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120, 100 and 50: Three Milestones for Mazamas

By Adam Baylor



With the climbing season well-underway, it’s easy to remain stoked about exploring the mountains and beyond.  But maybe you need a few more reasons to celebrate mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest!  Here are three unique milestones in our history that you’ll definitely want to commemorate:



First, we can look back 120 years to the summit of Mt. Hood where our mission was set in motion on July 19, 1894.  Multiple generations of mountaineers have bravely ventured into the nearby Cascades and beyond because of Mazama training, fellowship and a shared spirit of adventure.  As we reminisce on our early beginnings, we may ask what sort of challenges do we as modern mountaineers face today?  Certainly the summits of Hood, Rainer, North Sister and the like remain just as difficult but more than a century ago there were major concerns with the protection of our public lands.  Did you know that the Mazamas helped form Crater Lake National Park?  It was through the vision of our first president, William Gladstone Steel, and other Mazama members that grassroots support in Oregon rallied to preserve Crater Lake for future generations.  So what about today?  Is it safe to say that the founder’s vision for protection of public lands remains the same?  Or should we collectively look at yet another challenge that Mazamas can support such as expanding the Crater Lake Wilderness.



The second key milestone in 2014 for the Mazamas is a bit closer to home.  We celebrate the centennial official Mazama climb of Beacon Rock in the Columbia River Gorge which took place on October 11, 1914.  Published in the Mazama: A Record of Mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest (C.W. Howard, 1914, pg. 93-94) a party of 47 Mazamas reached the summit of the 858-foot andesite monolith.  Today, evidence of that historic ascent can be found in the form of iron spikes on Beacon’s Northwest Face.  Where else can modern climbers use 100-year old protection?  Truly, this was an important climb for the Mazamas and to commemorate this nationally significant climbing area we are producing a documentary film about Beacon Rock climbing.  Get inspired and become part of the project by donating to the Beacon Rock climbing legacy!  

Our third milestone in 2014 is the 50th anniversary of the Wilderness Act.  Yes, in 1964 Congress actually did something to protect our wild places!  So what does the future hold for our favorite places to play?  The answer to that question and many more can be found at an upcoming Wilderness Act 50th celebration event at the Mazama Mountaineering Center.  Our Conservation Committee is planning the celebration with a list of guest speakers that range from former Sierra Club director, Michael McCloskey, to Portland-based CRAG Law Center environmental experts.  Join us for the event on September 27 and become part of the inspiring new movement to protect the Pacific Northwest’s wilderness.
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Islands

The author on the summit of Mt. Hood.
by Richard Schuler
                     
The telescope on the back porch of
the Mazama Lodge points directly at the summit of Mount Hood. You can watch
climbers pursuing the summit. They seem as tiny black dots with legs. Just dark
figures moving imperceptibly slow on a triangle of snow. One morning in early
June, I watched such a group for a few minutes, and then I stepped back to the
lodge to refill my coffee cup, and talk with friends. After a few minutes, I
went back to the telescope. My eyes took a second to find the proper distance
from the lens, but then there it was: the white triangle of Mt. Hood with the
bright blue sky behind it, and the black dots of climbers. If I strained, I
could see their microscopic feet taking one step after another. Upward, they
went. The mountain was so huge, how could they even imagine such a task?

The cook rang the iron triangle and
people came running. That sound meant, hot eggs, sausage, pancakes and fruit, but
in the back of my mind, I thought about that climbing team. They should have been
approaching the Old Chute. How terrified I was, when I looked up that wall of
ice for the first time. Inside my rented mountain boots, I was shaken. I looked
for any toehold, no matter how small. I struck the ice axe hard, and I struck
it harder. Up I went. Soon, there was nothing to cling to, and I held on with
the fangs on the front of my crampons and wondered if I had fastened them
right. How far could a person slide under those circumstances, I wondered, five
hundred feet, a thousand feet? It was far enough to die, that’s for sure. Three
people on a rope climbed below me. They looked up with hopeful eyes, as if to
say: keep going, don’t let me down, while
one person urged me on from above. When I came to the top, it was by sliding on
my belly, not striding like a lord.

When my plate was empty I hurried
back to the telescope and searched for the climbing team. The face of Mt. Hood
was empty. I looked left, and then right, even panned the telescope a bit, but
could not find them. As far down the mountain as the trees allowed, I searched.
Nothing. A movement at the top drew my eye, and there they were. The little
team made it. They stood in a row, shoulder to shoulder, close enough to hold
hands. Was one of them waving? As ridiculous as it felt, I waved back. Their
triumph was my triumph. In a way, we were connected.

