Even though the focus of my recent visit to Korea was business, I did have a chance to sample some of the local recreation. On a visit to South Korea earlier this summer I discovered that several of my counterparts seem to enjoy skiing as much as I do. We showed each other ski pictures on our phones, and compared the different places we’ve skied. Several months later I hosted a delegation from Korea for some meetings we had in Seattle. When I introduced myself to one of them he replied, “You’re Andy?! You are famous in Korea. You are a skier, yes?” Apparently word had spread.

Prior to my December visit to Korea, I emailed a couple of these guys to let them know I was heading over. They responded: “Bring your ski gear.” Figuring I’d just rent skis, boots and poles; I packed everything else I would need to ski. I really did not know what to expect; frankly, I was surprised they even could ski in South Korea. Obviously I had not yet heard of Muju and the famous Deogyusan Resort.

Unfortunately the conditions were not ideal. December is still the early season, and Muju had not received much snow. The temperatures were cold though, and the resort made enough snow to open one run. My host on this excursion, BJ, wanted to know if I was still interested in the Korean ski experience despite this; my answer: absolutely. BJ and I took off from Sacheon in his SUV after work on a Wednesday evening. During the two hour drive we cruised through some breathtaking terrain. At one point I commented to BJ that a particular mountain looked pretty tall. He told me it is one of the highest peaks in South Korea. Very eloquently, he further explained that the mountain range we were driving through is known as the “Mother” mountains, because they are round and smooth. The mountains in the northern part of South Korea, near Pyeonchang, are the “Father” mountains because they are jagged, pointy and strong.

About 30 minutes from the resort we pulled off at a rest area for food. Like in the United States, the rest areas are just off the road and are apart of the highway system. Unlike most of the US though, they have fantastic food. Each stop is operated by different companies that compete with each other. I sampled some bibimbap, which became my favorite Korean dish. From here we began our climb into the mountains. A six lane highway winds around mountains and through tunnels. The road only leads to the resort; and the resort is big business. Dozens of ski rental shops and stores line each side of the road. The resort itself is impressive too. It features two base areas, a gondola and numerous restaurants, lodging and bars.

I rented skis, boots and poles at the base lodge. BJ is a season pass holder here and has his own locker. We stashed our dress shoes there and hit the slopes. The conditions were not exactly epic, but that did not matter. As someone who grew up skiing in Michigan; I am happy just to have my skis on my feet. This joy is also shared by people on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. Koreans take their skiing seriously. The Northwest philosophy of repairing tattered gear with duct tape has not gotten any traction in Korea: everyone had new-looking bright, matching outfits. I also noticed that many of the snowboarders completely removed the board from their feet while waiting in the lift line. I asked somebody about this and he told me that he spent a lot of money on his snowboard, and he didn’t want it getting all scratched up in line. Go figure. Another peculiar detail is the air hoses at the bottom of the hill. When you’re done skiing for the day, you take your gear to one of these hoses and blast off all the remaining snow. Near the bottom of the run they jammed a gigantic video screen into the side of the mountain. As you’re skiing down, you literally have to ski around it. The screen shows current conditions, time and other information. It has even been used to announce marriage proposals.

We skied for a couple of hours before making the drive back to Sacheon. I asked what time the hill closed for the night, and BJ said it stays open all night. After I expressed my surprise at this, he explained to me that the Korean people work very hard, so they only have time to enjoy these kinds of activities at night. He underscored this by pointing out a golf course that was lit up on our drive home. It was 30 degrees Fahrenheit and people were actually outside at 9 PM playing golf. Amazing.

The pictures here are snaps I made with an Apple iPhone 4. I shot video on a GoPro Hero2 HD and an Apple iPhone 4. The song is “Le Petit Prince (From Meine Meinung)” by cubesato.

The storm raged all Thanksgiving night in the Central Cascades. When the dust cleared on Friday morning, 11″ of fresh snow fell on Crystal Mountain. Curtis, Gus, Beau, Austin and I did our best to chop through as much of that pow as possible. We had pretty good luck finding stashes and face shots all day. Then the big news dropped. Shortly after 1 PM Gus, who apparently was using his iPhone for more than texting and reading emails, pulled up the Crystal Mountain Ski Patrol Twitter feed and announced that Northway would be opening in 20 minutes. We’d heard blasts going off all day long over there; and now the ski patrol had done enough control work to safely open the zone for the first time this season. Since we were skiing High Campbell, we had to traverse the entire width of the resort to get there. After a few chairlift rides, buzzing down a cat track and 5 minutes of boot packing; we were ready to go. This video is from my first of two runs in Northway. I think Beau summed it up best, “that shit cray.”

Watch in HD.
If you’re on a iPhone or mobile device, watch it on Vimeo.

