The Colchuck F#&% Up

On Thursday night I got a last minute invitation to try climb Triple Couloirs on Dragontail Peak that weekend. I really wanted to do this route and check out the Enchantment/Mt. Stuart region, having never been there before. I packed my stuff up that night, got up early and drove to Leavenworth the next morning. My partner arrived shortly after I did from Seattle. He had been up until 4am the night before at a concert and wasn't packed yet. Several hours later he was ready and we left the trailhead at 5:15pm. Our plan was to ski the 8.5 mile approach in and camp at Colchuck Lake. The terrain was rough and my partner, due to lack of sleep, lack of experience with his skis, and presence of a very unwieldy pack on his back, made slow progress. Seven hours later we were still not at the lake and stopped to set up camp. It was after midnight.

Looking up Mountaineer Creek from our campsite beneath Colchuck Lake.

 Needless to say, we did not get the alpine start that would have been necessary for climbing such a long alpine north face route on a sunny March day. We slept in to 11am. I was determined to go up and do something, anything, to salvage some of the time and gas money I had spent to get out there. My partner said he still needed to adjust his crampons for his boots so I went up to Colchuck Lake to wait for him.

Dragontail on the left and Colchuck on the right from Colchuck Lake.

Colchuck Lake is right beneath the north faces of Dragontail Peak and Colchuck Peak. These mountains rise more than 3,000ft above the lake in steep granite buttresses and spires. It is spectacular.

Closeup of the north face of Dragontail with the Triple Couloirs route marked.

Once the misbegotten partner showed up we crossed the frozen lake and began skiing up the slopes under the granite faces in time to see a party of four descending from the Triple Couloirs route. They said the route was not in shape, merely sugar snow on bare rock, making it impossible to climb. This made us feel somewhat better about fact that we had completely blown any chance we had at attempting it.

Under the north face of Dragontail, watching climbers retreat from the first couloir of the route (in the oval).

Close up of the four climbers down-climbing from the first couloir.

From the base of Dragontail we skinned up the Colchuck Glacier. My partner, tired and hungry, opted to stop halfway up. I continued to the col between Colchuck and Dragontail where I was greeted with an amazing view of Rainier to the south. I stashed my skis at the col and ran up to the summit of Colchuck Peak where I had an awesome view of Adams, Rainier, Stuart, and Glacier Peak, as well as almost every other craggy and glaciated summit in the Washington Cascades.

Looking south at Rainier from the Colchuck-Dragontail col.

Dragontail from the summit of Colchuck Peak.

The big north face of Mt. Stuart from Colchuck.

Glacier Peak from Colchuck.

I descended back to my skis and then skied the 2,500 vertical feet of sustained steep slopes back down the glacier to Colchuck Lake. Almost all of this run had 4-6 inches of dry powder on it. It was by far the best back country ski run I've ever had and almost made up for the past 24 hours.

Looking down the Colchuck Glacier to Colchuck Lake... getting ready to shred some gnars!

Looking back up at the col and the awesome ski descent I just had.

Once back at camp we settled in for an early night. I had not anticipated staying two nights but the ski out was not something we wished to repeat in the dark. I had little food but my partner offered to share his. We got up early the next morning. The 7.5-8 mile ski out to the car took a little less time on the way down, only six hours.

Skiing over bridges when the snow is higher than the hand railings is scary... this totally counts as 4th class right?

The partner crosses bridge #2... slowly.

Waiting is not my strong point. I'm a skinny guy and if I can't avoid a heavy pack altogether I like to go fast so I can get it off before it permanently alters my puny skeletal structure. I took off once we reached the last downhill section of road to the car. Here I unpacked, stretched and re-hydrated for half an hour before my partner arrived. I'm not sure what the trouble was on that last section but having watched him struggle for the past 3 days, I'd wager he fell over at least five times in that half hour.

The mountains from the Bavarian wonderland that is Leavenworth, WA.

We drove out to Leavenworth. From there I drove home to Bend, stopping in Yakima to pig out on tacos and ungodly amounts of pastry from a Mexican bakery. In the future I will be asking a lot more questions and spend more time on minor objectives before committing to a long alpine route with someone.

Solo Linkup: Smith Rock/The Marsupials

Wednesday I checked the forecast for Bachelor and Smith. I had planned to go skiing but conditions obviously favored rock climbing. With no partner I decided to drive out to Smith and solo some routes.