A second ring of the triangle drew my attention away from the
mountain. This time, it was to announce jobs for the day. Mine was to build a
traffic island in the drive behind the lodge. The first thing we did was to dismantle
a border.  The island had a row of stones
perfectly aligned, forming a nearly perfect oval. It looked artificial because
neatly defined border is the product of a human mind. Lines of contour on a
topographic map, the boundaries of a national park, or a nation itself, are all
imaginary. In nature, things blend into each other. Climb to the top of Mt.
Hood and you will see it flow into Mt. Rainer, Mt. Jefferson and the Three
Sisters. Climb as part of a team and you will feel your connection to others.
This is why we do it. We climb, not just for that one moment on the summit,
when the world slopes away in all directions, and the peaks all look like
frozen waves, but to be a part of a team. It is as John Muir told us many years
ago, “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the
rest of the world.” I invite you to make this your mantra the next time you
climb. It could be me on your belay rope, or I could be holding you. Are you
ready? Climb on.   
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Rainier Rematch

by Jon Skeen
Sustained 60 mph winds,
unending clouds, and ultimately having to descend after a forced rest day left
a bad taste in our mouths. We had been blown off the Kautz Glacier on Rainier and now we had unfinished business with the mountain. Clearing skies and calming
winds taunted us as we neared the parking lot. The team was in good spirits and
happy to settle for brunch as consolation, but already the need to go back was
creeping into our thoughts.
The itch was not soothed
by forecasts of blue skies and calm winds the following weekend. Fewer than 48
hours after being thoroughly shut down, we were planning a reattempt. Glenn Widener and his team pushed through the
technical ice and winds the previous weekend, and provided helpful beta on the
ice conditions, location of the infamous fixed line, and Camp Hazard platforms.
John Godino also shared notes from an adjacent route, the Fuhrer Finger, which
boasted of 25 pound packs and encouraged carrying up and over, down the
Disappointment Cleaver. Armed with these reports plus our own first-hand
knowledge, it was time to get the band back together. We had one roster
substitution from the previous weekend, setting the team as Ally Imbody, Eric
Kennedy, Nate Mullen, Hannah Seebach, Kevin Vandemore and me.
Jon Skeen and Eric
Kennedy starting
up the 3rd pitch of ice on the Kautz
Glacier under a super
moon
Spirits were high and
pack weights were down, which was important; the pace had to be more aggressive
this time, as we didn’t have a long weekend to work with. We aimed to make high camp around 11,000
feet Saturday, then head up the Kautz and down the DC Sunday. We got
off to a great start, leaving the trail head at Paradise at exactly 5:05
am. It had been a hot week on the mountain and much of the snow that slowed our
early progress the last time had melted out, making our descent from the trail
onto the Nisqually Glacier more direct. Of course, the disappearing snow had
opened new crevasses and exposed new seracs as well. Undeterred, we roped up
and made our serpentine path towards the Wilson Glacier.
We reached our previous
camp at 9,200 ft. around 11 a.m, shaving about two hours off of our previous time. We
took a break here to refill water bottles from the flowing glacier melt and
marveled at how much familiar landmarks had changed in just six days. We could
see a couple tents set up here, but it wasn’t until we were nearing the bottom
of the Turtle Snowfield that we realized there were twelve tents set up. While
that’s not uncommon for the Emmons Glacier or DC routes, it’s virtually unheard
of for the Kautz. Twelve people is more typical of the population on this line.
We were able to ascertain that the tents belonged to a large group from a
climbing club in Utah, some experienced climbers, some very fresh who probably
didn’t fully appreciate what they had gotten into. Our experiences with these
guys could fill another write-up, but for now let’s let’s just say we really
wanted to stay ahead of them.
Upward we marched,
gaining a thousand feet on the Turtle before taking a quick break for food and
water. We watched two climbers ascending in our boot tracks. As they neared, we
saw what appeared to be a “No Jive Ass” sticker and realized there
was a good chance we knew these dudes. Sure enough, there were two more Mazamas
on the Kautz! Victor Galotti and Brian Wetzel had been camped out where the Nisqually
and Wilson meet and had caught up to us, which I maintain was largely due to
the quality of the steps we were kicking for everyone behind us. We decided to
team up for the rest of the day and through the ice pitches in the morning.
Buoyed by this
encounter, we pushed to the top the the Turtle and into Camp Hazard. We claimed
a few platforms for our team and set off to find the fixed line and get our
first real look at the ice. The route was dramatic: cracked ice hanging above
and waiting below. As if issuing a warning or a challenge, a few large blocks
of ice let lose and tumbled down into the gaping maws below. We returned to our
platforms to work out the next day’s plan, eat, and get to sleep early. We
chatted with a few other small parties and lamented the throng that would be
pressing from below. With our hunger and planning satisfied, it was time to
get as much sleep as possible before our midnight wake up time.
Mt. Rainier Summit
team with Eric Kennedy,
Kevin Vandemore, Ally Imbody, Nate Mullen,
Hannah
Seebach, and Jon Skeen.
The alarms rang, time to
get moving. We made our way to the fixed line via headlamps and the super moon.
Nate was first down. As he reached the bottom we heard a crack! and
looked towards the ice fall to see block after block of ice tumbling across our
traverse line. It’s one thing to know there is danger in the abstract; it’s
another to watch it tumble where you’ll be walking in five minutes. With a
renewed appreciation for the objective hazard, we roped up and shuffled across
as quickly as possible. We made it to the base of the ice without incident and
up went Nate, leading the first of several pitches.
One by one, we ascended
fixed lines, moving in tandem with other teams all fighting to stay ahead of
the giant group we knew was hot on our heels. We managed to stay out front for
a few pitches, but the top came to a bottleneck and we were stuck while we
waited for an opening to push through. Finally, Kevin had a chance to lead the
final pitch and we fought our way out of the chute. I was impressed with our
team’s ability to climb cleanly; altogether we knocked down maybe four pieces
while the other teams around rained ice on everyone below.
Kevin Vandermore scouting the descent route on the DC.
After a quick break to
exchange gear, Victor and Brian set off on their way and the original team
regrouped for a bit before pushing up toward Point Success. We picked our way
up the Kautz, surrounded by the Utah teams. This made the going very slow, but
did allow us to conserve energy. Silver linings, right? After several steps
plunging into air and a few “verbal scuffles” (as I’m choosing to call them)
with the Utah teams, we were able to make our way off the glacier. The crater
was in sight! Just in time too, as clouds were starting to move in. We worked
our way up to the summit and snapped our victory photos. One more quick stop at
the summit register and down into the crater to melt snow.
Once all the bottles
were filled it was time to follow the wands down the DC. By this time the snow
had turned into sugary mush and we were sliding around a little more than is
comfortable on a crevasse riddled downhill trail. A pair of collapsing snow
bridges (which I fear we may have finished off) added additional spice. Down
and down we went, reaching the Cleaver and down climbing a bit of rock to avoid
steep, slippery snow. We made it down the Cleaver, across the Ingraham
(including a ladder over a crevasse), and over to Camp Muir. One last break
before bombing the Muir Snowfield and returning to the parking lot.
While we high-fived and
drank our mandatory Rainiers-on-Rainier, we watched headlamps flickering across
the Kautz. The Utah club was still at it; one of the consequences of ignoring
your turnaround time. We’ve since heard they made it down ok, but two days
overdue. Yikes! Hearing that only makes me more appreciative of the awesome
team we had on this incredible route. 
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“What’s In My Pack?” Contest – Mountain Hardwear

