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May Day Weekend - Buckbarrow 12 comments A very short post from the final day of our excellent weekend. Takes a while to eat breakfast and pack down the trailer so no time for a full day walk. No problem, as the delight of this campsite is plenty of high quality short walks on the doorstep. [image] Today it was Buckbarrow, the prominent rocky summit at the back of the site. A very nice stroll over the fields leads to the base in 20 minutes and then a short but very steep climb (with the odd rest) has you on the summit rocks. [image] The views across the lower reaches of Wasdale open out as you climb (the campsite is centre right in the photo below). [image] There are plenty of rocky outcrops to tempt the scrambler. This rather greasy looking ramp looked beyond my skills but in fact turned out to be much easier than it looked. [image] [image] I picked my own route on the less dramatic outcrops. [image] Its a cracking spot to look across Wast Water at Illgill Head and the screes. [image] And across the lake to the Scafell Pike and Scafell range. [image] We had another long stop on the top to enjoy lunch followed by a very brisk walk down so we could hit the cafe in Seascale for another huge ice cream based evening meal! Who says you shouldn't finish the day with waffles and ice cream. Great end to a classic weekend packed with quality walks and good company. [image]

The Audubahn Dropping Northeast from the notch at the starting point of Autobon Saddle Couloir, The Audubahn is a steep open shot that comes down to the skier's right of a huge cliff on Mt. Audubon's East Cirque. Extra turns can be had after skiing the Audubahn on the wide open East facing bowl to the skier's left of the huge cliff. It does not reach the top of the ridge as it is blocked by cliffs that guard the ridge. Maps *All Mapped Areas are Approximations Find Nearby Zones *All Mapped Areas are Approximations tagged: Boulder County, Front Range, Mt. Audubon

Ochoco National Forest: Steins Pillar Post Author: Rebecca Post published: April 30, 2017 Post Category: Trip Reports Post Comments: 0 Comments Steins Pillar is a rocky outcropping in the Mill Creek area of Ochoco National Forest. Similar to the rock formations of Smith Rock, this is a less crowded place to see a unique rock formation. The enjoyable hike described here leads to a viewpoint of the formation at 1.3 miles, and to and up-close view if one choses to hike the full two miles. Style: In and Out day hike on trail. Distance: 4 miles round trip Elevation Gain: +/- 600 ft Trailhead and Permit Notes: The Steins Pillar trailhead is a short drive out of Prineville. Follow US26 east out of town, and on the eastern end of Ochoco Reservoir look for the well-signed Mill Creek road to the north. Drive up Mill Creek approximately 6.5 miles to forest road 500. A small brown sign on the right of the road indicating the Steins Pillar trailhead marks the turn. Follow this narrow dirt road across a small bridge and climb approximately 2 miles to the Steins Pillar trailhead. The road is closed and blocked with boulders just past the trailhead, so you can't miss it. Unlike many trailheads in Oregon, this one does not appear to need the Northwest Forest pass. According to the National forest website (linked below) this is a free trailhead. There are no facilities available. Camping Tips: The nearest established campground is Wildcat Campground at the end of Mill Creek canyon. There are also a couple of places on the National Forest road to the trailhead where one could dispersed camp.

Whiteface Slide 1 The entrance to the Slides is from the drop zone of the Summit Quad. After exiting the lift, quickly move skier's left to clear the chair. Patrol will often have orange mesh fencing set up to control access to the Slides. Be prepared with beacon in send mode, shovel and probes. Depending on the avy level established by Ski Patrol you may need this gear. [image] The Headwall/Waterfall on Slide 1 After passing through the entrance you sidestep-traverse up a narrow track that leads to the Slides. You should be in good physical shape as you will gain elevation. If you are breathing hard or feel overly exerted you may want to turn around because the descent is more demanding than the climb. After the traverse through Slide In, you come out into another world! The first slide path to your right is Slide 1. It offers 1,600 vertical feet over a half mile with an average grade of 31 degrees. Slide 1 can be the easiest or hardest route down depending on snow levels and conditions. Slide 1 skis like an open western bowl. During a marginal year the ice flow section can be very difficult or unskiable. The top is similar to an ungroomed Skyward; relatively steep and wide. Tight right often holds deep pockets of wind blown snow. Down the middle and rider's left is often thinner but contain fun rock features. The top of Slide 1 drops off abruptly into the headwall or "ice flow" section. Here the slope cascades over a series of rock shelves which are often encased in "Adirondack marble" during the colder months of the season. In the spring as temps warm, these ice flows turn to slush and experienced experts start the huckfest in earnest. Regardless of the time of the season, smart decisions are a must on the headwall. If patrol ropes off the headwall, do not ignore it. Ducking the rope can be dangerous or fatal. When roped, cut skier's left into Slide 2's middle tree zone or hug the left most edge of the headwall. If you can hold this six-foot wide path, you'll scream right down the fall line on what is usually a dependable snow surface. Some people also drop into the ice flow section on extreme skier's right. This route is dangerous. It requires some step-offs and must-make turns to avoid trees, ice and rocks. However, once safely past the headwall, a nice apron of powder on a modest slope runs all the way to "bottom of slides." In the spring or before a freeze-thaw cycle the snow is often perfect for ripping right down the headwall, hop-turning from one level to the next. The most experienced skiers send it, stomping all three drops. If you head through the waterfall make sure you control your speed as you route find your way. Slide 1 is the most avalanche prone and avy debris can make it difficult to ski. At the time of this writing, Slide 1 last avalanched in 2011. Slide 1 Slide 2 Slide 2B Slide 3 Slide 4 Slide Out

Prospectors: The Pencil By: randosteve| Posted on: December 10, 2006 | Posted in: Random Teton Posts, The Tetons | Comments Off on Prospectors: The Pencil NOTE:This TR is from December 10, 2005. When conditions are right, the Tetons can provide good coverage by mid December and I have had many fun, steep, technical descents in the 'cold smoke' powder of the last month of the year. Reeders recently pointed out a line that has attracted his eye every time he rides out to 'the vill'...we have dubbed it...The Pencil. [image] It's funny, turns out The Pencil is only, a pencil, in the early months of October and November. By the time we thought there was good enough coverage on the lower slopes to check-it-out and get a summit-to-valley descent, the pencil-like couloir had transformed into a rather wide, moderate angle slope...thought still incredibly fun...as always. We got an early start for December, skiing by 7AM, cuz it's kind of a long haul into Open Canyon from the Granite Canyon trailhead. We were rewarded with a nice sunrise and a good view of our destination, the slopes lookers' left of the Banana Couloir on the southeastern side of the mountain. After a bit of doubtful-route finding through thick forest growth, we found ourselves on-line and headed into the canyon. We soon arrived at the point where we would start to ascend the south-facing slopes and honestly...it looked grim. Thinly covered slopes that 'whumped' frequently when weighted. I turned up the volume on the I-pod and charged upward, hoping that deeper, more consolidated snow pack would be found. Sure enough, after a thousand feet or two, I found myself loving life, and just trying to find the best place to lay down the track. Often I will sacrifice the best or most efficient skinning line to keep the ski line fresh. I recommend this approach. [image] [image] [image] [image] We booted the last thousand feet and the summit rewarded us with high winds and cold December temps. We scurried down and around the north side a bit, hoping to get a glimpse of some of the northern shots down to Rimrock Lake. We had hoped to do a quick lap down to the lake before skiing the southeast side, back down into Open Canyon and racking up a nice 6000'+ day, but the winds beat us down to the core and we scurried back up to the top. A quick transition brought us to firm, cold, wind-scoured snow (surprise-surprise), but it was fun yet again. I got pelted in the face with every turn, my spray being thrown back at my by the wind. The lower 2000' was great powder skiing, with 'think-light' turns, knowing rocks lured not to far below. The track was fast on the way back to the ride and I breathed the cold air in deep as the sun set behind the mountains. Great day to be a skier!

Hotline Ramp (WI3), Rap Wall Jan 25 kyle [image] Sunset Snoqualmie Ice Rap Wall at Snoqualmie Pass might be the most climbed ice crag in Washington. I had passed the wall dozens of times, but never bothered to climb it. Rap Wall is home to Ghost Dog (M11), one of the hardest mixed routes in Washington. But it also has easier routes like Hotline. John and I decided to check it out after work one day. Rap Wall sits about 500 ft above Source Lake with an eastern aspect. There is also a wall just down and right of Rap Wall that has some easier ice routes. [image] I think this is called Millennium Wall? [image] The right side of Rap Wall. Hotline is the main line that is touching down. Bryant Buttress to the right was also formed. [image] Gazing up at the impressive Ghost Dog! We stashed our skis in the cave and hiked up to the base of Hotline. The pillar was just barely touching down, in WI5+ to WI6 condition. The ramp looked like a good option for us. I racked up and led Hotline Ramp. Despite having "ramp" in the name, the route is still dead vertical for the first 15 feet and no cake walk after. Instead of following others through a slot with a bush, I traversed left, making things more difficult for myself with tricky traversing moves and some less than stellar ice. I would have been better off just continuing straight up. It was my first ice pitch in a full month since climbing Flow Reversal just nextdoor. [image] Looking at Hotline. The route was a full 25 meters and actual ice climbing for nearly the entire way! John lowered me down and then took a try, making it most of the way up before pumping out. This was his first real pitch of steep ice ever and probably not the most beginner friendly. I took a few more laps as the sun set and we admired the fog below us and alpenglow in the skies above. I tried the Hotline Pillar. The start was slightly overhung and too thin for good feet, forcing me to do a lot of pull-ups and lockoffs, which is not my strength. I made it up, but was pumped out of my mind. It was definitely the hardest pitch of ice I have ever top roped! [image] The pillar of Ghost Dog and Snoqualmie Mountain behind. As the light faded, we pulled the rope, packed up, and skied out with our headlamps. Not bad for an afternoon at Snoqualmie! Notes: Mountain Project has the different routes labeled for Rap Wall. These climbs form rather slowly but consistently. They have been forming for two months now and have survived multiple warm rain events. A 60m rope was sufficient. The top anchor was on a tree so I did not need to bring any anchor material. Plan on about an hour to approach. The approach is about 2 miles and gains 1200 ft.

Greg Mace Peak 4.8.16 April 15, 2016April 15, 2016 Frank Konsella 1 Comment (Last Updated On: April 15, 2016) I'm going to start this trip report of Greg Mace Peak in the Elk mountains near Aspen with a story. The year was 2000, and I was on a west coast road trip, with plans of skiing peaks in the eastern Sierra before eventually hitting up Rainier. Jay Prentiss and I traveled the backroads from Crested Butte and eventually found ourselves in Bishop, CA. Bishop is a great gateway to skiing in the eastern High Sierra and after the snowy 2016 season in the area, it's probably a good destination for ski mountaineers, for the first time in years. After some local research (remember, this was pretty much before the internet went big), we headed up to a trailhead that we were told would offer a number of choices. We awoke the next morning at South Lake at the same time that the occupants of a nearby truck were also stirring. Since they also had Colorado plates and were clearly going skiing as well, we started chatting as we all made our coffee and breakfast. As it turned out, the skiers on the other side of the parking lot were skiers from the other side of the Elks- Aspen. That was the first time I met Brad Smith, who now owns the Red Onion in Aspen, and Ted Mahon, who would finish his 14er skiing project right before me. We started talking about backcountry skiing and Brad and Ted mentioned that someone had just skied a big line in the Aspen area- the line adjacent to the Landry line on Pyramid now known as Frank's Angst. As it turned out, those skiers were actually Jay and I. It was pretty cool to know that a line that I had had my eyes on for years, and took several attempts to complete, had been noticed by the local crowd. Anyway, after talking the four of us decided we might as well ski together on the nearby and highly aesthetic Hurd Peak. Two weeks later, we ran into Brad and Ted again, this time at Bunny Flats on Mount Shasta. Jay and I had just skied Shasta, while Brad and Ted were gearing up to do so. Brad and Ted finished their season with a successful ski of Denali, while Jay and I got weathered out on Rainier. Fast forward to 2016. Along with our friends Jordan White and Anton Sponar, Brad would be joining us to ski Greg Mace peak. This was the first time we would ski together since skiing Hurd Peak back in 2000. I told Brad that we should probably ski together again in another 15 years- preferably someplace really cool like the Alps, and preferably randomly. Anyway, on to Greg Mace. We made our way up Castle Creek and then found ourselves in the Alpine. Jordan: [image] We had a great view of the east face of Castle. Skiing this is as close to a "first date" as Brittany and I have. Which is awesome. [image] The West face of Taylor. This zone can be accessed from Crested Butte, and I remember looking down this line thinking it looked like a good one. [image] We gained the summit ridge of Greg Mace and were treated to an aerial show by a group of Eagles that appear to live near the summit. [image] The south face was looking good so we decided to start with it. It was perfect corn, a type of snow that seems like a rarity lately, either because of dust storms or spring storms, both of which seem common in CO these days. Brad: [image] Anton: [image] Frank: [image] [image] The corn was great, but there was still powder to ski on the north side, along with some nice aesthetic lines. Brittany: [image] [image] Jordan: [image] Brad, figure 8-ing: [image] This line was so much fun, the twists and turns of the couloir were perfectly spaced for GS-style turns: [image] [image] Anton, with Castle behind: [image] Looking back up at Greg Mace Peak, while Brittany finishes up her line: [image] One of the great things about backcountry skiing is how small of a world it is. How cool was it that a car at a random trailhead in the Sierra had a couple of skiers that lived just on the other side of the Elks? It was good to ski with Brad again, and Greg Mace served up the goods, with both perfect corn and springtime pow. Jordan and I argued about the merits of Dynafit bindings on top of Greg Mace. The correct answer is #dynajunk. Vipecs are so much better:

Albright? Allllriiiggghhht! By: randosteve| Posted on: March 31, 2008 | Posted in: Broken Link to Photo/Video, The Tetons, Wimpy's | 9 comments [image] [image]I found myself at the top of Wimpys, three out of four days last week. Some people may think it's lame to ski the same run all the time, but when it nuking winds and dumping a foot of snow a day, who can blame me for heading to slopes I'm familiar with and I know will be full of untracked powder. Kind of a smorgasborg of trips really. One day I got out with some skiers in town for the rando races, Kevin and Molly, one trip was alone and in the late afternoon. On Friday though, I was lucky to get out with Dustin Lemke after not skiing together for some time. It was great too, since on Friday there was a brief break in the weather. [image]I think only 6" were reported on the avy forecast that day, but the danger was up to considerable with high winds and snowfall totals increasing regularly for the previous few days. On the drive up to the park, some natural avalanche activity was seen in the Banana Couloir on Prospector's and the lower East Face of Buck Mountain. With the bluebird skies, we had hopes of skiing Albright (aka, Peak 10,552), not a huge peak, but a great high speed powder run non-the-less. [image] The big winter is starting to take it's toll on the park infrastructure and the Death Canyon trailhead sign is feeling the weight. The tour up to Wimpys and the on to Albright felt great...with the warm sun and all. My sensors came to attention though as we crossed under the upper face of Albright, looking for signs of instability in the snowpack, but the snow felt pretty solid. We removed our skis and booted the final pitch to the top. [image] I was glad I had broke most of the trail to the top, so there was no argument about who got to go first. The snow was as good as it gets and after a couple ski check at the top, linking high-speed powder turns was the focus for the next 3000'. Still early in the day, we did another lap up Wimpys and ran into Shoeless Greg at the top...who ripped it just like us.

Quandary Peak 14,265' [image] photo- A view of the sunrise from the east ridge of Quandary peak at sunrise. photo by Grant Lewis, 2009. [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] 2/28/09 members of trip: Zach Taylor and Grant Lewis ascent route: East Ridge descent route: East Bowls trailhead: Monte Cristo trailhead 10,900' Over a foot of snow had fallen over the last twenty four hours in Avon. The 28th was forecasted to be clear and relatively warm all day. I talked to my friend Grant about skinning up Quandary Peak and snowboarding down at work the night before. He was down and plans were made. My alarm went off at 3:00 am at my house on Wildridge above Avon. I got up quickly got in my car and drove down to Grants house in Avon. We left quickly and began the drive to the Quandary Peak trail. Quandary Peak is one of the easiest 14ers to play on in the winter. During the winter most of Colorado's 14ers summer trailheads are closed off by miles of snow covered dirt roads. During the winter most of these warrant a multi-day climb because of this extra distance. Quandary's trailhead is right off Hoosier pass and is plowed and maintained year round. So it is still only seven miles round trip and 3,365' of vertical elevation gain. This is paltry by mid winter standards. Quandary also has a route going up its east ridge that completely avoids all avalanche terrain and makes a relatively avalanche safe route year round. The east bowls just to lookers right of the ridge offer a nice summit descent. These bowls are usually comprised of wind hardened sastrugi during the winter. So while the snow conditions arn't usually great here it is often set up and safe to ride. If the snow is in a strong melt freeze cycle there are classic steep couloir descents dropping off the south and north faces of the peak as well. With recent snowfall and windloading patterns we planned on ascending the east ridge and descending the powder filled eastern bowls. We hit the trail a little before sunrise and were cresting treeline at sunrise. The going was slow as the old skin track was mostly covered with recent snow and we were stuck with breaking a trail through fresh snow all the way to the summit. It got a bit easier above treeline but there was still much postholing the entire way. We met up with another snowshoer that dropped into line and helped us break trail. photo-Zach Taylor skinning up the upper east ridge of Quandry Peak. photo by Grant Lewis, 2009. photo-A view of the upper eastern ridge and bowl of Quandry Peak. photo by Grant Lewis, 2009. photo-Zach Taylor looking out at the snow covered Rockies from the summit of Quandry peak. photo by Grant Lewis, 2009. We summited under clear, somewhat windy skies. I have climbed and ridden this peak close to ten times and this was the most powder I had ever seen on this mountain. The famous tenmile range winds usually scour pow off this mountain quickly. We geared up excited to get first tracks down the powder filled east bowl of Quandary. I did a little poking around and digging at the top of the east bowl. From everything I could tell soft, light powder sitting on a bedsurface of convoluted, satrugi. The bowl was a go. We dropped in one at a time cautiously enjoying pow turns close to safe zones on the sides of the bowl. As we were descending the bowl I noticed a line of skiers ascending up the ridge. We were the first on the summit and the first down this bowl today. Life is good! photo- A view of Grant's and my tracks dropping off the asummit of Quandry peak descending the upper east bowl. Grant is pictured in the foreground. photo by Zach Taylor, 2009. When we hit the bottom of the bowl, we hiked back up to the east ridge and dropped off the south face of Quandary from about 12,000'. With the aspect and elevation change the snow changed dramatically to corn at first and then turned into slush close to the bottom. We hit the Montezuma road that parallels the east ridge of Quandary in the bottom of the valley to the south of Quandary. We skated/hiked/rode this snow covered road back to my car at the trailhead. We got back down quite happy about the turns and the day. Quandary is always a nice peak to go out for a midwinter peak descent.