One of my favorite lines from last season was descending The Shuksan Arm just outside of the Mount Baker ski area. Ryan and I rode chair 8 up, and after getting grilled by a ski patroller, were allowed to leave the resort and skin along the ridge. It was late March and the snow was nearly perfect. Baker had been getting hammered all week, and this Sunday was the first time in days that the avalanche conditions were moderate enough to make a safe journey out onto the arm. After spending a little more than hour traversing the ridge, we ripped skins and charged down to the valley. The snow was light and crisp; turning was effortless.

With memories of this day in mind, Ryan and I returned to Shuksan Arm 8 months later, this time bringing along Keith, Beau, Gus, Megan and Austin. An early season storm had just cycled through the Mount Baker zone, and conditions looked ripe for a late November pow day. As always, I toted my Olympus Pen E-P3 camera for still photographs. This time out I brought along a new toy: a GoPro HD Hero2 video camera. Once we reached the top of the Arm, I strapped the camera to my dome and hit “REC.” I let it run the entire time we descended, about 25 minutes. The edit above compresses our descent to about 5 minutes, and uses still photographs I took on the skin up. The skiing at the top is steep, fun and deep. The skiing near the bottom is also steep, but our pace slows considerably as we try to maneuver treacherous cliffs, trees and rocks. The video is not intended to be a highlight reel; it’s a visual narrative of our approach, ascent and descent.

We parked in the lower lot of the Mount Baker ski area and skinned along a cat track that lead us to the base of Chair 8. Without having a specific ascent in mind, we decided to leave the ski resort and skin directly up the Arm. We also debated skinning up underneath Chair 8 and accessing the Arm via the backcountry gate up top; but that idea was quickly nixed because “skinning in a ski area is lame.” In hindsight, that probably would have been the quicker, safer way to access the Arm; but as Gus likes to say, he’ll try anything once.

In total, it took us about 4 hours to ascend the Arm. No skin track existed, but we were able to make use of tracks coming down the slope. We also did a fair amount of breaking trail. There were a couple of “oh shit” moments. Although our morning bluebird conditions gave way to overcast, visibility was still excellent. If nothing else, we could clearly see the predicaments we skinned our way into on the way up.

Once we reached the summit of the Arm, we traversed along the ridge towards Mount Shuksan. Beau, Megan and I climbed up a knob to have a look around and snap a few photos while the rest of the team waited below. With the area sufficiently explored and the daylight growing short, I locked down my heels and flipped on the GoPro.

Although it was only November, I think the snow this time was lighter and deeper than it was last March. The first 15 minutes of this descent might be the best snow I have ever skied.

More photos on Flickr, or check out the slideshow below.

All anyone could talk about all week was this “storm from ALASKA” that was sliding down the West Coast en route to the Cascades. Local ski areas kept up the stoke by posting pictures to Facebook of picnic tables with 4 inches of snow sitting on them and proclaiming “LA NIÑA has ARRIVED!” Amongst my friends, emails and text messages started flying around with links to weather forecasts and snowfall telemetry. Did I buy all this hype? Of course I did. I encouraged it.

The two most probable options were skiing Mount Rainier or near the Mount Baker Ski Area. Later in the week it became clear that Baker got the worst (the best) of it; and about 10 of us made plans to rendezvous in Seattle for a 5:30 AM departure on Sunday morning. I cruised up I-5 with Curtis before peeling off to scoop up Russ, who now lives in Mount Vernon. My VW, sans chains, carried the three of us the length of Highway 542 all the way to the upper lot of the ski area. Shortly after 9 AM we left the car with skis on our feet—something worth noting since I hadn’t been able to do this since July.

Russ, Curtis and I vectored towards Table Mountain and the Blueberry Chutes. About 45 minutes into our tour we happened to run into Tristan and Bobby, who joined us for the rest of the climb. Visibility was good enough for safe skiing; but barely passable for photography. Overcast skies and light snow falling all day created flat light conditions. We were treated to a few glances of the summit of Table Mountain, but most of the day it was shrouded in weather.

We shot one of the Blueberry Chutes for our first lap. The snow was deep and heavy, although not deep enough in some areas. Tristan tripped a snow shark that knocked off one of his skis. The edge looked a little bent, but nothing a quality shop couldn’t hammer back into place.

For our second lap, we ascended the ridge a little higher and found an untrafficked chute. After skiing the lower angle upper part of the slope, we traversed left and encountered a deliciously steep line that took us all the way to the lake. I employed the standard “let me ski this first so I can get pictures of you guys” pitch; and let loose down the 40 degree fall line. I tend to get some looks for having a heavier touring setup; but today my 115mm waisted skis were worth every ounce when the rockered tips blistered through the heavy November powder. After grabbing some shots of the crew halfway down, I returned the favor and let everyone blaze trail ahead of me towards the lake.

