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.

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.

Last weekend a group of us ventured up from Seattle to spend some time at Alpental. We stayed at the base of the iconic ski area which also the jumping off point for a number of gorgeous off-season trails. The final weekend of October 2011 might be the last time this year that the trail to Snow Lake is completely void of snow; and that’s okay by me. While I certainly enjoyed the company and beautiful fall colors in the alpine; conversation on the way to Snow Lake frequently shifted towards the upcoming ski season. Trips, gear and backcountry conquests were all served up as topics. This year I am season pass holder at Alpental and Snoqualmie; and I’m looking forward to getting to know the terrain I surveyed on Saturday much better once it is all blanketed in the white stuff.

I captured the above image of Snow Lake after hiking in 4 miles and crossing over the saddle at 4400′ between Snoqualmie Mountain and Chair Peak.

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.

I woke up in the dirt and cold at 6 AM on Saturday morning. Despite the fact that I’m not following around Phish, sleeping in parking lots is starting to become a familiar trend. We had every intention of pitching a tent, but when we arrived at the trailhead on Friday night neither Ryan nor I had the urge to monkey around with it. We’d only left a bar in nearby Leavenworth 30 minutes earlier and were ready to just get some sleep. Thinking we’d be just as well off under the stars, we laid out our bags in the parking lot while Doug and Greta pitched a tent. Overlooking the fact that our sleeping bags were covered in a layer of morning frost, the night passed without incident. I stayed squarely on my closed cell foam pad and Thermarest; and my decade old 15 degree Mountain Hardware bag kept me toasty. Climbing out of the bag in 30 degree temps to start hiking 18 miles wasn’t exactly easy, but I suited up anyway. Several minutes later a Subaru full of Gus, Lauren, Justin, Carolyn, Dave and Becky rolled in to join Ryan, Greta Doug and me. The crew was all here now; the only thing left to do was hike from Stuart/Colchuck Lake trailhead to the Snow Lake trailhead. Only 18 miles, Aasgard Pass and 5000′ feet of climbing, a dozen or so lakes and 7500′ of descent separated the two.

The hike started at 7:30 AM at 3,400 feet. The day’s itinerary called for ascending Aasgard Pass (7,800 feet) and working our way through the Enchantment Basin. As we were west of Aasgard Pass and Dragontail Peak, hiking through the morning in the shadow of these features proved chilly. Dave, a resident who had just come off of a shift at the ER, set a quick pace and we progressed to Colchuck Lake efficiently and warmly.

Our route into the Enchantments brought us up Aasgard Pass (officially named Colchuck Pass by the USGS), which lies just to the north of Dragontail Peak and begins at the edge of Colchuck Lake (5,570 feet). The lower elevations of the climb required scrambling through large boulders slippery with frozen dew coating them. Once we ascended several hundred feet, we encountered snow.

Looking to the west from Aasgard Pass features an expansive view of Colchuck Lake and far off Cashmere Mountain. Gus mentioned that Cashmere is supposed to have excellent skiing; I told him that we should probably go find that out for ourselves.

While on Aasgard the sun finally rose above the ridge and we began experiencing what would become perfect weather for our day adventure. After reaching the top of Aasgard in the late morning we could see Lake Colchuck and Cashmere to the west; to the east were the Enchantments.

After a brief break on the summit of Aasgard to transition clothing and break out sun protection, we cruised over to Lake Freya to stop for lunch. It should be noted that like Aasgard Pass itself, most of the lakes in the Enchantments have official USGS names and more familiar local names. Gus, who helped identify the lakes in these photos, explains:

So lake names are tricky, because most of the lakes have a USGS name and a Stark name. The story as I know it is that a couple named the Starks showed up in 1959 and decided to name all the Upper Enchantment lakes after Norse mythology and the Lower Enchantments after King Arthur mythology. Why would they do that? Well, if you think about the timeframe it’s easy to figure out what you’re dealing with here — hippie dorks. Just kidding… partially. So the conundrum is that anyone who got acquainted with the Enchantments in the 60′s and 70′s knows everything by the Stark names, and the new generation seems to know everything by the USGS map. Personally, I lean towards the Stark names because A) they sound cooler and B) Fred Beckey uses the Stark names in his guidebooks and he’s a certifiable badass that basically owns the North Cascades. I’ll let you make your own call here.