Does anybody ever win those contests? You know the ones you enter – raffles or sweepstakes – that you usually never hear back from?

Well, as Mazama staff member Kati Mayfield found out – occasionally you do win, and the prizes can be awesome!

In the June Bulletin we featured a deal from our partner, Mountain Hardwear. For the last weekend in June they offered great discounts to Mazama members. Kati headed down to the downtown PDX Mountain Hardwear shop to grab some gear, and was informed by the staff that they were holding a “What’s In My Pack?” contest, where shoppers could guess what was packed into one of their Shaka backpacks; and, if they guessed correctly, win the contents.

Kati casually turned in her guesses, not expecting to hear anything back. But about a week later she had a message in her inbox (which she originally mistook for Spam), congratulating her for winning the contest. The prize? The Shaka 70 pack and all of its contents:

It has been far too hot to utilize the gloves, the rain pants and the cap. But the sleeping bag and pack got a good workout on an overnight in the Mt. Hood National Forest and a hike to Ramona Falls this weekend.

Thanks Mountain Hardwear! And, the moral of the story: enter the contests, especially when the winnings are so sweet!

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Tales From The Forbidden Peak

by Michael Zasadzien

Bushwacking fun.

A little under a year ago, I was on one of my first Mazama climb. One that I’ll never forget, simply because it introduced me to a whole new level of exposure. The back-of-the-neck-hair-raised-for-the-next-4-hours exposure. The kind that made you think seven times about the placement of each footstep, and whether you felt comfortable standing on that ridge with a 500 foot drop on one side, and a 1,000 foot drop on the other. This was Chiwawa Mountain, a fierce little guy that Bob Breivogel took us up, with a nice long ridge traverse. I remember coming home from that climb, shaken up a bit from adrenaline withdrawal, but definitely with a huge smile on my face. I remember Bob telling me that if I enjoyed that climb, that the next year I should aim my sights on Forbidden Peak. So I did.


First light.
This was supposed to be my big goal for the year, the climb that I was going to work up to. I’ve already read all about the “airy-step” on Summitpost. I’ve looked at tons of pictures of the route and committed those images to memory. I’ve been doing my research on the cruxy bits, thinking that one day I’ll work up the courage and strength to do it. I need to develop trad skills for placement, and get comfortable leading on gear. I need to mentally prepare for run-out on relatively easy terrain, but one that has large consequences with a single miss-step. Am I going to be ready this year? Am I going to be on target with my training schedule? 
Enjoying a bit of steep snow.