Bobby and Tristan called it a day after two laps, but Curtis, Russ and I wanted to squeeze one more descent in before heading to the car. We skinned up to the same chute as before and cashed in on the remaining freshies.

When we arrived back at the car, the other half of our expedition left a message on the hood of my VW. They were about 30 minutes ahead of us; and came up with an excellent exit strategy: beers at Boundary Bay. When we all convened over brews in Bellingham; Doug, Beau, Joe, Andrew and Aaron filled me in on how their day skiing in the resort proper was. Although the chairs weren’t uploading yet, they skied a few tree runs and even carved their way through the Canyon (video). From all accounts, it sounds as if their day was as excellent as ours.

More photos available on Flickr, or just check out the slideshow below.

Only two weeks after our icy adventure up Mount Baker’s Coleman Glacier, we returned to the Heliotrope Ridge trailhead for round II. Even on the drive in it was evident that we would be dealing with drastically different conditions. The snowline is now well below the parking lot (3,650′), making the last mile or so treacherous. I was happy to let Gus maneuver his Subaru along the winding road; had we been in my Volkswagen I would have chained up. Stepping out of the car at the trailhead the first thing that struck me was how cold it was. Keith, Gus and I quickly geared up and started hiking the Hogsback. The mud and rocks of October were now covered with snow and ice. We gladly endured knowing that less than a couple hours up the trail would be our first taste of powder for the season.

Keith turned 27 years old on this Sunday. It was also his first time touring and using his new setup. Mount Baker is a pretty ambitious introduction to backcountry skiing. Both enthusiastic and overwhelmed, Keith’s comments ranged from “this is so fucking sweet” to “I need a break!” He hung in there though, and after taking one powdery lap down the glacier, I’m pretty sure we hooked him.

After grabbing a quick snack and changing into ski boots, we started skinning up the Coleman Glacier. We were hardly the only skiers out that day. We encountered at least two dozen other skiers and snowboarders. There were even a few dogs getting in on the fresh powder. During our first descent one of the dogs chased Gus for a good 500 feet.

Gus took the above shot with his iPhone 4S. With a little post processing in Lightroom, the new 4S is capable of producing surprisingly rich images. In my hands is the Olympus PEN EP-3 fitted with the 14-150mm zoom. This setup has become the workhorse of my recent outdoor and travel photography.

For our first run, we headed up Heliotrope ridge and skied from there. Gus and I made turns through shin deep powder for just over 1000′ before slapping skins back on and heading up for round two.

For lap number two we stayed to the climber’s left and vectored toward the Coleman-Deming col. After reaching 7500 feet we transitioned and skied the fall line down to the toe of the Coleman Glaicer (~6000 feet). The descent here was lower angle, which allowed the powdery snow to pile up deeper. Seldom did either of us reach the bottom of the fresh stuff to scrape the icy crust we skied two weeks prior. Halfway down I said to Gus that this wasn’t good. He looked at me incredulously and responded, “what are you talking about?! This is GREAT!!!” I said, “I know. We’re getting spoiled.” Shin deep blower pow and bluebird on a wide open glacier is not typical Washington skiing; and we were getting treated to this in early November. Six months had passed since either of us had skied snow like this. In our outings from May through October, we skied all kinds of corn, slush, ice and crust. These adventures were nothing short of exciting, but are more or less methadone for a powder-addict in recovery. Making turns in the fluff has a certain kind of friendly familiarity; it reminds you of everything you love about skiing. Once experienced, it’s a hard habit to kick. After six months of sobriety I couldn’t be happier to fall off the wagon again.

The lower we went on the glacier, the higher the rock to pow ratio rose. After a few brutal sounding scrapes, we popped off our skis and trotted down the Hogsback to the car. As tabulated by Gus, the numbers for Sunday’s ski were as follows: 4600 feet of climbing and 2300 feet of skiing over two laps. We reached a peak elevation of 7500 feet.

More photos on Flickr, or watch the slideshow below.

Sunday’s ski down the Coleman Glacier on the northwest slopes of Mount Baker was literally a bloody mess. Inspired by a trip report published on TurnsAllYear.com; Gus, Tristan, Megan and I designated October 23 as the day we would Occupy Baker. While we didn’t find boot deep pow; we did encounter a liberal amount of rocks, ice and treacherous terrain.

