and ice off my clothes I realized that I was in the one position where having a partner woulda really been pretty helpful. 

The bergchrund was just a little deeper than I am tall and the ice on the side was frozen solid. Behind me, the side of Lyell was a slimy mixture of wet dirt and ice. I tried putting my hands on the glacier and lifting myself up but the glacier was so slippery and my stick arms so weak that I failed. I tried reclimbing lyell, but the rock crumbled under my fingers. Crap! I thought. I'm going to be stuck in this hole until someone can pull me out!

I had passed a couple of parties of dudes carrying ice axes and crampons who had camped near donahue pass. I figured they were going up Lyell. It would be the height of shame to need rescue- there are some stereotypes of women in the outdoors that I really did not want to reinforce right now. I also had, for some reason, 4G cell phone service so considered googling "how to escape from a crevasse" but decided that that was dumb. I also considered calling felice, who had just taken a glacier rescue course. 

I found some pockets of melt in the side of the glacier wall, and found i could stick my fingers in them. I used Lyell as counter-pressure and started to chimney my way up out of the hole. As I reached the top, I was stuck again, with my back against Lyell and my hands on top of the glacier. So I did an awkward half jump forward and like a beached whale, flopped onto the glacier which was quite steep where it met Lyell. My forward momentum carried me sliding down the glacier headfirst, right into a friendly suncup filled with meltwater. I was soaking wet, but I was saved!

The nice thing about being alone is that there is very little embarrassment in these flailings, so I got to my feet with a big grin on my face, feeling like I'd really gotten away with something this time. 

I jogged back to the car, stopping once to swim in the river. 

What a strange hobby mountaineering is. We have these dramatic experiences on the great stage of the high peaks and then we come home and sit in air-conditioned buildings and watch netflix and have take-out delivered to our apartments. Did any of it really happen? The unreality is enhanced when you go out alone, without any corroborating witnesses. Is my memory a reliable narrator? Probably not. Already I am losing the feeling of the ecstatic triumph of escaping from the glacier, and the dead tired apathy of the long 11 miles down Lyell canyon back to the car.

anyways, there's my trip report. Don't do Lyell the way I did it!