When Andrew Holman asked me if I was interested in tackling Forbidden Peak as one of his final climbs in the Pacific Northwest, I jumped on it like a fat kid on a candy bar. Honestly it was a lot sooner than I expected, but hey, take your opportunities when you can! Climbing with him previously has proven to be fun and rewarding, and even though we have exactly opposite personalities on the Myer’s Briggs, we get along well. I know he’s a strong alpinist, and that he’d be able to lead many of the pitches if I get freaked out. I have myself a solid partner.

For the climb, we plan to join up with Kai Waldron and Ingrid Nye. We debate camping out in the basin for a night, or knocking it out in a single push. We know it can be a pain to get permits and even though we were pretty sure they’d be available, we’ve been told that a single-push is totally doable and has been done before. The Mountaineer’s website gives me a breakdown of 3 hours to camp, 6–9 hours to the summit, and 8–10 to get back. By conservative estimates, if we leave at midnight we can be back at the car by 7–10 p.m.—a long day, but manageable.

Ingrid Nye on the approach.

We did a Portland-start with brunch at the Screendoor on Saturday morning before driving north. We set up camp for a few hours at the Cascade River Trailhead and enjoy awesome views of Johannesburg Mountain and Boston Basin. After a restful 3-ish hours of sleep to the sounds of coyotes nearby and large ice falls letting loose in the canyon around us we are on the move.


The hike up isn’t too noteworthy. The trail winds uphill steeply through the forest as it slowly gets more and more dense. We get off-trail, or maybe it simply turns into a bushwack at some point, and manage a couple of interesting creek crossings. We know we just have to go up and north, and so we do without much hassle. We made it to the basin in exactly 3 hours. Perfect timing. I also get to witness the biggest snow release I’ve ever seen on Johannesburg. I watched the ice flow from top to bottom, barreling its way loudly down the mountain in the pre-morning dawn. We stand there in awe and take in this amazing demonstration of nature’s power.

Andrew Holman on the west ridge.


We hike up to the higher basecamp to find only one tent set-up; where the residents were slowly waking up and getting ready. Seeing that they are really fresh from actually sleeping and that the snow is kind of soft, we take our time fitting our crampons, donning our helmets and harnesses, snacking, and taking care of any other housekeeping possible to let them stay ahead and kick steps for us. This was an excellent technique I’ve learned in the past, and it paid dividends. Thanks guys!

The couloir of snow is nice—steep and fun. We self-belay until we get to the rock where we set-up the rope. We know that there are numerous pitches ahead, and a lot of it is 4th/low 5th class. The most efficient accepted method is either free-climb or simul-climb as much as possible. This is precisely what we did. Having never used this technique before I was surprised how well it can flow if you get your timing right. You pick up on a lot of signals just based on how the rope is tugging or going slack without seeing your partner. I was really ecstatic that, as I reached the “airy step” I read all about, that the rope got tighter and tighter, and was literally pulling me into the void. Before I had a chance to really sit there and think about how I was going to get across, the rope told me that it was go-time and over I went. It was just as cool as I thought it was going to be, minus the forced timing … What I didn’t know is that I would get the opportunity for significantly more and bigger airy steps all along the route.
The author on route.


We get into a great rhythm, climbing upwards and onwards. Running into a few areas of technical bits dangling off of the rock and happy to be on a rope. There are also secctions that you can just walk quickly over, skipping from rock to rock. Then there are sections where you sit-down and butt-belay your way over, or as the French eloquently call it: à cheval [mounting the horse]. When we got to the harder bits, we stop and do proper belaying. The pro is great, the supposed Beckey piton stuck in the rock is awesome to see, along with the cruxy moves around it, another piton looked like some screwball took tin-metal and banged into the mountain as a joke. The climbing is great, and we don’t want it to end. The weather however kept getting foggier and colder, and we begin to realize that this is taking quite a bit of time.

We hit the summit at 1:30 p.m. A little late, but close to tracking with our time estimates. Andrew and I high-five each other, waiting for the other two for a moment, and make our way back down. Unfortunately with the timing and the weather, Ingrid and Kai make the choice to turn around before summiting: so close, but a good call. Andrew is leading the whole way, which means that as a second responsible for cleaning, I am technically on the sharp end of the rope on the way down. Seeing it’s already been a bit of a day, I remind myself not to rush, take it easy, and enjoy the views. This really helps me mentally. We pull all the tricks in the book to be efficient, including quite a few simul-rappels (my first), and simul-downclimbs (another first), and make it back down to the basin without incident.
We make it back into the trees at dusk. It is around 9 p.m. and we are going to blow by the conservative estimate by just a bit. What we don’t know yet is by just how much.

Almost on the summit.