Last Thanksgiving Gus and I made our first turns of 2010-2011 season at Crystal Mountain. Charging through heavy early season powder on Northway unknowingly started the clock on a year long quest. November became the first tick mark on a list followed by 11 other consecutive months. Seldom a weekend passed between our inaugural day at Crystal and the end of April where skiing did not enter the picture. The goal of skiing every month for a year really wasn’t talked about until the spring. Sometime in May Gus called me up to tell me he’d driven to Alpental and made a few turns despite the lifts being closed. I thought that sounded like a good idea so I cruised up there myself one Friday night and skinned up. With the days growing longer, Gus and I met up at the park and ride in Bellevue after work on the evening of June 1 and again shot up I-90 to Alpental. We climbed the front side of the mountain and sloshed around the corn on the way down. In July Gus, Brandon Cox and I parked our car at the hairpin on the North Cascades Highway and climbed up several thousand feet near the South Early Winter Spire. We camped in the alpine, woke up, and skied all the next day before descending back to the car. Our most ambitious ski trip was in August. Gus, Ryan, Tristan, Bobby and I reached the summit of Washington’s second highest peak, Mount Adams, and skied from the top. Continuing the theme of scaling volcanoes, Gus and I skied from just over 8,000′ on Mount Rainier’s Paradise Glacier in September. We had now skied eleven consecutive months in the state of Washington; all that remained was October. Enter Mount Baker.

We left Seattle a little before 6 AM on Sunday. After a last minute provisions stop at that one gas station in Maple Falls, we were parked at the trailhead and heading up Baker’s Hogsback by 9:30 AM.

Several times on the hike in we encountered streams sans bridges. While this normally doesn’t present much of a challenge, the cool morning temps caused many of the rocks to be covered in ice.

Just as we neared the base of the glacier one of these streams got the better of me. Crossing required gingerly stepping from one dry rock to another, and finally inching along a slender branch to cross the last few feet. I successfully made it across the water, but my footing on the opposite bank of the stream did not have the traction I assumed. I immediately slipped on the icy granite and landed squarely on my chin. I scrambled to get back on my feet and pull my right leg out of the stream. I felt okay, until I put my hand underneath my chin and took a look at it. Blood. I looked up at Megan, Gus and Tristan and I could tell from the looks on their faces that I did more damage than just a scratch. Megan, a nurse by profession, took a look at the gash and confirmed that I wouldn’t bleed to death. We just needed to stop the bleeding in order for me to continue the ascent. Improvising with a little ice and tissue, I was able to get it under control before applying a bandage. Later I would need 5 stitches to close up the 3 cm cut, but for now it was back to the climb.

After we emerged from tree line we had to find a non-crevassed portion of the glacier to begin skinning. up. The terrain just below the glacier was very slick. We traversed several ridges by sticking to gravel which provided decent traction and avoided slippery surfaces such as granite and brush.

Once we were on snow it was obvious the powder reported a week earlier was not going to be in play. The surface of the snow was a firm, icy, solid yet smooth crust. Surprisingly, skins seemed to grip well and we wasted little time ascending to the Black Buttes.

We transitioned once we reached the Black Buttes at about 7,500 feet. After a little goofing off and grabbing a quick snack, we began our descent down the chattery, icy smooth glacier.

Despite the strange snow, the ski down as incredibly fun. The conditions were fast, smooth and surprisingly grippy. It was almost as if we were skiing mother nature’s version of corduroy. Growing up in Michigan conditioned me to be able to enjoy any type of snow (or lack there of). Taking gates on a sheet of ice isn’t exactly powder skiing, but it’s an experience nonetheless. Compared to those memories, skiing Mount Baker in October was pure joy.

On our descent we missed the terminal of the trail by several hundred yards. Again we found ourselves crossing a few ridges and contending with slippery brush and rocks. In a little under an hour we had located the trail and made it back to the car shortly before dark.

Post Script…

This wasn’t the first time I skied Mount Baker in the off season. In 1994 I took a trip with my family across the United States. We hit Yellowstone, Jasper, Banff, Lake Louise, Wyoming, Montana and ended up in Lynden, Washington. On the Fourth of July we drove to Mount Baker to play around in the snowfields. I brought my skis with me, all the way from Michigan, for this very reason: I wanted to ski in the summer. It is only fitting that I completed my first “Turns All Year” season on the same mountain that I first backcountry skied on 17 summers earlier.

More photos on Flickr. Check out the slideshow below.

Gus parked his Subaru in the tiny parking lot about a mile east of the Paradise Inn and Visitor Center at Mount Rainier. It was a familiar routine for the both of us: unloading gear and strapping skis to our backpacks. It’s just a little funny doing it when it is September and the temperature is in the 70s.

We took off from the parking lot around 10 AM on Saturday, September 24, 2011. With skis and ski boots lashed to our backs, we ascended the first few miles via trail.

Conditions at the lower elevations were absolutely summer like. The wildflowers in the alpine meadows of Mount Rainier were in full bloom. We passed a lot of photogs nerding out with tripods and macro lenses who were taking advantage of the excellent weather.

The plan was to take the trail up to the snowfields that lay at the base of the Paradise Glacier. Once on snow, we’d transition from our trail running shoes into ski boots and skin across where possible.