I'm not going to try to justify soloing or explain my motivation to do it. There is a huge body of literature on it. You can read about the out-of-body experience, the focus, the flow, the sense of freedom that people gain from it. People who don't climb a lot will never really understand. They either call you crazy, or stupid, or blabber about how amazing it is.

For the uninitiated I will offer some information for perspective: All climbs are rated. Some of those ratings (i.e. 3rd and 4th class) are defined as climbs where a rope is not necessary, or even appropriate. Fifth class climbs imply the use of a rope. Since ratings are a matter of opinion some 4th class climbs are harder/more dangerous than low 5th class climbs. Many alpine climbing guide books will explicitly tell you to solo some sections of 5th class climbing to save time and minimize other hazards such as changing weather. I don't mean to make a slippery slope argument. I'm merely pointing out that nothing is black and white. Using a rope has never been a given in climbing. How someone climbs a route is personal decision that is based on many factors. Obviously there is a big difference between Peter Croft free soloing Astroman in Yosemite and me soloing moderate routes at Smith. The line between safety and insanity is different for everyone.

When it comes to soloing I have a personal set of guidelines to follow. The route I climb must have solid rock (nothing too chossy), I must be familiar with the terrain (ideally I've climbed it before), and it must be rated much lower than the hardest grade I can currently on-sight. I also make sure I have certain items accessible. Besides wearing rock shoes and a helmet, I wear my harness and rack some gear on it. This always includes a set of stoppers, a couple quick draws and a couple alpine draws, an ATC, prusik slings, and a locking 'biner with a long sling. I also have my rope coiled in my pack, which I wear while climbing. With this kit I can secure myself to the rock in a range of situations, establish a self-belay, or rappel back down if necessary.

Racking up beneath Mini Half Dome.

The Koala is the yellow rock in the middle and the Wombat is the green spire behind it.

So, back to Wednesday afternoon. I left my car a little after 1pm and hiked out to the Marsupials (~2 miles). I got on the Marsupial ridge just above Mini Half Dome and climbed the West Face of Brogan Spire (5.5X, 3 pitches). I then down climbed the top two pitches of the South Buttress (5.5X) and rapped off to the base of Living Blindly. I then climbed living Blindly to the top of the Opossum (5.7, 3 pitches) and rapped off the anchors past the summit on the knife edge ridge. These rap anchors aren't really functional. Placed back from the edge of the wall, they force the rope to wrap over several sharp edges which makes it impossible to pull from below. After yanking on it for several minutes I soloed back up a ramp system (5.5ish). Tossed my rope off and down climbed.

Brogan Spire summit pic. Wombat is on the left.

On the Opossum. Looking down on Brogan Spire on the right.

Opossum madness!

I then walked across to the Koala and climbed Round River Direct (5.8, 3 pitches). This is an awesome climb and I was very happy to solo it. It was my first multi-pitch and my first Smith climb. At the time it felt hard and leading it sounded scary. To come back less than a year later and solo it felt like a huge accomplishment for me. I was super stoked.

Sitting on the top of the Koala, looking back down Round River Direct.

Koala top-out stoke!

 I climbed down the back of the Koala and started up Birds in a Rut (5.7, 5 pitches), which takes you to the top of the Wombat (the highest pinnacle in the Marsupials). After climbing off the back of the Wombat I scree surfed down to the Burma Road and started the hike back. I boulder hopped across the river to cut the corner and ended up climbing an unknown pitch of basalt cracks to get out of the gorge. A short walk down the road got me to my car.

The Sisters emerge from the clouds. Smith Rock Group in the foreground.

Smith Rock State Park from the top of the Wombat.

The Monument area from the top of the Wombat.

Wombat Cumbre!

Someone replaced the old rap sling on the Wombat. It didn't feel like much of a community service since they left the old sling and didn't replace it with a very long-term solution. Simple solution: don't rap, the down climb is short and easy.

Overall, in sub 5 hours: 4 summits tagged, 16 pitches climbed, 3 other pitches down climbed, 3 rappels, 4 miles of hiking, some other scrambly bits, 51 photos taken and some bathroom breaks due to enthusiastic hydration. Not bad for a Wednesday afternoon.

Bonus: Check out this video of famous American alpinist Steve House soloing hard ice climbs in New England. The precision and deliberateness that he demonstrates while climbing, and the personal approach to climbing and soloing that he espouses in the interview, changed how I approach climbing. http://vimeo.com/22993356

Broken Top: attempt 2/Crook Glacier

Sunday I got a late start and drove up towards Mt. Bachelor to give Broken Top another try. For my first try see my Ball Butte entry. I left my car in the Mt. Bachelor parking lot around 10:30 and made good time. I linked the XC ski trails to Flagline and followed the snow mobile access road from there. I hitched a ride with a friendly snow mobiler named Jerry, who dropped me at the base of Ball Butte and saved me well over a mile of flat skinning. From here I dropped down into the valley beneath Broken Top and headed up to the Crook Glacier cirque.

