© Bob Moulder
Posted 11 Sept 2000 (See Bob's Photos
from this trip)
Before my memories get too fuzzy I suppose I should write
a report on the Mt. Shuksan segment of my trip to the Cascades.
In my intro to the Glacier Peak report I alluded to a couple
of reservations I had about the Shuksan climb, relating
to guided climbing in general and to the inadequate rest
period--one day, bad planning on my part!--between a couple
of rather demanding (for me) climbs. Another deficiency
in my preparation was not having done some rock work in
plastic boots to gain at least a little bit of familiarity
with that aspect of alpine climbing. A day at the Gunks
doing some 5.6 toproping in plastic would have been perfect
practice for the 5.0 of Shuksan Summit Pyramid. Altitude
and fatigue are rude boys that always get their way.
Admittedly, I was tired after Glacier Peak. Really tired.
I had kept pace every step of the way (except that last
short stretch along White Chuck Creek to the van, where
JT smoked me), but by the end I realized I was closer to
my physical limits than I wanted to be, considering that
I would soon be tackling another not-so-easy climb. Another
stress-inducing factor was a rather significant blister
I had developed on my left foot on the hike out, while wearing
my supposedly more comfortable light hiking boots. For that
reason I became a "strictly plastic" man for Shuksan.
After an evening gorging on pizza and beer with JT, I spread
out my gear around the hotel room to make sure there would
be absolutely no residual moisture. Then I crawled into
bed and slept until about 8:30 the next morning. I usually
get up at 5:30 a.m., and rarely later than 6:30, so there's
no doubt I was thoroughly knackered. I washed clothes in
a little laundry room at the hotel, ate and then ate some
more, and spent the day resisting the urge to drain the
blister on my left foot. I know from experience that the
fluid greatly hastens recovery, but it was difficult to
resist the throbbing sting. At least it encouraged me to
rest, which was exactly what I needed. The high point of
the day was picking up the rental car at Bellingham International
Airport.
Next morning, Tim Jumonville arrived a bit late at AAI due
to a scheduling misunderstanding, after blasting down from
Vancouver, BC where he was visiting with friends. Having
already done the obligatory pack dump before Glacier, I
was spared that exercise this time. We were on the road
quickly for the relatively short ride north and east to
the Mt. Baker Ski Area parking lot.
The hike to Lake Ann was a relatively easy 4.7 miles. Not
far from the parking lot the trail took us past some local
kids who were shredding in giant baggies and T-shirts with
their boom box blaring a choice selection of Nine-Inch Nails.
Snowboarding at 70 degrees--go figure! The trail dropped
about 800 ft. into the valley below Shuksan Arm and then
climbed up about 900 ft. to Lake Ann. Compared to the Glacier
approach, a veritable piece of pie. My still-undrained blister
had quieted down quite miraculously, and the perfect fit
of my plastic boots made the walk a lot easier than I had
expected. That was fortunate, for I was still quite fried.
Tim was also a bit toasted, having had only one day of rest
after co-leading a 12-day instructional course and climb
of Mt. Baker. But that course is relatively easy for Tim,
who is without a doubt one of the most supremely fit human
beings presently occupying planet Earth. Lean, mean, efficient,
super strack, snappy, high energy... extensive rock and
alpine palmares... 2-pack-a-day smoker... you know the type.
So it wasn't like I was going to have a fellow sufferpuppy
to commiserate with.
And to be honest, that's where it all started. For the first
time for as far back as I can remember, I rested while someone
else scouted the area to find a good place to camp. There
was a ridge above Lake Ann--part of Shuksan Arm--that Tim
checked out before circling back toward the lake and spotting
a small, dry crescent near some trees a short distance below
the lake. There were some people camped on the ridge, and
although there were some more campsites nearby Tim thought,
and I agreed, that having the little crescent to ourselves
was the way to go.
After setting up camp and eating some lunch, we headed over
to the base of Fisher Chimneys to get a look at our approach
the next morning, and to get an idea about how long it would
take us to feel our way over there by headlamp. The approach
took 45 minutes, and as I waited and rested again, Tim scampered
up the lower part of the Chimneys like a monkey with a pantload
of fireworks. For all I know, he might've made it all the
way up to White Salmon Glacier, but he was gracious enough
not to admit it if he did. On the way back to camp I slipped
on a little moat between a snow field and a rock, and could've
banged myself up pretty badly had Tim not anticipated my
clumsy move and caught me, literally.
Next morning we were up at 3:30 and advancing toward the
Chimneys by 4:10. The clear sky was barely starting to brighten,
so we switched off our headlamps as we got to the base of
the Chimneys, which are basically upper-end third class
with a relatively easy switchback trail about one third
of the way up. Not easy, yet not all that hard, either.
But unmistakably, seriously up, as well.
After gaining the White Salmon Glacier, we took another
short break and roped up. Apparently we were moving pretty
quickly, because when we arrived the 3-member team that
had camped on the ridge, which had left about 40 minutes
before we did, were just finishing roping up. So I didn't
feel like such a whipped gumby. Not yet, anyway. Here, we
stayed to the very stable edge of the glacier, scrambling
over several rock outcrops and a couple of dicey moats.