We skinned across the snow field with relatively little elevation gain before encountering a massive rock outcrop. After discussing conditions and optimal routes with a fellow skier on his descent, we learned that crossing the rock field would get us access to the cleanest lines down the Paradise Glacier. With our skis over our shoulders, Gus and maneuvered precariously placed rocks in plastic ski boots before arriving at the base of the glacier.

Now at the base of the Paradise Glacier (6000′), we began touring up the right side. To the south we had an excellent view of the Cascade Mountains and Mount Adams, which was the setting for August’s ski adventure.

The first few hundred vertical feet went pretty easily. The snow was perfect PNW corn: absolutely ripe for skiing. I started to have a few traction issues which were quickly solved with the addition of ski crampons. Weather alternated between blue skies and clouds, but we always had a clear view of Little Tahoma and the summit of Rainier.

The glacier was in good shape save a few gaping crevasses. Fortunately we were able to safely navigate these via serendipitously located snow bridges.

Once we reached 8150′ we decided to transition and begin our descent. Ahead of us was a little over 2000′ feet of prime corn snow skiing. The snow was fast and smooth. It was literally a lot of fun; short of powder, the conditions we encountered would be good for any season.

We returned the same way we came. Others had taken routes to the west to avoid scrambling over the rocks, but it seemed that you gave up a few hundred feet of quality skiing to do so. Plus, retracing our tracks almost ensured we wouldn’t get lost or stuck on a cliff. After skinning across the snow field and a breezy hike down the trail, we were back at the Subaru around 4 PM. September: check.

Flickr set here.

We left pavement and cell phone reception behind long ago. Bombing through winding dirt roads in the backwoods of Mount Adams, Ryan and I chased Tristan’s Subaru Outback with my Volkswagen under the night sky. Unlike Gus’s approach to mountain driving, Tristan seemed to prefer a style closer to Colin McRae. With every dip and compression in the road, a scraping noise resonated through my cabin. “Has to be the mud flaps… those things only have a few inches of clearance,” I told myself. Several dozen miles later the Subaru pulled off to the side of the road with the hazard lights blinking. I pulled up next to Tristan, rolled down the window and called over to see why they stopped.

“Car doesn’t sound good. Something is making a lot of noise.”

After a quick investigation, we determined that a major section of the exhaust had become detached. While none of us are exactly mechanics, having two car loads full of mountaineering gear isn’t exactly the worst situation to be in when faced with designing an ad-hoc automotive repair in the middle of nowhere. Using parts from a BCA shovel, duck tape, rope, a stick and nylon webbing; Tristan and Bobby were able to craft a solution that allowed the Subaru to continue soldiering on.

Despite the unplanned vehicle repair, we arrived at the Cold Springs Trailhead near midnight. I found a place to stash the VW, unrolled my sleeping bag and caught a few hours of sleep under the stars and trees at 5600′. Unfortunately, 4 AM came sooner than I would have preferred. After a few minutes of resisting the inevitable, I was dressed in climbing gear with my skis and ski boots strapped to my back. Saturday, August 13, 2011 would be the day I summit and ski down the second highest peak in Washington. With well over 6000′ feet to reach the 12,310′ summit of Mount Adams, there wasn’t any time to waste.

Gus, Bobby, Ryan, Tristan and I hit the trail a little after 5 AM. Although we began the climb with headlamps blazing, day broke soon and views of Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens framed the early morning hours of the climb.

While not as aggressive as the climb Gus and I accomplished two weeks earlier, this excursion still required a fair amount of gear. We did not need provisions for overnight snow camping, nor did we need harnesses or ropes due to the fact that it is possible to summit Mount Adams without setting foot on a glacier (and thus avoiding crevasses). Still, we brought a stove for melting snow, water purification systems, clothing for a range of temperature conditions, ice axes, hiking shoes, crampons, skins, ski crampons and of course skis, ski boots and poles. Like I did on Mount Rainier, I also strapped my Nikon D300 and 35mm f/1.8 lens to my chest.

After ascending a few hundred feet, our first glimpses of Mount Adams appeared. The thing about mountain climbing is it always looks deceptively easy. “Oh, we just have to get up there? No problem.” From a distance of only a few miles, the snow, rock and ice provide little scale. A massive peak can look relatively attainable. As the day stretches on and hour after hour is spent putting one foot in front of the other, this early notion is quickly scrapped. Climbing mountains is fucking hard.

We reached 9,000 feet sometime around 9 AM. We took a break, shuffled gear around, melted snow for drinking water and got something to eat.

Although we were approximately 50% complete in terms of vertical feet, the second half proved to be more brutal. I changed out of my hiking shoes and put on my alpine ski boots. Originally, I hoped to skin up with skis on. When this proved to give me little traction, I added ski crampons to the mix. After several hundred frustrating vertical feet with this setup, I abandoned the skis and went to straight boot-packing. The road to the top of Mount Adams is a long slog; a snowy staircase that demands every last ounce of your endurance.