Approaching the Crook Glacier cirque on a really warm Sunday.

The forecast had called for a high of 28F but obviously the weather men at NOAA were wrong. Temps were very high, especially in the direct sun on the south side of the mountain. I made slow progress climbing up to the glacier in the heat, and lost a lot of water to sweat.

Obviously I'm picking the wrong days to play in the snow this winter.

I stopped under the last tree to take a drink and study the south face. As I watched, an avalanche rolled over a 300ft cliff and set off a very large slab avalanche on the slopes below. I didn't comprehend what I was seeing at first because there was no noise. A couple seconds later I heard the roar as the sound waves reverberated down the valley. Obviously 60+F temps on south facing slopes, with 18 inches of fresh snow on top of an old ice layer, make for unstable conditions. Needless to say I had no intention of climbing or skiing the south face of Broken Top after this.

First avalanche rolled off the cliff at the top and set off the slab below.

Not wanting to waste the 10+ miles of skinning I proceeded onto the glacier to scope out future climbing and skiing lines. The Crook Glacier is surrounded by three peaks that form a south facing U. There are many couloirs, cliff bands, and spires. Most of the rock looks very loose but some appears to be relatively solid for Oregon Cascades. I think in the right conditions this bowl could provide amazing skiing and ice climbing.

Amazing skiing and climbing? If only this were granite/frozen solid/stable pow.

As I headed up the glacier I saw a NE facing ramp on the west peak. It was covered in snow and ended in a steep couloir that appeared to top out. It was shaded and showed no signs of avalanche activity. After considering the risks I approached carefully and skinned up to the beginning of the ramp. Here it got too steep and narrow to skin effectively. I tucked in under a rock buttress and took off my skis with the intention of climbing up higher. The shaded ramp turned out to have loose, unconsolidated snow that was very deep. After floundering around in snow up to my chest I gave up, put my skis back on and enjoyed a short but steep run back to the glacier. Although I was loath to leave so soon there was little else I could do. I headed back and got to my car just after sunset.

The ramp I approached. Again, amazing potential here but lousy conditions.

Amazing rock strata near the base of the ramp.

Looking out of the bowl from my high point before dropping in. You can see my skin track leaving the shade below.

I now feel comfortable with the long route between the road and Broken Top. Next time I will try in colder weather even if that means low visibility. Hopefully that will provide better snow and ice conditions and I can actually do something interesting.

My tracks entering and leaving the bowl.

Winter at Smith Rock

After a super cold December and January the weather has gotten pretty warm and sunny here for the past few weeks. As a result I've been going out to Smith to go rock climbing a lot more than expected. This has been great for my climbing. I haven't been getting out skiing and alpine climbing as much as I would like, but who can say "no" to basking in desert sunshine mid-winter?

I've been climbing with a whole range of people, but my most consistent partner has been Caitlin, my girlfriend. She is also pretty stoked to climb right now, and has been improving by leaps and bounds. Together we have been checking off many of the highly recommended, moderate-difficulty trad routes at Smith. This has been great for my climbing to-do list (and that means great for my OCD, type-A self). It's also nice because I get to lead everything and forces me to adopt a "guide-mode" mind-set.

This past Saturday Caitlin and I went out with a large group of friends... Mike, Joe, Kristin, Dirk and Faith. It was a little windy but absolutely beautiful. We hiked over Asterisk Pass and climbed various cracks and bulges on Spiderman's Butt... ress. (A rock buttress! I wasn't being dirty at all!) Mike, using his new camera, made another awesome video (the man is a natural videographer! mad props!) so check it out...


Climbing at Smith Rock from Mike Arrera on Vimeo.

Routes we climbed that day:
Squashed Spider, 5.7 sport, 1 pitch
First Ascent Crack, 5.4 trad, 1 pitch
Out of Harm's Way, 5.8 mixed, 1 pitch (check mark! short dihedral to vertical face climbing, very fun!)
Spiderman, 5.7 trad, 2 pitches (check mark! slab, dihedral, splitter crack and overhang all in 200ft!)