Current Creek Bench [image] The open low angle zone between the North Chutes and Current Creek Bowls. This is a safer option than the runs around it but it still has potential for a big avalanche on the wrong day. The average slope is in the high 20s or even about 30 degrees. The maximum pitch is close to the average, approximately 33 degrees. Maps *All Mapped Areas are Approximations Trailheads Berthoud Pass Parking Lot Located at the summit of Berthoud Pass Current Creek Avalanche Reports 12/08/2018 - (Current Creek Bench) 01/01/2018 - (Multiple Reports) 01/03/2016 - (Beneath Current Creek Bench) Images [image] Current Creek Bench [image] Hidden Gnoll Area Guide Books Making Turns in Colorado's Front Range Vol. 2 by Fritz Sperry Backcountry Skiing: Berthoud Pass, Colorado by Rob Writz[image] (Links to guidebooks may be affiliate links) Find Nearby Zones *All Mapped Areas are Approximations tagged: Berthoud Pass, Current Creek, Front Range, Grand County

The Grand at night Posted on September 23, 2021 | 4 Comments [image] Mission accomplished [This is part of a multi-part trip report of my Wyoming 13er speed record.] I am used to climbing the Grand in June's longer days, and have never felt the need to do any but the trail parts in the dark. However the late season and my arbitrary deadline forced me to climb the entire route in the dark. This caused me more trouble than I had expected, as I wasted some time in the boulder-field, and more in the Moraine. I passed my first headlamp folk on the switchbacks below Garnet, and some more around the Caves. The latter nearly caught me thanks to the time I wasted going too high in the Moraine, but I stayed ahead of them, and had little trouble finding the summer route to the Lower Saddle, with its bright hand-line. [image] Way too early I passed a few guided groups above the saddle, then made my usual mess of the route to the Upper Saddle. I seem to do this slightly differently every time, but I had never done it by headlamp, which further hurt my route-finding. I passed a couple enjoying the first light of dawn at the saddle, then continued up the familiar route on the upper mountain. There was some snow and ice in the chimneys and on a few ledges, but nothing that could not be easily avoided or dealt with. I had debated whether or not to bring my down jacket, and was glad I did, as it allowed me to hang out on the breezy summit for a few minutes, watching the horizon lighten and the lakes come into view below. I stopped to speak to the couple as we awkwardly climbed past each other in the double chimney. It was her first time in the Tetons, but she seemed to be handling the dark, chilly scramble easily. We exchanged names before we parted, and the guy actually recognized me, or at least my nom de plume. I passed perhaps a dozen more climbers between the upper and lower saddles, wearing the usual varied quality and quantity of gear. I had no need to hurry, merely fast-walking the switchbacks above the Meadows, but put in an effort to jog past the tourists below Garnet, and even tried to finish at a legitimate run. My much-abused body said "no" to that, but I at least managed to walk to the sign by 9:00, for a finishing time of 8 days and 23 hours. After some time to eat and reflect, I headed over to the Ranch to see who was around. There turned out to be more familiar faces than I had expected, so it was well into the afternoon before I got around to taking a shower. It was closing weekend, and I needed some time to recover, so I happily volunteered to spend a few days helping prepare the place for the winter. [image] Way too early [image] Belly crawl on the way down [image] Middle Teton dry [image] Mission accomplished

April 20, 2022 Backcountry Utah MT. TUSCARORA: SALT LAKE CITY So close yet so far away. Mt. Tuscarora is a prominent peak just to the left of Catherine's Pass if you're coming from Alta. While it's not far at all from the ski resort, this peak will make you feel more remote than you really are. [image] Distance : 7 miles Time: 3.5 hr Elevation Gain: 1,880 ft When we went: April 25 GPS for trail start: GPS Can you ski back to the car?: Yes Route-finding Difficulty: Easy Physical Exertion Difficulty: Moderate Map [image] Click Map for link to Fatmaps Getting there: Follow Little Cottonwood Canyon Rd to the very end and park at the northernmost lot at Alta Ski Resort. From here you will follow what they call the Summer Road, which Alta allows uphill travel on. This route goes under the lift and then quickly curves back to the left to continue skinning up the left side of the ski resort, following the summer trail named Catherine's Pass trail. [image] Looking out towards Alta Ski Resort The views along the way are spectacular, and being a popular route to get up into Catherine's Pass area, there will most likely already be a skin track. Follow this route up the valley for close to 3 miles until you reach Catherine's Pass. From here there are so many options, and on a good day, the fresh powder runs will seem endless. Depending on your stamina and time, you could do a lot of runs back in here, but for Mt. Tuscarora, you will turn left and continue up the ridgeline. [image] Hiking up Mt. Tuscarora Ridgeline The hike up the ridge does get steeper than the valley. We went a few hundred feet zig-zagging up and finally took our skis off and carried them on our backs to continue boot packing. We did not need crampons, although they never hurt to carry. You'll go through some trees until it opens up a bit more, as you can see in the photo above. Persevere and you'll reach the summit in no time. [image] Once you reach the summit, celebrate your victory, take off your skins, put your board together, and get ready for a fantastic ride down. [image] Victory at the top of Mt. Tuscarora We hit Mt. Tuscarora on a bluebird day after a good bit of snowfall, and the bowl down the NW side of Mt. Tuscarora was fantastic. We traversed towards Mt. Wolverine for 100-200 feet until the pitch was a little less steep and there were fewer trees. Remember on a pitch over 30 degrees to go one at a time, and always check avalanche danger before going. [image] Jay cruising down the bowl of Mt. Tuscarora Towards the bottom of the bowl, keep your speed if you can. It flattens out for a while, and you may end up having to walk a few hundred feet as a snowboarder. Once it gets steeper, you will end up skiing down the bottom runs of Alta. Please note that Alta is a skier's only mountain. There are mixed reviews on whether they will stop you as you snowboard out, but the most official word is that you cannot get on a lift as a snowboarder, but you can snowboard down. If you want to double-check, please call Alta Ski Resort for the most updated information. [image] Feeling pretty stoked on life after the run down the NW Bowl of Mt Tuscarora You should be able to board right down to the base of Alta and walk through the parking lot back to your car. GEAR: Pallas Epiphany Splitboard, Jones Solution Splitboard, Union Explorer Bindings PROS: Really beautiful scenery Easy to route-find CONS: Winds through the side of a busy ski resort Alta does not look fondly on snowboarders THE SPLIT DECISION: Jay's Take: "Really beautiful views once you get up to the pass. The hike up the ridge to the summit was fun too. I liked the open bowl down and that there were not too many trees to navigate. It was a great day with the powder. Not sure I would have been quite as stoked if we weren't in awesome powder." Tyese's Take: "I really loved this route! I don't think I would do it when Alta was still open, but after it closes for the season is the perfect time to hit up this route! The bowl off Tuscarora made me smile the whole way down"

While You Were Sleeping: Notch Couloir, Long's Peak 14,259 feet Climbing, Colorado GilJune 24, 20087 Comments For the 3rd time in 3 weeks, diet I woke up at midnight to go climb a big mountain. The motions have taken on a faint sense of familiarity, web a sort of deja vu. An empty house, roomates out at the bars, loaded backpack waiting by the door, laden with dual ice axes and my boots and gaiters sitting peacefully by its side, begging to be dawned and trodden through the snow and ice, over the high alpine rock. The tools of the trade. My food bag sits in the fridge, each of the 3500 calories ready to be burned. [image] Peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches, sesame-honey bars, yogurt covered goji berries, almonds, energy gu, snickers, payday bars (my favorite), and 2 apples mang, Fuji of course. I throw it all in my car and start driving to North Boulder where I will meet up with John and Josh at John's house at 12:45am. My windows are rolled down as I drive, the cool evening air getting cooler, waking me up from my awkward 3 hours of sleep, clearing my head. All around me are familiar faces, wide-eyed and drunk from the evening's entertainment, lovers holding hands, groups of men stumbling home, beer-stenched, unsuccessful in their hunt for a bed companion, a couch companion, someone to wake up with, something to tell their buddies about. For a split second I envy all these night-owls, such an easy persuit, empty bottles in hand, and blurry people all around, but the urge for urban wandering fades quickly as my objective moves to the forefront of my consciousness. A mass of rock and snow somewhere in the far distance, unseen for the time being, immense and prodigal under starlight, waiting for the mortals to show up for their daily assault, Don Quixotes all of them. I am one of those mortals, clad in gore-tex armor, swinging my axe at frozen dragons in the name of something not yet realized, hoping not to be forgotten, doomed to that very fate by endless time and its unforgiving ability to roll everything over. So here I write my stories, let the words unravel on a glowing screen and with the click of a button, send them on their way, riding light waves a million times around the globe in a day, riding and riding until there is no more light to ride. Will my stories die with a bang, or will they fizzle away in the vacuum of space, infinitely dispersed? Or will my stories crumble like the very rock they are conceived upon? The 3 of us raced North out of Boulder in Josh's Toyota pickup, I sat awkwardly on the hard bench seat in the back of the cab, trying to pour hot coffee from my canteen into its top which unscrews to become a little cup...brilliant I had been awake for over an hour, but my senses were now being hightened by that magical ambrosia we call coffee, lifelong friend of the mountaineer, a deeply woven thread in the history of peak scaling and ocean sailing, coaxing the sleep deprived to greatness since its bean was first introduced to hot water. This particular coffee was extra befitting of my current adventure. I had gone to see Jennifer Lowe-Anker present her new book, Forget Me Not, at Neptune Mountaineering the previous Thursday and at the end of the show, Gary Neptune asked some random trivia questions pertaining to the presentation. I was the first to shout out the answer to his last question, which was about a climb Jenny had done in Yosemite. My reward for paying attention was a bag of Summit Coffee, whose "climber series" benefits the Alex Lowe Charitable Foundation. Alex Lowe being an iconic Colorado mountaineer, who probably climbed the very route we were going to do. This particular coffee was "the Fiend blend." The package proclaims its flavor as "strong, bold & impressionable." An accurate description. [image] We reached the Longs Peak Trailhead at 2am, the moon already set behind the peaks. Hiking through the forest with a pleasant chill in the air keeping our bodies cool, jackets unneccesary, darkness, save for the small areas of light at our feet shining from our headlamps. As we broke treeline, the lights of Mordor came into view. The vast amalgamated metropoli of the Northern Front Range glowing dirty in a lattice of electrical power, sprawling ever outward from Denver to Fort Collins, Colorado Springs, accross the dessert plains, the stepped messas, like infectious tumble-weed rooting down whenever it feels the time is right, wherever the winds of opportunity may take it. The trail turned from pine tree-root laden path to semi-cleared route through the high tallus banks, following contours over glacial moraine towards the titanic cirque below Long's Peak's East Face. Hard packed snow now covered much of our trail, which ascended a final bank of rocks to the boulder packed banks of Chasm Lake, the first resting point for the waters which flow from the melting snow and ice clinging to the kinder aspects of the mountain, its North and Eastern gullies, chutes, couloirs, channels, gorges, hollows, ravines, and any other such scar in the uplifted granite which provides enough relief from the sun's direct scrutiny for winter's deposits to remain in a solid state. It is there in the watercourses, and myriad imperfect depressions in the (hopefuly) solid rock, that the mountaineer finds his way. Exploiting the mountains' weaknesses, its faults, cracks in its facade inflicted by the masters of persistence, water, wind, sun, time. [image] After 2.5 hours of hiking, we arrived on the western shore of Chasm Lake, a blood red streak of light now appeared on the eastern horizon, like some unfinished Van Goh painting left on the easal. But nature leaves nothing unfinished, and this morning was no exception. It is usually the moments before the sun crests the horizon in which the eastern canvas is at its most fiery, ablaze with colors beyond one's wildest dreams. And then the Sun bursts on to the scene, angry with us humans for looking directly at it, like some jealous diety, a flaming asterisk denoting *look with caution, gaze, but not for too long. But this morning was different. For all the shit we toss into our atmosphere, the fumes, carcinogens, oceans of smog and haze, we get in return the ever so asthetic bending of light. Maybe that is the greatest accomplishment to come from mankind's maniacal mechanisms...the ability to stare directly at the sun. For the first 15 degrees it rose above the horizon, the morning star struggled to blind us, but was thwarted by whisps of opaque polution, currents of sweet carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, and all the other byproducts of productivity we so vehemently object to in this day and age of environmental consciousness. Well I say let it acid rain, let the killers of our children and grandchildren make the world a little bit more beautiful for us goddamit. In preparation for technical terrain, we put on our crampons and brought out our ice axes, those uber-manly tools of alpine conquest. Up the Lambslide we went, following in the footsteps of others, on the shoulders of giants like Alex Lowe and Sir Edmund Hillary, on a path to the summit of Long's Peak, while the good people of Denver slept in their warm beds, as the night owls lumbered like beer-soaked logs in the flatlands below, unaware that at that very moment, knights of the rock were crusading on the high peaks. The Lambslide is a wide and forgiving snow gully, offering an easy 700 foot snow climb and what would most likely be an epic ski or snowboard descent later in the day when the snow has softened. [image] We exited Lambslide at an obvious point in order to gain the Broadway traverse, a mixed snow, rock, and ice section about 1/4 mile long. While John and I were willing to climb this section unroped, Josh preferred that we rope up, because while none of the moves on the traverse are very hard, a slip of the snow or rock can mean a certain death fall off the edge of a 700 foot sheer cliff which would send a would-be soloist on the express elevator straight back to the base of Lambslide. I lead the Broadway traverse, placing rock pro every 40-50 feet Josh and John followed on a running belay. [image] Once I reached the base of the Notch Culoir, I burried both my axes as an anchor and belayed them up to where I sat, below the southern wall of the couloir. The culoir itself can be done completely as a snow climb, with only one or two ice sections that in current conditions are avoidable by a bypass on snow or rock. But since we were already roped together, John took the lead, placing some rock protection, one ice screw, and even managed to bury the snow picket we had brought. Halfway up the Couloir i got tired of going slow and being on the end of the rope. I untied and began going solo up the rest of the Couloir so that i could pause whenever I wanted to take pictures. In retrospect, it was a good idea to rope up for the Broadway traverse, but we should have unroped for the Couloir itself. The Notch Couloir ends in the huge notch below the south side of Long's Peak, and gaining it gives you an impressive view west over the expanse of the Rocky Mountains, while back to the East, reality lies sprawled from city to city with the great plains beyond, remaining flat and boring from the suburbs of Westminster until the backwoods of West Virginia and the soft peaks of the Appalation. [image] [image]The final section to the summit plateau involved about 150 feet of 5.4ish rock which had some wet sections. John lead this section flawlessly and with healthy runout, then belayed Josh and myself up.From there it was another 150 feet of 4th class rock and some snow patches to the summit. Summit experiences like the one we had are an apparent rarity in Colorado mountaineering. The wind was nonexistent, and despite being over 14000 feet above sea level, the temperature was warm enough to lounge in our base layers and basque in alpine glory, under skies bluer than blue, and views for 50 miles or more in every direction. The few clouds that did exist were white and puffy, remaining suspended high above some invisible cieling. I lay down on a relatively flat rock and counted the clouds like sheep, dozing off and daydreaming. [image] [image] After we had drank our fill from the chalice of summit victory, it was time to start heading down. There were beers to be downed and real food to be eaten, flocks of women waiting to congradulate us in skimpy attire with willing smiles and open arms...okay maybe not, but there is always beer and burgers. After descending 300 feet of 4th class snow and rock, we arrived at a big rock with a left sling that provided us with a good rappel past the rest of the 4th class and onto dry flat tallus. Once we unroped and stowed our harnesses, the real torture began. The park service, in their infinite wisdom and concern for the less able, has decided that several miles of switchbacks are needed to descend the roughly 450 feet of super-moderate tallus slope that skirts around the Northern base of Mt. Lady Washington. We were on our 11th hour and I was wiped. I plopped down somewhere in the high alpine meadow and took another nap while Josh and John continued the hike down. I ended up hiking alone the rest of the way, through what seemed like endless forest. Upon arriving back in Boulder, my plans for drunken celebration and debauchery were dashed by some much needed sleep. I passed out around 630 pm in my bed and awoke at 7am the next morning, refreshed, rejuvinated, and ready for the next big adventure. Gil

