The Andy Aupperlee Explosion 5000

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.
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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.

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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. (continue reading…)

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.

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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.”
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The conditions were such that I simply had to take some photographs. February Seattle was being treated to unseasonably spectacular weather, it was the weekend and I just adopted a new member into the Explosion family… a Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 lens. After enjoying a literal boat-load of sushi on Friday night, I got a phone call from UPS around 9:30 PM saying that my new hunk of glass was at their Seattle hub. Sharat and I bombed down to Georgetown in the Explorer and picked it up just before Josh, the UPS customer service rep, called it quits at 10 PM. Since I knew Saturday was going to be as clear as Friday, I made up my mind to be at a particular spot in West Seattle as the sun came up. Sharat quickly translated my proclomation into reality by iPhoning an almanac: surise at about 7 AM. The best light of a sunrise occurs in the hour before the sun becomes visible. This meant getting to my spot around 6 AM, which called for a 5:30 AM wake-up time. On a Saturday. I know.

I noticed a lookout point on Admiral Way when I drove over to West Seattle earlier in the week to meet a couple of friends. The photographer bell went off in my head and I began thinking about how I could shoot it. Immediately I settled on shooting a sunrise because the silhouetted buildings with their lights might look great against the mountains and morning sky. With the convergence of the weather, the weekend and new gear—Saturday was going to be my moment of truth.

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