Other great routes Caitlin and I have climbed in the past month:
Western Chimney, 5.5R trad, 1 pitch (strenuous and complicated for 5.5, don't go up it expecting a cruise)
Bookworm, 5.7 mixed, 2 pitches (off-width crack to a bolted slab)
Lion's Jaw, 5.8 trad, 1 pitch (awesome dihedral)
Moonshine Dihedral, 5.9 trad, 1 pitch (same as Lion's Jaw but steeper and longer)

Ball Butte... a typical day in the Oregon Backcountry

My buddy Mike and I set out early Saturday to try climb/ski Broken Top. This is one of the more picturesque peaks just outside of Bend with three craggy summits surrounding a small glacial cirque.


Mike approaching Broken Top in the predawn.

Sunrise on the approach, car dashboard said 7 degrees... mmm, mmm TOASTY!

Unfortunately it is an 11 mile round trip skin on flat ground to reach the base of this mountain. Of course in typical Oregon Cascades style the weather completely socked in the moment we got close and cleared out the moment we headed home. Mike's knee was flaring up from his new running regimen too, so we opted to go up Ball Butte instead which involves a 1,000 ft less vertical and a couple miles less of ski travel.


Mike on Ball Butte? Ball Butter? Buttery Ball?

On the way back I shredded some sweet gnar... radical overstatement dude! Overall it was a fun day but gosh darn did my feet hurt after that 5.5 mile skin out!

Mike being serious, or maybe understandbly grumpy, as we watch the clouds part.

As soon as we're a mile back towards the car the weather totally clears... WTF!? Ball Butte on the right.

Check out Mike's awesome video clip from the day... Mike, YOU are my hero! Ok that may have been too corny... whatever... watch the video!!!

Ball Butte Climb from Mike Arrera on Vimeo.

Illumination Rock Attempt

I was perched on a small patch of snow 300ft above the Zigzag Glacier in warm, sunny weather. Ice chunks were falling down the chutes on either side of me, moving so fast that they hummed as they flew past. My partner Edward was out of sight, climbing through a vertical tunnel of rime ice above me. There was no anchor at the belay and he had been able to place a single micro-nut in some loose rock. If he fell the nut would not hold. My only option would be to throw myself off the other side of the ledge and hope that the rope would catch us in a see-saw, each dangling from opposing sides of the ledge. Despite this somewhat terrifying situation I was having "fun," the most fun fun I'd had in months!

Rime ice patches on Illumination Rock, looking west after emerging above the tunnel.

So to start at the beginning... Edward and I wanted to get up on Mt. Hood in winter and try some of the ice routes there. We discussed a few options and decided to explore Illumination Rock, a spire on the southwest ridge. I've seen Illumination called the hardest summit in Oregon and the Cascades (Oregon maybe but I doubt its harder than some of the spires in Washington) and had found a topo of it on Cascade hardman Wayne Wallace's site.

Illummination Rock climbing topo, we basically climbed the Rime Dog route with some alternate pitches. I believe this topo is by a guy named Zac Riesner but I could not find a way to contact him. Full size image from Wayne's site.

Illumination in morning light. We were initially interested in the vertical ice column on the rock face.

I drove up to Timberline Lodge the night before and slept in the back of my truck. Edward drove up from  Portland the next morning and we left the parking lot a little after 5am. I brought my skis for the approach and quickly found that the mountain above the Silcox Hut was very icy. I ended up donning crampons and just carrying my skis, which was frustrating. We reached the base of Illumination just as the sun had come up. It was so warm that ice was already falling down the face. We had been eying a column of water ice but a lot of stuff was falling in that area so we inspected the East Ridge of the South Chamber, reasoning that a ridge had less falling rock and ice hazard. The ice here was really poorly bonded rime ice, and the exposed rock was loose too. We traversed across the South Chamber to the side of the Southwest Ridge and finally found something promising.

Edward on the Zigzag Glacier, approaching Illumination with the south side of Hood behind him.

The first pitch we climbed was really just steep snow and ice to the top of a buttress. From here we traversed left into a gully and through a tunnel under a rime mushroom. The tunnel was a tight squeeze with a pack on and resulted in lots of snow and ice down my jacket. From the tunnel we emerged out the top of this chute and onto another small buttress top. From here we almost picked an ice runnel to our left but after watching debris fly down it we opted to try climb the overhanging rime mushroom above us.

 Our ropes going up the scary, overhanging rime mushroom. To give perspective, the rime covered rock obelisk in the upper left is completely overhanging.