Shortly after noon we reached the false summit. When you’re climbing Mount Adams from the south, the summit appears to be 600 feet lower than it actually is. Only when you reach the false summit does the true summit come into view. In other words, when you think you’ve finally arrived, you haven’t. After a quick break we skied over to the base of the true summit and began climbing the last few hundred vertical feet.

Standing on the summit of Mount Adams, I reminded Gus that we’d just climbed the two highest peaks in Washington in two weeks. Whereas the Rainier expedition fulfilled a destiny a decade in the making, the Mount Adams jaunt was thrown together via email only days before the climb. Nonetheless, I was pretty pleased with how my August turned out.

With the summit at our backs, it was time to make the descent. In front of us was 6,000 vertical feet of 30-35 degree pitch and Cascade corn snow. We descended via the Southwest Chutes, which is not the route we climbed but was much better for skiing. Tired and weakened from the climb, we didn’t exactly showcase the best skiing; but it was certainly better than hiking down on foot.

When the snow finally began to run out, we switched back to hiking shoes and traversed the mountain in hopes of finding the trail. We were not exactly sure where the terminal of the Southwest Chutes would take us, but we knew we had to head left. So we went left. Initially we assumed we would find the trail just over a ridge. All we found after the first ridge was another ridge. Okay, keep going left and down. Using GPS and maps, we eventually ran into the trail that would take us back to our initial route. It was now late in the afternoon. The party I had planned to attend in Seattle that night would have to rage on without me. Spotting the car at 7 PM never felt so good. I commented to Ryan that even though we’d just been climbing for a day, it felt like we’d spent a week on that mountain. A Bud heavy tallboy and an hour of packing later, we were back on the road to Seattle.

More photos on Flickr.

It is 5:30 AM on Saturday, July 16th, 2011. Richard and Aaron, who arrived about 30 minutes earlier, are sitting in the living room while Ryan is scrambling to pack some last minute gear. I’m seated at the dining room table, talking to Aaron and Richard, enjoying a glass of juice. A specific kind of anticipation permeates the room at this early hour; the kind of excitement that arises on the brink of an ambitious adventure like the one we are about to undertake. Richard’s phone rings. “Oh, hi Gus.” On the phone is Gus Radcliffe, the fifth member of our climbing team. He’s on the other side of Seattle with Katy, the sixth member, preparing to rendezvous with us for the ride to Mount Rainier.

“Hold on, Gus. I’m going to put you on speaker phone.” Richard addresses the room, “Gus wants to talk go/no-go right now.”

“So I’ve been checking out the weather, and, well, things have turned since last night.” Gus continues in the pragmatic and logical tone for which he is known. “It’s raining up to about 10,000 feet, and after that it’s snowing. Also, there are thunderstorms on the mountain. I don’t want to be stuck on Mount Rainier in a thunderstorm.”

We all know the answer. None of us want to admit it right away. This is not the weekend to make a summit bid on Mount Rainier.

“Yeah. It does sound nasty,” Richard agrees. “Give us a few minutes and we’ll call you back.”

Before we pull the plug on this trip, a trip we’ve been planning for weeks, we go through every weather and safety consideration several times. The 6 AM consensus of Ryan, Gus, Aaron and I is that Mount Rainier is a no-go. The adrenaline has already started flowing though, and alternative outlets for our enthusiasm are considered.

Richard leads the charge. “I don’t know about you guys… but I’ve got a car full of mountaineering gear, 20 oz of coffee and am ready to get after it. Anything else we can climb?”

Aaron gets out the laptop and starts searching around the Cascade Mountains for a peak with decent weather.

“Baker?”

“Socked in.”

“Adams?”

“Looks nasty.”

“Shuksan?”

“Same as Baker.”

Aaron stumbles onto some page that details a trip a group of climbers took up Pumpkin Mountain when their Rainier climb was aborted. WTF is Pumpkin Mountain? We all laughed about this for a minute.

Richard chimes in, “what about Shasta? If we left now, we could be there in 10 hours.”

We quickly come to the conclusion that Mount Shasta is a bad idea. Not only is it in Northern California, it’s also a mountain that none of us are familiar with and we have not prepared for.

“Oh man!” Richard is excited now. “What about Olympus? I’d love to climb Mount Olympus!”

Aaron googles the weather. Looks like rain, which makes the 18 mile approach just to get to the base of Olympus less appealing.

With the catalog of Cascade peaks exhausted, we call Gus back and let him know we agree to shut down the climb. It is now 6:30 AM. The four of us are still pretty restless, so I ask if anyone would like to have a beer before heading back home. Not surprisingly, everyone is in the mood for one. With ice axes, backpacks, crampons, harnesses, ropes and piles of other gear sitting next to us, we enjoy an early morning libation and continue to joke about Pumpkin Mountain (WTF?!).