This expedition was particularly fun for me as I got to nerd out with a new toy all day: the Olympus Pen E-P3 camera. Although I didn’t mind hauling my Nikon D300 up Rainier, Mount Adams and Rainier again; I was ready to ditch a little weight and bulk. After talking to Scott Rinckenberger about his backcountry kit, combing through internet reviews and nerding out on camera specs; I decided to put the future of my alpine and ski photography in the hands of a micro 4/3 system. So far I am very impressed with the Olympus Pen. The body and 14-150mm lens is a fraction of the size and weight of my D300 and 35mm f/1.8 (my standard kit for Rainier and Adams). Stay tuned for more photos and videos from this rig throughout the winter.

To add to the photo horsepower, Doug (pictured above) brought along his Nikon D7000 and 18-200mm lens. Check out his excellent pictures on SmugMug.

The basin of the Enchantments is flanked by Dragontail Peak, Colchuck Mountain and Little Annapurna. Picturesque hardly describes the perfect October alpine scene which includes lakes mostly unfrozen, fresh snow covering the boulders and blazing orange larches.

We worked our way through several more lakes and descended a couple hundred feet before reaching the most aggressive descent of the trip. The basin empties out very steeply towards the Snow Lakes. The short distance between Lake Viviane and Upper Snow Lake features an aggressive drop of nearly 1400′. Once we reached the Snow Lakes at around 4 PM, it was a long 6 miles back to the car. The forest scenery of the last stretch seems mundane when compared to the stark orange, white and blue of the upper basin. Dark fell with several miles left forcing us to hike out the last switchback via headlamps. I arrived in the Snow Lake trailhead parking lot at 7:30 PM. Twelve hours after we began, the Enchantments in a Day expedition was complete. The ten of us celebrated by changing into dry clothes and enjoying ice cold PBRs. A perfect end to an exceptional October day in the Cascades.

More pictures on Flickr. Or 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.

I was not sure where I was heading, I just knew I needed to cross the Puget Sound and head west. After catching a boat to Bremerton, I headed north on 3, caught the 104 to the 101 and eventually cruised along the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the 112. Five hours later the Explorer pulled into a campsite in Ozette, WA. For the next few days this secluded plot would serve as our base camp as Caitlin, Sharat, Emily and I explored the very western edge of the United States. Above is Emily jump standing on the coast of the Pacific at the Dungeness Spit.

After a luxurious night sleeping on cushy inflatable mattress in a rented four person REI Hobitat, I woke up before my fellow campers and noticed a spider spinning a web in our camp. I hauled the Manfrotto, set up an external flash and took a few shots of the little guy.

Later in the afternoon a deer wandered near our F-Noc game (AKA Friz Knock AKA Polish). As there are hardly any people in Ozette, this creature didn’t seem too scared of our troupe.

I did a little photo sesh with Sharat and Caitlin on top of a huge rock on the Pacific Coast. Emily kindly volunteered to be my VAL and held a SB-600 flash outfitted with a LumiQuest Softbox II. I triggered the flash remotely using Nikon’s CLS. Sure, I took some pictures of them looking serious (you can see them on Flickr); but I like this one the best.

The rock we climbed dropped off about 160′ into the ocean. A plethora of flora grew along the edge of the cliff. I crawled around on my belly with a wireless SB-600 and took a handful of shots as the sun set. There is no doubt that I looked very bizarre to the hill billy kids fooling around several feet away.

The Pacific Northwest coast is characterized by big sea stack rocks. Explosion 5K readers will remember a similar geologic feature that I encountered in Oregon.

I’m not sure how this whole Zen rock stacking thing got started, but I see it a lot now that I live on the West Coast. I found this particular stack while we wandered up the spit, a long sliver of sand that extends out into the ocean, in the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge.

Sharat the flower child on the spit.

On our way back to Seattle, we timed the Edmonds-Kingston ferry so that we caught the sun set over the Olympics. This shot is looking southeast at a passing ferry with Mount Rainier and Seattle catching the last red rays of the day.

Check out these pictures and more on Flickr, or watch the slideshow below (be sure to go full screen).