Toward the upper White Salmon we crossed a couple of snow-bridged
crevasses, and we caught up with the other team as they
were traversing around a huge moat wall. Tim would have
none of that, so we headed straight up the wall, kicking
steps (well, Tim did!) and plunging our ice axes front-and-center
for self belay. Tim was practically running straight up
this monstrous thing, and my gumby ticker was red-lining
as I barely managed to keep up, even with steps already
kicked!
I am probably one of the few people who were thankful to
arrive at the start of the Highway to Hell, otherwise known
as the Upper Curtis Glacier. As mind-numbing as the slog
to the corner of the Sulphide Glacier can be, I was grateful
and more than a little relieved not to be a hair's breadth
away from an aneurism. After surmounting another, less-huge
moat at the corner we were finally on the home stretch to
the Summit Pyramid, whose normal route is placed rather
inconveniently on the east side, around yet another ridge
of the pyramid. There's a reason it's called the Highway
to Hell.
Just as we arrived at the steep rock gully, we received
a grim reminder that this 5-pitch, 5.0 scramble is not a
gimmee, despite the fact that nearly all seasoned mountaineers
third-class this piece. A climber with a dislocated shoulder
was grimacing in pain as his mates discussed how to restore
the normal ball-and-socket configuration. Tim offered his
assistance, well versed as he is in the latest techniques
for handling this situation, but we didn't tarry long because
one of their party was an EMT who can handle things. Cool.
We're headed up, Tim ascending the gully as if it were the
well worn staircase of an old Roman cathedral, belaying
me up like a sick, wobbly poodle on a leash. Oh well, at
least I wouldn't finish my trip with a hospital visit and
many weeks of physical therapy. As a matter of fact, I got
comfortable with the climbing rather quickly and going up
was fairly easy, down a little less so.
It was somewhat crowded in the summit pyramid area as the
groups coming up via various routes converged near the top.
A couple of parties were descending as we were going up,
so there were clattering stones to be dodged every now and
then. A bowling ball-sized rock whiz-spun about six inches
from my helmet, clattered around the gully some more and
glanced off the lumbar area of a guy below me, who happened
to be in the party we had passed earlier. He was not hurt
badly and was able to summit, though he probably popped
a few Advil's that evening.
If the manner of the climb was not so gratifying, the atmosphere
on the summit certainly was. Great views in every direction
and just enough room for us and the 3-member team we were
playing leapfrog with. Eat, drink, gawk, photos and back
down.
I could've third-classed it down, but I can understand Tim's
(and his boss') insistence on a belay. Okay, but the down
climbing wasn't that hard. Kinda fun, really. Thankfully
the separated-shoulder party were able to self evacuate,
and we practically ran down the Sulphide and White Salmon
Glaciers.
But not far from the Chimneys we crossed paths with a NOLS
group with a young woman who had somehow dislocated her
knee. She was giddy with a Percodan high, and although the
NOLS leader had managed to relocate the knee after about
a half-hour of effort she was not ambulatory, Percodan or
not. As luck would have it, Tim was close friends with several
people at the Whidbey Island rescue unit, so he and the
NOLS leader were able to arrange a way (NOLS team runners--no
cellphones) to get her choppered out without involving the
feds or the sheriff's office, thus circumventing the resultant
overwrought, full-scale, SAR-hero operations typical of
those organizations. The NOLS guy's first instinct (commendably)
was to self evacuate, but that would've meant a grueling,
3-day operation no matter what route they took. They were
even considering the Chimneys, but Tim convinced them that
would be a bloody freakin' nightmare. So, at the dawn of
the 21st Century, a helicopter extraction was deemed ethically
permissible.
After about 45 minutes, we were able to finish the last
section of the glacier and begin picking our way down the
Chimneys.
It was at this point that I experienced a couple of aural
hallucinations. I was hearing things--like a mother talking
to a child--and although I quickly realized what was happening
it was no less unsettling because it indicated how exhausted
I was. With concentration compromised, I would have to be
very careful in the Chimneys. I thought of the counsel I've
often given to others: when the going gets tough, slow down.
I don't know what was going through Tim's mind, but a couple
of hours later we were back at camp. I munched some wheat
thins crackers, pepperjack cheese and beef jerky, and was
more than happy to call that dinner. Passed out in the bag
around 6 p.m. and didn't wake up until about 6:15 the next
morning.
We were packed and on the trail a few minutes after 8:00
a.m. Keeping up a brisk pace, we were back at the parking
lot at 9:41. A little after 10 a.m., just a stone's throw
past Picture Lake, I caught a tiny glint of light from the
main rotor blades of the Whidbey Island rescue chopper as
it circled around the Summit Pyramid.
I hope to go back to Shuksan in the next few years and
do a self-guided climb with friends. Thanks to this trip--and
last year's alpine course and climb of Mt. Baker--I feel
that I could do it safely. Although I didn't feel the same
satisfaction I get from our regular group's self-guided
excursions, I have come to accept that this is just the
nature of guided climbing. While it may be necessary from
time to time, I it doesn't fit my temperament. I'll probably
do more guided climbs and instructional courses, with the
goal of gaining the experience and expertise to do them
on my own.
-- Bob
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