We can’t find the trail. At all. We have a map. We have GPS coordinates. We have a track. It all seems to be useless. We run into footprints from time to time, but it seems like within 20 feet they’re gone again. Instead of running in circles trying to find the “trail,” which we know is a bushwack anyway, we make the decision to aim in the right general direction, and hope to pick it up again. 

We come upon our first stream crossing, which isn’t too bad. It is difficult to judge the best place to cross when you only have the light of a headlamp. The shadows can mess with you, especially when you’re a bit tired. I do my best to keep stay composed and keep on going. We must eventually hit the trail and get back to the car. Right?

After the crossing, we find ourselves in an ultra-dense young juniper sapling forest where every step we take we end up being smacked in the face by a branch. I’m not sure if going forward is going to get any better and my headlamp is completely obscured by the last branch. Thwack after thwack after thwack, we finally make it to the second creek. Only this creek turns out to be a torrential river with no easy crossing in sight. We bushwhack up and down and up and down and up and down again looking for any possible way across. We’re tired. Dead tired. It’s now 1:30 a.m. Two of our members are sitting down and have fallen asleep in that position. We look at each other and make the hard call. 

Time to bivy. We can’t see, and we will resume once daylight comes back. The night is cold and we

View towards Mt. Torment.

are wet. In the middle of the night, members in the party randomly get up and turn on their headlamps and just stare into space. Someone gets up, move around for 5 minutes to get warm, and lays back down to try to sleep. Too cold to sleep, but too tired to not doze off for bits at a time; we are all in a very weird delusional zombie mode just waiting for dawn. It sucks.


When dawn comes, I couldn’t be happier. I have had no sleep and feel worse than before, but at least I can now see all the trees that were making my life hell. I can probably find better lines to ‘shwack through this forest, and we can probably find a way across this river. We are all shivering uncontrollably as we get up, but the second we begin bushwacking again, we get nice and toasty in seconds. I felt great again!
View of Johannesberg Mountain.


Eventually we find a way across, and are rewarded for our success with more bushwacking on the other side. Good thing it is all prickly and thorny bushes, we wouldn’t want it to be too easy. We can’t find any trail, and we just keep trying for the path of least resistance, aiming for a landmark. We start seeing barrels and other signs of human life: remnants of the diamond mine that used to be in the area. We are close to on-track, and eventually we run into the trail! Our morale skyrockets as we run into rangers five minutes later. Apparently they are already out looking for us. They are excited to find us so soon, since apparently the parking lot is less than 100 feet away. That’s right, we fully bushwhacked that entire 3 mile section. What took 3 hours in one direction, took 8 plus 3 hours of “napping.” Twenty-two conservative hours turned out to be Thirty-three. Whoops.

If done again, I’d camp in Boston Basin, both on the way in and the way out. It would have been awesome to get rest and walk through that forest only during the day. Next time I would also bring multiple GPS tracks if possible, and record points on my way in to make the way out easier. But I was as ready as I ever was going to get for this climb, and it turned out to be even more of an adventure than I could imagine. I never thought I’d say this so soon after, but … A+ great climb. I would definitely do it again!


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Special Education Content: ICS 2014/2015

Learning the ropes.

by Dan Gerbus, ICS Coordinator

This year marks the fifth year I’ll be involved with running ICS, our Intermediate Climbing School, and now I take the helm. This path started innocently enough when I took the course in 2009-2010. I took the class, had ideas on how it could be improved, and noted them in the feedback form. A few weeks later Bob Murphy, 2010-2011 coordinator, asked me to be on his committee for the class. He and his assistant, Darrell Weston, implemented a lot of improvements to the course that year, and one problem courses like ICS run into is maintaining the changes in following years. Their plan to circumvent this issue involved building an infrastructure of future coordinators in the pipeline, and apparently I was part of this plan.

My background is in engineering and engineering education. While finishing my doctorate in mechanical engineering, I taught a course in Mechanics of Materials. It was in that course where I cut my teeth on teaching. Some years later I landed a job at Intel where I find myself essentially teaching

Snow practice.

again. This time it is deeply technical content taught to a worldwide audience, most of whom do not speak English as their primary language. Soon after that I find myself talking anchors with ICS students. Yes, of course with the engineers, but also with the non-engineers. I’m finding all my time spent teaching VP’s, marketing, and non-technical heads abroad about computer specs has helped me realize how to reach those non-engineers in ICS. Looking back it makes sense how I got to this position. Now I am grateful for this opportunity to lead ICS, and I am going to leverage my background to make ICS as robust as it can be.

Through these years in ICS I have seen 158 students graduate. In each class there are about 40 students, one to two tend to not be Mazamas members or haven’t taken BCEP, an average of 37% are women, and about 80 individual volunteer assistants help each year. I’ve conducted several surveys in the past year and am using that data to make incremental improvements to the class. We are going to have more opportunities for students to practice the skills. The cohesiveness between topics will improve with a strong objective for each skill. I am going to provide our volunteer assistants with more support and information as well.

