Tag: Beta

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#vanlife

Darrin Gunkel outside his van down by the Alaskan Highway, with a pug.
Photo: Karin Hedlund. 

by Jonathan Barrett


As a parent of a small child, I have a deep, almost primeval, fear of vans. As a child of the 80’s, after school specials and public service announcements warned me against people who called out, “Hey kid! I’m a professional photographer. Come with me to my van, and I’ll take your picture.” As a result windowless van is the first place I am going to look when my son’s face appears on the back of the milk container. The problem is that now, all these vans are filled with beautiful, half-dressed Athleta models and Patagonia ambassadors. Since when did prAna start hiring transients as marketing influencers?

As a result, I find the whole #vanlife thing really confusing, as does my kid. For example, I brought my son, Liam, to Smith last fall. We got out of the car in the bivouac parking lot, and there was a man sitting in the open door of his black Sprinter. Liam grabbed my hand a little tighter and said fearfully, “Daddy, don’t let him take me!” I turned to him and replied, “Don’t worry, son. He has a trust fund. He can’t hurt you.” Liam looked really confused. This man’s fingernails were black. He was barefoot. His beard was thick, but artfully cut. He was shirtless. In his fingers was a funny smelling cigarette. “Daddy, why is he smoking?” Liam asked. “Well, son. Sometimes adults have a hard time coping with reality.”

“So he’s doing drugs?”

“No, that’s why he bought the van. The cigarette is just cloves.”

That evening when we returned to the parking lot, there was a man standing on the roof of a ‘96 Ford Econoline. “Daddy, is he fixing his roof?” Liam asked. I looked at him skeptically. Was he messing with me? The dude was doing downward dog in the fading sunlight. My son had seen me doing yoga in the our privacy of our basement before. He knew I kind of hated it. In his mind, no one would ever do it in public. “Maybe he is looking for a hole that water is coming through,” he offered thoughtfully. The shirtless man in $100 shorts moved gracefully into tree pose. “Oh no!” Liam said. “He’s going to fall off!” A lithe woman appeared on the ground next to the van. “Maybe she will catch him.” She took out her iPhone. “No, wait I think she is going to take his picture. Daddy, why is she taking his picture?”

The rainbow is not Photoshopped. Photo: Darrin Gunkel

“Well, son. Sometimes when you live in a van, it’s hard to stay connected to people. Always moving around. Not being in the same place all the time,” I said. Vanlifer was now doing Pungu Mayuransana, wounded peacock, and the girl continued to take pictures of him. Secretly I wondered: if a climber falls off a van roof in the woods, can anyone hear him scream?

“So, he’s homeless. We should give him something to eat. He can have my apple. I still have it from our hike.” He started to reach into his bag.

By this time the man had finished his poses and was climbing down off the roof of his van. He took a long swig from his Hydroflask. “Honey!” he called to his partner, “Can you check the Goal Zero batteries? There is a crack in the solar panel cable. It might not be charging.”

“‘Scuse me,” Liam said. “Here. You can have this.” He held out his apple in a gesture of sincere concern.

“Is it organic?” he asked. Liam looked at him blankly as the man took it to inspect the sticker.
“Thanks kiddo, but I am really careful with my body. You can keep it,” he said as he handed it back.

As Liam and I walked back to the car, he shook his head. “What’s the matter, bud?” I asked.

“That guy. He makes bad choices. Maybe that’s why he’s homeless.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He said he wants to take care of his body, but he was being very unsafe on the roof. And look,” he said as he pointed back in the direction of the van where the man was walking across the parking lot in his bare feet. “He should put some shoes on so he doesn’t cut his foot.”

Back at our friend’s house in Bend, Liam climbed into their truck-bed camper which served as guest quarters when we visited them. It was 8 p.m, his regular bedtime. “Daddy,” he said. “I’m really glad that we live in a house.”

“Why is that, bud?” I asked as I tucked him in with his stuffed moose, Mary.

“Because I’d miss my friends if we were always moving around, like that guy we saw today.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a fair point,” I said. How could I explain the fact that these people likely have many friends and acquaintances spread across the West, people that they regularly meet at Indian Creek or in Squamish. How could I explain that much of their community was online and digital? That even though they can open their doors and make a parking lot their new front yard, they can’t always know who their neighbors will be from one day to the next. That they are sacrificing a degree of regular, in-the-flesh human contact for space and mobility.

I pulled the fleece blanket up against his chin. “Well. They have friends online who like to see their pictures. They can share their lives that way,” I said.

“Oh,” Liam said. “Well, I like knowing that Owen is just up the street. And that he’ll always be up the street. He’ll never move away.”

“Yeah, kiddo. I don’t think that I would want to live on the road like they do, either.”

“What’s it like to live in a mobile home?” he asked as I was just opening Captain Underpants to read the next chapter to him.

“Well, actually it’s not really a mobile home,” I said.

“Oh, I mean RV.” I put the book down. How was I to explain that it was their home but not a mobile home. That old people live in RVs and go to national parks, like Yosemite. That young people live in vans and … go to national parks, like Yosemite. But it’s not the same.

“It’s a van, son. Let’s just read some of the book so you can get to sleep on time.” Somehow the world of an ill-tempered grade school principal who transforms into a superhero made more sense to him in that moment than the subtleties of #vanlife.

We all remember the Chris Farley SNL sketch where he admonishes David Spade and Christina Applegate to get their lives in order, otherwise they will be, “living in a van down by the river.” Maybe my point of view needs to shift. Maybe there is nothing wrong at all with childless men living in a van down by the river. After all, if my son becomes one of them, I know where to find his picture.

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Off the Beaten Backpack

Three Fantastic Backpacking Trips for the Discerning Backpacker

by Matt Reeder

So you couldn’t get a permit for the Enchantments or the Wonderland Trail? Maybe you’ve done the Timberline Trail several times and want a new challenge? You aren’t alone. Every year I hear from my friends in the outdoor community about the difficulty of securing permits to cherished spots like the Enchantments, and the desire to find backpacking trips that aren’t completely overwhelmed with people or require complicated planning stretching over several days.

Thankfully there are many other places to backpack. Great places! I’ve spent the last several years researching my three hiking guidebooks: Off the Beaten Trail, 101 Hikes in the Majestic Mt. Jefferson Region, and PDX Hiking 365. I’ve had the opportunity to do some truly amazing backpacking expeditions, from short overnighters at nearby lakes to longer treks through remote and forbidding wilderness areas. Presented here are three relatively obscure trips sure to satisfy all of you who can’t or don’t want to backpack the Timberline Trail, the Wonderland Trail, or the Enchantments.

Big Slide Lake.

Big Slide Lake and Bull of the Woods

While it isn’t full of the kind of alpine splendor found on Mt. Hood or Mt. Rainier, the Bull of the Woods Wilderness is a peaceful and inviting destination for backpacking, from one-day trips to longer loops that touch all of the highpoints of the area, both literal and figurative. The only issue with visiting this area is that many of the trailheads are at the far end of long, winding gravel roads that test the patience of many drivers. This long but rewarding trek to Big Slide Lake and up to Bull of the Woods is easy to find, easy to follow, and leads hikers to a beautiful lake deep in the wilderness. Hikers desiring a mountain view can continue 2 miles to the summit of Bull of the Woods, where the view stretches from Mt. Rainier to the Three Sisters.

Beginning at the trailhead, follow the Dickey Creek Trail on the remains of an abandoned road for a half mile. The trail then descends steeply into Dickey Creek’s deep canyon, leveling out in a classic cathedral forest of ancient Douglas fir. The trail meanders along the valley bottom, passing a pond, until it reaches a crossing of Dickey Creek at about 3.5 miles from the trailhead. Make your way across the creek, which is generally easy in summer, and begin gaining elevation on the far side. The trail climbs up the forested slopes of Dickey Creek’s upper canyon, crossing a huge talus slope at the base of Big Slide Mountain’s cliffs. Reach a short side trail to Big Slide Lake at a little over 6 miles from the trailhead. Take the short spur trail down to the lake. Big Slide Lake is shallow but beautiful, with a lovely green color and an adorable island in the middle of the lake. The best campsites are on the lake’s west side, where you should be able to find a place of your own with space and privacy.

Bull of the Woods wilderness.

Once you’ve set up camp, take the time to hike 2 miles uphill, turning right at every junction, to the Bull of the Woods Lookout, where the view is magnificent. Some exploration on the summit will reveal different vantages, a historic outhouse, and views down to Big Slide Lake. The lookout tower, no longer used and closed to the public, is in poor shape—use caution when walking along the platform at the tower.

Hikers desiring a longer backpacking trip have many options, but a lack of trail maintenance has made some of these options a less attractive idea. Perhaps the best idea is to continue west from Bull of the Woods to a pass above Pansy Lake, and then descend the Mother Lode Trail 4.5 miles to beautiful Battle Creek Flats, at its confluence with Elk Lake Creek. Making a loop is possible either by hiking up the Elk Lake Creek Trail to Elk Lake and returning via the Bagby Trail and Twin Lakes, or by hiking downstream along Elk Lake Creek and returning via the Welcome Lakes and West Lake Way Trails to Bull of the Woods. This latter option to Welcome Lakes is among the worst-maintained trails in the area and is not recommended. Consult a topographic map if you’re planning on making a longer loop here.

Directions: 

  • From Portland, drive southeast on OR 224 approximately 20 miles to Estacada.
  • From Estacada, drive southeast on OR 224 for approximately 25 miles to the old guard station at Ripplebrook.
  • Just past Ripplebrook OR 224 becomes FR 46. Continue straight on FR 46 for 4.2 miles from Ripplebrook to a junction with FR 63.
  • Turn right onto FR 63, following signs for Bagby Hot Springs. 
  • Drive this 2-lane paved road for 3.5 miles to a junction with FR 70, signed for Bagby
  • Hot Springs. Ignore this turnoff and continue straight on FR 63.
  • Drive another 2.1 miles on FR 63 to a junction with FR 6340 on your right.
  • Turn right on this gravel road and drive 0.6 mile to a junction, where you keep straight.
  • Continue on FR 6340 another 2.1 miles to a junction with FR 140 with a sign for the Dickey Creek Trail. Turn left here.
  • Drive this narrow, rocky road for 1 mile to a T-junction. The trailhead is on the right, but the best parking is on the left. There is also room for a couple of cars on the shoulder FR 140 about twenty yards before the junction.