Even though this is absolutely the right call, it is extremely disappointing to me. A decade earlier, in October 2001, I attempted to summit Mount Rainier with Chris Brown and Adam Snider. We chose an ambitious route (especially for the fall), and spent 7 days on the mountain before reaching a max elevation of 13,500 feet. With less than a thousand vertical feet to the summit of 14,411′, we encountered a 36-hour snowstorm that destroyed our tent. When the sky finally cleared, there was so much new snow we could hardly move. After enduring life threatening conditions and days of rock, snow and ice; we turned around without tagging the summit. We spent the next day and half descending, sleeping in a snow cave, and becoming delirious (dehydration, lack of food, and probably some hypothermia). Those who know me have probably heard this story. Facebookers may have come across some photos, and a few have even seen the film I shot up on the mountain. Over the years this failed attempt on Rainier has grown into a folktale of sorts. These days, I am asked to tell the story more than I volunteer the account. Although I am grateful for having such an epic yarn to spin, I always wanted that summit.

On the eve of moving to Seattle from Chicago in summer of 2007, I wrote a note announcing my intentions to head west. “Additionally, being situated in Seattle places me in close proximity to an old nemesis: Mount Rainier. Columbia Crest and I have a date six years in the making.” For the next four years, every clear day in Seattle reminded me of my unfinished business with that mountain.

Two weeks later I’m arriving at Gus’s house at 6 AM on a Saturday morning. After loading several bags of mountaineering gear into Gus’s Subaru, we’re headed south on I-5 towards Mount Rainier. Not everyone from the original crew was able to participate in the make-up climb; this trip is just going to be Gus, Katy and me. The weather forecast is promising: clear on Saturday, some clouds moving in on Sunday and then clearing up again on Monday (the day we intend to summit). We parked the car at the White River Campground (4,400′) under sunny skies and geared up. At this point, the only thing between me and Columbia Crest (the summit) is 10,000 vertical feet. Game on.

The trail winds through the woods for just over 3 miles before the trees start to break up and a view of Rainier is possible. After making it through the sub-alpine we arrived at Glacier Basin (6,000′). After a light lunch, we climbed through the basin to the Inter Glacier.

After spending all afternoon climbing, we reached Camp Curtis which sits atop the Inter Glacier at 9,000 feet. We setup camp here with plans to move to Camp Schurman the next morning. Our campsite featured gorgeous vistas of Little Tahoma, prominent peaks such as Mount Baker, Glacier Peak and an expansive view of the North Cascades.

The team posed in front of the summit before calling it a night on Camp Curtis.

Despite the serene twilight hours, once night fell a strong wind blew in. Gusts of up to 30 to 50 MPH rocked the tent all night. Nothing like trying to catch a few Z’s while the walls you’re sleeping in violently move back and forth. While this didn’t make me legitimately nervous, it did cause enough anxiety for me to hardly get any sleep. I got up several times throughout the night to make sure my backpack or boots hadn’t blown away.

The next morning a large group of mix-gendered Alaskans rolled in. What’s with the blow-up doll? It was a bachelor party, obviously.

After a short traverse, we reached Camp Schurman at 9,500 feet. The plan for Sunday was to setup camp and relax. Camp Schurman would serve as the high camp for our summit bid on Monday morning. As we climbed to Schurman, we passed climbers on their descent. A lot of the groups we spoke to turned around at 12,000 feet or so. The strong winds from the night before ruined a lot of summit attempts; that and near white-out conditions made climbing the high alpine on early Sunday morning difficult. We’d expected this, and timed our climb so that we’d be summiting on early Monday morning when the weather was more favorable.

Katy and I slept in the tent. Gus, being the alpine rockstar that he is, slept in a bivy. Although no one really slept. We lounged around on Sunday afternoon and used the stove to melt snow to fill our Nalgene bottles. I even tried to read a book. The prospect of being only 5,000 vertical feet from success made me pretty restless. Although we could have used the rest, falling asleep wasn’t an easy task. We agreed that we should move up our “wake-up time” from midnight to 10 PM on Sunday night.

I slipped into my down mummy sleeping bag at 6 PM and shut my eyes. To help me relax, I pulled out the iPhone and listened to Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy all the way through. Still wide awake. I turned to the ultimate sleep inducing medication: NPR. Specifically, This American Life. While always fascinating, something about those voices induces REM. Somewhere in the middle of “When Patents Attack!” I caught 10 minutes of real sleep. This is the most quality rest I’d gotten since the Friday night before I left. Only moments later Gus poked his head through the tent door: “time to go!” Was it 10 PM already? I pleaded for another 13 minutes.

“If all you’re asking for is another 13 minutes, I think you can get up right now.”