The class will be challenging. We cover advanced belays and rappelling techniques,  movement on rock and Learn more about the class on our website.

Campfires & Potlucks.

snow, rock and snow anchors, crevasse rescue, leadership, avalanche awareness, snow camping, high angle snow,  navigation, and single and multipitch climbing. This merely highlights most of the topics covered.  If you want to know more about the class there will be a virtual information night on our FAQ page covering many of the questions ICS candidates have.

I pledge to provide a solid learning environment that accommodates students of different backgrounds, expertise’s, and experiences. It’s also going to be a blast. A common theme I see in all of my surveys involves the camaraderie students develop while in the class. They meet fellow climbers wanting to climb at similar levels. They find people that can safely push their climbing levels. Some overcome fears and nurture a new confidence in climbing. Others have found themselves yearning to lead and go into our Leadership Development program. If this class sounds like something fits you, go check out our webpage or email me: Mazamas.ics@gmail.com

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Special Education Content: BCEP – The Instructor View

BCEP Notes From the Field: Team 12 
Leader:  Amy
Mendenhall (co-leading with Lynne Pedersen)


(The July Mazama Bulletin was a special Education Issue. This blog is part of the extended Education content. Read the full Education Issue.)


Pre-BCEP (Basic Climbing Education Program) Team 12 Leaders
& Assistants Meeting:  My living
room is standing room only, overfilled with smiling people who want to help our
team this year. It blows me away that every year we manage to find such
wonderful volunteers to give up 6 weekends of their life to help BCEP students
learn how to climb. Super grateful.
Photo: Alex Gauthier
First Night of Class:
 Get to meet our students tonight and
find out how we can help them reach their goals. This is where I’ve met a lot
of my future climbing friends.  Most of
my closest climbing buddies were students & assistants I met via BCEP
classes over the years.  Tonight we start
expanding that circle even wider.
First Hike:  We hiked Hamilton Mountain in the gorge.
Weather was great.  I got to lead the
super sneaky snack team, which left an hour before our students and the rest of
our group. We surprised our students on the summit with a fabulous spread,
table included, with breakfast treats, coffee, juice and more.  Super fun start to the conditioning hikes.
Photo: Alex Gauthier
Rock Session at the
MMC:  My favorite, and most
exhausting, night every year in BCEP.  We
 take a group of people who still have
the price tags hanging on their brand new harnesses and carabiners and
webbing … and turn them into climbers in one night. They transform from someone
learning how to put on a harness to belayers, climbers and rappellers in only a
few hours. There’s a bit of a swagger when they leave. It’s a life-changing
moment for some of them, and they don’t even realize it yet.
Horsethief Butte
outdoor rock session:  Everything
clicked this weekend. All of our students tackled the routes without ever using
the word “no.”  When we’d ask, “Why don’t
you try this rappel?,” every answer was, “Ok.”  I’m so proud.  They’re working
through fear, really becoming skilled at climbing and their belay technique is
solid. I had a moment alone with a few students, all of us staring at Mt. Hood,
and they both said they “couldn’t believe they were doing this.”  They never thought they’d be climbing on rock
outside.  One of them said his new goal
was to summit Hood. Now I’m excited about climbing all over again. 
Photo: Alex Gauthier
Snow Session:  Windy and cold start to the day, and zero
complaining from our team. As the day progressed, our students learned to self
arrest, they roped up and jumped fake crevasses and belayed each other up
slopes. It’s a day of playing with sharp objects (ice axe, crampons), and
everyone was super safe. Now they know how to climb rock and snow – can’t wait
to lead them up some peaks this summer!
Post-BCEP:  Students on summits everywhere! Our
students, so far, have made it up Unicorn Peak, Mt. Hood and Mount St. Helens (in
dresses on Mother’s Day).  I personally
got to lead two of our students to the top of Mt. Hood, which has to be one of the
best experiences in climbing that I can have. So satisfying to help expand someone’s
idea of what’s possible.
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Special Education Content: BCEP – An Assistant’s Perspective

Photos and Article by Alex Gauthier
(The July Mazama Bulletin was a special Education Issue. This blog is part of the extended Education content. Read the full Education Issue.)

In 2013 I made a decision to do what I could to commit myself
more fully to spending time in the mountains Basic Climbing Education Program was
not entered into lightly. It wasn’t the money so much. BCEP’s
sticker price is far below that of what a guide or most alpine schools would
charge for so much information and training. No, it was definitely the time
involved. BCEP has a demanding schedule which for many is enough reason to turn
aside. Meeting at least two days a week for two months to get all the
education in can be tough. These few excerpts are just a small taste of what
the experience is like. Not everyone continues as a student of mountaineering
and BCEP isn’t a proving ground so much as a tasting ground. Here’s
a little taste from a BCEP volunteer’s perspective. 