Needles area climbing Posted on October 29, 2012 | Leave a comment [image] Needles (l) and Olancha (r) from Dome Rock campsite The Needles are an impressive line of domes/spires along the Kern River at the southern end of the Sierra. The Needles themselves offer multi-pitch trad routes with about an hour-long approach from above (high clearance required) or below (high gnat tolerance required). Nearby Dome Rock has numerous 1-2 pitch trad routes and some hard sport face routes accessed by a road leading right to the top (it was previously used as a heli-pad), as well as a few excellent primitive campsites. Both are a reasonable drive from LA, and the weather, while currently too cold up north and too hot down south, is near-perfect there. Jen and I drove up late Thursday night and, after deciding not to try the Needles Lookout Road in a passenger car, crashed at a lousy ad-hoc campsite. We then enjoyed 3 days of near-perfect weather and interesting climbing. Both the Needles and Dome Rock are well worth visiting, and White Punks on Dope (Voodoo Dome) and the Tree Route (Dome Rock) are not to be missed. Dome Rock (Tree Route, 5.6; Left Crack, 5.8; Last Dihedral, 5.8) [image] Tree Route on Dome Rock Rather than hiking the rest of the Needles lookout road, we decided to take an easier day at nearby Dome Rock. First up was the easy but highly-rated Tree Route (5.6), which follows amazing hand- and finger-cracks past one live tree and a stump. We simul-ed it without much trouble, then hiked back down around the dome to try something harder. Left Crack (5.8) had some fun climbing, though I found the starting traverse fairly scary. The pitch climbs 10-15' off the ground, then follows a horizontal crack to reach the leftmost of two vertical ones. Though the traverse evidently protects well if you hand-traverse the horizontal crack, you first have to pass the crack's shallow, flaring start. I instead ended up foot-traversing the crack, running it out until I probably would have decked if I had fallen. The climb up the vertical crack to a 2-bolt anchor was much less stressful. After top-roping the first pitch of a nearby face route from another anchor just to the right, we finished the climb. P2 followed the crack, then followed either a zig-zag traverse or some off-width to a nice belay ledge. After a bolt and a flake that takes a tiny cam, P3 involves a tricky face traverse over to the "ear", then some strenuous off-width/lieback action to another bolt, easier slabs, and another 2-bolt anchor. The first pitch of Last Dihedral was described as a sustained, hard-to-protect lieback, so we opted to scramble up to its right, then toprope it. The description was not accurate: the face has plenty of pockets for no-hands or one-hand rests, and there are two bolts on the nearby face and adequate opportunities to place gear. The second pitch was mostly easier and unremarkable. Voodoo Dome (White Punks on Dope, III 5.8+) [image] Voodoo Dome from the Magician After availing ourselves of the better camping near Dome Rock, we made the long drive around and up the Lloyd Meadow Road to the southeast base of the Needles. While Mountain Project describes a confusing approach through a "perfect 3-dimensional lattice of cairns," we followed a single well-defined use trail to the base of the route. We climbed the route as 5 60m pitches, with only P2 being a dud. The route would be difficult to climb with a shorter rope. Jen led P1, up a wide crack next to a nicely-featured face, then across a low-angle face to an alcove. Following, I found it easier to climb the face than to jam body parts into the crack. I led P2, which started out with one exciting, blind move up the left side of the alcove on thin feet and okay hands. Pulling over the top reveals a sea of knobs, leading to easier terrain. With careful rope-routing and/or quite a bit of rope drag, a 60m rope will take you over easier terrain to a comfy belay at the base of the dihedral pitch. This 60m dihedral, the highlight of the route, can be climbed in various ways. As is her wont, Jen approached it as a hand/foot/finger crack; not feeling it for the final, runout lieback to the belay ledge, she belayed me up from a hanging belay to finish it. Being kind of a scrappy climber, I mostly chimneyed it, flying up the dihedral and thoroughly enjoying myself before finishing the pitch on lead, with one psychological micro-nut for protection. I led P4, a full 60m of sometimes-delicate slab climbing to a huge ledge, protected by 4 bolts. While none of it was truly desperate, one part after the second bolt made me think, and falling would have been uncomfortable. Talking to an old-timer the next day, I learned that the pitch used to have only two bolts - yikes! There appear to be a few paths from the big ledge to the top; Jen worked her way up a fun, straight splitter crack, then across easier terrain to a belay below the summit, near the end of our rope. We fortunately had plenty of daylight left, because the descent is non-obvious. After climbing to the summit and rapping off the back (north) side, we initially found a faint use trail down the east side of the dome. This trail faded out above steeper terrain near the base. We were fortunately not the only ones to make this mistake - a convenient bail sling got us through the difficulties. It looked possible to avoid another rappel by descending a gully farther left (east). Our rappel deposited us in the "perfect 3-dimensional lattice of cairns," which eventually led back to the main trail. The Magician (Magic Dragon, 5.8) [image] Magician (l) and Warlock (c) from Voodoo Dome The Needles lookout road was no more passable in daylight, so we hiked the last two miles of the road, passing two men in a pickup camped near the trailhead. Passing a sign informing us that the historic lookout had burned down last year, we continued along a pleasant trail along the north side of the ridge, with views of the southern High Sierra: Langley, Whitney, and (probably) the Mineral King area peaks. Following a faint, ducked use trail from the final saddle, we reached the base of the route without much trouble in about 1h30 from the car. Hearing voices as we roped up, we spotted the two men with the pickup truck, who were planning to climb the same route. P1 starts with an avoidable lieback/undercling section, then continues to a comfortable ledge. P2 crosses easy terrain including a ledge with many loose rocks, then climbs some underclings to old gear below a roof near the crux, where I established a hanging belay. Jen, after exploring terrain to the left, managed to work her way through an absurdly-steep lieback/mantle directly above the anchor, then up some easier stuff to the crest of the ridge. Fortunately she did not place any gear that would have required me to follow the lieback: after falling a couple of times, I took the standard (probably height-dependent) route around to the left, stepped over to retrieve a piece, and finished the pitch. The rest of the climbing from here to the top is mostly easy slab. We set up a couple of belays, but the whole thing would probably best be simul-climbed. One more short, steep pitch led to the summit and the remains of the lookout, including an Escheresque stairway to nowhere. While the climbing is not that interesting, Magic Dragon is still a fun, scenic route. If you choose the formerly-standard stair descent, note that the Forest Service has installed an easy 5th-class gate with barbed wire near the base. [image] East from the Magician [image] Stairway to lookout [image] Escheresque... [image] Lookout post-fire [image] Lookout pre-fire [image] Down from top of P2 [image] Crux of Magic Dragon [image] Easy cruising on upper Magic Dragon [image] Spire north of lookout trail [image] Whitney (l) through Langley (r) from lookout trail [image] Start of Magic Dragon (r) [image] White Punks P5 [image] Voodoo Dome descent [image] Near "3-dimensional lattice of cairns" [image] Magician (l) and Warlock (c) from Voodoo Dome [image] White Punks P3 [image] White Punks P4 [image] Above the "ear" on Left Crack P3 [image] Needles (l) and Olancha (r) from Dome Rock campsite [image] White Punks P1 [image] Tree Route on Dome Rock [image] Tree Route P2 - amazing! [image] Left Crack P1, after the difficulties [image] Voodoo Dome from the Magician

Saturday, September 6, 2014 The WURL* Lars and Tom had this planned for several months now and I always said I wasn't going to join. The desire to repeat the WURL after spending 26+ hours on the route with Noah last year was non existent. I was positive I'd never do it again but then they kept talking about it. Then I agreed to join for part of it. Then my work schedule came out and I had the day off. Next thing you know I'm walking up Cardiff Fork with Amanda to drop off a food cache at Pole Line Pass and was fully committed. It's funny how other's enthusiasm is contagious. The plan was to enjoy the outing and not try to push the pace too hard. Lars finished Leadville (6th, 19hours) two weeks ago and Tom just finished the Park City Point to Point a few days earlier so we figured the lingering fatigue of those big efforts would make this more of an enjoyable scenic day as opposed to a fast paced one. With this in mind I packed a big camera and we were off. [image] We've always thought the WURL might be more aesthetic if it headed up Deaf Smith and out Jacob's Ladder. That would at least straighten the ends out. I'm not sure but I do know tradition is important to me and I have nothing but respect for Jared Campbell. So we decided we would start at Ferguson and end at Bell's just as he did. Unfortunately that's not what we ended up doing. By the time we hit Lone Peak we were 20 hours into the day and the mental/physical fatigue of the group was quite high. I've been up and down the notch into Bell's half dozen times and find it to be a rather loose and dangerous place. With this in mind we decided to head out Jacob's Ladder. It's didn't feel great deviating from tradition but I think that for our party, that day, it was the right call. I don't know. Is it even the WURL if you don't exit Bell's? Hard to say but I think we found the little bit of great scenery, adventure, and suffering that we were hoping the WURL would provide. *** Special thanks to Amanda for refueling us at Hidden Peak. I've never had a Deep Dish Little Caesar's pizza that tasted so good. Thanks Ryan for the Ensure and Red Bull at the top of Red Pine. And THANKS Andy for taking our phone call from the top of Lone at midnight and then driving to the Jacob's Ladder trailhead at 3AM to give us a ride back home. I'm not sure why you guys were all so willing to help but it made our day MUCH better!!! Here are far too many pictures. [image] Early morning in Ferguson [image] Above Stairs [image] Between Storm Mountain and SLC Twins [image] [image] [image] [image] Summit of SLC Twins [image] Heading towards Jepson's Folly, Sunrise and Dromedary [image] More of the same [image] Sunrise (O'Sullavan) Peak [image] Heading up Drom [image] Between Drom and Monte Cristo [image] Lars and Tom heading up Monte Cristo [image] The small bit of easy travel between Superior and Point Supreme [image] Lars [image] Devil's Castle [image] Tom mid Devil's Castle [image] My girl and the feast she provided [image] Lars on the AF Twins [image] Tom on Red Baldy [image] White Baldy [image] Box Elder and Timp [image] The boys on the Pfeiff just before sunset [image] Lars on South Thunder Posted by Jason at 12:47 PM

Packrafting the Middle Fork Snoqualmie River By egilbert@alum.mit.edu | November 14, 2016 - 5:53 am | November 14, 2016 Uncategorized Eric and Katie November 12, 2016 We drove up to North Bend, dropped off bikes at a bridge, then drove up to Tanner. After the last rain ended we put in our packrafts and paddled down some fun rapids back to the bikes, then biked back to the car. [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image]

Backpacking to Yosemite's North Dome National Parks Backpacking California Jun 25 Written By Emily Schrick Everyone has heard of Half Dome in Yosemite. It's amazing and beautiful and the star of the show in Yosemite Valley. But there's another dome, one that is a full dome, hanging out adjacent to Half Dome: North Dome. This rock feature looks unreachable from the valley floor, but it's actually a relatively easy hike - as long as Tioga Road is open for the season. Keep reading to learn more about how to backpack to some of the best views in Yosemite! Note: Included in this blog post are links to the Outdoor Status permit notification website. These are affiliate links, and I will earn a small commission at no extra cost to you if you choose to participate in permit availability notifications. Thank you so much if you do use this service! [image] Trail Info + Stats Where: Yosemite National Park Miles: 9 miles Elevation Gain/ Loss: 2,000 ft Time to Complete: 2 days Trail Type: Out-and-back Permits Required: YES Pets Allowed: NO Trailhead: Porcupine Creek View fullsize [image] Route Map via GaiaGPS [image] Route Stats Itinerary & Trip PlanningRoute Description There are actually numerous ways to get to North Dome, which I will touch on. But the easiest and most direct way is a 4.5-mile hike from Tioga Road. The trail begins in a moderately wooded forest right from the road. You'll immediately start downhill on a path of mixed concrete and dirt. Early in the season, there are plenty of blown-down trees that you may have to circumnavigate and climb over. Less than a mile in, you'll cross Porcupine Creek. This seasonal creek is an easy rock-hop in low water years and later in the season. Earlier in the season, you'll have to balance-beam walk across downed trees to cross without getting your feet wet. The creek crossing itself did not seem dangerous and is definitely fordable, but it looked to be about calf-high in early June. There was also a small creek before and after the main crossing. Note that these creeks are pure snowmelt, and they will dry out by mid-summer if it was a low snow year. [image] The tree balance beam. [image] A jumble of downed trees across the trail. [image] Late spring is the perfect time to see Snowplants emerging from the ground! After the creek crossings, the trail climbs a little bit to a large intersection with numerous other trails. Some of the signs were partially obscured by a large downed tree when I was hiking, but know that 4 different trails meet up here. You'll want to follow signs to North Dome. The trail going back north is to Snow Creek and the trail to the southwest goes towards Yosemite Falls/ Yosemite Point. You could take this trail down and traverse along another trail to North Dome, which takes you by Lehamite and Royal Arch creek - good to note if you need more water than you originally thought. You will miss the spur trail to Indian Arch though. [image] From the 4-way intersection, you're about 2.5 miles from North Dome. [image] These beautiful patterns were actually deadly for this tree - from the Bark Beetle. [image] Yosemite is pretty well known for cool-looking rocks. After this junction, the trail lightly climbs and descends through some more woods until the junction to Indian Ridge at a large, sandy gap. Here, you have the option to take the spur trail up to the only natural arch in the park! Be careful with stowing your packs though - the crows and squirrels in this area are relentless. We came back with our empty snack wrappers strewn around our packs. If you choose to leave your packs behind, I'd pull your bear canisters out of your packs and leave them, and make sure all snacks and empty wrappers are out of your backpack pockets. Otherwise, haul your packs up to the arch. The climb is pretty steep but definitely worth it! You might choose to do this on your return hike - whichever suits your plans better. But don't leave it out! [image] [image] [image] After the arch, continue walking on a flat, wide ridge. You'll have views of Half Dome by this point, peeking out from behind the trees. Any spot along here is a great place to stop and have lunch with views of Half Dome. The views and spots are especially good right before the trail makes a steeper downhill plunge back into the woods. Enjoy the views, and hopefully good weather! [image] Illiouette Falls tucked away in a canyon. [image] [image] Clouds Rest in the distance. From the nice wide ridge, follow a few cairns down the side of the sloping granite - there is a pretty distinct tree growing right out of the rock for you to orient yourself. The trail hugs the granite slopes as the trail descends through forest and brush, before popping out at an exposed granite ridge with stunning views. Keep following this ridge south. The path is pretty obvious, but once the trail descends again, there are some areas where the trail doesn't seem as clear. There is another trail sign at the intersection of this trail and the one that comes from Royal Arch creek, so you should be on the lookout for it. At this intersection, the trail turns east and continues to descend. This time, a little steeply along a granite wall and then back into some woods. Once you reach the woods, you're almost there! [image] The junction with the trail to Royal Arch Creek & Yosemite Falls. [image] Some steep granite on the way down to the base of North Dome. [image] Looking at the ridge we descended, from North Dome. There are two main camp areas at the base of the descent in the clearing past the woods - one to your left and one to your right. The camp area to the left really only has room for one tent in a flat spot - I was able to bit a 3-person comfortably here, but a 4-person could be a bit of a stretch. The campsite here has jaw-dropping views of Half Dome. The campsite on the right side of the trail has a lot more room for multiple tents and is ideal for larger groups. You can still see Half Dome from here, but not really from your tent door. Since camping is not allowed on North Dome itself, you'll want to choose one of these spots to be closest to the dome. From here, it is only another quarter of a mile to the top of the dome, so the dome makes for a great sunrise or sunset spot, and the hike is pretty mild to the top. This is an out-and-back hike, so you'll retrace your footsteps on the way back to the trailhead and Tioga Road. [image] Other Routes As I mentioned above, there are a few other ways to get to North Dome. The other common way to reach North Dome, especially when Tioga Road is closed, is via the Snow Creek Trail from the valley floor. This is a much longer and more intense hike, gaining about 4,000 ft of elevation. If you're attempting this hike from the valley because Tioga Road is closed, you need to be prepared for winter conditions above the valley. [image] In the trees at the base of North Dome. Camping is to the right and left. [image] Permits Yosemite wilderness permits can be obtained at recreation.gov. There is a weekly lottery for trips by trailhead 24 weeks before the date you wish to enter. In 2022, Yosemite also operated their first-come, first-served permits on recreation.gov, releasing them 1 week in advance of the entry date. They also release permits that are not claimed on the day of wilderness entry in person at wilderness centers, but it is almost guaranteed that there will not be any available for popular trailheads this way. The entry and exit trailheads for this hike are Porcupine Creek. [iframe] Seasonality & Weather The hike as described is only accessible in the summer when Tioga Road is open. Tioga Road usually opens sometime in June, but it is very dependent on the snow year. The road closes to overnight parking on October 15th. Click here to view the historical opening and closing dates for Tioga Road. You can access North Dome via the Snow Creek Trail when Tioga Road is closed, however, this will usually mean the hike is in winter conditions and you should be prepared with winter gear like snowshoes, depending on the conditions. This trail is mixed terrain, but a lot of it is very exposed. Be aware of lightning dangers, especially when on North Dome itself. Lightning storms can occur during the summer months in the Sierra, usually in the form of quickly-passing storms. Be very aware of the weather forecast. Beginning as early as mid-summer, this trail could be entirely dry as far as water availability goes. Be sure to ask the rangers or look for up-to-date trip reports before going on your hike. There was a small, unmarked stream between the 4-way trail junction and the Indian Rock when I went in early June, but it shouldn't be relied upon as a water source. There is a possibility you will need to carry all of your water in on this trail, so be prepared for that! You may want to consider cold-soaking or eating no-cook food for this trip, or just make sure you've got plenty of water! I carried in 4 L myself since I wasn't sure of the water situation. That was enough for two days and one night for me. [image] [image] Trailhead & Parking The Porcupine Creek trailhead has a relatively large parking area, but is also super popular for day hikers, so it fills up fast. There is parallel parking off the side of the road opposite the trailhead that is legal to park on overnight if the lot is full. There is a pit toilet at the trailhead, but no water or other amenities. [image] [image] Lodging Options The Porcupine Creek campground is close by, and if it is open, can be a great place to stay before or after your trip. Due to weather and staffing issues, this campsite has not been open in years, so I wouldn't rely on it for now. Click here to learn more about the campground. Otherwise, having a wilderness permit enables your party to stay at a backpacker's campground the night before your wilderness permit starts and the night it ends. The backpacker's campgrounds have been changing in recent years. Use this website for the most up-to-date information. The closest backpacker's camp is White Wolf. The fees are now $8 per person as of 2022, and you must have exact change. [image] [image] A Dr. Seuss lodgepole grows out of the granite! [image] [image] North Dome looks so different from behind than from the valley floor. Pussypaws was speckled all over the base of North Dome.

Whiteface Slide 3 Getting to Slide 3 is a fun ride along the slide traverse. As you pass Slide 2B notice that the traverse narrows and can be quite a bucking bronco. Ride alert! Getting thrown will cost you some serious energy. Slide 3 starts below an intimidating rock slab in a very steep zone. As you leave the slide traverse you're immediately confronted with a challenge. You can fumble about the entrance or cowboy up and stomp some concise turns to clear two fir filled pinch points. [image] The Last Pinch before Slide 3 Opens Up Moving from skiers left to right you want to carve a solid right turn around the first clump of fir and into a very narrow gap in the tree line. An aggressive jump turn left will then clear a blind section and put you directly in the fall line. You're going to accelerate but have faith because you'll have enough room to stomp turns and dump speed before approaching the first of three rock shelves. Don't blow up here or you can easily yard sale. Whatever you do, be aware that experienced skiers and riders will be coming in "hot" so don't clog up this narrow zone for any longer than necessary. The chokes atop Slide 3 are much cleaner since the heavy rains of 2011, but still require a very tight move to drop into the main chute. Once clear, the slide remains narrow for a couple hundred feet and you must negotiate three rock shelves. With enough snow these are easy drops. Sideslipping is also an option. After these ledges, the slide expands to the width of Essex but it is much steeper. Here you can let them run Bode style! Right after a storm, chest-deep pow is not out of the realm of possibility. Two classic exit routes exist on Slide 3. Skier's left brings you over a series of rock slabs which link together like a staircase leading to bottom of slides. In the spring, as the snow starts to melt, these slab grow in size, which makes skiing and riding this line more technical. If you stay a bit skier's right, a steep chute flushes you into the bottom of 2B. Here you can string together tree islands, bumps and jumps before plowing into bottom of slides.