Heart of Jeff Loop

Marion Falls in the heart of the
Jefferson Wilderness
Hikers looking for a multi-day alternative to the Timberline Trail will find few better options than this multi-day backpack around the south side of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness. As it is impossible to circumnavigate Mt. Jefferson (due to the Warm Springs Reservation, the lack of a trail on the east side, fire damage, and impassible cliffs and gorges, among other things), this circuit hits many of the high points in one of Oregon’s most beautiful wilderness preserves. The time is right so go now—next year a complicated permit system will likely come into effect, making this area much more difficult to visit. 
The trek starts at the crowded Marion Lake Trail, climbing gently 1.7 miles to a fork just before you reach the lake. Both trails go to the lake, but keep left for the shortest and most direct route. At a fork at lake’s edge, keep left and hike along the lake’s north shore. Views stretch across the huge backcountry lake south to Three Fingered Jack. Reach a junction with the Lake of the Woods Trail at 2.5 miles, where you turn left. Follow the Lake of the Woods Trail north to a junction with the Swallow Lake Trail and turn right. This trail passes by Swallow Lake before climbing steeply to the foot of South Cinder Peak at 8 miles. Take the time to follow the short spur trail here to the summit of the peak, where the 360 degree view stretches out to the far horizon, from Mt. Hood to the Three Sisters and everything in between. From here, return to the Swallow Lake Trail and reach a four-way junction with the Pacific Crest Trail and Shirley Lake Trail. Cross the PCT and turn onto the Shirley Lake Trail. Hike north 1.5 miles to Carl Lake, your stopping point for the first day of this trek. You’ll find lots of sites at this deep backcountry lake. 
From Carl Lake, locate the Cabot Lake Trail heading north and follow it as it seesaws through attractive woods. The trail passes under North Cinder Peak’s cliffs, curves attractively around the Forked Butte lava flow and then passes directly by scenic Forked Buttes as it makes its way towards Mt. Jefferson. The trail descends to small Patsy Lake and then gains elevation once more, finally reaching secluded Table Lake at 4.7 miles from Carl Lake. Make Table Lake your second night stop, and spend the rest of your day exploring this beautiful area. While you’re here, be sure to locate the continuation of the Cabot Lake Trail and follow it 1.5 miles north to an incredible viewpoint by the cliffs of Bear Butte. Here Mt. Jefferson towers over Hole-in-the-Wall Park, just four miles away. The trail once continued down to the park but is now lost in blowdown from the B+B fire. 
 South Cinder Peak and Mt. Jefferson. 
On day 3, leave Table Lake. You could hike all the way back to Carl Lake and return the way you came, but this trek is much better as a loop. So hike south from Table Lake 0.2 mile to a meadow, where a very faint trail cuts off west towards the Cascade crest. The trail isn’t easy to find, but is worth the trouble. Once you’ve found it, hike west on a trail that threads between a cinder cone and The Table and then traverses steeply uphill to the crest of the ridge. Once you top out the trail becomes faint again, but from here just continue west 0.1 mile or so to the PCT. When you find the PCT you’re faced with another dilemma—do you turn left and head south to wrap up the loop, or do you turn right to make a longer loop by heading into the burned forests west of the PCT for more lakes and a longer hike? The PCT continues south 4.7 miles to the Shirley Lake-Swallow Lake-PCT junction mentioned above, offering fabulous views and easy hiking. If you’re up for the longer loop option, turn right at this junction and soon arrive at a junction with the Hunts Creek Trail. Follow this trail as it climbs slightly and arrives at a rocky ledge above beautiful Hunts Cove, with Mt. Jefferson looming just across the valley. After 1.7 miles, reach a junction with the Lake of the Woods Trail. 
North leads down into Hunts Cove (a limited-entry permit area), but for the loop, keep left. The Lake of the Woods Trail continues south, soon entering burned forest. You’ll pass Lake of the Woods and finally reach a junction with the Swallow Lake Trail at 9.8 miles from Table Lake. Continue 1.7 miles to Marion Lake. At this point you’ve hiked 11.5 miles on Day 3—but you’re only 2 miles and change from the trailhead. If you’re wiped out, consider camping at this lake and spending the next morning exploring before hiking out. Explorations around the lake reveal fantastic lake shore viewpoints of Three-Fingered Jack and Mt. Jefferson as well as huge and impressive Marion Falls just below the lake. If you’ve got a bit of extra energy you can scramble up the talus slope on the west side of the lake (along the peninsula) to a fantastic viewpoint on top of a rock pile that looks out across the lake to Mt. Jefferson and Three-Fingered Jack. But if you reach Marion Lake and are ready to be done with this loop, follow the trail west of the lake a little over 2 miles to the trailhead. 
Directions: 
  • From Portland, drive south on Interstate 5 to Exit 253 in Salem, signed for Detroit Lake and Bend. Leave the freeway here and turn left onto OR 22. 
  • From Salem, drive OR 22 east for 49.2 miles to Detroit.
  • Continue on OR 22 another 16.2 miles to a junction with Marion Road (FR 2255), just opposite the now-closed Marion Forks Restaurant.
  • Turn left here and drive this one-lane paved road for 0.8 mile to the end of pavement. Continue another 3.7 miles of excellent gravel road to road’s end at the Marion Lake Trailhead.
  • There are many places to park but come early—this is an extremely popular hike and the trailhead is often full by mid-morning on summer weekends.
  • NW Forest Pass Required. A limited-entry permit of some sort will likely be required in 2019. 


Mt. Adams Northside Traverse

Mt. Adams rugged north side.

Like Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams features a trail that circumnavigates it. Sort of. The Round The Mountain Trail takes hikers three-quarters of the way around Mt. Adams, eventually ending on the far east side of the mountain, deep inside the Yakima Reservation—and from this point hikers must hike off-trail through forbidding terrain to complete the loop at Bird Creek Meadows. It is a fun adventure but a difficult one—and with Bird Creek Meadows closed this year, scratch it off your to-do list.

Thankfully, much of the finest terrain on Mt. Adams is open and gorgeous, and this traverse is probably the nicest backpacking trip in the area. The best place to start, in spite of lousy road access, is the Killen Creek Trailhead. Here you avoid the ubiquitous fire damage found further south and west on Mt. Adams, opting instead to just hike straight into wondrous alpine terrain on the north side of the mountain. It’s just all good here, almost right from the start. Begin on the Killen Creek Trail and hike steeply uphill on a trail that charges up the hillside. Thankfully the bad times don’t last long, and soon you’ll begin traversing glorious wildflower meadows with views south to the heavily glaciated north side of Mt. Adams. Meet the PCT (which here is also the Round the Mountain Trail) at a junction at 3 miles. The longer trip turns left here, to continue heading east around Mt. Adams. If you’re looking for a spectacular detour or a closer place to camp, turn right and immediately locate the spur trail to High Camp 100 feet to your right. Turn left here and climb this steep trail uphill 1 mile to High Camp, a plateau at nearly 7,000 feet of elevation, 4 miles from the Killen Creek Trailhead. This is among the most spectacular places on Mt. Adams, at the northern foot of the mountain near the terminus of the massive Adams Glacier. Views stretch north to Mt. Rainier and the Goat Rocks. There are plenty of campsites dotted throughout the plateau—just expect very cold nights, even in summer. If you’re just stopping by, return to the PCT and head east to continue hiking around Mt. Adams. 
Foggy Flats.
In a little under a mile, the trail crosses Killen Creek just above a cascading waterfall and passes a glade I lovingly refer to as “Perfection Park”—as in, it couldn’t possibly get better than this. The area is a popular camping spot for folks here, but with some luck you may find a site if you decide you don’t want to go any further. If you’re continuing, follow the PCT until you meet a junction with the Highline Trail (another name for the Round the Mountain Trail). Keep right and hike another 1.8 miles to a junction with the Muddy Meadows Trail. Keep right again and continue about a mile to Foggy Flat, a huge meadow on the northeast side of Mt. Adams. There are a few campsites scattered around the flat, which features a view of the top half of Mt. Adams. For the good stuff, continue on the Highline Trail a short ways past Foggy Flat until the trail leaves both meadow and forest, arriving at the lava flows and barren plains on the northeast side of Mt. Adams. There are a few good campsites here, and chances are you won’t have much competition for them. At this point you’re over 7 miles from the Killen Creek Trailhead, so it’s probably a good idea to stop here. Once you’ve set up camp, grab your pack and some water and continue exploring south along the barren plains. The views of Mt. Adams and its glaciers are tremendous, and continuous—this is truly a special place. 
The trail does continue several more miles south to Devil’s Garden and eventually Avalanche Valley, two of the most amazing places on Mt. Adams—but the creek crossings are difficult, and camping is questionable once you reach the Yakima Reservation. You’ve got options, and all of them are great. 
If you’re looking for a longer backpacking trip, start further south on Mt. Adams. There are numerous trails that reach the Round the Mountain Trail, from the South Climb Trailhead on the south side of the mountain to the Divide Camp Trail just southeast of the Killen Creek Trailhead. Many of these feature easier road access than does Killen Creek, and offer hikers the chance to turn a short trip into a much longer trip. In the absence of a loop trail (at least this year), the best option would be to set up a car shuttle somewhere along the way and hike the circuit one way from south to north. 
Directions: 
  • From Portland, drive east on Interstate 84 to Hood River.
  • At Exit 64 on I-84, leave the freeway and reach a junction at the end of the off-ramp.
  • Turn left and drive to the toll bridge over the Columbia River. Pay the $2 toll and cross the river.
  • At the far end of the bridge on the Washington side, turn left on WA 14.
  • Drive 1.5 miles west on WA 14 to a junction with WA 141 ALT, just before a bridge over the White Salmon River. Turn right here.
  • Drive 2.2 miles to a junction with WA 141. Turn left here.
  • Drive 18.9 miles to the small town of Trout Lake.
  • Continue straight on what is now Mt Adams Road (FR 23) for 1.5 miles to a junction.
  • Keep left (right leads to the south and east sides of Mt. Adams) to stay on FR 23.
  • Drive 23 miles, ignoring all side roads along the way, to a junction with FR 2329 near Takhlakh Lake. The last several miles of this road are gravel.
  • Turn right on FR 2329, following signs for Takhlakh Lake.
  • Drive 1.5 miles to Takhlakh Lake, ignoring signs for Olallie Lake along the way.
  • Continue past Takhlakh Lake, where FR 2329 worsens into a rough, rutted, potholed road that requires patience.
  • Drive 1.9 miles beyond Takhlakh Lake to the Divide Camp Trail on your right.
  • Continue 2.4 increasingly rough miles to the Killen Creek Trailhead on your right.

