Mt Baker (or bust) 2005

Prologue

Anticipating a late May 2005 climb of Baker, we began to prepare, starting in March. Several of us interested parities have been variously working out a gyms, walking and climbing local hills and peaks.

 On one such outing to Tiger Mt, being the oldest and given to more treachery, I suggested that Erik even-out the pace by weighing himself down. His young son was just the ticket. He was just getting over a cold and the weather was a bit nippy, so the poor waif variously cried and fussed to the empathetic awhs of all the passing gals and the stereotypical looks of stressed anxiety of the passing men.

 

Subsequently we climbed Rattlesnake ridge in cold drizzle.  At 1st we thought we’d be the only ones crazy enough to be out in such rotten blustery weather, but dang if there weren’t a dozen fellow nut cases out there with us!

 

I worked at home the next weekend pushing 8 yards of soggy bark up a rough trail at my house – lots of landscaping to do, but it really took a toll on one of my knees and so I was icing and pill popping for a week to try and recover. I guess it worked because Erik and I Climbed Mt Washington’s (false peak) with no trouble. Heavy snow slowed and discouraged us from getting to the true summit, but it was a great trip. We ate a fine feast on the lee side of the windy peak until we got chased off by a short-lived corn-snow squall.  We saw recent bobcat tracks too, but no bobcat.

 

 

Erik and Steve on Mt Washington

 

 

 

I seemed to be constantly recovering from one bump after another. After coming off of Mt Washington, I went to my pasture and was working with my horses when the mare (Cooper) accidentally smacked my head - but good! I heard my vertebrae crunch like dominoes and I spent the next week recovering from strained ligaments, but as seems to be my fortune, I was feeling pretty good come the following Saturday when I had planned on climbing MailBox. It’s a bit

higher than Mt Si, shorter in length and steeper. I thought I’d have company, but events conspired against it, so I proceeded on my own, choosing Mt Si instead.

Loan Wolf Steve on Mt Si Haystacks

The morning weather was just plain awful and the idea of working up a steep wet terrain that I barely remember all by myself did not seem too prudent so I chose a lower angle route with a likelihood of friendly company. Amazingly there were a dozen cars there already, but I never passed anyone up nor was I ever overtaken.  My pace was quicker than ever and got to the top (soaked) in 2 hours! That’s good for me and probably most folks. For all my fancy garb, though I was very wet on my torso. Pants were perfect. It was snowing, and it was getting totally socked in so I wolfed down my sandwich (Thanks Jean!) and then worked my frigid soaked gloves back onto the numb stumps that used to be my hands and beat a path back down; desperate to generate some heat back into my stiff fingers. The snow seemed to just chase me down the mountain.  Did I mention bumps? I don’t know what the events were, but the combination of target practice with a semi-auto45 and then using ski poles on Mt Si has really damaged my thumb-wrist – badly. Back to rehab – Aughh.

 

Fast forwarding;  The weather has been completely unstable all Spring and well into the Summer. Then when it loked like a bit more stable we had my son Jared’s wedding  and that took out July..  We heard a few scant trip reports of crevasses opening up and the berg crossing getting ready to give way. So now we just had to make it happen now so Aug 19-20 was cast and the final invite sent. In the end we had a tidy team of 4 again. Erik Mueller, Chris & Ryon Sanders and myself.

 

I’m going to get way ahead of myself. We made it! Now I get it how BIG that mountain is. It was every bit as hard as I recall Rainier being. You know that saddle we got to last time when we ran out of water and steam? Well, that last part starting from that ridge goes on for a long way steep then get lots steeper a good 45 degrees – maybe 50 – before finally rolling off near the top. Even if we had had water it would have taken significant endurance that our group just did not have after slogging through thousands of feet of new snow last time. Also, amazingly, we found the very spot where we camped last time – Dang, we had come straight up a waterfall. No wonder it was so stinking steep that we finally had to peal off!

 

The Climb

 

 

We got a much earlier start this time and hiked up to about as high as where our last camp excepting we were the next ridge over toward the mountain. About there, the foot of the glacier began to ramp up the mountain.  We followed rock paths up a ways further past the climber and gauker’s camp until we were compelled to don crampons.

The lower glacier was fractured chaos, but with an occasional helpful pointer from Chris (who seems to have a good eye for picking routes) we wound a pretty efficient path though it getting to high camp near 6pm.

I was sweating very much but with all poly and being pleasantly warm and blue skies, I dried out pretty quick.  That was important as I had little surplus clothes to just change out.

 

We were once again the 1st on the mountain, but shortly a team of 3, a Scott, a Brit and a Texan joined us.  We decided (after I finally retrained my ear for the leader’s incredibly thick broage – took us a while to realize it was English) to throw in together to cover each other’s 6’s.  We studied the mountain and tried to map out in our minds eye a route that we might try to follow in the morning.

 

I managed to down much of the contents of a MRE – I just thought it was right to try one. I have way more respect now for my son Jared’s culinary ordeal eating these for months on end in Iraq. I can’t believe we cannot do better that that! We needed to be up and alive just after 2am so we got to bed by 8 or so. The wind picked up and just hammered us much of the night sifting in fine sand and dust everywhere.  I cut my earplugs in half to share with my bunkmate Erick Mueller. The Sanders brothers shared a nearby tent. Then I did the rotisserie chicken thing all night getting a ½ hour sleep here and there.