Mount Whitney [image] Mount Whitney. What else can be said? In case you fell asleep in your geography class, it is the highest mountain in the lower 48 states at 14,497'. It is located in California's Inyo National Forest west of the town of Lone Pine. One of the most popular routes is a 22 mile, 6100' elevation gain/loss round-trip from Whitney Portal. Join our group as we attempt a "Death-March" to the summit! Trail Map [image]After summiting Yosemite's Half Dome a few years ago, I decided I needed to set my sights on another goal. Mount Whitney it was. So in January of 2002 I gathered a list of four other friends and sent in our permit application on February 1, 2002. Mount Whitney is the only location that I am aware of that requires a permit for day hikes. I waited and waited for notification, finally giving up hope. Then my wife called me at work to say the permit reservation came in the mail that day. We were set! [image]Out of the original five in the "Mount Whitney Death-March Group" two of us remained, me and Tom. The others had canceled for various reasons. We were joined by another two friends of mine, Peter and Jim. They were traveling with their own permit...it's a long (and costly) story. Tom and his wife Jean graciously prepared a spaghetti dinner that evening for us, complete with garlic bread and salad. Nothing like a little carbo-loading before the trip! Thanks again guys! [image]After a year of planning, training and anticipation the day was finally here. We awoke early in the morning of August 7, 2002 to start our journey. Before leaving I gathered the group for a photo. It was dark and I had hoped I got the camera focused. I guess I didn't. We were on the trail by 4:20 AM. Hope to be back before dark. [image]Tom had hiked to Lone Pine Lake a few days before, so we let him lead the way. The trail was easy to follow by the light of our headlamps. Sunrise was a welcome change though, now we could see the views. [image]This log bridge provides easy passage over Lone Pine Creek. Rocks provide passage over other crossings. [image]The early morning light on Thor Peak is hard to miss. I can only imagine what sunrise on Mt. Whitney would be like! [image]After roughly 2-½ miles of climbing, this flat section above Lone Pine Lake is a welcome, but brief relief. [image]The Whitney Zone begins past Lone Pine Lake just before the climb to Outpost Camp. From here you must have a permit or face a fine and be turned back. [image]As the sun rises over the valley, so does the smoke from fires in the nearby Sequoia National Forest. Luckily the air isn't filled with smoke, but it does make for some interesting photos. [image]We arrive at Outpost Camp about three hours after departing. This is one of two campgrounds on the way to the summit. [image]Another stream crossing, complete with a small waterfall. There is no lack of water on the first 6 miles of the Whitney Trail. [image]We stop at the shore of Mirror Lake to snack, take pictures and to reflect on our journey so far. [image]After our brief stop at Mirror Lake we are on our way once again. The next goal is Trail Camp, roughly half way to the summit. [image]The trail becomes difficult at times, especially nearing 12,000'. So far everyone is doing well though. [image]We are nearing Trail Camp now. I turned around to survey our progress so far and see Tom making his way along the ridge. He is in the left-middle section of the photo. The smoke rising from the valley is rather eerie looking. [image]We stopped at Trail Camp to have lunch and to fill our water bottles as it is the last reliable water source on the trail. I've used approximately 64 ounces so far. After taking a much needed rest we were ready to tackle the famous switchbacks. I've heard there were 97 or 99. All I know is there's a lot of them. [image]Part-way up the switchbacks and we reach the cables. This was one section of trail that I had previously been concerned about. Since there was no snow and ice, I had little to worry about, so onward we went. [image]In life we sometimes need to look behind us in order to appreciate were we are now. On the trail is no different. The lake at trail Camp on the left and Consultation Lake on the right can be seen with ease on the switchbacks. [image]On the trail as in life though, you can't make progress by looking behind you all the time. We push on to Trail Crest, 13,600'. [image]Jim and I make it to Trail Crest first and a few minutes later Peter shows up. We haven't seen Tom since the start of the switchbacks. The three of us push on toward the summit and figure Tom will get there at his own pace. [image]Once at Trail Crest the weather gets much colder. We stop long enough to show the Park Ranger our permits, put jackets on and take some more pictures. This is looking west towards Mount Hitchcock and Hitchcock Lakes. [image]Appropriately-named Guitar Lake is also visible as we walk along the trail. [image]From Trail Crest it's another 1.9 miles to the summit. Should be there in no time now! [image]This is looking through one of several windows along the trail, my other concern. The east side of the trail has several small jagged peaks or needles. The base of these peaks form a "V" or window allowing you a very dramatic view some thousand feet below. What makes the windows trying for some is that the trail is somewhat narrow, the west side of the trail is somewhat exposed and you have breaks (windows) in the "secure" east wall offering a one-way ticket down the mountain. Add a stiff breeze and I suppose it could be a little trying. Truth is, the trail is at least 6-8 feet wide, exposure isn't that bad and it's only a 10-15 foot section that you have to deal with. [image]Now past the windows and you can just make out the summit hut. So far so good. Peter says he has a headache, but you couldn't tell by how he is hiking. I don't have a headache but I am feeling tired, stopping every 50 feet or so to rest. [image]Hiking past Keeler Needle and some of the windows. The summit is just above us now! [image]We finally made it! It's hard to believe after all of the planning, training, anticipation and worry we are finally here! [image]It's a long way down there... [image]This is the summit hut. As inviting as it may be it is not safe to stay in when a lightning storm approaches. The man in the picture was waiting for his 80 year-old father to join him at the top. He finally made it as we were leaving. What an accomplishment! [image]From up here you can see the smoke from the fires at Sequoia National Forest. It did obscure some of the view, but not too bad. [image]The impressive face of Keeler Needle. [image]The three of us made the summit in 10 hours. We later found out Tom made it past Trail Crest before turning around due to altitude sickness. [image]After taking a few more pictures it was time to head back down. It would take us until 9:30 that evening to get back...17 hours total. It was a long day, but very rewarding. As I sit here a few days after the hike, I think I'm suffering from low altitude sickness...I must go back up there! Until next time...

Mt. Solitude Skier's Point, Climber's Point, Solitude & Vista Date: 7/12/2020 Partner: Kristi Henes Trailhead: Pitkin TH Summits: Skier's PT, Climber's PT, Mt. Solitude, Vista Peak Distance: 13m Elevation Gain: 5300ft Difficlutly: Class 2+ (with some easy 3 if you want it) Duration: 8.5hrsGPXMount Solitude 14ers.com PageClimber's Point 14ers.com Page From the TH we cruised in 3.6 miles before leaving the trail and crossing the creek. We chose to climb on loose rock beside a steep creek instead of the thick bushwhack up the first pitch. After that, the hike up the basin was enjoyable with grassy sections and stable talus. Although it is not a 13er, we summitted Skier's Point first. How do you not summit a peak named Skier's Point! From Skier's we traversed the ridge north to Climber's Point, then Mt. Solitude, then Vista Peak. The ridge goes at 2+ unless you want some easy class 3 scrambling (which we did). From Vista we descended south and found a grassy gully that took us to the lower basin. This was a great route with interesting terrain and amazing views. Go get it! [image] 13m - 5300ft - 8.5hrs [image] East Partner lights up above the waterfall. We hiked 3.6 miles on the trail before turning off and crossing the creek. [image] We chose the steep and loose climb on the right side of this creek instead of a thick bushwhack [image] Alex in the basin below Skier's & Climber's Point [image] We hiked soft grass and stable talus to Skier's Point [image] Kristi in the basin. Outpost, East Partner and West Partner behind [image] Kristi hiking up Skier's Point west ridge [image] [image] Kristi summits Skier's Point [image] Skiers Point on Skier's Point [image] Grays and Torreys.... the Forks are in! [image] Heading toward Climber's Point [image] Kristi on Climber's Point with Skier's Point behind [image] There is scrambling if you want it! [image] [image] Climbers Point on Climber's Point [image] Holy Cross [image] Heading to Solitude (the one with all of the snow) [image] This guy startled us [image] [image] Admiring Solitude [image] Scrambling off of Climber's Point [image] Ascending Solitude with Climber's Point behind [image] Kristi on Solitude's summit. East Thorn way off in the distance [image] Descending Solitude and heading to Vista [image] Vista's impressive south face [image] Alex on the Solitude - Vista saddle [image] Looking East to Keller Mountain and... Boulder Lake? [image] Alex on the final approach to Vista [image] Looking back across our ridge run... Skier's Point, Climber's Point and Solitude [image] East Partner (front & center) - West Partner to it's left [image] Peak X & Peak Z from Vista [image] After descending from Vista, we hiked south on talus until we found a grassy gully to descend. Don't settle for anything worse than this. [image] An amazing family of 8 bighorns [image] We thought they were friends... [image] Until they started knocking microwaves down on Kristi. If you look closely you can see them laughing above. [image] Let'er rip! [image] Glissading fun and incoming weather. We caught a few sprinkles but nothing more [image] Snow is fun [image] We chose the bushwhack route at the bottom of the basin [image] This creeky section was steep and slick [image] Cruisin back to the truck through aspens and wildflowers

Backcountry Skiing Crested Butte TR: Ruby Chute (7 May 2011) May 17, 2011 Frank Konsella 0 Comments (Last Updated On: May 17, 2011) Ruby Peak, specifically the east facing Ruby chute, has been on my wish list for a few years now. [image] Tired after a day on Pyramid followed by a day on Sopris, a nice short line like this seemed like a perfect option. We left from Kebler Pass on our sleds around 7:30. Warm temperatures were getting the better of the snowpack and we were concerned about hitting this east facing line too late. So, we used the sleds to our advantage to come within just a few hundred feet of the summit, with the intention of skinning up later to retrieve them. Frank making his way to the northern ridge off of Ruby. [image] In about 20 minutes, we reached the summit. [image] Owen always looks so impressive. [image] Pyramid, where we'd been just a couple of days before. [image] South Maroon, where our friends Matt and Jordan were that day. [image] I like being on big peaks. The high alpine is my home 🙂 [image] With the sun continuing to beat down on us, we transitioned quickly from climbing to skiing. We made our way down the east ridge toward the chute. Frank. [image] [image] The upper part of the chute was wetter than we wanted, but we knew if we skied it quickly, we'd be fine. Frank. [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] Me. [image] [image] [image] The crux of the Ruby Chute is a small ice fall. This ice fall can be just a few feet to several feet in length. Sometimes, it's possible to ski right over it. Other times a downclimb, or even a rappel, is neccessary. Me pausing, just above the ice fall, trying to determine it's status. [image] With this year's deep snowpack and the day's warming temps, the ice fall was not so gnarly. I was able to glide over it. Although, not so gracefully. Frank did much better 😉 [image] [image] [image] And then we made our way out the apron, full of fantastic corn. [image] [image] We retrieved our sleds as the snow continued to get sloppier and made our way back to the Kebbler Pass trailhead. Truck to truck was about 3 hours. Not a bad way to spend a morning and not a bad line to check off my list 😉 On our way out, I snapped this picture of a buried bathroom by Lake Irwin. Still feet of snow up there. We'll be skiing for several more weeks here in Crested Butte 🙂 [image] [image] About Latest Posts [image] Frank Konsella