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The Summer Solstice: A Masochist’s Thoughts About How to Squeezing the Most Out of the Longest Days

by Jonathan Barrett

Sunshine Route, Mt. Hood. Photo: Greg Simons

Fifteen hours and forty-one minutes. That is the length of the day on the Summer Solstice. Not including the extended light of dawn and dusk. The question is how to spend it. Here are a few ideas to be considered as guiding principles. While not everyone has that Thursday off, these principles would work just as well for the weekend warrior on the previous or following Saturday/Sunday.

Pull-off a really, really long climb

Yes, Infinite Bliss in Washington is fraught with controversy, given that when it was bolted, it ended up being in an established wilderness area. But it is a really, really, long climb and as a result benefits from having a really, really, long day to complete it. One would benefit from having the longest day of the year as a matter of fact. At 23 pitches, it was possibly the longest “sport” climb in the United States or Canada when first bolted, but to call it a sport climb misrepresents what the route really is. Although the crux pitches are well bolted, there are run-outs of close to 100 feet. Additionally, if going up takes a long time, you also need to rap the route … 23 rappels. A full day, and full use of the Summer Solstice. Substitute your favorite super-long climb as desired.

Pull off a really, really long approach

Most will climb Mt. Olympus over three days. Approach the 17+ miles on day one. Summit and return to camp on day two. Hike out on day three. But given a really, really, long day, a fit team could conceivably knock it out in “one day.” Consider the following: with some light jogging and fast hiking, you might be able to do the approach in around six hours. The climb to the summit and descent could happen in six or seven hours. Then one just needs to endure the slog out, another six hours. Given the length of predawn and post-sunset light (nautical twilight starts at 3:34 a.m. for that latitude and ends at 10:48 p.m.), a person has more than 19 hours of light, which is plenty of time. Assuming your feet hold up. The Olympics and Cascades are awash in long approaches, so it is easy to pick your poison when considering this use for the longest days of the year.

Fit More Into Your Day

Given that the average Mazama is a working stiff, probably with fairly normal daytime hours, we are generally resigned to hitting our local crags only on the weekends. Evening sessions at the gym have to suffice otherwise. What if the day was a little longer? What about an alpine start to your cragging session? At 3:52 a.m. on June 21, you could be calling “on belay” to your partner and starting up a route at Ozone. Depending on traffic or where you work, this might give you four to five hours of climbing time, more than enough to leave your forearms so pumped you can barely type for the rest of the day. Those that find the early hours horrifying—although it is certain to be much more quiet—can replicate the experience, but after work. With usable light until 10:30 p.m., one could conceivably get a five hour session in after your day working for The Man. The Army is famous for the saying that they do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day. Now you can say that you are more productive than the Army.

Summit Hood And Be Home For Breakfast

This is one that I have pulled off myself. Sunrise is 5:21 a.m. in Portland on the solstice but from the summit it is a little earlier. You can catch those golden rays reflecting off the Columbia River and lighting up the Eastern Oregon desert and still be back in Portland in time for waffles and bacon with the family. High-five the sun and descend as quickly back to Timberline as possible. With a little jogging, glissading, or skiing, being back at your car by 7AM is totally doable (safety first, of course). Then, when you arrive at 8:30 stinking like sweat, summit, and summer’s first rays, it will be the perfect compliment to breakfast along with some wild blueberry syrup. You can have both: a climbing life and a family life. You just might need to crash in the hammock for an afternoon nap though.

Catch the Best Light, For Longer

Photographers know that sunrise and sunset are the best for capturing the soft dewy light that is so prized in the making of quality images. Consider the fact that civil twilight lasts for 38 minutes on the summer solstice and only 29 minutes on the spring equinox. There is something astonishing about the fact that during this time of year, it’s almost like the Earth is rotating more slowly. This gives the artist thirty percent more time to capture just the right light illuminating the Crooked River and Asterix Pass at Smith Rock or Haystack Rock on the coast. There are some differences between the two times though. In some ways dusk is better because the photographer knows how the shadows and silhouettes are going to fall. All she needs to do is sit and wait for the right moment with the camera in position. In contrast, in the predawn hours, it is much harder to know what shapes, shadows, and textures are going to look like. When the sun finally does appear, having these few extra minutes can be a godsend as the photographer rushes about making final adjustments.

A Long Hike To Avoid Overnight Permits

It is a fact of life in the Northwest that some areas are more difficult to access due to permitting issues. Getting a backcountry camping permit can be almost impossible during the busy periods of the year. The Enchantments is one such place where acquiring a campsite is impossible, but through-hiking is very doable. Over the course of a long day, it is possible to experience all that the area has to offer without having to be encumbered by both overnight gear and regulations. At a skoch more than eighteen miles, the trail through the Enchantments involves 7,100 feet of elevation gain if going from Snow Lakes to Colchuck trailheads and a knee-busting descent down from Aasgard Pass. With stashed bike at the end, it is possible to then zip (relatively) easily back to the car on (mostly) downhill roads. Although Colchuck would likely still be cold enough for a penguin, there is still enough time during the solstice to take a dip and ice your sore feet before grinding out the last four and a half miles.

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After the Fire: Alternatives to Closed Gorge Trails

Latourell Falls  Photo: Darrin Gunkel

by Darrin Gunkel

There’s no way around it: Columbia Gorge hikers are going to have to do more driving this year. Since the Eagle Creek Fire, nearly every trail on the Oregon side remains closed indefinitely. To get the same bang for our hiking buck, we’re going to have to roam farther afield. But look on the bright side: casting a wider hiking net is a chance to get to know some less famous, but no less worthy trails. The question is, how to choose which ones? Here’s a list of some of the more popular Gorge trails, and their rough equivalents within day-trip range:

Closed: Wahclella Falls Loop—1.8 miles, 300 feet
Alternate: Latourell Falls Loop—2.4 miles, 520 feet
Where do you take your out of shape relatives from out of town? Wahclella Falls was always a good bet, guaranteed to wow urbanites from back east with a taste of Cascadia’s wonders that wouldn’t leave them soured with blisters and aching limbs. Fortunately, the other quick and easy Gorge-walk-guaranteed-to-please escaped the flames. Some say Latourell is one of the most beautiful falls in the gorge—it’s arguable. Do this loop clockwise, working through forest finery and smaller falls before the big unveiling. Then send them back to Ohio duly impressed.

Closed: Multnomah/ Wahkeena Loop—4.8 miles, 1,500 feet
How do you find an alternative with everything this loop offers: the easiest access, a slew of awesome waterfalls, a quick Gorge fix that you can squeeze in after work and still be home before dark (in Summer Solstice season, at least), a decent, but not grueling workout? You can’t. So, here are three alternates that attempt to fill the gap piecemeal:

Alternate: Pup Creek Falls—7.8 miles, 1,695 feet. 
This trail along the Clackamas River gives you all the water you’re missing along the Multnomah/Wahkeena Loop. The trail is longer, certainly not an after-work trip, but it’s not as steep, so the energy expenditure’s about the same. The forest is lovely, and the falls are as impressive as (almost) anything in the Gorge.

Alternate: Mitchell Point—2.6 miles, 1,270 feet
One of the few Gorge trails that escaped the burn, this is your quick fix. Sure, it’s shorter (and steeper), but the time you save can be spent at pFriem Brewery, just 15 minutes away in Hood River.

Alternate: Palisade Point from Fret Creek—4.8 miles, 1,300 feet. 
Almost too long a drive to count as an alternate, this northern approach to Badger Creek Wilderness does provide relief from crowds. It’s an almost identical workout to the Multnoma/Wahkeena Loop, and like it, add-on trips make it more enticing. But rather than viewless Devil’s Rest or the long, long trip up Larch Mountain, from The Palisades, you can go visit the masses ogling Hood at Lookout Mountain, or ramble out to Flag Point and visit with one of the last active fire watchers in the Cascades. The views from the fire lookout or the meadow south of Flag Point encompass much of Badger Creek, and a whole lot of eastern Oregon. The flowers are excellent.

Closed: Multnomah Falls to Devil’s Rest—8.4 miles; 2,300 feet
Alternate: East Zigzag from Lost Creek— 9.4 Miles; 2,300 feet.
Zigzag Mountain lacks waterfalls, but it does have pleasant Burnt Lake. And views. Big views, grand enough to take the sting out of the longer drive.

Closed: Nesmith Point—10.2 miles; 3,700 feet
Alternate: Huckleberry Mountain from Wildwood Recreation Area—11 Miles; 3,500 feet
These trails are practically twins. Huckleberry may be a little lower, but the longer trail makes up the few hundred feet difference in elevation. This route is in really good shape, and the grade is ideal for keeping your heart rate right where you want it. Fine Hood views from the tiny summit meadows. There’s lots of parking at this BLM site, but your Forest Pass won’t work—it’s only five bucks, though.

Closed: Mt. Defiance—12.2 miles; 4,900 feet 
Alternate: Paradise Park-Hidden Lake Loop Hike—18.1 Miles; 4,300 feet
While Mt. Defiance is closed, you’re going to need to find another test hike to prepare for your summer climbs. This could be the ticket. You can get to Paradise Park from Timberline. It’s a pleasant trip, but easier, and where’s the fun in that?

Closed: Horse Tail, PonyTail, and Triple Falls Loop—4.4 miles; 680 feet
Alternate: Falls Creek Falls—3.4 Miles; 700 feet
For your hardier relatives, or when you need a quick jaunt on a rainy day in the off season, the Horse, Pony, and Triple Falls triple threat could not be beat (especially as a launch pad up Franklin Ridge). Falls Creek Falls should be just about as impressive for visitors, and even though the walk has just one cataract, you can add nearby Panther Creek Falls to the trip.