 

 

The morning brought a clear sky and a risen full moon with no wind;

50 degrees– It was just perfect conditions.  The glacier was firm but with a good surface to bite on.  The Scott led out about 20 minutes before us and we followed roughly their route- fine. He did a great job and we followed pretty close with me leading our team of 4.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were massive crevasses which we avoided with a bit of zigzagging but at the ‘schrund, the central snow bridge was gone and the house swallowing gap was bridged by a thin 50 yard long serac which had mostly cleaved away from the uphill side and was leaning precariously over the gaping bergschrund.  With the left side touching where we stood and the right side still attached, about 50 yards to the right above the “schrund, the serac created a precarious cat walk overlooking the black abyss.  Our only defense was a short dwell time so we all lined up at one end and headed across as efficiently as our legs could convey us.

It was only another hundred feet or so above that we spilled out onto the broad saddle separating the Coleman & Deming Glacier. Our route would not take us onto the Deming at all other than the imposing Roman wall.   This was as high as we had gotten last time when with our resources depleted a 40 mile per hour ice fog had chased us off. This time the air was still and a the Sun was just rising casting Rainier in choppy shadows, The full moon, whose  perfect glow had guided our feet from ever danger was just setting.

We found a perfect cove to bask and rest a bit before the final 2 pitches; how very different this experience from our last trespass.

 

The International team was just above us on the hogsback ridge – maybe a hundred feet and seemed to be resting as well.  This ridge is a lot like the cleaver on Rainier, thought dry as is was today, it was just a steep simple trail. I imagine earlier in the year, this narrow ridge snow covered with such steep sides would seem more precarious.

After downing a small snack and a few gulps of water, we once again pressed upward. Unlike our friends above us, we chose to follow the steep snow/ice on the left side of the ridge as far as we could as none relished the idea of walking for any distance on the bare ridge in crampons. At 1st it seemed darn steep, but is grows on you and after awhile I was considering an even steeper section to finish out on, but the team felt otherwise and I prudently down-climbed a bit and joined them on the easy rock/soil trail.  The volcanic origin of our adventure was sooo obvious. All the rock has a red frothy appearance with flowery mineral splashes of alum and sulfur everywhere. As we rose higher an occasional waft of sulfur in the air demanded our consideration.

 

The rock was easy – very reminiscent of the endless volcanic switchbacks of Shasta, but my legs were beginning to tire. I know its best to avoid a dash and gasp climbing style, but somehow my legs just demanded the frequent, but very short rests 15 seconds every 2 – minutes seemed to do the trick. The odd thing was I was not out of breath so there was no real gasp part, but at times I felt like my legs were wooden stumps to be commanded to obedience by sheer dint of determination. And obey they did, until at one outcropping halfway up the Roman wall, Ryan volunteered to take the lead.

 

 

This was the steepest part of the trip with rockfall hazards above, long exposure to cliffs on the left and crevasses on the right. The international team zigged and zagged above us and we studied to understand their route-finding choices.  In the end, though, Ryon steered a nearly vertical course edging a bit to the right to find the lowest angle. Now, more than before, the nearly 20 years that separated me from my teammates reminded me that a month of wedding to-dos instead of training had a price. In the end, we rose over the lip of the Roman wall, groaned a bit at the last 100 feet or so of snow dome and then fairly sailed across the broad nearly flat expanse of the crater to a bitty knoll on the other side that passes for the summit.

From the knoll we could see and definitely smell the sulfur puffing fumaroles from the Eason Glacier.

 

We met a few gals who had come up from that route and we snapped each other’s group photos. Everywhere we looked a veritable chaos of craggy peaks surrounded this grand sentinel. Then, off in the distance, Majestic and lonely Rainier bid a greeting of fond memories.

 

My fare was Spartan and faithfully dehydrated - weight conscious. So I was surprised to see some of my compadres eating fresh grapes, sandwiches, etc. that somehow remained un-smashed. Now that’s eating in style! For all the effort to get here, the top is always a place where our welcome is soon worn out. All too soon we were roped  up and plodding back in our tracks. 

 

I say plodding, but with “stilts” Ryon leading the pack, that’s really the wrong term. Plodding is what my “wooden stumps,” pretending to be legs, had in mind. A missionary “lengthen your stride and quicken your pace” was what was on the menu.  I tried really hard not to spoil his appetite! But I occasionally had to call “ Whoa! Easy boy” – a lot like my favorite get up an’ go horse - Mt Man.

 

There was some disagreement as to route-finding off the hogback, and at one point we had to backtrack a bit when we dead ended at a 30 foot cliff, but with no clear consensus we kabitsers just let Ryon lead.  I’m sure he was pleased with less discussion and more trekking!

 

Ryon had a great idea about pretending we had just jumped the bergschrund and so we snapped a few “action” pics.  They don’t in any way do justice to the immensity of the “schrund” but it was fun.

 

 

We finally made it back to camp. I was happy to rest a bit and lollygag, but the rest of the crew was fixated on pizza so after a bit of goading I finally got packed up and we headed down the last part of the glacier.

 

 

The Texan had been left behind for lollygagging and so we hooked him into our rope for the decent. The lower glacier is so tore up, but by now our virgin path had been turned into a cow trail that was easy to follow except for the cows blocking a couple of choke points. When at last we hit dirt, Erik’s plastic boots became a private torture chamber, so we took a easy pace out – which was just fine with ol’ “take time to smell the roses” Marquis.

 

 

As per tradition, the Pizza & salads were sumptuous. I think I’d like to climb with these good ol’ boys again….