This was probably the most terrifying section of the route as it was in direct sun and nothing that our crampons or ice tools touched was solid. I ended up chopping off several car-tire sized ice chunks above me and then bear hugging the remaining bulge as I shimmied up. My gloves got completely soaked and my hands went numb. As soon as I was above the mushroom I kicked in my boots on the steep slope and took my gloves off. The return of blood to frozen digits is an extremely painful sensation which has earned the accurate nickname "the screaming barfies" among alpinists.

Looking east at rime ice blobs across the South Chamber.

Once my nausea faded and my hands could grip I put on my second pair of gloves and started up a vertical chimney with rock on one side and rime ice on the other. The ice was falling apart as I climbed at this point but luckily Edward had been able to place some protection in the rock. This was definitely the hardest part of the route, but would have been really fun climbing if the ice was solid and hadn't kept breaking when I touched it. Above this a steep rock and ice gully led up to the top of the Southwest Ridge. I emerged upwards on to this thin blade of snow which dropped off hundreds of feet in both directions to the Zigzag and Reid glaciers. It was a beautiful view of Adams, St. Helens, Jefferson and the west face of Hood.

Looking north past Hood's Yocum Ridge at Mt. Adams. The Columbia River is submerged in fog.

Looking back down our route and out over the Zigzag Glacier towards Mt. Jefferson and the Sisters.

From here we briefly considered climbing one last overhanging rime mushroom which would have allowed us to traverse the ridge to the true summit. However, there was a solid rock horn (West Gable in the topo) next to us and we could see footprints on a ledge off the north side that seemed to offer a safe way down. We opted to rappel from there and setup an anchor. Edward went first and was just leaning back when a grand piano of ice ripped off right next to him and tore down our rappel route. We both agreed that it was a good thing that happened before we got underneath it. One rappel easily reached the ledge and we found a good gully of steep snow that we easily down climbed.

Pulling the ropes after our rappel off more overhanging rime ice.

We traversed back to our gear stash, I think it was around 2pm at this point and it was so hot I was comfortable with a shirt off. It hasn't been above freezing in two months and now I was shirtless at 9000 feet elevation in January... we had obviously picked the wrong day to ice climb in terms of temperature! The ski down was dreadful as the ice had not softened but instead melted into a sea of golf ball sized blobs. It was impossible to turn on and, after descending 3000 feet, left me feeling like I had been using a jack-hammer all day. The drive home went fast though and I finished the day with good food, great beer, better friends and a very sound sleep.

Back at the base of Illumination, basking in glacier reflected heat and working on my KISS imitation.

Relay to Rose Traverse

I can't say I regret moving to Bend: I have glaciated mountains on my doorstep, great access to ski touring, and world class rock climbing just down the road. That said, part of me always misses Reno and the Sierra Nevada: the solid granite rock and easy access to steep, high mountains is really amazing. So being home for the holidays I was very excited for the possibilities.

Overlooking Tahoe from a ski tour two years ago in Mt. Rose Wilderness.

The snow is deep in the Sierra for this early in the season and the snow storms have just kept coming. A window of sunny weather finally showed up on the forecast and I started planning what to do. Having no partner for ice climbing or steep skiing I set my sights on an overnight ski tour traversing the Carson Range (a sub range of the Sierra NE of Tahoe) from north to south. Unfortunately the next storm pushed in sooner than expected and I settled for a single day tour instead.

Tahoe in Sunny weather as I head into the mountains.

I drove to the south end of the range, parking in Mt. Rose Meadows at 8500'. I skied north up the valley, gaining a ridge that took me to the summit of Relay Peak (10,338'). From there I traversed a long ridge to Mt. Houghton (10,490') and skied down a short but steep couloir to the saddle beneath Mt. Rose (10,776' highest in the Carson Range). I skied up the ridge towards Rose, eventually stashing my skies due to exposed rock and rime ice, and continuing on foot to the summit. High winds on the ridge gave way to relative calm, allowing me to take some photos before my regluar NiMH batteries succumbed to the cold. I descended to my skis, skied to the saddle, ascended a skin track over the south ridge of Houghton and traversed west and down a creek bed to the meadow and my car. Total time was a little over 6 hours.

Heading up toward Relay Peak, the summit in the upper right.

No Bikes doesn't quite pertain to this season. My tracks coming along the ridge from Relay Peak.

Mt. Rose in the distance while skinning up to Relay.

The summit of Mt. Houghton looking west. Relay Peak on the left.

The couloir descending Houghton to the saddle beneath Mt. Rose is left of the towers.

Self photo on Mt. Rose summit with Lake Tahoe in the background.

Snowing and cloudy as I ski back to the car. So much for a full day of sun.