Closed: Eagle Creek to Tunnel Falls—12 miles, 1,640 feet
Alternate: Lewis River—10 miles, 1,260 feet 
Eagle Creek is another one that really has no alternate (Not even the OTHER Eagle Creek, lost in its forest canyon down there by Estacada). So what do we do? Give up the tunnel and a few waterfalls and head for the Lewis River. Some would say that the forest here is actually better, the trees fatter, and the river wider. Go and decide for yourself.

Closed: Indian Point—7.6 Miles; 2,800 feet
Alternates: Cairn Basin from Top Spur—8.7 Miles; 2,200 feet
So the stats on this hike make it a good surrogate, and at 90 minutes from Portland, it’s still a reasonable day trip. It also makes a reasonable alternative to McNeil Point—the two destinations share much of the same route. But there’s something missing … views of a great river in a deep gorge from the edge of a cliff. If that’s what you really crave, spend the extra 45 minutes traveling and head east of the Cascades to the Deschutes River and Criterion Ranch—10.2 Miles; 2,200 feet. A bonus that makes up for the significantly longer drive (still doable for a long day): no trees to block any of the views. Which also means no shade—but the flowers are better. Go early in the year or the day. Or take a really big parasol. Hood and Adams make appearances, too.

Closed: Nick Eaton Ridge Loop—14 Miles; 3,800 feet
Alternate: Dry Ridge to Grouse Point—14 Miles; 3,400 feet
Dry Ridge doesn’t get much traffic. The Roaring River Wilderness is less about scenery and more about protecting deep forests and tributaries of the Clackamas. The steep elevation gains on this trail also keep crowds at bay. If you’re missing Eaton’s stiff workout, this is the place for you.

Closed: Backpacking in the Mark O. Hatfield Wilderness 
Alternate: Badger Creek Wilderness, approached from the east
Losing backcountry camping in the Hatfield is a real bummer: quick and easy to get to, and often snow free while the high country is buried. The next closest thing is Badger Creek. Two loop trips can be launched from the School Canyon Trailhead above Tygh Valley, one longer, up over Tygh ridge, and one shorter, down through the canyon of Little Badger Creek (a reasonable 9 mile, 2,150-foot trip.) Or, you can hike up nearby Big Badger Creek for many pleasing miles. No matter which you choose, all have pleasant camping, and a rarity on the dry side of the mountains, consistent water sources. Badger’s network of trails isn’t as vast as Hatfield’s, but it’s a chance to sleep many miles from cars and lights and cell phone signals, still within a few hours of civilization, early or late in the season. Which is also when you should visit, unless you really enjoy heat.

Closed: Angel’s Rest/ Devil’s Rest Loop—10.9 miles, 2,770 feet 
Alternate: Huckleberry Mountain via Wildcat—11.2 miles, 2,200 feet
This is the lonesome way up Huckleberry Mountain, via the Plaza Trail from Douglas Trailhead, which is a quick hour from Portland, up the Wildcat Mountain Road above the OTHER Eagle Creek, near Estacada. You may find this alternate is actually more interesting than the original, with regular glimpses of Hood, and views that allow you to study the architecture of ridges and canyons at the heart of the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness. You will find more solitude (where won’t you, after Angel’s Rest?). Oh, and the occasional glimpse of Jefferson–you don’t get that from Devil’s Rest.

Closed: Larch Mountain Crater—6.6 miles, 1,400 feet
Alternate: Memaloose Lake/ South Fork Mountain—4.6 miles, 1,400 feet
The ramble around Larch Mountain Crater is the meal before the dessert of views from Sherrod Point. This alternate trail has the same quiet forest feel of Larch’s crater, and some of the spectacle of Sherrod, too. To get to the views on this trail above the Clackamas River, you have to work a little harder, but Memaloose Lake along the way, with one of the best rhododendron forests anywhere, more than makes up for it. The lake is known for its newts, which you might find migrating on the trail if you’re there at the right time of year. South Fork’s summit is a bit woodsy–the volcanoes are farther away than on Larch, but there are more of them to see.

Closed: Elevator Shaft—6.7 miles, 1,860 feet
Alternate: Green Canyon Way—6.6 miles, 2,500 feet
You like steep? You’ve you got steep on this trip up Hunchback Mountain from Salmon River. And the forest is nicer, here, too. The mileage for this alternate is to the junction with the Hunchback Trail, which you can then follow all the way to Devil’s Peak lookout, and which may or may not be cleared of blow down. Or you could try the other direction, ambling along Hunchback’s ridge until it begins to drop down towards the Zigzag ranger station. Or just head back down to enjoy the burn while you cool your feet in the Salmon River.

Not closed, but you might want to consider an alternate anyway.

Trails north of the Columbia are going to be taking up a lot of the slack this season. Add the new, weird permits on Dog Mountain, and the loss of the two trailheads close to Table Mountain, and you have reason to consider avoiding some of the Washington side classics until things get back to normal.

Avoid: Table Mountain—Formerly 8, now 15.5 Miles; formerly 3,350, now 4,320 feet
Alternate: Salmon Butte—11.8 Miles; 3,170 feet
Since Bonneville Hot Springs Resort has been converted to a rehab facility, and the private access to the Aldrich Butte trailhead has been closed, the trip up the Gorge’s tallest summit has gone from rewarding punishment (multiple volcano views in the Gorge!) to a route only a trail runner could love. That slog along the PCT was always awful anyway… The great thing about Salmon Butte, the trail is prettier, even if, echoing Table Mountain, it follows an ugly retired road at the start. What you lose in Columbia River views on Salmon Butte, you gain in volcano counting from the summit: eight of ‘em! From a glimpse of the Sisters all the way to Rainier.

Avoid: Hamilton Mountain—7.5 Miles; 2,100 feet
Alternate: Siouxon Creek Hike—8.2 Miles; 1,600 feet
There’s no official reason to avoid Hamilton Mountain: it’s open, the trails are in good repair, it’s easy to get to, it’s still a wonderful trip. But closures elsewhere are likely to push the capacity of this already busy trail—not to mention log-jam the parking lot. Siouxon Creek is not exactly a hidden gem, but it is a little farther, a little less on-the-radar. And what Siouxon lacks in majestic Gorge vibes, it more than makes up for with its deep, lush, forest and pretty river.

Avoid: Dog Mountain—6.9 or 7.4 Miles; 2,800 feet 
Alternate: Nestor Peak—8 Miles; 2,980 feet
Unless they can go at night or during the week, the new permit system may force Dog Mountain off many a hiker’s to-do list this year. Fortunately, Nestor Peak is nearby, and a close match to the famous Dog. You won’t be staring straight down onto the decks of Columbia River barges from Nestor, but the flower show is worth the effort, as are the views out to Adams and Hood.

Avoid: Cape Horn—7.1 Miles; 1,350 feet
Alternate: Falls Creek Falls Loop—6.2 Miles; 1,150 feet
Again, aside from the seasonal closure to protect nesting peregrine falcons on the lower trail, there’s no real reason to avoid Cape Horn, other than overcrowding. Here too, parking is bound to be a mess, compounded by the proximity to Highway 14. Lead by example, leave a little earlier and get home a little later and enjoy this extended version of the Falls Creek Falls trip.

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A Night on Mt. Whitney



by Stefani Dawn, edited by Wendy Marshall

So many people climb Mt. Whitney, the continental U.S.’s highest peak, that permits can be hard to obtain. Most climb it via the hiking trail, while others take the steep scree-fest of Mountaineers’ Route. Still others go by the technical East Face or East Buttress. A number of people climb it, including the technical pitches, in a day. A typical strategy is to assemble the least amount of gear needed, park at the Portal, and ascend 4000 ft. to Base Camp. Then you climb either the East Face or East Buttress 1000 ft. more feet to the full 14,505 ft. elevation, then descend by the 2000 ft. Mountaineers’ Route. Finally, you hike back down over four knee-busting miles to the Portal. The idea not only sounded like a rough prospect to me, it blew my mind. Still, I like a challenge, and knowing people regularly do it got me thinking: “Maybe it’s easier than it seems.” So, after an attempted climb of Mt. Ogden with my husband Rick, followed by some training, I took Whitney on.

In the planning stage, I recalled the primary lesson from our Mt. Ogden practice: allow more time. First, this means time to acclimate to the altitude, but also to decompress and rest, and allow for unplanned incidents. Estimating the climb at a safe minimum of six hours, ten at most, our team of three — Rick, a friend Simon and I — started before sunrise. But time leaked away with each photo, lead switch, and equipment catch. Most especially, repeated attempts at route-finding gobbled up minutes. One surprise time-sink for us was simply stepping aside for other climbers to pass, since we wanted to enjoy our route and not feel rushed. I have never climbed with so many people on a route before. Future hopefuls, take note: Mt. Whitney is a climbers’ super-highway!

We went for efficiency, each person leading multiple pitches in a row to minimize switching leads. Another person flaked ropes or transferred gear at the same time, and at least two of us or even all three climbed simultaneously as often as possible. Still, the pauses added up, and we topped out at 7 p.m. — 12 long hours after we started.

Immediately after summiting, we tried to descend by the Mountaineers’ Route, but sunset was upon us. We found rock cairns and crude Xs, but after peeking over the edge of each one, told each other: “This looks bad.” As light vanished and the temperature dropped, we decided the safest choice would be to bivy on the summit. Whitney is in the Sierra Nevadas, but the altitude coupled with clear skies can still mean bitter cold. Neither had we planned for a bivy; we had only our extra clothing layers, plus remnants of food and dwindling water. Fortunately, there’s a stone and wood hut at the summit, where some thoughtful soul had left an emergency blanket. We piled under the noisy, reflective fabric and huddled for protection from the freezing ground and rapidly stirring winds.