“Ahh… yeah, okay,” I agreed.

“What’s so significant about 13 minutes anyway?”

I somewhat embarrassingly admitted that I had 13 minutes left on “When Patents Attack!” and wanted to finish the podcast before getting up. This did not draw any sympathy from my fellow climbers.

With our headlamps on, we prepared for the summit bid. We left the tent and all non-essential gear at Camp Schurman. Roped up and with crampons affixed, we began our alpine start up the Emmons Glacier at 11:30 PM. Despite a moderately annoying period of wind, the night climb went smoothly. We were close to a new moon which allowed the full magnificence of the Milky Way to blanket us from above. As dawn broke it became clear to us that we timed our summit bid perfectly. We could see for hundreds of miles in all directions.

Somewhere above 12,000 feet things started to get progressively more difficult. Altitude sickness set in and I lost my appetite. No more Lara Bars for a while. The consequences of a mis-step into a crevasse became starkly visible in the daylight. We carefully navigated around bottomless fractures of deep blue ice. By 13,000 feet the slog to the summit assumed the step-step-rest rhythm. The effects of getting only 5-6 hours of quality sleep in the last 72 hours wore on me. Even though an exhaustion unique to being in the high alpine consumed me; I never doubted our team’s ability to achieve our objective.

At 9 AM we reached the top of the Winthrop Glacier. A short walk up some gravel and we’d be on the summit. Gus and Katy took a few extra minutes to rest, but I was eager to ditch my pack and stand on the summit. Those last few steps took every bit of concentration I could muster. The altitude sickness had gotten worse. If I ran on batteries, there would have been a blinking red indicator on my helmet that read “please supply external power now!”

Minutes later I reached the edge of Columbia Crest. Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens came into view. I greeted some other climbers at the top and all my exhaustion and sickness vanished. I felt GREAT. I nearly sprinted up the little trail to the true summit. There, in that moment, standing on the summit was unlike anything I ever experienced. A mix of emotions came over me, but none more prominent than genuine happiness. I made a few phone calls, including ones to Adam and Chris who I climbed the same mountain with 10 years earlier.

I walked back to the edge of Columbia Crest and found Gus and Katy waiting for me there. We located the summit log, signed our names and began the descent. While not as grueling as the ascent, climbing down the mountain was certainly not uneventful. We reached Camp Schurman at around 3 or 4 PM. After tearing down camp and using the outhouse we embarked on the last 5,000 vertical feet to the car. Somewhere past Glacier Basin the sun set, and I walked the last two miles of the wooded trail in the dark. A wave of relief washed over me at 10 PM when my headlamp shined on the license plate to Gus’s Subaru. 10 years in the making and 24 hours after leaving for the summit, I was done.

As always… more photos on Flickr.

This winter I was lucky enough to ski about 40 days. The season began on Thanksgiving Day at Crystal Mountain in Washington, charged through an Easter spent at Whistler and ended, well… it’s not actually over. This film covers ski outings through the end of April at Table Mountain in the Mount Baker backcountry, but rest assured, there’s still snow in the Cascades as I write this in late May.

Stevens Pass in Washington is prominently featured. With a generous open boundary policy, accessing untouched terrain at Stevens doesn’t require a day long hike. I shot Gus, Joe, Russ, Keith and Justin at various places on Cowboy Ridge, Piss Point and the Highland Bowl.

A lot of the bluebird scenic shots are from Garibaldi Provincial Park, which is in the Blackcomb backcountry of Whistler, British Columbia. Ryan and I took a trip up there in late April and had some of the best conditions I’ve skied all season. Unfortunately, I was too busy enjoying myself to remember to pull out my camera most of the time. The long shots of both Ryan (yellow jacket, helmet) and me (blue jacket, white hat) skiing powder were shot on the Decker Glacier in Garibaldi on slightly overcast day.

Segments featuring my brother, Sharat (the only snowboarder) and me were shot on Big Mountain in Whitefish, Montana. We experienced everything from bluebird and powder to rain in only 4 days. The tree skiing at Big Mountain is world class; even in less ideal conditions there were stashes to be found.

The film also includes footage from two late season backcountry trips with Gus and Ryan. The hiking sequence, the fire lookout and the closing shot are from Granite Mountain in the I-90 corridor region of the Cascade Mountains. The severely overcast scenes (like the second shot of the film) are from Table Mountain which is in the Mount Baker backcountry. Also, the tracking shot of Mount Shuksan was shot from Chair 8 in the Mount Baker Ski Area.

The entire film was made using a Flip MinoHD and an Apple iPhone 4. I usually had one or both of the devices on me while skiing. I never set out to do anything serious with this footage; it was just fun capturing what we were up to on the weekends. The soundtrack is a song titled “Grown Ocean” by the Fleet Foxes.