Opening Night
The auditorium
was nearly full as I hastened in, barely making it by 7 p.m., just like I did
every single lecture night when I myself was a BCEP student. Everyone sat in
teams and ours was at the front but none of them knew me, and I certainly didn’t
know them.

In our breakout
session, we all introduced ourselves briefly before getting started with the
material. We were to go over climb preparedness. The team leaders, Richard
Caldwell and Dick Bronder talked about having your gear ready, being on time,
knowing the weather conditions and the million other little things that go into
making a successful climb. The students listened dutifully, asking few
questions. Everyone seemed a little withdrawn and awkward. We didn’t
know one another yet. Time for some ice-breaking, I supposed as Dick motioned
me up with my climbing pack. At his request, I had assembled about a 40lb pack.
Had I ever carried a 40lb pack on a climb? I suppose I must have. I normally
have camera stuff  which is heavy. Add in
rope, climbing gear, clothing and the rest and I guess I carried close to 40lbs
most of the time, though I never weigh my pack normally.

Dick explained
that we like students to increase the weight in their pack during BCEP with
each conditioning hike. I chuckled inwardly at how balky some students from my
own class the year before had been at that suggestion. Before displaying the
items in my pack, I offered to let each student shoulder the pack to get a feel
for the weight. It definitely seemed like none had carried a heavy pack before,
based on the reactions exhibited in that room.

A yard sale then
ensued where I pulled out stuff and explained it’s usage and the
reasoning behind it’s presence. I think it’s
pretty much a given that when you start showing gear, lots of questions will
come out. People obsess over gear, and why not? It’s expensive, cool,
and something we each agonize over before putting it in the bag. We dashed
through the remaining material for the night with the instructors hopefully
leaving our students with a sense of how preparedness not only spares your team
inconvenience but hopefully makes us all safer as well.
Dog
I hauled myself
upright in the back of my darkened Subaru. Switching my headlamp on, I swept it’s
beam over the jumble of gear jammed in around my sleeping bag. Time to get up
if I wanted hot coffee. Peering through the fogged windows, I could make out
Ron, one of our BCEP students starting to stir at the other end of the parking
lot. Only the two of us decided to sleep at the Dog Mountain trailhead for an
alpine start. Obviously, an alpine start isn’t necessary for Dog
but I had been charged with leading this hike and introducing the students to
the misery of alpine starts by team leader, Dick Bronder. I couldn’t
wait to see how popular this would make me with the new recruits.

I strolled up to
the assembled group sipping at the remainder of my java. They stood in a
circle, headlamps blazing in the cool wet morning air. The mood felt decidedly
sober. I cracked a joke about how much fun alpine starts are. I think possibly
there might have been a courtesy chuckle from one person. Maybe. I realized
getting stuck with the alpine start assignment was possibly a way for the team
leaders to maintain popularity and shove us assistants squarely in the path of
miserable angry students. After a few reflective moments, we shouldered packs
and began to move through the damp and dark.
Horse Thief
Brigitte gritted
her teeth in concentration. Her eyes filled with equal parts determination and
fear. This was one of her first ever rock climbs and it wasn’t
that wimpy for a newbie, in hiking boots. I judged it a modest 5.6 at most. To
Brigitte that probably mattered little. I listened to a cheer squad of students
and instructors on the ground spraying beta at her. I remained mostly silent.
She seemed like the sort that would appreciate encouragement but little beta.

Her feet found tenuous purchase as her fat toed
hikers slipped out of cracks
and refused to smear even the grippiest rock. She gained a ledge below the crux
and looked with dismay before stubbornly attacking it. It wasn’t
easy. She seemed a bit gripped. Over failure or falling, I was unsure. Probably
both. I indicated moves that seemed reasonable and she did her best to try my
tips out. As she complained of tired arms and legs, I felt her pain but realized that I’m really no stronger of a climber than
the first day I tried it out. Just a better climber, than I was. Though I knew
she was tired, I was also careful to point out that her fatigue was a symptom
of her inexperience NOT her physical capacity.

Then she was at
the anchor. I exhaled as she slapped her palms onto the ledge and clipped in
safe and sound. Had I been holding my breath? 
Yes.

Snow Weekend
We all mobbed
the parking lot at Timberline. The day was off to a pretty stunning beginning.
Low clouds hung over the valley but sun washed hopefully over the snow around
us. We assistants hurriedly put on our gear, grabbed avalanche probes, shovels
and bailed out of the parking lot and into the snow as the students began to
mill about behind us. Hurriedly we dug a series of pits to demonstrate snow
layers and teach them about avalanche conditions. Just as we finished and the
students arrived with Richard and Dick, we took off again, down the gully and
up the other side. We hastily began to build up some glissade paths for them to
try out later on. Then we set set up some snow anchors. By afternoon, I was
appreciating the instructors from the year before when I myself was a student,
that much more. Lot’s of work, snow day is! We all had a
good laugh testing out various “glissade diaper”
designs and got some good pictures of our students learning to
self-arrest. As the day wore on, the clouds rose up ominously from the valley
and had enveloped the mountain as we tossed our gear back in cars. When we
pointed ourselves downhill towards the Mazama Lodge, the first fat flakes of an
epic snow storm began to drift down around us.