Soon we heard voices and saw headlamps. We greeted two more climbers with a hoorah, and two more 30 minutes later, all from the East Face route. Yet two more, off the East Buttress, opened the door to chat, then went off to attempt Mountaineers’ Route in the dark, leaving us to shiver and try to sleep. These other climbers relieved my mind somewhat. Before they arrived, I wondered how we had so radically miscalculated our time. I thought, “What could we have done differently?” Given what we knew, and that it was our first attempt at this mountain, not much. We’d chosen safety first, and enjoyment next, based on our gear arrangement. Doubts set in: Was I too slow a climber? Should I not have lead any of our 12 pitches? As we discovered, about half the climbers took even longer than we did. All were first-timers, and most were dumbfounded by the maze-like mess of the last five pitches. Whitney in a day, we learned, is not the norm.

Next morning, we still had no luck finding Mountaineers’ Route. Instead, Simon found a steep scree path on the northwest side. I found myself sliding, barely in control. Large rocks tumbled by me, then disappeared over the curve of the slope with echoing crashes. I froze and began sobbing from fear and exhaustion, thinking, I can’t do this. I could think only of an article I’d read about people dying on an alternate route, falling into the small alpine lakes below. From his vantage point ahead Simon reassured us, but I’d reached my wits’ end, and I didn’t want my physical or mental state to slow them down. I insisted Rick give me the spare gear, to lighten his and Simon’s load. Rick wasn’t happy about our splitting up, but agreed to let me take the gentler hikers’ trail, 11 miles to the parking area, with another four miles down the Lone Pine Creek Trail to Iceberg Lake. Emotionally relieved, I made do with a fruit bar and some water donated by a kind group of folks, and took micro-naps in the sun.

The Whitney trail stretched on, pounding my toes, but my legs held up surprisingly well. I thought of Rick and Simon, hoping they succeeded unhurt in their risky descent. The Whitney Portal Valley appeared, and as I passed the Lone Pine Creek trailhead, I saw Rick, running toward me with his 50lb. pack still on! He and Simon had found a viable descent even faster than the Mountaineers’ Route. Their choice isn’t a good route if there’s a risk of ice, and they met a few sections with “consequences”, they said, but nothing steeper than where I’d had my meltdown.

I felt grateful my teammates were willing to meet me, cutting our odyssey short by a day, and grateful to my husband for taking up the extra gear. Rick and Simon were completely understanding of my decision, and informed me that the prospect of beer and a burger was plenty motivation to get off the mountain.

I can now safely assert that Mt. Whitney is beyond the “common climber”, as I call it, even with an ultralight approach. It’s both easy and not easy, and should not be underestimated. I learned a lot, felt proud and grateful, had fun, and got down safely. But I also got whipped!

If you plan to give Mt. Whitney a shot, here are a few things to keep in mind:

  • The approach to Base Camp is 4000 ft. in four miles — doable, but a strain at times.
  • The Sierra Nevadas are mostly sunny in summer, and Whitney doesn’t get the typical daily summer mountain thunderstorms. Still, be prepared for season storms to sneak up on you, and it can get quite cold.
  • The East Buttress climb is a 5.7 or less, if you can find the right path. Route-finding can be a challenge, especially at the top, where you can be met with an unprotectable 5.10 grade climb! Then it’s down-climbing, traversing, whatever you can, to get to something climbable.
  • Once again, allow plenty of time, emergency and/or overnight supplies, food and water.

About the Author
Stefani Dawn’s favorite pasttime is rock climbing, especially easy trad, multi-pitch and technical sport climbs. Her second favorite pasttime is writing about rock climbing. Third favorite? Hosting outdoor meet-up events to connect with other climbers and mentor newbies. Check out her website, Common Climber (http://www.commonclimber.com/), for articles, tips, reviews, and photos. Submissions invited!

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PAFlete: Katie Mills—Inquisition of the Arrigetch

This article was originally printed in the 2016 Mazama Annual. Katie Mills, along with Rebecca Madore, will be presenting during the Portland Alpine Fest about their recent experience climbing the Moose’s Tooth in Alaska. Come out for Ham & Eggs on Tuesday, Nov. 14. Get tickets today!


by Katie Mills

Katie Mills, feeling right at home in
vertical terrain.

I thought I had picked an easy expedition. I laughed with glee at how easy it was going to be, feeling smug and smart at how clever I was, for we were going rock climbing. Alpine mixed/ice climbing is more a test of how tough you are, to endure the cold, to endure the exhaustion, to keep moving regardless because to stop is to die. Rock climbing? Well, you can’t do it if the temperature is too extreme, and you can’t carry all that much weight on your back, so you are guaranteed a mellower, pleasant time. The approach was a mere 12 miles or so, which, according to most American Alpine Journal (AAJ) reports, took parties a total of four days to do two carries of food and gear. Easy. We’ll suffer for four days, enjoy 16 days of Type I rock climbing glee, then suffer four more days of hiking out. I couldn’t believe how smart I was. I was soon to find out I was wrong.

The Executive Director of the Mazamas, Lee Davis, was the first person to tell me about the Arrigetch, because he had traveled there to backpack as a young man. I read AAJ reports and was astounded by the number of moderate 5.8 climbs, and a Google search revealed breathtakingly beautiful peaks. Why didn’t more people go here?! During the ascents of the 1960s and 1970s, climbers were allowed to airdrop their gear. When the area became a national park, airdrops were outlawed, making climbing there a much more back breaking task.

I also admit I picked a rock climbing expedition because rock is what my boyfriend Todd excels at. While happy to leave him to go climbing for a week at a time (since alpine wasn’t really his thing), three weeks seemed too long to be without his company. However, we had learned that when he and I climb together our motivation is less than when climbing with friends, so we would each need our own teammates. Together, but apart. The Alaska bush is an intimidating, remote, bear-filled place where one must be self-reliant, so a team of four seemed to be the safest way to manage it.
Nick Pappas walked into my office three years ago and said, “Hi. I’m Nick. I like your photos. I’m a climber too.” “That’s cool. You should come to my party,” I replied. And we have been friends ever since. It was a very fortuitous meeting, as both Todd and I fight over who gets to climb with Nick. I want him for my alpine multipitch adventures, whereas Nick is equally at home sport climbing, crack climbing, bouldering, or on big walls with Todd. Nick was, of course, a shoe-in for our trip and we decided he would choose a big wall objective with Todd.

On the Ham & Eggs route.

So who was I going to climb with?! None of my usual climbing partners wanted to blow all of their vacation on a random week Alaskan trip into the unknown, surely involving great suffering, so I sent out emails to a few climbers I hoped might be interested. None of them really wanted to blow all their vacation either, except one girl, who displayed just the excitement I knew was necessary to stay psyched for the expedition ahead. I had met Cigdem Milobinski four years earlier in an ‘alpine fitness class’ but we didn’t really talk much. Fast forward to present day and suddenly I noticed she had gone from a barely experienced rock climber to crushing hard routes at Trout Creek that I certainly didn’t have the guts to get on. I am really grateful Cigdem was interested in my trip, because we quickly became very good friends, and with her being so much better than me at cracks, I hustled up my game to improve at climbing because I did not want to be the weak link letting her down! I made a new dear friend and got better at climbing. With three hot-shot rock climbers and me, the lone alpinist I had finally formed my team and submitted my application for the Bob Wilson grant in July. Happily, we were notified in September that we had won the entire $10,000 grant!

Over the winter I spent hours comparing photos to AAJ reports and found the unclimbed faces which I thought would make good climbs. I wanted to do day climbs with Cigdem, whereas Todd and Nick settled on a big wall. Nobody has ever hauled big wall gear into the Arrigetch. For good reason.
We went to work Friday, July 1 and then it was off to the airport that evening. The trip wasted no time in becoming surreal. During our first flight to Fairbanks we watched in awe as the evening got later but the sun grew brighter. Goodbye, darkness. Goodbye, night. We then took a small plane from Fairbanks to Bettles because there are no roads. The plane allowed 40 lbs. of luggage per person, with $1.80 for every extra pound. I almost passed out at the $560 overweight baggage fee. And we think we are carrying 470 lbs. on our backs?! Next time I will know to do a weight check of everyone’s gear before the trip.

Bettles isn’t much of a town. Just an airstrip with a handful of lodges and bush plane outfitters. I immediately tell Todd and Nick to start dumping gear due to the weight limit. Out go the extra pitons. Out go the bolts. Out goes the 10 lb. bag of extraneous trail mix.

Rebecca & Katie on Ham & Eggs.

We make our way to the ranger station for back country orientation. Really, they just want to tell you about the bears by alleviating your fears while preparing you for an attack. We each rent a can of bear spray. Nick and Cigdem have pistols. Then comes the part I had been dreading, when we have to fit all of our food for 24 days into bear canisters. The ranger gives us each one bear canister, sets us and our giant bags of food up at a picnic table and tells us to “see what happens.” “I need another one,“ I proclaim within 30 seconds. He begrudgingly produces a second canister. And then a third. And then a fourth. I see he is quite saddened that our team is hogging 16 of his bear canisters that are meant for all park visitors, but there is nothing we can do. The canisters are huge and guarantee two carries, since they are so bulky you can only fit two in your pack at a time.

We weigh all of our gear and our bodies. The weight limit for the bush plane is 1,100 lbs. and we are at 1,118 lbs. The pilot lets it slide. WHEW! Good thing I picked Cigdem for a partner instead of some large man. We pile into a plane that looks like it’s from the 1960s and held together with duct tape. I do not enjoy this plane ride. I am still getting over food poisoning from a couple days before and the plane dropping several feet at a time makes me motion sick. We fly over wide swaths of forest fires. We see the Arrigetch Peaks in the distance and it’s amazing. The pilot lands us in a scummy lake and bumps onto shore. The only sign of humans is a rusty old gas can which I assume they leave there on purpose so you know you are in the right spot for pickup.

Nick administering backcountry medicine
to Katie’s gaping leg wound.

The plane takes off and the mosquitoes and reality set in. It’s 5 p.m. But it doesn’t get dark. So let’s get moving! The internet said there were two ways to go: up and then down a ridge or up the river and up the creek. One webpage says up the ridge is the way to go so up we charge. It’s two miles to the top of the hill. I figure will get up there in two hours. An hour in we’ve barely made any headway.

The mountain Nick and Todd dubbed “The Shiv.”