Mount Whitney - The Mountaineer's Route Revisiting John Muir's Classic High Sierra Climb [image] Andy Lewicky | SierraDescents.com Mount Whitney, California - The Mountaineer's Route was my introduction to Sierra climbing, and it scared the hell out of me. I'd done a bit of scrambling here and there in my travels, but nothing that qualified as official rock climbing. by Andy Lewicky | SierraDescents.com Still, when a group of friends secured a permit to climb Mount Whitney and invited me to join the party, I said yes without hesitation. Rising 14,505 feet above sea level, Mount Whitney is the highest point in the contiguous United States-making the peak easily one of the most coveted summits in North America. Most hikers test their stamina on the heavily-traveled Mount Whitney Trail. But our group had a different objective in mind: the Mountaineer's Route, a challenging climb up Whitney's east couloir first climbed by John Muir in 1873. [image] [image] [image] [image] Our guidebook assured us the Mountaineer's Route was no more than a Class 3 climb, which sounded easy enough. And, after battling gullies clogged with willows, merciless talus and scree, heavy packs, and altitude, we at last gained the 'Notch' atop Whitney's east couloir, elevation 14,000'+, expecting an easy traverse to Whitney's summit. Instead, we found bare ice blocking our path. We talked about turning back, then made a dicey, unroped scramble up exposed rock along the left side of Whitney's North Face. The experience was harrowing: one slip meant an uncontrolled slide down the icy chute toward a waiting 300-foot high cliff. When we finally gained the summit, it was with a sense of relief rather than triumph-and we still had to make our way back down. That day made a lasting impression. I learned the Mountaineer's Route is big, spectacular, and, under the wrong conditions, absolutely treacherous. Hearing reports this year that Mount Whitney was essentially snow-free following our dry winter, I decided to return to the Mountaineer's Route. It had been a while since I'd climbed Whitney, and I was eager to return. After all, height is but one of many excellent reasons to climb California's highest peak. From the lowly deserts of Owens Valley to the Sierra's lofty summit, climbing Mount Whitney is a diverse journey through an unforgettable, constantly-changing landscape. To follow in John Muir's footsteps as you work your way up the Mountaineer's Route is to truly appreciate the magnitude of Muir's 1873 accomplishment. And for my own benefit, I was particularly interested in revisiting Mount Whitney's North Face. I wanted to return to the Notch under better conditions to rewrite the terrifying memory I had of it. Without snow and ice, I doubted that section of the route would once again scare the daylights out of me. But then again, you never know. Whitney Portal [image] Whitney Portal from the Mount Whitney Trail Towering some ten thousand vertical feet over Owens Valley, the eastern escarpment of the Sierra Nevada range surges upward with jarring abruptness. Blame California's restless geology. Not-so-ancient fault action pushed up this section of the Earth's crust, giving the state a two hundred mile long granite spine. The dry, dusty basin of Owens Valley could not form a more perfect contrast with the High Sierra's alpine forests and austere rock. From the tiny but charming town of Lone Pine, California, elevation 3000 feet, is it but a quick 11 mile drive up the Whitney Portal Road to Whitney Portal. [image] [image] [image] [image] Once you reach the Portal, you'll immediately notice the cooler-and thinner-air. You'll also notice an abundance of signs warning you not to store food in your car. Food lockers are conveniently provided at the parking lots and campgrounds to safely store your food and other scented items (lotions, etc.). The Whitney Portal bears are getting awfully crafty, however. Hikers may find it best to empty their cars, as bears may judge anything visible inside as potential food until proven otherwise. In any case, do not leave food anywhere in your car, even the trunk. Once you've secured your perishables and gear, take time to wander around the area. The Whitney Portal Store lies at the end of the road. The store is a fine place to grab last-minute forgotten supplies, get current trail information, and even enjoy a tasty meal. Nearby is a quiet fishing pond and the chilly waters of Lone Pine Creek. In summer, Whitney Portal is likely to be crowded, and the surrounding campgrounds booked for months in advance. Hikers and climbers in various states of readiness sort through piles of gear, some purposefully, others with a notable look of confusion. Mount Whitney attracts all types, from hardened mountaineers to the most clueless neophytes. Depending on your outlook, this can make your own hiking experience either a rotten stroll through a three-ring circus, or an amusing look at the diversity and enthusiasm of your fellow human beings. Whatever attitude you choose to adopt, you'll see it all on the Whitney Trail-for better and for worse. My favorite photo of MWT silliness shows a hiker carrying his tent up the mountain-still in the original box. Less amusing, of course, are images of woefully under-equipped hikers marching upward, oblivious to the danger. We could linger for hours about the Portal and take in the sights. But for us today, Whitney Portal is but a way station. It's time to pack up the gear and hit the trail. The Mount Whitney Trail [image] I heft my pack and stroll from the overflow parking lot to the trailhead. After my usual post-ski season break, it's good to be hiking again. I'm thinking about the route ahead, previous attempts, successes, challenges. Will I be able to find the Ebersbacher Ledges, I wonder? How will the altitude affect me if I camp at Iceberg Lake? What will the North Chute look like? Will I make the summit? [image] [image] [image] [image] At the trailhead I find a battery of signs and notices, stern warnings of the rigors ahead. Also present is a scale enabling hikers to weigh their backpacks. That's a temptation I can't resist. Minus my usual winter climbing hardware, I've packed somewhat extravagantly for my Whitney hike: a Themarest pad, a down pillow, a coffee mug, extra food, extra clothing, five pounds of camera gear. How much does it all weigh? The answer is a surprisingly-low 32 pounds. Only 32 pounds? Clearly, summer hiking has its advantages. Through the wooden gateway I go, and at last I'm hiking up the trail, off to whatever awaits me. A cheerful squirrel sees me off, which I take to be a good omen (note: if a squirrel actually speaks to you, this is a very bad omen indeed-requiring an immediate descent to lower elevations). The Mountaineer's Route follows the Mount Whitney Trail for the first mile or so, which begins with a long switch-backing section up the north side of the Lone Pine Creek drainage. Here the trail is broad, easy, and well-traveled. Hikers quickly gain altitude, and fine views of Whitney Portal abound. The terrain is alternately dry and lush. The Eastern Sierra borders the desert of Owens Valley, and rainfall is scarce most of the year. Consequently the forests have evolved to cope with meager precipitation. Small creeks and springs are common, however, and where these occur sprout bright green glades. All greenery vanishes at higher elevations, of course, which become austere Alpine environments dominated by gray Sierra granite. Mountains such as Whitney sometimes strike me as instruments of time travel. As I am hiking today, I find my thoughts going back to earlier attempts to hike this mountain, past visits with friends and family, solo ventures (some spectacularly misguided) as well. I am not alone in finding the Whitney zone irresistible. Many hikers choose to return regularly to Whitney, as if using the peak to mark off milestones in their lives. One such hiker was Hulda Crooks, who ascended Mount Whitney on every birthday from 66 to 91. In 1995, Day Needle, a 14,000' peaklet beside Whitney, was renamed 'Crooks Peak' in her honor. But perhaps we should not daydream for too long: the first of the Mountaineer's Route challenges is fast approaching-finding the start. The North Fork [image] The North Fork of Lone Pine Creek leaves the Mount Whitney Trail and instead veers west, folling a steep, narrow canyon. Here, the Mountaineer's Route proper begins. While the majority of Whitney Hikers will stay on the trail and cross the creek, Mountaineer's Route climbers will instead begin following a use trail up the north side of the canyon. As you quickly gain altitude in this dense and claustrophobic canyon, it is worth considering the miseries it must have caused John Muir on his first ascent. [image] [image] [image] [image] Originally, climbers took myriad paths through the willows. Repeated creek-crossings were the rule, as was getting stuck in spirit-sapping dead-ends and backtracking. In the process, all that tromping around caused a good deal of damage to the fragile environment. Thankfully, a consensus route is emerging, helped along by the Forest Service, which has begun reconstruction efforts in damaged areas. This, alas, will become a theme for the duration of the Mountaineer's Route: on the one hand, there is a strong argument for maintaining the Route in its original, trailless-state (and thus preserving its high adventure). On the other, this remains a high-use area, and without a trail, people scramble across it indiscriminately, inevitably eroding and degrading the landscape. Matters are complicated by the canyon's sides-smooth granite slabs that funnel traffic toward the willow-clogged creek. The gist of the route today consists of a brief hike up the north side of the creek, staying in a small pine stand to avoid the brush. Soon, however, the route plunges into the brush, crossing the creek, and then leading high up the south side of the canyon. Following years of heavy snowfall, these creek crossings can become serious matters, and hikers have drowned in such circumstances. This year, however, the creeks are low, thanks to an abnormally poor winter (which will be of particular benefit on the route higher up). Now on the south side of the canyon, I am treated to fine views of Whitney Portal and the town of Lone Pine far, far below. From here, I can also see the Ebersbacher Ledges, on the opposite side of the creek. The Ledges have become a clever and infamous part of the Mountaineer's Route, allowing hikers to bypass the worst of the willows-at the cost of a section of exposed travel. If you miss the entryway to the Ledges, it is possible to continue upward, battling your way through the merciless willows. Faced with their formidable barricade, however, many unlucky climbers have simply abandoned the effort entirely and turned back. Ebersbacher Ledges [image] Finding the correct path to gain the Ebersbacher Ledges is a topic of much concern among newcomers to the Mountaineer's Route. In years past, it was indeed challenging to choose the right path. Now, however, even those with modest route-finding abilities will likely find it easy enough to stay on the emerging use trail, which traverses back and forth across the creek and ends exactly at the short scramble needed to gain the Ledges' start. [image] [image] [image] [image] I cross the creek, passing a hidden waterfall, and make my way to the lone Lodge pole pine marking the start of the climb. The sun has turned this east-facing canyon into a solar oven. I'm eager to get higher, hoping for a breeze to cool the air. An 'easy' Class 3 scramble leads to the start of the Ledges, which then traverse east a hundred yards or so before switchbacking to the west. Hikers with no climbing experience whatsoever may find the first scramble to the base of the pine tree alarming. If so, they certainly won't be happy with what comes next: the traverse is undeniably exposed, with a scattering of loose gravel that compromises traction. For most of the route, climbers can hug the side of the canyon and feel relatively secure, notwithstanding the cliff immediately below. Be advised, however: one short section of the Ledges narrows to perhaps only 12 inches or so. Unfortunately, this part also happens to be the most exposed. The standard means of assessing climbing route difficulty struggles to accurately describe a challenge like this. In terms of difficulty, the section is trivial, Class 1 or 2, no harder than walking along a street curb. But exposure-the prospect of a fatal fall if one slips-changes the equation. I would prefer to see exposed routes assigned a mandatory Class 4 rating regardless of difficulty level. In my mind, this would better advise climbers of the challenge of traversing atop a 100-foot cliff, regardless of how 'hard' the move actually is. For now, the system remains as it is, and we have no universally agreed-upon way to describe such climbs. Some climbers will find the Ebersbacher Ledges trivial and wonder what all the fuss is about. Others will find them terrifying. In any case, I'm happy to be across the tricky part safely, then on my way back to the west, traversing through the small patch of forest and then hiking up the final third of the canyon, on my way to the first of the Mountaineer Route's pit stops: Lower Boy Scout Lake. Lower Boy Scout Lake [image] After the claustrophobic confines of the north fork drainage, it is a relief to at last reach the open vista of Lower Boy Scout Lake, where Mount Whitney's summit and the two Needles make a brief appearance. I take the opportunity to pump some water and snack on a handful of pretzels. If it seems like it's taken a while to get here, it has! Lower Boy Scout lake sits at 10,300', fully two thousand vertical feet above Whitney Portal and the trailhead. [image] [image] [image] [image] That makes the lake an excellent place to stop, re-hydrate, and air out the feet-which is exactly what I do. I find nice grassy spot and settle down for a little break. Lower Boy Scout Lake is considered the first potential camp site along the Mountaineer's Route. At 10,300', it has the advantage of being at a relatively modest elevation, offering warmer weather and less chance of getting sick at night. But, the area is buggy in summer, and a long way from the summit, so most people choose to camp higher, either at Upper Boy Scout Lake, or Iceberg Lake. When I pack up and step across the stone path to the opposite side of the lake, I notice a few trout swimming in the shadows. One of the many pleasures of the Mountaineer's Route is its remarkable variety. The way is broken up into clearly defined sections that bear little resemblance to each other. This contrast in scenery keeps the route interesting, even in the face of the tremendous vertical distances to be gained. You're always finding something new to look at. If you're expecting easier going now that we're up above the willows, however, you'll be disappointed. From Lower Boy Scout Lake, a faint use trail quickly leads us to a broad and bare field of talus. For those of you who are new to talus' pleasures, I won't spoil the fun with too much discussion of it. I will note, however, that for the remainder of the Mountaineer's Route, loose talus and scree will be near-constant companions. As for routefinding, hikers and climbers can search for cairns to follow through the talus, in hopes of finding easier passage-or you may simply strike off on your own. After about 500 vertical feet of scrambling (that is, after you've had about enough), the route crosses the creek once again, gaining a network of smooth granite slabs. Here, again, winter snowmelt can be a problem. The slabs lie directly in the creek's path, and in flood seasons, may well be in the creek. Today, however, the slabs are largely bare granite, perfect for avoiding the talus and willows on either side. That eliminates one concern, but I am a little nervous about getting lost in this section. There is no trail, and there are several critical creek crossings to make to avoid getting trapped in willows, or dead-ended on an impassible slab. Luckily, I stay on-route without having to do any backtracking. Thanks to the hard smooth granite, I make quick time up this section of the climb, and I know Upper Boy Scout Lake can't be far. The Moraines [image] Hikers heading down, Lone Pine Peak in background Hikers may choose from three potential camping sites during their Mountaineer's Route climb. As mentioned, Lower Boy Scout Lake is the first-and lowest. Most people prefer to get farther up the mountain for their summit bids, thus they continue on to the second camping area, Upper Boy Scout Lake. Here, the scenery is perhaps not so stirring, but the weather (usually) remains reasonable, and the area is within striking distance of Whitney's 14,497' summit. More importantly, at 11,300 feet in elevation Upper Boy Scout Lake lies within a much safer window insofar as altitude is concerned. [image] [image] Sea level residents must concern themselves with this issue of altitude and acclimatization-especially regarding where they choose to sleep. The highest camping area short of the summit itself is Iceberg Lake, fifteen hundred vertical feet above. At this elevation, some degree of altitude sickness is not a possibility for unacclimatized hikers-it is a certainty. I strongly recommended camping no higher than Upper Boy Scout unless you are an experienced high altitude mountaineer. Camping lower will increase your chances of making it up the mountain successfully, and getting back down safely. Today, I am of course ignoring my own advice and continuing upward to Iceberg Lake. This is partially under the guise of research: I want to expose myself to a night at altitude and see how my body reacts. We'll revisit that experiment shortly. Meanwhile, the day remains hot, even at my present elevation. I am sweating heavily and wishing for a breeze. The landscape has taken on an otherworldly cast, as if I've somehow suddenly climbed up to the moon. These are Mount Whitney's moraines-remnants of glacial action. The route winds through immense piles of debris, carved out and pushed about by long-departed glaciers. The going is slow here: a long, tedious traverse across loose ground and steep rubble. But it is a thrill as Mount Whitney's glorious East Face comes into view for the first time. And I hear shouting now-On Belay! Off Belay!-plus other emotionally-charged climbing terms I'm unfamiliar with. Yes, these distant calls are coming from that great expanse of vertical granite ahead. Someone is up there, somewhere, and from the sound of it, they're having a bear of a time. I zoom in on the East Face, trying to locate the climbers. At last, I find two tiny dots working their way up a crack toward the center of the East Face route. As I draw closer, I spot more climbers, these on Whitney's East Buttress route. And more shouting leads me to think someone is also attempting the formidable Harding Route on Keeler Needle, though I can't seem to spot them. I continue up toward Iceberg Lake, now only a short scramble away. Iceberg Lake [image] No doubt about it-arriving at Iceberg Lake is a major milestone. Since leaving Whitney Portal, I've climbed over four thousand vertical feet. The air is thin and noticeably cooler. I drop my pack and guzzle water and Gatorade. Almost immediately, I notice a nasty headache developing. Nausea is not far behind. With a struggle, I motivate myself to get my tent up. Then I flop inside, taking deep breaths. [image] [image] [image] [image] What's happening to me? Instead of frolicking about the shore with my camera, I'm fighting not to throw up. I'd been expecting the altitude would make for a difficult night-but to be stricken so soon after getting here, in the daytime, is alarming. Has altitude sickness put an early end to my Whitney adventure? If so, I'll be making a desperate down-climb in the near future to get lower as quickly as possible. There is another possibility: maybe I'm suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion. I've been sweating heavily all day. My body is low on salt. Add the sudden elevation gain to this, and it's easy to understand my condition. I take ibuprofen, fix a pot of extra-salty ramen noodles, drink water, and wait. It takes discipline to put food into my queasy stomach-and keep it down-but the reward comes quickly. My head clears and my nausea eases. I wander outside my tent, relieved and more than a little spooked. It's a good reminder that we must always be vigilant in the backcountry ('we' meaning me). Trouble can come at any time, from any direction. Usually, it's what we least expect that creates the most havoc. Feeling better now, I spend some time scouting Whitney's East Buttress, choosing the line I'll take tomorrow up the East Couloir. Several choices are available. The simplest way up is to stay in the main body of the couloir, following it steadily to the notch high above. There is often snow in the couloir, which can be ascended quite efficiently if you've got an ice axe and crampons. This year, however, the couloir is essentially snowless. Consequently the center of the main couloir is mostly comprised of exceptionally loose talus and scree. Under these conditions, many climbers choose to briefly follow the start of the East Buttress Route to the left of the couloir, hoping to stay on favorable rock before traversing back into the East Couloir. To my eye, this option looks steep and possibly exposed. I've never tried it-and I've no desire to do any class 4 free soloing tomorrow. Still, I'm not enthusiastic about trying to scramble up the center of the couloir. I decide to climb to the base of the East Buttress in the morning. If I like the look of the variation, I'll keep going. If not, I'll traverse into the main couloir. All that assumes, of course, that I'll make it through the night with no new surprises. Climbing The East Couloir [image] The East Face at Dawn Morning. Through the wall of my tent I watch as the sky begins to lighten. I rustle about in my sleeping bag, eager to get started. Dawn breaks slowly over the Inyo Mountains. To the east, the silhouette of Lone Pine Peak stands in sharp relief. This may well be my favorite moment in a hike: the start of a perfect day for summiting. All the external obstacles have been surmounted. Now it is just the mountain and me, no more distractions. [image] [image] [image] [image] As Whitney's East Face begins to glow spectacular, vivid reds and pinks, I pack my gear. At 5:30 a.m. I leave camp. I feel strong. I've slept well, with no recurrence of yesterday's unpleasantness. I have hiked extensively both as an acclimated mountain goat and as a gaspy Sea Level Dweller (which I am now). Most people will never know the joys of climbing while fully acclimatized. Like me today, they will need to find effective strategies to cope with the altitude. For my part, I try to keep my respiration up and my heart rate down. That won't protect you from all of altitude's potential effects, but it will keep your blood oxygenated. After perhaps fifteen minutes of easy climbing, I catch up to a group of guided climbers who've chosen to rope up for the Mountaineer's Route. I stop, drink some water, eat more pretzels, and take a photo of the group as they pass a short crux section. Like me, they've decided to ascend the lower part of the East Buttress, then traverse into the East Couloir. I wait until they're clear of the tricky part, then follow them into the main couloir, leaving the East Buttress-proper to future dreams. By keeping to the left side of the couloir, I am able to stay on mostly firm ground. Any venture toward the center of the couloir, however, instantly kicks off small landslides. Now high above Iceberg Lake, I stop again to contemplate the view. I am struck by the magnificence of this route. John Muir must have thought he was climbing up into the heavens when he first ascended this mighty couloir. Giant striations in the couloir's walls angle diagonally, inspiring feelings of whirling vertigo. The sky at this early hour is impossibly blue against the hot white of Whitney's granite. The landscape beneath me stretches clear down to the town of Lone Pine in one grand sweep-a distance of some two vertical miles. To reach Whitney's summit there is only one last challenge ahead, of course: the north face. The North Chute [image] No portion of the Mountaineer's Route generates more discussion and anxiety amongst first-time climbers than Mount Whitney's north face-and deservedly so. Any month of the year, the north face can be covered with snow and treacherous ice, making an ice axe and crampons mandatory. Faced with such conditions, the unprepared are best advised to turn back at the Notch. I have done so myself in the past and not regretted it. [image] [image] The temperature drops and the view shifts abruptly as I top the East Couloir. Hikers may find the sudden sense of exposure at the Notch overwhelming. We are essentially perched atop a 300-foot high cliff, giving the sensation that one slip will send the unlucky climber all the way down to Arctic Lake, two thousand vertical feet below. That assessment may not be entirely inaccurate: climbers have slid to their deaths here. Today, thanks to the near-record dry winter, there is less snow on the north face than I've ever seen. Nonetheless, Whitney's north face lies in shadow, and the north chute looks icy through the middle, with dry rock elsewhere. Climbers may choose to either head directly up the north chute, or else attempt to traverse across the north face toward (hopefully) easier terrain. Given the multiple threats of cliffs, steep terrain, and ice and snow, one might expect guidebook authors would call particular attention to this section of the Mountaineer's Route. With few exceptions, however, that is not the case. The traverse is sometimes referred to as 'easy'. And climbing up the north chute often receives little more than an ambiguous Class 3 rating. This is perhaps a consequence of mountaineering literature's long-standing tradition of understating danger and underrating difficulty. Back to the climb: in order to better contrast the difficulty of the two route variations, I plan to ascend the north chute and return via the traverse. So, up the North Chute I go. Compared to my last Whitney visit, my climbing skills are sharper, and my tolerance for exposure significantly greater. I find it easy enough to work around the ice, and the climbing is enjoyable-though it certainly is climbing in one or two spots rather than just mere scrambling. A key advantage of ascending the north chute is the directness of the route. In no time at all, I'm nearing the summit plateau. Meanwhile, the group of roped climbers below are making their way up the North Chute below me. They zig-zag around the icy patch, traversing back across the chute to its now-sunny western edge. I stay in the shadows beneath the eastern arete, though the climbing looks easier where they are. Either way, it is obvious that all of us will be summiting Whitney today. Whitney's Summit [image] There is one last tricky section to contend with before I gain Whitney's broad summit plateau, and then, just like that, the climbing is over and there is nowhere higher to go. I am the first hiker of the day to reach the summit via the Mountaineer's Route, but others traveling along the Mount Whitney Trail are already here. Some simply stare silently into the distance. Others talk excitedly, complain loudly about the altitude, their legs, their packs. [image] [image] [image] [image] Mount Whitney's summit is marked both by a USGS sign and also a stone shelter built in 1909 for high altitude research by the Smithsonian Institute. As hikers and climbers sign the summit register, I meander over to the eastern edge of the summit plateau to take a cautious peek at the frightful void below. We are right now standing atop the highest point not only in the state of California, but also the entire lower 48. In all directions, everything else is lower-including the many high Sierra summits to the north and south. And yes, I can feel it. There is inarguably an extra thrill to be had standing here on the highest peak of them all. To the south are the inspiring Needles, Mount Muir beyond, and, farther still, Mount Langley, from whose 14,027' summit I skied a year ago. To the west are the Kaweahs, a striking, brightly-colored range of rock normally well-hidden within the Sierra's center. Looking northward, I see first Mount Russell, and then the vast bulk of Mount Williamson, fourteeners both. Beyond them are the Palisades, distant on the horizon. From the tip of my toes, the spine of Whitney's East Buttress rolls off to infinity, leading to Iceberg Lake, which shimmers green-blue, two thousand feet below. I can just barely make out the yellow dot of my tent off the lake's south shore. It's easy to follow yesterday's route: through the moraines below Whitney's eastern cirque, past Upper Boy Scout Lake, the slabs, Lower Boy Scout Lake, the North Fork Canyon, then Whitney Portal. Beyond that lies Owens Valley and Lone Pine. I'll revisit all each of these landmarks on my way home today. It will be a long day indeed. But first, I take a lunch break on a nice sunny rock away from the wind. My thoughts go back to my first Whitney climb, now years past, and I'm time traveling once again. The mountain seems the same, but I've certainly changed: older, wiser-hopefully. I think again of Hulda Crooks. Her unusual means of celebrating birthdays is starting to make sense to me now. With each visit to Whitney's summit, I find the experience more, not less inspiring. I resolve not to let so many years pass again before I return. And with that last thought, I know it is now time to make my way home. Heading Down [image] The summit, as they say, is only halfway there-a mantra designed to remind climbers they must not only get up the mountain but also back down safely before the job is truly over. Though most of the day's challenges appear behind me now, there are still a few areas to downclimb, plus the exposed section of the Ebersbacher Ledges to navigate. And, of course, I must make my way down, down, down, six thousand vertical feet or so. As promised, I try the traverse rather than downclimbing the north chute. [image] [image] [image] [image] The traverse across the north face proves tedious: steep, loose talus that makes for poor footing. Is it really a better option (without snow) for hikers concerned with the north chute's climbing? Perhaps, but my guess is such hikers won't be much pleased with either option. Down the East Couloir I go. The terrain is steep, demanding constant attention, making this a surprisingly tiring endeavor. The temperature hikes dramatically here on the mountain's east side. When I reach Iceberg Lake, the sky seems even bluer, if that's possible. A few white clouds sprout from Whitney's summit, but the desert air to the east is much too dry to allow anything to develop, and soon enough the clouds have melted away. I take my time packing up camp. This time I make sure I eat enough before resuming travel. The walk down is a long one, sure to leave my muscles well sore tomorrow. Eleven pages up and one page down... Hikers should not underestimate the effort involved in climbing down. While it take less physical energy, obviously, it takes far more mental energy, a constant concentration on where to place the feet. And the relentless pounding only adds to the burden, slowly but steadily degrading body and mind alike. Climbers with the extra time to do so may enjoy camping an extra night farther down, perhaps at either Upper or Lower Boy Scout Lake, to divide the long down-climb between two days. The air thickens noticeably once I've passed Upper Boy Scout Lake, though my feet are starting to protest. Compared to the barren landscape above, the sudden rush of greenery below is a visual treat. As I finally near the end of this magnificent journey, emotions surge through me. People climb Mount Whitney for many reasons. Some come not knowing whether or not they can climb Mount Whitney, and I must confess I admire them for it. Climbing Whitney, like any mountain, can be a personal test, a challenge to the limits we (or others) place upon ourselves. Some, alas, will leave Mount Whitney unchanged, as if they'd never visited. Others may find within themselves something new, something unexpected. Tempered with experience and judgment, such strength can carry you not only up mountains, but also across the many, more vexing obstacles which lie strewn across the world below. I do not claim to know why I climb mountains, though I seem to catch a glimpse of it now and then, in these fleeting moments. I find I can't imagine not climbing-and that is enough, I know, to ensure my return.