Morning greeted
us with at least 16 inches of fresh and more still coming. The
grey sky coughed up inch after inch of snow as we decided what to do. We had planned
a trip on crampons up to Palmer but with this snow and 20mph winds, we figured
it was asking a bit too much of our new students. Instead, we opted to rope up
and do all our remaining skill demonstrations on the low angle terrain of
Summit Ski area which had closed for the season. We were spared the wind but by
the end of a several hours with feet immersed in deep snow and a lot of moving
slowly and standing in one place, I wondered if I wouldn’t have preferred
the cardio of the hike instead!

Graduation Day
I remembered
well my own final day of BCEP. Commuting each lecture night from Sandy all the
way to Jackson Middle School, I was invariably there just in time for things to
kick off and on test night, I was late. Nothing is worse than be under scrutiny
when you’re rushed and scattered. I had heard that nobody ever failed
the BCEP exam but that didn’t ease the stress. BECP testing, I
learned this time around is fairly forgiving because of the way it’s
put together. I compare it to the military system of go and no-go scoring with
people getting a second chance to complete a task after first botching it. The
entire night, I only gave one person a second time go and at first I felt bad
doing so but then I remembered a lesson I learned long ago which is that often
failure is the best of teachers. The knowledge granted by failure sticks much
better than knowledge granted by success. As I watched that student trundle off
to her next testing station, I suddenly felt good about making her repeat the
task. She owned that knowledge and she would not forget.

We packed up the
rope and made our way off to our agreed upon location for our celebratory
dinner and anxiously awaited our own students. As they filed in, with smiles
and a new found ease about them, I felt proud of them. We’d
helped make climbers out of these people. We gave them the skills they needed
to launch their own climbing careers but better than that, we gave them a
thirst for mountains and the confidence to drink deeply from that well.
Posted on

Special Education Content: Ski Mountaineering: An Avenue of Adventures & Experiences

By Wei Chiang

(The July Mazama Bulletin was a special Education Issue. This blog is part of the extended Education content. Read the full Education Issue.)

The author enjoying nice turns down Mt. Adams.

After attending a Mazama Discovery Night in 2011, I discovered that the Mazamas went beyond climbing and had a ski mountaineering program. My original plan was to take a weekend avalanche course to get started into backcountry skiing but the Ski Mountaineering program went beyond learning about avalanche safety. It covered the whole package of avalanche safety, nutrition, fitness, and planning, which provided a great foundation to develop backcountry skills. The added bonus of the Mazamas is the rich network of like-minded folks who share similar backgrounds and experience.

My first year in the course was terrific. I attended every class session, field session, after session ski runs, and whatever I could get my hands on to maximize my course experience. The human factor is an important element which makes socialization an integral part to safety. I was able to develop a network of peers to enjoy the backcountry with and made a lot of new friends.

After taking the course the first year, I had the opportunity to volunteer as an assistant the following year.
Taking what I’ve learned and helping new students is a great way to continuously sharpen my backcountry skills. I get to share my personal experiences like losing my lunch on a hard hike and why it happened, to help understand the true value of a balanced nutrition. I also get to network with a new group of like-minded folks who also enjoys a good after tour brew. Helping new students teaches you to reflect on the knowledge you have and what you still need to learn.

Karl Furlong on a trip to Aneroid Mountain in the Wallows.
Photo: Nick Johansen

What historically began as a telemark-oriented sport has expanded with advances in alpine touring bindings. There are a lot of wonderful options now expanding backcountry exploration to more varieties of skillsets. I started out as a snowboarder and moved from one extreme of little mobility to the most mobility by learning how to telemark ski five years ago. Back in the 90s telemark was ubiquitous with the backcountry so it made the most sense. These days, I’ve learned that I should have invested heavily in Dynafit stock because they are taking over the backcountry with super light gear. The majority of backcountry gear these days, from largest to smallest are AT gear, then split-boards, and then telemark. I can see why telemark turns down the mountain are almost as laborious as skinning up. But the telemark turn is what makes you keep coming back for more. No matter what gear you use, going down is always fun!

A group of us recently went on a trip up to the false summit of Mt. Adams. Although the trip didn’t go exactly as planned, the outcome of it was exactly the reason why I joined the Mazamas. We were a like-minded group of outdoor enthusiasts who were willing to hike uphill for 6 hours to enjoy a 1 hour ride down a mountain. We were flexible with our trip. We loved talking the outdoors and past experiences. But the best feeling is enjoying a cold beverage with your crew after a day of touring. Always plan ahead for where to go for beer and food afterwards. Then enjoy the photos that take you back to flying down velvet snow on a beautiful clear day.