The brush is thick, the packs are soul crushingly heavy, the ground is spongy, and we sink back half a step for every step we take. The bugs have descended. It’s hot. I feel sick. The motion sickness on top of the food poisoning is making me feel really ill. I’m out of water. I’m gonna die if I don’t get water. I look longingly back at the stagnant lake. Unfortunately, I can’t just drop my pack, get water and come back because I fear I will never find my pack again in this intense brush. This 90 lb. pack and I are together for life! Nick points out what looks like a drainage to us on the map, to the north. We traverse towards it for 45 minutes, desperately hoping, but not really expecting, to find water. A sludgy trickle of water appears and we rejoice and guzzle, never so happy to have found such an unappetizing, ugly stream! First adversity conquered!

We continue our struggle up the hill. Finally, we break out into a beautiful, open, flat area. We will camp here tonight. We’ll have to conserve water, but thank god we found flat. I look at my watch. 1 a.m.?! It took us seven hours to hike two miles. I have so underestimated this trip already. We happily take photos of our magnificent hilltop campsite, but they are obstructed by big ugly mosquitoes that look like birds due to their proximity to the lens.

The second day isn’t any easier. Although we are going downhill, the skies open and drench us, forcing us to slowly pick our way down a heavily-forested ridge with many dangerous drop-offs. It takes us six hours to hike two miles and we rejoice upon finding a trail at the bottom of the Arrigetch creek drainage. We set up camp.

Notes about route by Nick & Katie.

The third day is the worst. We set off back to our cache at Circle Lake around 1 p.m. We follow the trail this time, having sworn off the ridge as horrible. The trail is hardly a trail, being overgrown with plants and very faint, but it is better than nothing and we are excited to have it. We are in high spirits until we reach the main river valley and the skies open and pour mercilessly upon us. We learn that when it rains the mosquitoes swarm. We are trying to hike in bug nets, but the branches spray our faces with water so we can’t see, and the mosquitoes swarming around us make it even worse. I don’t know where the best place to hike is: down near the river where it is marshy or up higher on the ridge where it is brushier. They seem to equally suck. Many times we end up in a cursed tussock bog. Tussocks are plants that have grown on top of themselves so that they form a pedestal up to about 2 feet high, which doesn’t sound too bad, until you fall off into the space between two tussocks and break your ankle. For me, navigating through the bogs with my short legs and heavy packs is near impossible. At the cache the boys are still unable to carry everything and will require a third carry. It seems we choose an even worse way to return to camp, getting lost several times. We arrive back by 6 a.m., an exhausting 15 hours later.

Next is a rest day. We are too wrecked to do anything. It’s strange that all the reports claim it only takes four days to do two carries into base camp. What’s wrong with us?! The next day we carry our gear forward for a change of scenery, dumping it when we get too cold and miserable to continue on. That night at camp, Cigdem slips on a rock and twists her ankle. We wait a day to see what happens, but she chooses to hike out rather than risk further injury. She offers up all her food she has ferried in and we tear into it like hyenas. In hindsight, without her extra food we probably all would’ve starved.

Katie on route.

The boys have to do a third carry from the lake, so they hike Cigdem out at midnight where a bush plane will pick her up at 10 a.m. I opt not to go because I am little and not in as good shape as they are, and I need my rest. As they get ready to leave, everyone hugs me like we’re never going to see each other again. Everyone thinks I’m going to get eaten by a bear. They leave and I am alone. My only job is to stay alive. Funny how the simplest tasks are hard out here in the Alaskan bush.
We pack up camp and finally set up base camp in the Arrigetch Valley below the peak Caliban. Eight days! It was supposed to have taken us four! Now that I have lost my partner, I am resigned to fully supporting Nick and Todd’s big wall goals. Maybe someone will have time to peak bag with me.

A solo backpacker named Josh hikes into our valley. He is really happy to see us. He tells us his first night lost in the bush he was so scared he cried. We all understood where he was coming from. It is scary out here, walking everywhere with your bear spray in hand, yelling at the bears to leave you alone. It takes some time to get used to. I read him the beta I had for climbing Ariel (the nearby “walk up” peak) and told him we’d keep an eye out for him. We saw eight people during our 24 days out here. Josh, a party of three across a river we never talked to, and an adventurous family of four and their dog.

Todd and Nick finally get a look at their big wall objective and decide it is too big for the time we have and the short number of sunny days we have between rain storms. So, as a consolation prize, we are going to climb Albatross! We have spotted a king line: 400 feet of beautiful crack to a lower angle shoulder leading to the striking dihedral on the north buttress. We decide to climb in a group of two for speed, leaving someone in base camp for safety. Todd and I climb better with other people than with each other, and since I had been eyeballing the climb this whole time, Nick and I choose to give it a go.

Katie & Todd enjoying their rest day.

Finally, on day 11, it is CLIMB DAY! When we wake up this morning there is not a single cloud in the sky, the first time that has happened the entire trip. I take it as a good omen. The mountain seems so close but it still takes us two and a half hours to reach the base, and we begin climbing at about 1 p.m. Nick wants to bring a ton of water and we have many layers because we know it will get cold up there, so the packs are heavy.

And we’re off! I can’t believe the beautiful 400 foot crack above us is unclimbed and we’re not waiting for it behind four other parties, like in Yosemite. Nick stomps across the snow and changes into his rock shoes. He attacks the finger crack’s bouldery start mercilessly, utilizing some face holds. It widens to a nice hand crack for another rope length. Thankfully I had put in my crack homework the year before, else I wouldn’t have been able to follow it competently.

The crack widens into a scary off width a size larger than the biggest cam we have but Nick bravely pulls some gnarly unprotected butterfly jams to get through it. I’m stoked I don’t have to climb with a giant pack on, as off widths are not my forte. Finally, the angle eases and the climbing gets easier.

The third pitch is a giant jumble of blocks we have to climb through. The fun subsides and terror sets in. Doing a FA means no one has ever been there and you don’t know what’s loose and what isn’t! I belay Nick with horrible dread in the pit of my stomach, waiting for one of the giant, car-sized blocks to crush me. We shouldn’t be here. Who was I to think I could pull off a first ascent. This was a bad idea. But we survive without incident, and come to a ledge I think of as a “nest” on the shoulder of the buttress where we can rest and feel safe for a bit. The next pitch looks chill so I get to lead! It gets hard again so Nick is back on the sharp end. He reaches the base of the dihedral and we are perplexed. The bottom of the dihedral is completely blank with no crack, and we don’t know how to get into it. Nick climbs up a nearby crack that peters out, bails, tries to the right and gives up, then walks all the way around the corner to the left to no avail. Our attempt at a first ascent may fail here. Todd texts me with the Gotenna, a device that allows us to text each other on our cellphones without signal, as if they are walkie talkies. He is worried we haven’t moved in so long. I assure him we are trying our hardest to unlock a secret passageway.

Nick then pulls off the most amazing climbing I have ever seen. He bravely climbs the face to the right of the dihedral on unpredictable tiny crimps that just keep appearing wherever he needs them until he reaches an S-shaped crack that also requires pumpy technical moves, but at least takes pro, then pulls onto the ledge. We are dihedral! If it were on the ground it would be a 4-star 5.10c at Smith. It goes! I text Todd of our movement and let him know that Nick is an American Hero.

The great dihedral never sees sunlight. It is wet, full of flora and fauna, and crumbly. The undulating cracks appear and disappear and make the climbing still quite difficult. I see a black inchworm with a blue diamond on its back and I wonder if I should take a photo, for perhaps it is a rare species only found in this dihedral. We pop out of the dihedral and rejoice! We did it! We have summited the unclimbed north buttress of The Albatross. There is also another safe nest to rest in. It’s probably 3 a.m. so we decide to curl up and take a nap. The mosquitoes are still merciless, even up here, but at least we are protected from the wind. We are low on food, so I start rationing. Only one bite of granola bar and a peanut every hour!

We run the gnarly summit ridge to a low point and then begin to rappel. “How do we do this, Ms. Experienced Alpinist?” Nick asks me. “I’ve never done this part before!” I cry. No, I have never made my own 1,200 foot rappel route into the unknown abyss. After our first rappel we pull the rope and a big rock comes with it, heading straight for us. Nick shelters me with his body (yes I noticed this … what a saint he is) but the rock ricochets and misses us at the last second. I assume we are going to die on the rappel and spend the entire time shivering with terror. Nick doesn’t mind leading all the rappels and I demand to leave behind two point anchors even if they’re both cams. “I’M RICH!” I proclaim, then start naming off the dumb stuff I have bought that cost more than this rappel route will. After what seems like an eternity, and 5 lost cams later, we hit the glacier and celebrate with my last two bites of sausage. We’re ALIVE! We saunter through the boulder field feeling surprisingly good and Todd meets us halfway up the last hill with a very welcome trekking pole for each of us. We get to camp and our minds and bodies give in to exhaustion. Thirty hours tent to tent. The next day is spent lounging in the shade of boulders reading and wading in the river. It feels so wonderful.

We then move base camp to the beautiful Aquarius Valley. On July 18, Nick and Todd climb the northwest ridge of an unnamed peak attempted in 2002. Classic 5.6–5.8 on the first few pitches leads them to a knife-edge sidewalk and a wild face, devoid of crack systems. It is clear that the 2002 attempt had ended here—Todd uses the previous party’s bail nut as part of the belay. Nick manages to free the next pitch on sight, calling it the culmination of 10 years of climbing and the best pitch of his life. Tricky ridge climbing takes them to the summit, from which they continue down the ridgeline to a notch, and then rappel the west side of the peak. Since it is our last day to climb before hiking out, they name the route Go Big or Go Home (5.10d R, ca 800 ft. vertical but considerably longer climbing distance) and dub the formerly unclimbed mountain The Shiv.

The Arrigetch Peaks may not have the best quality of rock and may be incredibly inaccessible, but I will say they are the most awe-inspiring mountains I have encountered. Never before have I seen a range with such incredible mystical spires and magnificent overhanging gendarmes soaring like the wings of some giant gargoyle. The peaks don’t look like mountains, but instead sculptures designed by an almighty Gothic architect. I feel incredibly fortunate to have been given the opportunity to spend time amongst these spectacular Alaskan behemoths of peaks.