October 21, 2010August 8, 2016 Big Foot Trail The pick-up truck bounces awkwardly as we maneuver down the rocky, snow-covered jeep road. It's a Wednesday afternoon and after two straight days of clinics learning about skis and boots, where reps spoke of thermo-lined-this, carbon-reinforced-that and how their product is unquestionably better than the competitors...well, I need an escape into something a bit more organic. I ask Elaine if she is up for an adventure, and of course she is. We've got a couple hours to burn until darkness, and there is a dashed line I've been eying on the map since I first saw it back in July, something I had to check out before it got socked in for winter. The mangled road of dirt continues on past deep mud ponds, through Aspens whose leaves have all now dropped to the ground and large patches of glorious white snow. We follow a set of tire tracks, most likely left by hunters. It's a little risky hiking in this area this time of year, as it's neither Wilderness, nor protected, meaning it's fair game for the men with guns. Fortunately Elaine has worn an orange shirt, so unless the hunter is drunk, blind or both, we should be OK. We get to the trailhead and immediately find that there isn't one. More like a large wooden fence to hop and a stream to ford before an ancient track, barely indented into the sage and frosted-over grass appears. A crude, hand-painted sign gives it away: "Motor Vehicles Prohibited Beyond This Point - U.S. Forest Service." This is our path. [image] The trails slices through a valley surrounded by low hills, rock pinnacles and endless forest. I give a yelp and my sound reverberates through the land, piercing, haunting. This land has that haunted feeling of tragedy. It's inexplicable unless you have spent a lot of time in the woods - certain places have that feel. Perhaps an unsuccessful mining operation happened here, maybe somebody got lost and died, or maybe it's deeper than that...a history of episodes that happened throughout time...animal hardships, dating back to the ice ages, to early man, to a wilder time. [image] The trail begins to slant upward and we emerge into the forest. Our breathing increases with the hills steepness...this trail has no switchbacks. And the forest...the smells, the strongest, most pleasant pine odor I have experienced in years. Mixed with the cold air, our steaming breathe, the moist dirt and the patches of snow...the pine accentuates and delights, filling the nostrils and energizing the soul. Up, up, up we go through the forest, past little creeks, naked aspen groves and thick needled trees. [image] We're following two tracks, massive tracks, that of two humans with feet in the teens-realm size. We joke that we're following bigfoot, and of course the conversation turns to the question of if bigfoot is real. You can't help but be in the woods and wonder about such things, and it brings a quivver and a leap to the stomach to think that maybe, just maybe, there are creatures living in the hills who have escaped the microscope of the scientist, the cataloging of the professional biologist, the sighting of the common man or woman. It seems impossible in this day and age, but I want to believe, so I do. We emerge into a large, slanted valley and I can't help but analyze it for backcountry skiing worthiness. When you are a skier and an explorer that's what you do in the fall...poke around for new lines, new delights in the forest. The trail has all but disappeared now, taken back by the land. We pick our way through thinned tree groves and more meadows, always up, towards timberline and the hulking, rounded and snow-covered mountain in front of us. [image]A few more steps and we are up there, on the tundra, the timberline mark into a world of wind, exposure and thin air. We've been climbing for an hour plus and the light grows dimmer, more orange. There is a lot more to do...we've only come a bit above timberline and there is a whole mountain to ascend, but not on this day. An adventure left for another day, perhaps this winter but more likely next spring or summer when the snows melt and the land turns back into sea of wildflowers - columbines, paintbrush, forget-me-nots - but that is a long way away, a winter away, and for this I am glad. [image] It's time to turn around, back home to the truck. This is not an epic excursion into the wilds, a soul-searching hike of the entire Appalachian Trail or a journey into the depths of the Himalayas. Nope, this is more like Walden...a walk into the woods followed by a foray back into our small town to grab some milk and cookie dough. A balance between the wild and the civilized. Elaine and I talk often about adventures to cross that realm into the more wild, and I have no doubts that someday we will, but not now. [image]We pick our way down the mountain, our trusty dog Stella at our side. She explores smells here and there, dropping to the creek for a sip of icy water and looping back around again. The dog is that link between the civilized and the wild, the wolf lured to the fire, but not totally transformed yet. It smells, it hears, and you realize that there is a whole world of wild that humans have lost, sucked out of us by generations of an easier, more cerebral life. [image] As is always the case on a hike, the descent allows for thinking, for conversation. For a couple, these are wonderful moments. We talk about various things and just enjoy each others company in this quiet place. The moon rises to the east, nearly full, though I know not whether it is waxing or waning...too many hours spent indoors in the tech room. The sky turns orange on the horizon, the woods grow thicker. It's time to head home. [image] As we reach the bottom, near the little creek, we spot something black 100 yards away. Elaine, in wonder, asks if that is a black bear, and then quickly corrects herself..."no, it's a moose." She is correct. A buck, big antlers and all, grazing on the fall grass. Stella comes closer to us and is peering the opposite direction, which is a dead give-away. Just fifty yards away, a mother moose and two babies. It's a privilege and a treasure to see this, but moose are not chipmunks. Stories of moose charging people abound, so we quickly head away from the scene so as not to disturb them. Stella is one smart dog - she sticks right by our side. She is no Buck, and this is not "Call of the Wild." We amble on, filled with wonder of the world, invigorated by the smells and feelings of the woods, the mountains. Elaine breathes out, steam in the cold air, and smiles. A final foray into a land lying in wait before the snows blanket it for seven months. We hop back into the pick-up truck, dive into a loaf of fresh baked bread in the front seat and bounce down the road, headlights piercing the cold, late-fall night.

Centennial Sunday - California's West Ridge David Yarian January 28, 2015 September 14, 2018 16 Comments on Centennial Sunday - California's West Ridge [image] The day's effort, courtesy of Google Earth. (Zambo) Peak: California Peak - 13,849' Distance: 9.2 Miles Vert: 4,900 Feet Climbers: Dillon & Zambo Centennial Sunday - California's West Ridge I get excited every time I visit the San Luis Valley. How could you not? It is a 122 mile long, 74 mile wide, vast high desert plain surrounded by mountains. And not just any mountains. To the west, the Sangres rise up like nowhere else in Colorado. Going from 8,000 to 14,000 feet in a matter of 2-3 of miles just never gets old. On every trip I am stunned by the relief off of the valley floor. The fact that most of the high peaks are as rugged as they come only adds to the appeal. But of course, you have a bunch of other cool stuff here as well: an interesting history, some (IMHO, completely random) sand dunes, countless isolated drainages, and a number of peaks which can rival anything in lower 48 in terms of sheer bad-assery. Oh...and let's not forget the aliens either. I'm still waiting for my first sighting. So, when Dillon threw out the option of hitting California Peak for a winter centennial Sunday, I was all in for heading down south. Like all Sangre trips, an early wake up had us cresting La Veta Pass around 6:30, anxious to traverse around the Blanca Group and get our first look at California Peak. [image] Crestones, sand dunes, and the morning sun. (Dillon) [image] A herd of 100+ elk greeted us on our way to the Zapata Falls trailhead. (Zambo) Like so many outings in Colorado, we owe our route inspiration to Mr. & Mrs. G. Roach. Their 13ers book continues to be chock full of useful ideas, albeit a bit lacking in updated beta. I guess that's what you should expect from a 14 year old guidebook. We can only hope that new edition will be updated, not cost $50+ dollars, and actually get published....sometime. But griping aside, the ideas and descriptions in that thing are still spot on. Hence, our choice to do the west ridge. The west ridge route of California starts at the Zapata Falls trailhead. Although we found it deserted, the road is plowed and makes for a great winter outing without the added slog of hiking miles of San Luis Valley approach roads. From the Zapata Falls Campground, an easy warm up takes you past the falls (an interesting frozen detour) and eventually has you meandering up into California gulch along the Zapata Creek Trail. The route leaves the trail around 10,600' to gain California's long, angular west ridge leading up to tree line. From there, generally low angle and gentle slopes lead to this centennial 13er summit. Between the great access, the defined trail, and the relatively safe route, this is about as good as it gets for winter 13ering. We were further encouraged as we could see the upper basin from the TH. Patchy snow mixed in the rocks showed a typical Sangre winter scene: bare. We were happy to see that above tree line we would have an avy-free path all the way to the top. Barren slopes below tree line were representative of what we saw in the whole range; they don't call these the 'dry-gres' for nothing. An 8:00 start time had us on the relaxed trail which wound its way up along South Zapata Creek. Much to our delight, the trail had seen some recent foot traffic. The great trench was not even necessary most of the time, as the snow was very thin. We were able to cruise the 2.3 miles up to the first junction without ever needing to don the clown shoes. [image] Winter trenches mean happy Dillons. (Zambo) [image] The 'typically-Sangre' mix of sage brush and desert bushes eventually gave way to aspens as we rose higher. Pines filled in higher still. (Zambo) [image] The first real break in the trees is a fun moment on any Sangre hike. The contrast of elevation gained down to the valley below is always stunning. Our approach road is seen far, far below. (Zambo) [image] Unnamed 13,660 A, a bi-centennial, looms above, as it would for most of the day. (Zambo) [image] Catching glimpses of our prize for the day, with the snow shoes happily stored away. (Zambo) [image] Ellingwood Point comes into view. (Zambo) A short distance past the California Gulch Creek, the trail crests on a small hill before heading down again as it travels south. This high point is the spot to leave the trail and begin the bushwhack up along the ridge. The tracks we had been following continued right where we needed them to go. So, after a short breakfast, we happily obliged to keep following the trench through the tress. The snow continued to be pretty much exactly what you would expect from this area: 6-18 inches of unconsolidated sugar, with varying degrees of support. But all in all there was nothing to complain about, as the trench and the overall lack of snow continued to make for easy passage. We were even on bare dirt and rock for good sections of the day, enjoying the rapidly warming temperatures. Around 11,500 we reached a small junction. The route proper travels straight up the ridge here and into a final stand of thick trees before tree line. However, the tracks we had been following continued north of the ridge into California Gulch to avoid the very steep gain along the ridge. Sensing the slog that awaited us in the trees, we opted to follow the tracks in the gulch to make for easier passage. We continued this for a quarter mile or so up the drainage until we found a completely bare scree slope allowing passage to the ridge above. The slog up this slope was about as frustrating as any unconsolidated boulder field can be, but we eventually reached the high point of the ridge again, right at tree line and 12,300 feet. From there, we could see the long, but gentle west slopes to the summit. [image] Views west across the valley. (Zambo) [image] As we gained elevation, Twin Peaks - 13,580' - came into full view. (Zambo) [image] Dillon, happy to be done with the scree slope and the subsequent 200 yards of wallowing through the final stand of trees. (Zambo) [image] We dubbed this gnarly old dead guy the 'Zapata Tree' - a great place to finally ditch the snowshoes. (Dillon) From tree line, the remainder of the route simply follows the slopes west upwards. But as with many Sangre days, this mile long ridge was deceivingly far away. While completely bare and safe, it still gains 600 vertical feet in the span of .3 miles at one point, getting the lungs pumped. It makes you earn it. [image] The final few thousand feet. The true summit hides behind this rolling lump until the very end, making for a series of ever-rising false summits. (Zambo) [image] Looking farther beyond, yet another unnamed Sangre 13ers comes into focus - UN 13,420. (Zambo) [image] Crestone Group to the North. (Zambo) [image] Dillon along the wind-swept ridge. (Zambo) [image] My turn to work it. (Dillon) Right at 13,000 feet the slopes mellow out to an almost completely flat plane, several acres square beneath the final pitch to the top. This was a welcomed relief after the steep ridge leading to this point. Beyond the open ground, the final 800 feet or so rises above in a consistent convex curve. It is one of those slopes that you look up and think, "I just know this thing is going to frustrate all hopes of finding the true summit until the bitter end." But I suppose experience is useful here. The only thing to do with a slog like that is to put the head down, grind it out, and not think about the real summit until you have no more up to go. It helped that the sun was out, the winds were low, and the temps were down right balmy. [image] Moonrise over California's West Slopes. (Zambo) [image] Yes, another Crestones pic. I'll never get sick of looking at those peaks. #sorrynotsorry (Zambo) [image] One of only two post-holing spots of the day: a relatively flat, wind loaded plain at 13,000 feet made for soft passage before the steeper rocks beyond. (Dillon) [image] Blanca, Ellingwood, and Little Bear come into view. (Zambo) [image] Dillon along the final pitch. (Zambo) [image] Almost there, buddy. (Zambo) [image] The man, the myth, the Jersey legend. (Zambo) This summit, well, what can I say? It was incredible. To the east, the full stretch of the San Luis Valley is rolled out like an endless carpet. To the north, the sand dunes and Crestones are as uniquely beautiful as anything in Colorado. And to the west & south, the Blanca Group stands in all it's unbridled glory. Blanca, Little Bear, Ellingwood, Lindsey...it is no wonder the Native Americans believed this place to be holy. And so it remains. [image] The mighty Blanca group. (Dillon) [image] Lindsey, Huerfanito, and The Iron Nipple. (Dillon) [image] For those who enjoy steep, dangerous, border-line suicidal winter Sangre ski routes, it looks like the red couloir is in...brah. (Zambo) [image] Spanish Peaks. (Zambo) [image] Pine, desert, dunes, alpine. (Zambo) [image] A successful Centennial Sunday! (Dillon) As it usually does, the wind decided to swirl around the top of this peak. Warm temps dropped quickly as the biting winter gusts displayed their nasty ability to find every exposed piece of skin or wrinkled gear. No matter though, we only needed a few minutes to enjoy the top. We looked at the register and decided we were the second people up here since October. Ironically enough, the tracks we had followed joined with us again for the final 50 feet or so to the top. It seems someone had been here the day before, opting for the valley approach as opposed to staying on the ridge. If this was you, thanks for the trench. Hit me up with a PM and let me know how your day was. As for us, the way down was as uneventful as you hope a descent will be. Aside from a super-charged Dillon (thanks to some ibuprofen) and an absolutely jaw-dropping display of colors in the sunset sky, we were able to make it back to the cars without incident and just before dark. All told, we were just over 9 hours on the day. All that remained was a feast at the Silver Sage Steak House in Fort Garland. "Yes, we do both want a burger AND a full side of wings." [image] Time to go home. (Dillon) [image] A final beta look at the day's journey. (Zambo) [image] A blood red sky: few better examples of a picture just not doing it justice. (Dillon)

Baggin' in Boulder (Diagonal on Slab, Keel, center of North Devil's Wing) Posted on October 14, 2010 | 1 Comment [image] North from the top of the Slab The Doctor is, once again, in. Boulder is possibly worse than Aspen as a place to go dirtbag. The county parks are extremely camping-unfriendly, as is the city itself, and the closest legal camping, in the national forest west of town, is a long drive away from the Flatiron trailheads. It seems possible to sleep in the pullouts along the roads behind town if you get there late and leave early, but it's not exactly peaceful, and you risk being pestered. At least gas isn't overpriced. The flatirons, however, are a great place to solo, with many long routes in the 4th-5.6 range, most having reasonably short approaches. Even though it's winter in the mountains, it is still fall down in the foothills. I wasn't sure what to expect of the climbing: I hadn't been on rock in awhile, and soloing slab can be nerve-wracking when balancing on small nubs above a long, slow, cheese-grater death. While I knew that "class 3" in Colorado means you probably won't have to use your hands, I didn't know how their 5.x routes compare to those elsewhere. So I started with some mellow routes in the 5.0-5.3 range, all close together near the southern end of the flatirons. The Slab is an impressive wall, both tall and broad, with a rippling, varied surface that lets you choose your level of difficulty. Trying to make it easier, though, may require careful route-finding. After a leisurely 20-30 minute approach along a well-maintained trail, I started up at what seemed like a reasonable place based on the wall itself and the trampled ferns. I was shaky at first, being rusty and on unfamiliar rock, but I soon got into the groove and became familiar with the two kinds of rock (slicker red and more featureful gray). The route is impossible to describe - I just wandered back and forth up the face, avoiding the bulges and looking for cracks and more featureful areas. A more direct approach would have been a challenge, but with some meandering and minor backtracking, I managed to keep it mellow. Water pockets supplied enough positive holds that I was rarely gripping nubs with my fingers, and there were even some ledges as wide as my foot. I finished by stemming up a crack, then boosting to the left to reach the summit ridge, a broad plateau covered with potholes. From there it was a long, mostly-easy scramble south to the summit, with plenty of opportunities to escape off the back. This is not always the case: it can be surprising here to reach the top of a long, mellow slab, only to find a 20-foot overhang on its uphill side. I scrambled a short pitch to the summit, then sat and ate my fish, watching a flock of hawks or falcons playing in the updrafts. A couple flew no more than 20 feet directly overhead, but I wasn't fast enough with the camera to get a picture. Since the guide said to descend to the south, and the Keel, my next objective, was in that direction, I bumbled down a steep, wooded gully, eventually finding a use trail at the bottom. After wasting much time going back and forth looking for the base of the Keel in the thick woods, I picked my way past some poison ivy and bumbled onto it from behind about 40 feet up. The Keel was disappointing, rarely requiring more than 0 or 1 hands, and usually offering an easy escape into the woods to the north. Tragically, the summit was overhanging to the north and west, but it was easy to backtrack a bit and dismount to the south. The north Devil's Wing was only 5th class if you made it so. While it looked entirely possible to follow the fat, tree-filled cracks to the top, I tried to spice things up a bit and stay on the slabs. The hardest part was probably the walk-off, with a choice of horrible downed-tree bush-whacking or wet-lichen-covered talus. Either way, I ended up using my hands almost as much on the way down as on the way up. [image] Looking down the first part of the Slab [image] North from the top of the Slab [image] Top of the Slab, with potholes. [image] Keel and north Devil's Wing from Slab summit [image] Looking south, to pinnacles and haze. [image] North Devil's Wing [image] Nasty woods-whacking [image] Varied fall foliage [image] Interesting seeds