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Where to Turn When a Mazama Class is Full

by Sue Griffith

The Mazamas offer classes and activities to both members and nonmembers at all levels of experience. You can find seasonal offerings such as Basic Climbing Education, Intermediate Climbing School, Advanced Snow and Ice, Nordic, Ski Mountaineering, Mountain Running Camp, and Mountaineering First Aid. A variety of short, skill-builder classes are also offered year-round.

You can also choose from over 1,000 hikes and climbs offered each year. But what if you cannot find a Mazama class or activity that fits your needs or schedule? Both inside and outside of Oregon, there are numerous resources where you can get outdoor training, guided experiences, or a combination of both. The following is a sampling of some of the opportunities waiting for you from Chicks Climbing & Skiing, REI Outdoors, and Timberline Mountain Guides.

Other Local Training Resources:

Kaf Adventures
Skiing, snowshoeing, ice climbing, backpacking, rock climbing, mountaineering.

Next Adventure Outdoor School
Day hikes and overnight backpacking trips in Northwest

Portland Rock Gym
Instruction for climbers indoors and out; guided half and full-day trips.

Rare Earth Adventures
Cascade volcanoes climbing, rock climbing 101, bike packing, rappelling.

CHICKS CLIMBING & SKIING

This Colorado-based company was established to empower women through mountain sports. Dawn Glanc, co-owner and AMGA guide, spoke with me via email. She describes her target audience as, “any woman who is looking for climbing and backcountry skiing instruction.” Chicks offers beginner to advanced clinics in rock, ice, mixed and alpine climbing, and backcountry skiing. Courses are available throughout the United States and internationally. “No matter what your skill level is,” Dawn told me, “we have a clinic for you.”

With so many outdoor programs competing for recreation dollars, I asked Dawn what makes the Chicks program stand out. She emphasized their focus on developing strong women climbers and skiers in an all-female environment. “At Chicks, we strive to make you a confident and competent independent climber and/or skier. We give you the skills so that you can take on challenges and objectives on your own…our guides offer an opportunity for women to learn and ask questions in a fun and supportive environment. By having an all female group, we can break away from societal norms and truly immerse ourselves in the learning process.” Dawn shared how excited she and the other instructors get when a student reaches her goals and experiences that light bulb moment of understanding. “It’s awesome to see a woman get stoked and empowered in one split second. If we can pass on a solid foundation of skills and meet the client goals, then we have had a successful program,” she says.

If learning in an all-female environment has your name on it, Dawn suggests looking at the Chicks’ Red River Gorge Clinic in Kentucky. “The Red River Gorge Clinic is our most popular venue. I believe this is because of the timing and location of the program. The Red is an amazing place to climb and it offers the perfect classroom for the guides. This program sells out every year,” she said.
And that’s not all. The Chicks programs come with an added bonus—the camaraderie doesn’t end after one class. “When you join a Chicks program,” Dawn said, “you become part of a larger community of women who enjoy and pursue mountain sports. This is a great opportunity to gain instruction and meet other women to adventure with.” For more information visit www.chicksclimbing.com.

REI OUTDOORS

Not just a great outdoor gear provider, REI also offers a variety of educational programs. Aimed toward adults looking to learn a new outdoor skill, improve on skills they already have, or participate in advanced outings, these programs are staffed by highly trained instructors in a professional, yet welcoming environment. REI also leverages its considerable network of organizational partners to deliver an even wider array of programs. And it doesn’t stop there. Through REI Adventures you can find outdoor adventures around the globe to fit all types of backgrounds. And there’s even a limited number of youth programs.

Via email, I asked Stephen Hatfield, REI Outdoor Programs & Outreach Manager in Portland, Oregon, what one thing REI does better than anyone else: “At REI Outdoor Programs, our goal is to create life-changing experiences. An important part of this is learning a new skill, or discovering a new place. But another critical component is the human connection, meeting new friends and growing your network for outdoor adventures. REI members can be found across the country and beyond. We can help connect you to some great people, regardless of your passion.”

With so many educational possibilities, I probed Stephen for the most popular REI offering, and he couldn’t narrow it down to just one. “Our most popular options are Map & Compass Basics (2-hour class) and Backcountry Navigation with Map & Compass (5-hour field class). In this digital age, a growing number of outdoor enthusiasts see the value in honing this very important analog outdoor skill. Other popular program areas include paddlesports (kayak/SUP) and snowsports (snowshoe/Nordic skiing). Finally, one other very popular class is How to Ride a Bike for Kids—a 2-hour class in which we teach kids a lifelong skill that will help them connect to the outdoors. The success rate is incredibly high, and they don’t want to get off the bike when the class ends!”

When asked to sum up the REI Outdoors experience, Stephen told me, “A successful class is one where the participant leaves fulfilled and energized, ready to plan their next adventure and put their new skills to work.”

Find a current list of REI programs at http://rei.com/learn. REI is also able to develop private custom programs for groups of any size. To learn more reach out at portland-os@rei.com.

TIMBERLINE MOUNTAIN GUIDES, SMITH ROCK CLIMBING SCHOOL, AND OREGON SKI GUIDES

Known for “getting climbers to the top since 1983,” Timberline Mountain Guides (TMG) not only offers accredited guide services leading to summits but also offers a number of climbing classes and programs around the Northwest. As the name suggests, one of TMG’s most popular offerings is a two-day Mt. Hood program. It seems there are a lot of folks who want to stand on top of Oregon’s highest point but don’t have the skills to do it on their own.

I caught up with Cliff Agocs, TMG Owner and Operations Manager, via email to learn more about TMG and its sister organizations, Smith Rock Climbing School and Oregon Ski Guides. With three different entities offering such a wide array of services to the outdoor community, there’s bound to be something for everyone.

Cliff confirmed that folks look to his organizations for a diversity of guided objectives. “I’d say there are a few different goals that people have in mind when they join us for climbing or skiing. Most folks either join us to develop skills that they can take out into the mountains, or they join us to attempt a climb that they wouldn’t feel comfortable leading on their own, or with their regular climbing partners.” Cliff is particularly proud of TMG’s professionalism. In his words, “We’re a small group of career-guides and we take our role as educators and stewards of the mountains really seriously. Every one of our guides is a member of the American Mountain Guides Association and is actively pursuing their own continuing education. I think that putting ourselves in front of our peers for evaluation keeps us connected to the experience of our guests. We all consider ourselves mentees of our colleagues, just as we are mentors to the less experienced climbers who come to us to learn new skills. When you get down to it, we were all brand new to climbing once, and we’re all somewhere on the road toward mastery. That recognition helps to create a respectful environment where sharing knowledge, experience, and responsibility among every member of the climbing team is the expectation.”

He also emphasized the tailored nature of the classes. “We provide really personalized instruction based on your goals and skills—whether you come to us for a day of skiing, rock climbing, or an attempt on a remote summit. Then we pair you with a guide who has a combination of local experience, professional training and a genuine desire to create a positive experience for you. The recipe is simple, but the variety of experiences is infinite.”

This educational philosophy is reflected throughout the organization. Cliff told me he measures success not only when a student gains new skills but when that student leaves with the know-how to apply those skills properly. “Often in an outdoor education setting, participants will come in with varied backgrounds and different levels of knowledge and comfort with the prerequisite skills. This is actually a strength because it allows the instructor to empower students to coach each other and share in the teaching. Everyone leaves with a deeper understanding of the material, empowered to go and use those skills to push themselves just a bit further on their next adventure.”

With a staff roster skewed largely toward male instructors, I asked Cliff if he could accommodate female students looking for a female instructor or women-only groups. Cliff was sympathetic to the issue and told me they have female instructors in both avalanche education and rock climbing courses. He went on to say, “We think there’s a unique learning environment that can be created amongst women in the context of outdoor adventure, and we’re psyched to help create those opportunities. We don’t currently have any women who guide in the alpine on staff but we’re always on the lookout for solid guides of all stripes, so encourage all the great female guides you know to send us a resume!”

Finally, Cliff highlighted a few programs he thought might particularly appeal to Mazamas (see www.timberlinemtguides.com for details): Climber Self-Rescue, Crevasse Rescue and Glacier Travel, Mixed Alpine Climbing Camp, and Advanced Routes in the Cascades.

With this list in hand, there’s no excuse for not getting outside and turning outdoor dreams to reality. Climb high!

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Ten Hidden Gems of the North Cascades

Steve Marston on Forbidden Peak. Photo: Al Papesh. 

by Barry Maletzky

Most of us know about the snow-clad, rugged giants north of Mt. Rainier. Yet, due to distance and a five-day work week for many Mazamas, these giants only rarely appear on the Climbing Schedule. In my opinion these areas, such as the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the North Cascades National Park, and the Mt. Baker/Snoqualmie Wilderness, contain the most spectacular scenery in the lower 48. Blessed with almost too much winter moisture, glaciers abound, cradling gushing streams and waterfalls, feeding the rich volcanic soil, and nurturing gardens of wildflowers seemingly seeded in heaven. These descriptions are written not as definitive guides to access and routes, but to encourage the outdoor enthusiast to seek out these areas off the main tracks we Mazamas so often trod and discover their jeweled treasures.

Sloan Peak (7,835 ft.)

Among these “hidden” gems, Sloan may shine the brightest in terms of Mazama popularity. Ruling in majestic isolation at the western end of the Glacier Peak Wilderness, Sloan’s Matterhorn-like, convoluted appearance belies its relatively benign nature as a climb, at least by its regular route. Sloan’s distinctive horn can be easily identified from most other peaks in the western Cascades, from Rainier all the way to the Canadian border. You may have to get your feet wet crossing a branch of the Sauk River, so autumn is the preferred season for Sloan. A steep approach trail is rewarded by campsites in a secret meadow guarded by rugged towers of stone. The gradual ascent of the Sloan Glacier leads the climber from east of the summit almost, but not quite, around the peak (hence the name of the route as “The Corkscrew”); a usually easy climb up the rocks at the highest western point of the glacier brings one to a surprisingly pleasant meadow stroll through alpine flora to the rocky summit (reached by Class 3 scrambling). Views are handsomely rewarded of the Monte Cristos to the southeast and Glacier Peak just across the river.