WA & OR -- Columbia River Gorge, 2-12 June 2017 [image] [image] 10 days in the Columbia River Gorge... Why we came... To see pretty waterfalls and maybe do some fishing. The Campground... Timberlake Campground and RV Park was great! The narrow winding road to the campground and within the campground are a bit daunting, but they are worth it. Timberlake is likely the only campground within the Gorge that is NOT near a busy road or train track. It's perched more than 700 feet above the Columbia River in a lush forest and is quite peaceful. The owner/managers, Kyle and Marissa, are also great! They work their tails off, always with a smile, to make everyone happy. They have pride in their business and it shows. Everything is well maintained and kept clean. They are also full of good information about the local area. The camp sites are all good sized and most of them have privacy. It felt more like a state park than a private one. We had full hook-ups, decent wi-fi, and a consistent 2 bar LTE Verizon phone signal. Satellite would be nearly impossible from many of the sites, but we were able to shoot through a gap between the tall trees. There were no laundry facilities so we washed our clothes in Stevenson. We really liked the convenient and peaceful location and were very comfortable. We would eagerly return and would love to spent much more time exploring the Columbia River Gorge region! [image] [image] We really liked Timberlake RV Park Nearby towns... Carson WA, population 2,279 and elevation 469 feet, is the closest town to the RV park, about 5 miles to the west. It has a gas station, small convenience store, small hardware store, and a couple of small restaurants. There isn't much to Carson WA. Stevenson WA, population 1,465 and elevation 207 feet, is about 9 miles to the west. Though it's smaller than Carson, it's a tourist town and has a bigger selection of services, stores, and restaurants. We used the Laundromat which was conveniently next to the decent sized grocery store. The little town seemed busy on the weekends, but otherwise was quiet and cute. Hood River OR, population 7,167 and elevation 160 feet, is 21 miles to the east. The town is in a beautiful setting wedged between the Columbia River and prominent Mount Hood. It's clearly an outdoors oriented town with a good selection of outdoor type businesses. There is also a good selection of restaurants, a regular Walmart, and a nice Safeway grocery store. If you can't find what you need in Hood River, then Vancouver WA and Portland OR are an hour drive to the west of the RV park. Adventures... On 3 June we saw four pretty waterfalls... The goal today was to see waterfalls. It was a bonus that they would be at maximum flow! The area had above average snowfall and it was peak spring runoff. On this adventure, we would see four waterfalls along the Columbia River Gorge: Horsetail, Ponytail, Oneonta, and Triple Falls. We got an early start since it was a Saturday. We saw Horsetail fall as soon as we pulled into the parking area. It plunges right next to the Historic Columbia River Highway on the Oregon side. Next, we walked a half mile up the road to make it a loop hike. We spoke with a local sheriff on the highway that was helping with a dog rescue. We could hear the poor pooch barking somewhere up the steep cliffs. By the time we got back the rescue crews were gone. Hopefully there was a happy outcome. We hit the Oneonta Gorge trail and it pitched steadily up. Plus, it was a little rocky but we only saw one or two other people. We relished being back in the lush, green forest of the Pacific Northwest. We pointed out all the different sorts of ferns, colorful wildflowers, and the moss dripping all over the huge Douglas trees and maples. Triple Falls was incredible and we spent some time lingering there. At first it was peaceful with just us and one other couple listening to the roar of the water tumbling over the basalt rocks. As we waited more people in larger groups started showing up breaking the meditative mood. We reluctantly left. We picked the Horsetail trail up at a "Y" a bit back down the trail. We saw numerous people along this section of the trail. We heard Ponytail falls before we saw it. When it came into view, we eagerly followed the trail leading us behind the plummeting cascade of water. The well-worn path makes a sharp U. Though you're close to the plummeting water, you stay fairly dry. It was just warm enough that the spray was refreshing. It was a cool experience! We returned to the beginning and Horsetail falls. Now, the parking lot was bursting and cars lined the highway in both directions. [image] [image] Hike route to Horsetail, Ponytail, Oneonta, and Triple Falls / About to climb the Oneonta Trail [image] [image] We parked at Horsetail Falls. It's beautiful! [image] [image] We like walking through these old tunnels / The lush forest of the Pacific Northwest is incredible [image] [image] Triple Falls / Oneonta Falls [image] A point along the trail between Oneonta and Ponytail Falls provided a nice view up the Columbia River. Beacon Rock is on the left. [image] [image] About to walk behind Ponytail Falls / It was cool to walk behind it! On 4 June we saw two more waterfalls... We did two different hikes and each was about five miles long. Beautiful waterfalls awaited. Hike number one ... The Eagle Creek trail is one of the most popular routes in the gorge so we were sure to arrive early on a Sunday morning. We parked a quarter of a mile away from the trailhead for a quick getaway. The trail was an easy pitch up. However, there are a few rocky ledges with impressive drop offs. The cliff walls were dripping from hidden springs, covered in moss with intricate little wildflowers and ferns deftly clinging to the wall. You can do a difficult, 12-mile hike to Tunnel Falls. But, we took a side trail cutoff. The trail drops a quarter of a mile to Eagle Creek and a pebble beach. We were able to see Punch Bowl falls by step-stoning carefully out about ten feet from the beach. The incredible 30 foot Punch Bowl falls are up a steep, narrow canyon. The canyon was dripping with moss and huge ferns. Amazingly we had it all to ourselves for a while. The trail seemed crowded but most of the people were headed up to the Tunnel Falls, another 4 miles up the trail. We were serenaded by multiple birds as we climbed out of the scenic canyon. Arleen wondered if anyone used the iron chains imbedded into the walls where the trail crosses a narrow ledge with a precipitous drop to Eagle Creek. Two minutes later, we moved to the left of the trail to let a terrified woman pass as she clung to the chain. [image] [image] Hike route up the Eagle Creek Trail to Punchbowl Falls / The trail starts about a quarter mile from here [image] [image] The dripping fern and moss covered walls were very pretty / Walking through the moss draped forest [image] It dropped at least a hundred feet off some sections of trail. See the steel cable on the left? A few people held it with a death grip! [image] [image] [image] About to drop to Punchbowl Falls / Contemplating the incredible beauty / Long wall of ferns dripped continuously into the creek [image] Punchbowl Falls is beautiful Hike number two ... We parked at the Bridge of the Gods at Cascade Locks. Before beginning the hike, we got some incredible pictures of the Cascade Locks garden with the bridge in the background. Next, we hurried over to the Pacific Crest Trailhead (PCT) trail head. We posed for a picture to send to our friend Jen, who along with her husband Bill, had hiked the entire 2,650 mile long PCT two years before. Most impressive! We had to walk a short distance to get to the actual trail. First we walked under the steady traffic traversing I-84. Then we had to cross a street and walk up an old road before our feet set down on the actual long distance PCT. Fortunately, it is all clearly signed. The traffic noise faded and soon all we noticed as we hiked up the lovely trail was the old Douglas fir forest and the carpet of sword ferns. After a few miles, we took a right off the PCT. We hiked just another quick quarter mile up the trail and we were treated to a beautiful view of the Dry Creek Falls. The name is deceiving. They are not dry! Impressive, cathedral bluff walls are covered with ferns and mosses. Just below the 50-foot falls a series of rock steps allowed the creek to tumble through all sorts of ferns. It was just so pretty! We took time taking pictures and chatting with the few other people who were there. It was our favorite falls so far. [image] [image] Hike route to Dry Creek Falls / We were excited to hike a sliver of the 2,650 mile long Pacific Crest Trail [image] [image] This is a cool mural on the Bridge of the Gods / Rhododendrons, Bridge of the Gods, and the Columbia River [image] Dry Creek Falls On 5 June we did a bike ride on the old historic Columbia River Highway... "The Historic Columbia River Highway is an approximately 75-mile-long scenic highway in Oregon between Troutdale and The Dalles, built through the Columbia River Gorge between 1913 and 1922. As the first planned scenic roadway in the United States, it has been recognized in numerous ways, including a listing on the National Register of Historic Places as a National Historic Landmark, ... and considered a "destination unto itself". From the very beginning, the roadway was envisioned not just as means of traveling by the then popular Model T, but designed with an elegance that took full advantage of all the natural beauty along the route." Now, the old highway from Hood River to Mosier is a 4.8 mile traffic free area reserved for bikers and walkers. It was a fun, rolling bike ride! We had a great view of Columbia River at two different overlooks. We especially enjoyed gliding through one of the original tunnels. Hood River is closer to the dry side of Oregon but this section of highway stays in the dark lush forest. Also, the wildflowers were peaking. Flowers such as the wild butterfly bush smelled very pleasant. We did not see any wildlife but we were on the lookout for rattle snakes after seeing a warning sign at the visitor center. [image] [image] Bike route on the old Columbia River Highway / Plaque where we started [image] [image] Looking down the Columbia River from the first overlook / Posing between the two tunnels [image] Looking both up and down the Columbia River from the second overlook On 6 June we hiked the Hood River Mountain Ridge Trail... We parked by a gate on Old Dalles road high above and southeast of Hood River. It was marked in accordance with the instructions we had found in the Day Hikes in the Columbia River Gorge book that we borrowed from the campground owners. We hiked a mile and a half up the steep, rocky Hood River Mountain Ridge Trail. The scenery at the top made the effort well worth it! The knob at the top provided an incredible panorama of Mount Adams, Mount Hood, and the Columbia River Gorge. The town of Hood River was far below, obviously set in an outdoors paradise. Unfortunately, some wildflowers were already past their peak. Fortunately, some lupine and paintbrush provided a nice foreground to the dramatic snow covered volcanoes. We took a slow sloping two mile road back to Old Dalles road to make it a pleasant three and a half mile loop. [image] [image] Hike route on the Hood River Mountain Ridge Trail / Posing near the top. Mount Hood, 11,250 feet high, is just 20 miles to the southwest [image] Hiking up the trail. Mount Adams, 12,280 feet high, is 35 miles to the north. [image] The trail along the ridge is very pleasant and has fantastic views [image] [image] Bouquets of pretty wild flowers lined parts of the trail. On 7 June I went salmon fishing... I hadn't fished for salmon in six years. It was time! Every year millions of salmon swim up the Columbia River in route to their spawning grounds. When you're in the right place at the right time, the fishing can be a blast. Kyle, the hard working campground owner, is an avid fisherman and generously shares fishing info. He recommended either Drano Lake, where I'd have the best chance to catch something, or the Wind River, where I'd have a more pleasant experience. I chose the Wind River. I launched the kayak and paddled under the road and train bridges, out to the Columbia River. I fished the deep channel where the Wind River mixes with the Columbia River for a couple of hours and got nothing. The five or six fishermen on the point and a few others in small boats didn't hook any either. It was cool to be on the Columbia. Big barges slowly cruised up the middle and an occasional train chugged along either side of the big river. A regal bald eagle kept me company for a while as it pecked on a dead fish nearby. I switched fishing tactics and targeted bass along the rugged bank. The Columbia supposedly has a good population of bass, but I didn't see any! Next, I paddled back under the two bridges and worked my way slowly up the Wind River. I thought the Indian fishing platforms were really interesting. Too bad they weren't fishing. I would have enjoyed watching. Just a little upstream of the fishing platforms, the current got too strong to continue. I beached the kayak, hopped out, and started throwing a blue vibrax spinner into the deep channel of the sweeping bend. This is exactly how I fished in Alaska and those special memories flooded over me. Mostly, I reminisced about my fishing partner, Ken. Sadly, he was killed in a motorcycle accident in Korea. We spent a lot of time in canoes and tents and fishing just like I was now. I miss you buddy. [image] [image] Kayak route on the Wind and Columbia Rivers / I watched this eagle take its time to eat a dead fish [image] [image] Just launched on the Wind River and headed under the bridges to the Columbia River / Fishermen on the point and in small boats trying to hook salmon. We all got skunked. The barge is slowly cruising up the middle of the huge river. [image] [image] A great blue heron patiently fishing in the shallows / My only fish, a juvenile king salmon. The Indian fishing platforms were interesting. Too bad they weren't fishing at the time. On 10 June we tried to make it to Goose Lake... After a few days of rain, we were ready to get out. My research indicated that Goose Lake was pretty and had good fishing for multiple kinds of trout. It would be a good hour drive to get there along twisting narrow forest roads. We drove up through Carson and took a right on Forest Road #65. We were surprised that it was paved but it was a winding, one lane route with few pullovers for passing oncoming traffic. Also there were numerous branches hanging low over the road. With the kayaks on the truck, we proceeded carefully to make sure that we could squeeze under the branches. It was slow going. Finally, we took a right on Carson Guler Road. Now it was a dirt road. We mildly noticed a few patches of snow in the woods. Then suddenly, just 4.6 miles from our goal, we were thwarted by one to two feet of old snow covering the road. We were just at 3,500 feet elevation and it was a chilly 45 degrees! Since we were not going to make it to Goose Lake, we poked around in the woods. We saw some Amanita mushrooms that were a yellow color. The area was very shroomy with pretty dogwoods, mixed Spruce, maples, and ferns littering the forest floor. Since the way up was precarious, we took Forest Road #60 back. Regrettably, it was cluttered with even more low overhanging branches. In addition, there was a lot of tree debris on the road. I had to get out a couple of times to break branches even though we were just a few short miles from the highway. It was an adventure but not the sort of adventure that we had set out to do. We checked the snow chart when we got back. The Gifford Pinchot forest area is still at 230% normal snow depth water equivalent. Well we found that 230%!!! [image] Drive route to Goose Lake [image] [image] Stopped by 1-2 feet of old snow just four miles from the lake / Lots of debris and low hanging limbs along the narrow winding forest roads Next... We are in La Grande OR and our next stop is McCall ID. We don't know where we'll be after that. Sadly, Arleen is having significant back problems. We may spend the summer in Missoula MT to get her fixed! Stay tuned... Parting shots... [image] The drive across the narrow Hood River Bridge was stressful. NOT recommended for big vehicles! [image] The bridge trolls made us chuckle each time we crossed the Bridge of the Gods [image] [image] A banana slug / A colorful garter snake (173,900) Posted by Mudonthetires

Spock Chutes The Spock Chutes are incredibly difficult, technical, steep and dangerous. They face North, and have a high risk of avalanche danger. They are known to form deadly wind slabs, which you may not discover until you're in the middle of the chute suddenly triggering an avalanche. If you successfully ski them, you'll end up in Granite Canyon, with a fairly long exit back to the resort. Neither chute should be taken lightly. They are basically a big zone of cliff bands that may or may not be filled in, and when they are filled in, the way down is not always obvious (and if you go wrong you might be going off cliffs). Going in the skiable trees next to the chutes won't make it any safer; you'll either be dumped back into the chute or surprised by huge cliffs. Never drop into a zone in the backcountry when other people are still in it down below you. If you see fresh tracks going in, you should wait or choose another objective. Maps *All Mapped Areas are Approximations Trip Reports 03/02/2016 - (hillbanging.com) 02/20/2016 - (hillbanging.com) 01/28/2016 - (hillbanging.com) Guide Books Jackson Hole Ski Atlas, Edition III by Angus M. Thuermer[image] (Links to guidebooks may be affiliate links) Videos All videos are Copyright their respective owners. These are 3rd party videos hosted on YouTube or Vimeo and we make no guarantees as to their accuracy or relevance. Jackson Part II A CHUTE AND SPOCK by Lars Mars: 03/15/2011 [video] Granite Canyon Pow Fest March 2011 by Conor Cook: 03/06/2011 [video] Find Nearby Zones *All Mapped Areas are Approximations tagged: Southern Tetons, Teton Range

Wet West Highlands - Beinn Teallach & Beinn a Chaorainn 13 comments I don't get to Scotland anything like as often as I want. We used to head up there many times a year for winter walks, backpacking, New Year and Easter Trips, skiing weekends etc. I managed to reach the magic 200 Munro's mark back in 1999 (Ben Lomond if you're interested) but in the intervening 22 years I've only managed to make it to 213! My mates UF and MM have become somewhat obsessed with completing them in the past couple of years and have been taking more regular trips. As part of the effort UF planned a September bagging trip and as I hadn't done much holiday stuff I thought I'd join him. MM tagged along as did the Prof and his better half. [image] Hopes were high after what appears to have been a dry and sunny summer by Scottish standards but - you guessed it - as soon as we arrived the skies turned grey and for 5 days we saw mostly cloud and rain. No matter as we'd booked a very fine cottage in Glencoe and packed plenty of food and board games to keep us occupied. [image] The first day looked like heading north and bit east would see the best chance of drier weather. As none of us had done the twin Munro's of Beinn Teallach and Beinn a Chaorainn north of Glen Spean (well MM wasn't sure so that counts as a "not done") that's where we headed. [image] As you can see from the photos it wasn't exactly wall-to-wall blue sky, but I've been out on much worse days (we relived a few as the day progressed). Below the cloud in the early part of the day it was ok. The first section was enlivened by an interesting river crossing - any more water and we'd have been a bit stuffed without a long trek up the valley. [image] A glimpse of Loch Treig below the clouds. [image] Pausing before the start of the main climb to Beinn Teallach. [image] What the intervening years have helped with is paths. Nowadays, with the popularity of hillwalking increasing, even the most remote and least known Munro's have baggers paths up them. After a poor start we found one on Beinn Teallach and it eased what was a pretty relentless slog through soggy grass and heather. [image] Here's our happy team on the summit of the smallest Munro, Beinn Teallach being exactly 3000 feet high. Its been in and out of the list over the years as survey accuracy has improved. [image] On the way down to the col the weather improved and we had some half decent views into the wilderness that lies to east of the Great Glen. We sat down for lunch but sadly this little spell was just a precursor to the cloud and rain returning and it was pretty damp and dismal for the rest of the day. [image] A few hardy souls carried on to the second Munro of the day, Beinn a Charoainn. As you can see from the photo below of the summit party, the weather was actually pretty grim by now. Strong winds, driving drizzle and zero views. [image] You'll have to imagine the spectacular drop of the east face and the views across to Creag Meagaidh [image] We hurried down out of the cloud and over the final top of Meall Clachaig. This was ironic as after returning to the the cottage and cleaning ourselves up we headed to the famous Clachaig Inn in Glencoe for a meal! I can report it's substantially improved since my early Scottish hill days with a great choice of food and beers and a pleasant bar area. To be honest it was a shit-hole back in the 80's and 90's but we spent many happy hours in there after climbing the Glencoe mountains, especially the Aonach Eagach which sits directly above. When you've completed one of the best rock ridges on the mainland then I think a pint or 3, or 4 or more is entitled. Age has caught up and a couple of pints had us ready for bed. Not a bad day out all things considered and a decent workout at 13 miles and 4,000 feet of ascent. [image]