Fortress (8,760 ft.)

After a long ride on a dirt track, followed by a 9-mile path tempered by the beauty of magic meadows and surrounding peaks, one reaches Buck Creek Pass, surely one of the most glorious places to camp, especially to catch the fading sun setting over Glacier Peak. On climb day, head north on a climber’s track, then ascend the southwest gardens of Fortress, a secret place you’ll usually have to yourself. (Try to keep the meadow in as natural a state as you can—there are rare flowers hidden here.) Turn north at the ridge and scramble stable talus to the rocky top, where a few rare species of alpine floral jewels remain in bloom throughout the summer. The views encompass all of the Glacier Peak Wilderness as well as the North Cascades Peaks in all their glory.

Colonial/Snowfield Peaks (7,771/8,347 ft.)

Climber on the summit of Mt. Larrabee, 1.5 miles south 
of the Canadian border (“All-in-all, no finer view can be 
obtained without a rope in all these ranges”) 
Photo: Beau Ramsey.

These jewels, securing the western end of the National Park, occasionally appear on the Mazama Climb Schedule, and for good reason. Once past the trail to Pinnacle Lake, a climber’s path can be followed to a magnificent ridge that offers vistas north and south into snow-covered heights, including Snowking, the mysterious Illabot range, with its pointed pencil of a peak: Mt. Chaval, and grand views northwest to the Picket Range (and Baker and Shuksan). Most parties climb Colonial but an extra day ascending Snowfield broadens the views further and provides a chance to walk one of the most beautiful glaciers in the range, the Neve Glacier: broad, serene and embraced at both side moraines by flowery gardens interspersed with rugged ramparts of multi-colored rock. Both ascents feature glacier travel ending in brief Class 3 rock scrambles. One further benefit: a view into the Teebone and Backbone Ridges, with names to excite the adventurous, such as The Sacrum, The Coccyx, and Lumbar Point, all rarely seen from any easily-reached vantage point.

Forbidden (8,815 ft.)

Forbidden bears its name well; although not of towering height, abrupt angular landforms lead, more steeply as you ascend, to a summit tip sufficiently edged to make most climbers dread to tread. However, Forbidden has become an increasingly popular climb due to its east ridge, which goes at about 5.7, and its more frequently climbed west ridge, at about 5.5. It also has the benefits of being in one of the most gorgeous settings for a base camp: Boston Basin. Forbidden’s immense obelisk of rock provides chillingly grandiose views from either ridge, as well as from its summit. All the North Cascade peaks up to Baker are there for the taking, but to my eyes, the sawteeth of Ripsaw Ridge, with countless shards of rock jutting above the immense white sheet of the Boston Glacier and stretching all the way to Mt. Buckner, is one of the most overpowering and memorable sights in any range I have visited in the lower 48. Reaching this summit and making it back down again will provide you with more than hero cred; it will inspire dreams of towers and walls previously unimaginable. This is the closest one can come to Patagonia without leaving this country.

Boston Peak (8.894 ft.)

Steve Marston descending the west ridge 
of Forbidden Peak. Photo: Al Papesh.

Boston is a rarely attempted alternative to the crowded Mt. Sahale; the views are similar to those from Sahale but even more far-flung, ranging from Rainier to the south through the sharpened teeth of the Pickets, and most of the significant mountains in the National Park. Do not be alarmed by the view of Boston from Sahale; appearing from the south as a sharpened vertical shroud, the actual climb is graded at Class 3 with a few stretches of brief Class 4. Aficionados of shattered rock will appreciate the ascent up a well-defined line on the southeast face. A relatively large ridge trends eastward toward a series of chimney and face moves with stable holds all the way to the view-laden summit. While hard hats are a necessity, many parties fail to use a cord, fearful of falling rock. Much closer views of the North Cascade giants will be your reward: Eldorado, anchoring the range to the west, its northern ridge of castellated pinnacles terminating in the massifs of Snowfield and Colonial Peaks; and the steeply angled slopes of Terror and Despair; all backcountry views to be savored by the very few venturing beyond Sahale.

Ragged Ridge (7,408—8795 ft.)

An oft-neglected ridge paralleling the North Cascades Highway west to east, Ragged presents the largest unbroken series of rugged summits outside of the Pickets in the entire North Cascades. Beginning in the west with Red Mountain, an easy scramble from a campsite in Fourth of July Basin, the ridge continues with scrambling on flaky rock. The adventurous party could run the entire ridge in several days, traversing high points such as Cosho, Kimtah, and Katsuk Peaks (mostly scrambles at the Class 3 level). Near its east end, the tallest and best-known summit, Mesachie Peak (Class 4 in spots), pierces the Washington sky with fractured gullies and jagged pinnacles. Most of these peaks can be ascended in a single day from bug-infested camps along Fisher Creek. So why go? To stand on a pinnacle here and there that no other person on earth has ever shared? Yes, but I think it’s the views: seemingly world-wide and ever changing. Rarely would anyone have the opportunity to summit a peak and see the full extent of the National Park, from Goode, Logan and Silver Star in the east, to El Dorado in the west.

Silver Star (8,876 ft.)

Anyone travelling the North Cascades Highway can’t help but be impressed with the hulk of Silver Star, with its jagged tottering towers and gables of rock. This marvel of the eastern part of the National Park area, the highest point in the Methow Range, offers spectacular views of its west and north sides from the multiple loops of Highway 20. A relatively easy single-day ascent is feasible from the highway up the eastern gullies, traversing a glacier then scrambling Class 3 rock. Crampons and ice axe are advised: crossing over to the north face, the glacier can be crevassed after mid-summer and portions can be steep. Views of the Yosemite-like eastern faces of Liberty Bell, Early Winters Spires, and Kangaroo Ridge right next door make the trip from Portland more than worthwhile. In addition, the rarely seen Mts. Azurite and Ballard to the north, and the appropriately-named Needles, sharply incised Cutthroat and Mt. Wheeler, all to the northeast, impress from across the highway. Most parties take an extra day camping at Early Winters Campground and visit the ersatz cowboy town of Winthrop for well-earned beer, burgers and ice cream.

Crater Mountain (8,128 ft.)

Sometimes it feels good, especially for a weekend punter like me, to just meander up an easy peak from a superb campsite and take in the views without having to worry about making it down alive. (Climbers are the only folks I know who celebrate at half-time—you still have to descend!) Right next to the behemoth of Jack Mountain, but absent the drama of hidden crevasses, impenetrable Class 5.9 brush, and the multiple route choices of its fearsome neighbor to the north, Crater is approached by the well maintained McMillan Park-Jackita Ridge Trail to Crater Lake. A base camp on the ridge above the lake provides ample views of most of the North Cascades plus a vista of Jack (which makes you happy you aren’t attempting that convoluted giant the next day). A climber’s path leads across scree and flower-filled meadows until you are presented with a headwall. But not to fear, the way is marked by huge yellow dots painted on the rocks by an explorer anxious to not lose the way; the dots point out the easiest and most stable holds (Class 3 at most). You emerge again upon a sandy plain dotted with alpine flowers and proceed up the climber’s path to the summit. Views are unique: Azurite and Ballard to the east, while Jack dominates as never before, raising its steely heights above the Jerry Glacier. You can spot (and argue about) the many North Cascades summits visible, including Colonial and Snowfield to the west, the Dome group to the south, and the Needles to the east.

Icy Peak (7,073 ft.)

Who hasn’t climbed Ruth Mountain, northeast of Mt. Baker, and exclaimed, “This is the best view for the easiest climb I’ve ever done.” They may be wrong: the view from Ruth’s southern neighbor, Icy Peak, may be even more magnificent (although it cannot be climbed by the average mountaineer in a day and requires glacier gear). From the Hannegan Pass Trail, haul your pack up the climber’s track to some of the loftiest and most view-worthy campsites in all the North Cascades. You’ll probably have time to tarry a bit to enjoy the luscious blueberries (Vaccinium deliciosum—really!). On climb day you may want to tag Ruth’s summit as you pass very near its top rocks. Gently ascend the glacier on Icy’s western front until you are directly south of the three crags comprising the summit configuration. Most folks then choose the western-most of three gullies (Class 3-4) to the Northwestern Peak, but it’s just as easy to scramble to the true high point, the Southeast Summit, by traversing Class 3 craggy rock and one easy gully (hard hats!). Either provides more than the human eye can fully encompass, all overwhelmed by the astonishingly vertical Nooksack Tower, deemed the toughest climb in all the Cascades. The rumble of seracs collapsing into Nooksack Cirque provides a fitting tribute to this ultimate pleasure of the Hannegan Pass region.

Mt. Larrabee (7,861 Ft.)

Larrabee is a long drive from Portland but well worth the trip; it equals Ruth and Icy as the easiest climb for the most stupendous views. This one-day climb begins after a jarring drive past the trail to Mt. Tomyhoi and Twin Lakes, to the High Pass Trail. As the trail heads up toward High Pass, Mt. Larrabee is the reddish summit straight ahead that looks like a loose pile of rocks (it is) shaped like a pyramid. Climbers aim for the white streak standing out from the iron-rich rock and follow it, with its multiple gullies and fields of loose rock, to the talus slope that leads to the summit. Views extend from Glacier Peak in the distant south along with the entire Dome Range, to Baker and Shuksan, then the Pickets and, closer in, the steep American and Canadian Border Peaks, and the incredibly angled rock spires of the Pleiades to the east. Views rarely seen from any other peak south of the border open up to the north: The snows of Garibaldi shine in the distance while closer at hand, the marvelous Canadian sub-range, the Cheam. Perhaps best of all, the fang of Slesse to the east makes one either cringe at its vertical walls or relish its numerous absurdly technical routes (I cringe). All-in-all, no finer view can be obtained without a rope in all these ranges.

Author Bio: Barry Maletzky, M.D. has been a Mazama since 1967 and made a habit of driving to the North Cascades or Olympics almost every weekend from May through October. He has not kept a detailed record of successes or failures at summiting, for obvious reasons, but will admit that lousy weather may have hampered his attempts at certain times. He has, however, worn out a number of vehicles in these attempts.