Backpacking the High Sierra Trail in 6 Days Alice Kao November 5, 2017 Backpacking, Article, Trip Report, California I finally had the opportunity to hike the High Sierra Trail, a trail I've been dying to do for years! Those 6 days in some of the most remote parts of Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park blew me away with everything the Sierra has to offer - snow capped mountain ranges, sheer exposed drop offs and peaks, crystal clear alpine lakes, and lush grassy meadows. This was the longest trip I've ever done, and planning for a week in backcountry was certainly challenging. I've wrote up several blog posts with photos, maps, and helpful tips that you might find useful when planning a trip of your very own! View fullsize [image] View fullsize [image] I had always wanted to do a longer backpacking trip, and although the first that comes to mind is the famous 211 mile John Muir Trail, with most of us working normal full time jobs, it can be difficult to get a whole 3 weeks off. Then I heard about the High Sierra Trail, a 72 mile trans-Sierra hike that also exits at Mt. Whitney just like the JMT. Being <100 miles, it would only take us a week to finish. Plus, it passes right by a lake that had been on my dream list for a long time - Precipice Lake. Itinerary The High Sierra Trail starts on the western edge of the Sierra in Sequoia National Park, climbs up and over the western mountain range, and then crosses the valley before climbing up and over the eastern mountain range with a short detour up to the summit of Mt. Whitney. Backpackers will complete this iconic trip in a variable number of days ranging from 5 (ultralight) to 8 or more. We had originally planned for a conservative 8 day itinerary to allow ourselves to take our time and enjoy the beauty of the scenery, but once we were on the trail, we pushed the extra miles on the final 4 days to be able to hike out in just 6 days. If I were to do it again, I'd probably prefer an 8 day, more relaxed itinerary to allow for more time to relax at each spot or for optional side trips. In addition to online research and reading tons of trip reports, the Tom Harrison map of the entire trail that we brought was extremely useful. The map allowed us to look ahead to scout possible campsites and see how much more climbing and miles we had in that day. Having this insight allowed us to make spontaneous decision depending on the conditions and how we were feeling to be more flexible with our itinerary. Itinerary break down day by day: [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] [image] Some Fun Awards! Favorite DayDay 3: Hamilton Lake to Moraine Lake - because of the views hands down. This included Precipice Lake and crossing over the Great Western Divide. Hardest DayDay 4: Moraine Lake to Junction Meadow - not only our longest day in terms of miles, but the steep descent down into Kern Valley at the beginning of the day really took it out on my legs for the rest of the day, and then the scenery during the stretch in the valley was slightly monotonous (I greatly prefer the dramatic and exposed views!). Favorite LakePrecipice Lake - the one lake I was most excited to see! So picturesque and absolutely photogenic. I was hoping for some ice chunks to still be floating in the lake, but they all must have melted by this late in the season. Favorite CampsiteHamilton Lake - even though it was the spot where we saw the most people the entire trip, I can see why this lake nestled by a granite dome is a favorite. There were lots of well developed camp sites with alpine views, and being close to the water helped me feel truly at home. Permits [iframe] Permits for the HST are easier to obtain compared to the famous John Muir Trail out of Yosemite Valley, but the High Sierra Trail can still be difficult to snag on peak summer weekend starts. We weren't able to get any permits until the very end of the season, September 17-24th. We knew we would be dealing with colder and more variable weather, but we took what we got. Since the High Sierra Trail start is out of Crescent Meadow in Sequoia National Park, you'll want to reserve your permit online via Recreation.gov exactly 24 weeks before your trip. Click to read about all of the important California backpacking permit deadlines No available permits? If you are having difficulty finding available permits, you can sign up to track specific dates and be notified of any cancellations via Outdoor Status. If the Crescent Meadow trailhead is already filled, you can also consider starting at the Alta Peak trailhead, or there is always the option to try for a walk up permit. [image] Transportation One of the hardest parts of planning the trip is figuring out transportation. Since the High Sierra Trail is a one way hike across an entire mountain range, you'll either need to arrange pickup or set up your own double car shuttle. I cover all of the different options and their advantages and disadvantages in a blog post about transportation here. We opted for setting up our own shuttle and reserved an entire day before starting our hike to drive to Mount Whitney first to drop off one of the cars. If you can get two cars, I'd recommend this method the most, as the flexibility of having our own car at the trailhead allowed us to hike out two whole days earlier and shorten our trip on the fly. Campsites A nice thing about the High Sierra Trail is the abundance of campsites and bear vaults along the entire trail. We planned our trip around the sites that we knew had bear vaults, and I've heard some people are even able to forgo the bear canister completely and hike the entire trail by camping by a bear box each night! We wanted the flexibility of possibly camping at a spot without a bear box, so we we decided to pack our Bear Vault BV500. Fires Some sites at the lower elevations even allow fires, which is always a rare and welcome treat when backpacking in the Sierra. There were several great campsites with well developed fire pits complete with tree benches, but areas like Hamilton Lake (8,234 ft) still have area-specific fire restrictions due to the high traffic these spots receive. West of the Great Western Divide campfires are not allowed above 9,000 ft, and east of it campfires aren't allowed above 10,000 ft. In general, try to use the already existing and obvious fire rings at your site to reduce your impact on the land. What to Pack Packing for the longest backpacking trip I've done to date was challenging, and slightly stressful. It was hard wrapping my head around the fact that everything I would need for an entire week should fit in a single backpack on my back, but once I gathered everything together, it was easy to eliminate and add items based on the room I had. Click here for our entire High Sierra Trail pack list Food Click here to read about all of my favorite meals and foods to bring while backpacking! Making sure we had enough food and calories for a strenuous 8 day trip took a lot of planning as well. Normally I lean towards the gourmet foodie kind of person when it comes to eating on the trail, so this time I actually calculated the calories per gram of each food and focused on calorie dense meals. At the top of that list were: 1. Peanut butter2. Trail mix3. Powdered milk (Nestle Nido)4. Peanut m&ms5. Sandwich crackers (Keebler variety pack) We packed everything into ziplocks and portioned everything into snack packs divided by day for each person for better organization. Conclusion Looking back on hiking the High Sierra Trail, the entire trip really felt like quite the journey for me. I can easily say it was the hardest thing I've ever done physically, and the mental aspect was just as challenging as well. I love that you can access some of the most remote areas of the Sierra just a couple days in and that none of the scenery is repeated due to the one-way nature of the hike. Have you hiked the High Sierra? Let me know how it went for you! What to read next General planning:My complete High Sierra Trail pack listHow to plan transportation for the HSTMy favorite meals while backpacking Itinerary:Day 1: Crescent Meadow to 9 Mile CreekDay 2: 9 Mile Creek to Hamilton LakeDay 3: Hamilton Lake to Moraine LakeDay 4: Moraine Lake to Junction MeadowDay 5: Junction Meadow to Guitar LakeDay 6: Guitar Lake out to Whitney Portal

Kerhlein, Ken, and Eichorn Minarets Posted on September 3, 2010 | 2 Comments [image] Minarets in Iceberg Lake Or, "Dr. Dirtbag gets his ass handed to him by the Minarets." It was "epic," I guess, but not in the "dude, that was totally epic" sense; few peaks, much tricky climbing, and a fair helping of fear. The Minarets are a prominent, serrated ridge west of Mammoth Mountain. There are 13 to 17 named summits, depending on how you count, the highest being Clyde Minaret. All of them are challenging, with the easiest routes mostly ranging from class 4 to 5.6. The ridge has been traversed in a single day several times, but the Minaret traverse is one of the harder Sierra traverses. Knowing I didn't have a chance at completing the whole traverse, my plan was to start with Ken (south of Clyde), traverse Clyde, Eichorn, and Michael, then if things looked good, continue north, climbing what I could. I got a lazy alpine start from Agnew Meadows at 6 AM. Red's Meadow is a better starting point for the full traverse, but both meadows are nearly equidistant from Cecile Lake, and I slightly prefer the trail from Agnew. The water there, however, is almost undrinkably metallic and foul. The trail past Ediza was familiar and forgettable, but Iceberg Lake was in prime picture-taking condition, so I spent some time playing with my camera. I got some drinkable water at Cecile Lake, then headed southwest to South Notch. Where it was in the sun, the permanent snowfield below the notch was soft enough to kick steps in the less-steep areas. Since it is so close to the notch and supposedly 4th class by its north face, I gave in to temptation and decided to tag Kehrlein Minaret first. Getting to the rock was a bit of a challenge: I had to spend quite awhile chipping steps with a sharp rock to get across the steeper, shadowed snow to the closest rock. Once there, I took what looked like the easiest route up a rightward-trending chute with broken blocks toward western summit. It seemed harder than class 4 to me, but with some flailing I reached the gap south of the summit, and from there it was a straightforward climb. I sat for awhile while recovering from such a struggle on a "class 4" route and fighting with the register canister before starting down the northwest ridge. If you climb Kehrlein, bring a hammer or large pliers (or someone stronger than me), because the register canister seems to be stuck. There are some truly intimidating pinnacles along the ridge to the east. The northwest ridge felt more like class 3 than class 4, and I was soon at South Notch. This was the pattern for the day: supposedly 4th class routes varied wildly in difficulty, from 3rd to 5th. Since the ridge from the notch to Ken requires rappels, I came at it from the Clyde-Ken couloir. After a bit of fun climbing a tower southwest of the notch, I dropped down to the snow, then carefully made my way along its boundary with the rock until the slope lessened enough to kick steps. Along the way, I found a full 60-meter rope hanging from a notch north of the Notch, with an old carabiner on the end. Apparently someone coming home late had trouble getting down the hard snow, and had to abandon some good gear. The couloir started as a miserable pile of loose talus, but turned into a fun 4th class climb after leaving the couloir to the left. A band of lighter-colored rock was particularly pleasant. I (mistakenly, as it turned out) angled right to the gap at the top of the couloir, which has an impressive view of Michael Minaret. From the gap, I followed the ridge for awhile, then contoured along the west side on talus and blocks. There are several pinnacles on the ridge; the true summit can be recognized by a white rappel sling around the highest block. Unfortunately, by the time I saw the sling, the west side had steepened considerably, and despite much wasted time, I could not find a way up the face to the summit ridge. I had climbed pretty close to the limit of what I could safely reverse, so the downclimb was slow, exhausting, difficult, and sometimes frightening. I headed back north, regained the ridge, and found that the climb is in fact 4th class if you stay near the top of the ridge. If you stay left of the gap, you reach the ridge without trouble. The two short chimney sections just below the summit are stiff, though, and require some desperate stemming; it looked like many parties rappel down and perhaps even rope up. After returning to the Clyde-Ken saddle, I traversed over blocks and loose talus to the chute below the Clyde-Eichorn saddle, then headed up. The flailing on Ken had taken more out of me than I had hoped, and I was painfully slow. I was also low on water, and stopped at a couple of small patches of snow to stuff my camelbak with snowballs. I made straight for Eichorn from 100 feet or so down the chute, passing a discouraging number of false summits. Secor describes the last part of the route as "drop 50 feet to a ledge, traverse to just below the summit, and climb a short 4th-class pitch." I found nothing of the sort either coming or going, just a maze of blocky fins and gullies followed by a choice of difficult 4th class gullies to the summit. Bob Burd reports a similar experience, so I would be interested to hear from anyone who found this supposed ledge. I sat down to eat my sandwich, but it didn't inspire me enough to traverse over to Michael. It was getting late and there was snow on Michael's north side (which the route traverses), but these were just excuses; I was defeated, and wanted the day to be over quickly. Sadly, this was not to be. The traverse back to the rock route on Clyde was slow in my drained state, with much panting and muttering of expletives. My first view of the rock route was not encouraging: though part of the face was clean, the top part of the route was still littered with patches of snow. Thankfully the snow was still soft and the meltwater had not yet frozen. I had climbed and descended the route last month, and found it then to be mostly a class 3 mixture of dirt ledges, slabs, and short cracks. However, the snow made the slabs treacherous and hid what lay on the ledges, forcing me to tread extremely carefully. Also, since wet soles have poor traction, edging and smearing became more difficult. After much unpleasantness, I reached the ledge at the base. Rather than following the ledge south, I managed to take a bit of a shortcut by edging between the glacier and rock to the north, then sliding across the flattest part to the grass, slabs, and talus above the north end of Lake Cecile, where I got more water and got out my headlamp. I walked quickly down to Ediza, telling a couple of passing climbers about the tricky descent. I ran much of the trail to Shadow, then walked the rest of the trail to Agnew with only 30-40 minutes of headlamp time. [image] Unseasonable wildflowers [image] Minarets in Iceberg Lake [image] Again [image] Kehrlein Minaret [image] Step-chipping required. [image] Ridge east of Kehrlein [image] South Notch (l) and abandoned rope (r) [image] Michael from Clyde-Ken saddle [image] Looking down route up Ken. [image] Ken's summit pinnacle. [image] Fires and Half Dome [image] Traverse to Eichorn [image] Looking down at the rock route.

MOUNT MAUDE July 4, 2005 [image] Ben's route in late July 2002. The green dot is the end of the traverse. July 4, 2005. Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace. The soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things; knows not the livid loneliness of fear, nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear the sound of wings. Amelia Earhart Putnam... Photos and story by Jason After waking early that morning and going mountain biking in Post Canyon, Oregon, I was set on meeting with several others to ski the North Face of Mount Maude the next day. There wasn't much reasoning behind our decision, especially with sights of the North Face of Hood and the North Face of Adams throughout the day. Both of which were nearby and both of which were absolutely preening. Josh and I left during the midst of another BBQ, resorting to some pirating before leaving. That night after more than 3hrs of driving, we arrived home to a message from Sam, "Let's meet at 3am at my place." By then it was past 11pm and we had yet to get our bike and kayak gear unloaded. By the time that was done and my ski gear was packed and reloaded, I had only an hour to stare at the ceiling before heading to Seattle. Sky and Paul were waiting for us since we were behind schedule. They had risked riding their bikes through traffic to get there, which I'm sure was a head turner - to see a full pack with skis jutting up, flying down the highway like an antelope. The drive to the parking lot was familiar and by light we were speeding up the dirt road to our starting point. A lot less snow was blanketing the higher peaks than I would've hoped. There was only a patch or two on the South Face of Maude, leaving me to worry about how much white stuff the North Face would have waiting for us. The climb up Maude begins with 3.6 miles to Leroy Creek, which is easily crossed. From there you climb to a basin named the same as the stream whose waters offer a cool drink before a long traverse, another climb and a short drop down to Ice Lakes, followed by scree and another uphill before finally getting to the summit. This last part acts like the surface of the sun and I'm no Superman; I burnt up along with the others, leaving plenty of time to ponder the questions, "Why do I carry skis?" And, "Why aren't I fishing?" [image] Glacier Peak . We all waited for Paul on the summit by taking a much deserved nap. When he arrived we didn't give him much of a chance to rest, instead gathered our gear and prepared to go. I crawled down some rocks covered with a million lady bugs that were hard to not crunch. Fortunately the snow was nearby, allowing me to both clean my boots and the bottom of my skis. On a cornice I sat in wait for the others, who in turn watched Sky who took first dibs by cranking a fantastic set of turns all the way down the fall line. The film makes this look flat, but the top is nearly 50 degrees, below which nothing falls much under forty-five with big exposure. My turns weren't great, not as good as the West Face Couloir. My knee had been bruised on the White Salmon after a fall and I wasn't inclined to take any risks since it really did hurt like hell. As a matter of fact I shouldn't have been there, but I couldn't help myself. Skiing is a disease and my only medicine is the almighty turn. [image] The summit. [image] Paul in front with Sam climbing over the mass of lady bugs massing for an assault on the summit. [image] Sky and Bill preparing to ski down the face. [image] It's all you Bill. [image] That a boy, get your redemption. [image] An Act of Sky - part I [image] part II [image] part III [image] part IV We each took a few turns at a time and tried to avoid each other. There were decisions to make and Sky yelled out, "So, what do you want to do? Cross the traverse or ski to the bottom?" [image] Looking up. Whoa! Par 4? Bringing out the Big HITTER, eh? That cornice drops in a few minutes!!! [image] Sam in the rough. [image] Fernow sure looks good - except for that red smudge on the left. [image] Alright! Let's keep that green mowed nice and short. That a' way. I yelled my answer back, "I think we should cross the traverse. Everything below here looks pretty melted out and I don't know if we would get that many turns anyhow." As Bill pulled up to the traverse, I heard him proclaim, "I have my redemption." There is a story behind that comment that is best told by Ben, but to make a long story short Bill, Josh and I sat beneath a cliff in the fog and rain and watched Ben climb and ski the face alone. Now that we had come full circle we all felt like we had earned some sort of salvation and this alone was enough to make me feel glad that I had come all this way. [image] Josh with the Entiat Icefall left of center. About halfway through the traverse, we were reminded of fate. A cornice that crouches over the North Face, whom which we had pondered during our ski had succumbed to gravity only half an hour after we skied off of the face. I watched it in slow motion while it played over and over in my head. Yes we had made the right decision to take the traverse. Yes, we could have been earlier. But what really bothered me was the fact that I didn't take the cornice seriously. Maybe the fact that it sits there all spring made it feel less dangerous? Maybe? I guess that this is another cheap lesson for me and as if to solidify a reminder with pain, I struck my other knee against a rock, dropping me to the ground in misery. [image] Left to right: Josh, Bill and Paul. [image] Wasn't that good Paul? The way back was the same as the way there except for a short ski down off of Maude-Jack Col. Next to another stream we rested, and I thought about the last three days: the kayaking on the White Salmon, the mountain biking in Post Canyon , the skiing on the North Face of Mount Maude. I realized that it was all worth it; the 20 hours of driving and the effort above and beyond to do each of the things I had done. So I carry my skis, so I kayak dangerous rivers and bike over log drops. It is my life and "...the soul that knows it not, knows no release...."

Mt Elwell via Long Lake Loop [image] There is no better alarm clock than cows mooing. We woke up on our ranch ready to tackle the day after successfully summiting English Mountain the day prior. [image] I thought about changing the plans and just relaxing on the front porch, but we had a goal to accomplish. We drove to the trailhead at the end of Elwell Lodge Road and headed in the direction of Long Lake. [image] Before reaching the lake, we took a right and headed north along the eastern shoreline. [image] [image] The trail was flat and headed through manzanita brush. Robin and George followed, happy that there would be a trail today. [image] [image] [image] After reaching the northern side of the lake, we crossed a small dam at the location of the lake outlet. [image] [image] [image] From the northern edge of the lake, the trail started to head west underneath the base of Mt Elwell. [image] [image] [image] I noticed the various islands and was intrigued. I wanted to swim to one of these islands, but first we had to summit. [image] From here the trail started to climb. George was now in his element and he started to lead the pack. [image] The trail switchbacked at a comfortable gradient. We took some short rests along the way, taking in the views of the lake below. [image] [image] The peak loomed above us, but it didn't look too challenging to reach, especially with a trail. [image] We soon made it to the ridgeline, and from here we continued following the trail to the northeast. [image] Eventually the summit block came into view. [image] At first it looked like it might be a slight challenge, but after following the trail further, I found a class 2 route to the top of the summit block. [image] Within minutes, Asaka and I were standing on the top. To the east was Beckwourth Peak. [image] To the north was Plumas National Forest. [image] [image] Below us to the west were Rock Lake and Jamison Lake. [image] Back towards the south were Long Lake and the Sierra Buttes. [image] Robin wore the yellow jacket after the previous day's hike, but George would not be denied on day 2 as he was first to join us on the summit. It is clear that George prefers trail hiking. I was a little disappointed because smoke from distant forest fires obscured the view of Mt Lassen. After snacking and drinking water, we decided to head back down towards Long Lake. [image] At the fork in the trail, we took a right and headed down towards the west side of the lake. Once we reached lake level, we followed a use trail which took us to the lake's edge. [image] [image] I was interested in finding a place to swim, so I headed south in search of a nice rock beach. [image] As we walked along the shoreline, we crossed a small creek next to a dock and came across a cabin. It didn't look like anyone was home, so we walked in front of the cabin and continued until finding a nice rocky area to jump in the water. I was first to jump in and was shortly followed by Asaka. I convinced the others to jump in, and in the meantime I swam to an island in the middle of the lake. This island was much more tiring to reach than I expected, but I eventually made it to the safety of the rocks. I wanted Asaka to join me, but did not want to put her in any danger of drowning, so I instructed her to blow up some inflatable couch she bought me for my birthday which she asked me to bring along. Once her floating device was ready, she kicked her way out to me. The others seemed content by the lakeside, so after relaxing for a bit, we kicked our way back. It was tougher to return because the wind was pushing against us. I thought about catching the breeze and drifting all the way across to the eastern shoreline, but then we would be ditching Robin and George. We eventually made it back to the western shoreline where we put our shoes back on and hiked in the direction of the trail. We headed along a use trail which took us in the direction of the cabin and then headed cross country as to not get too close to the cabin. We soon reconnected with the main trail and continued along the path around the lake. [image] We even encountered some bonus lakes along the way. [image] [image] [image] [image] We came to another fork which gave us the option to either return to the car within a half mile or hike a mile or so extra to see some additional bonus lakes. The others quickly agreed on the shorter option, and we made it back to the car within 15 minutes, thus ending our first hiking trip together. For Tumblr By Peter Vidani