Fisher Chimneys route Mt. Shuksan, Day 2

If you missed Day 1, you can go check it out here. 

4 AM and the alarm goes off. My body aches from carrying a heavy load to get here. It also didn't help that we were literally camped on bunch of rocks. My Thermarest helped, but its not magic. Slowly, I get moving, attending to necessities, trying to not to get too anxious about the climb ahead. Choke down some dehydrated chow. Melt snow for water. Put the essentials in the pack and gear up. Somehow my pack still seems too heavy even though there is hardly anything in it. The sun begins to rise and we head across the first snowfield towards the Chimneys.

The Chimneys themselves are a combination of 3rd and 4th class terrain. I personally felt that a few short sections were even 5th class. We found the path pretty well worn, with cairns along the way. Still, after seeing what the previous party had gone through, I was a bit paranoid about getting back down through the Chimneys. I took care to be hyper vigilant and take a mental picture of what the trail looked like at certain points, even looking back on occasion so I would know what it looked like in reverse. Nervous about trusting my memory alone, I used my smartphone to snap a few pictures along the way of rappel anchors we needed to get to and other key landmarks in the travel. Aside from worrying about getting back down, scrambling through the Chimneys was actually a lot of fun. I was definitely glad not to have a full pack while doing some of those climbing moves though! After gaining the col, you are deposited briefly on the White Salmon glacier. Here we changed over our gear for glacier travel.

At this point, there was a brief moment of panic as Partner realized she had forgotten to pack a pair of gloves. They were back down at camp. Being really conservative, this is the sort of thing that could have ended our summit attempt right then and there. Frozen hands and frostbite were not a risk we were willing to take. That moment made me realize the razor's edge we danced on. A team of two, far away from any sort of help or assistance, we had no choice but to completely trust one another with our lives.  One slip, one piece of forgotten gear, one moment of inattention, could make all the difference. I relied on her to arrest my fall should I end up in a crevasse and she expected the same of me. It was both humbling and frightening to be trusted with such a responsibility.

People (non-climbers) often look at me with a mixture of pity and awe reserved for the outcasts of society when I tell them what I like to do 'for fun.' Why on earth would I spend my vacation time hauling my ass, plus a bunch of other gear, up the side of a fridgid mountain- where I could die- when I could be relaxing on a perfectly safe beach with a Mai Tai and a hot cabana boy to look at? Sometimes I swear I can see smoke come out of their ears as they attempt to comprehend the depths of this brand of masochism. But in that moment of forgotten gloves- it was there. The reason I am drawn to this activity, like a moth to a flame. Walking that tight rope of focus, the possibility of death or severe bodily injury makes all the 'fluff' of life drop away and what really matters snaps sharply into focus. Its almost like a sort of meditation or flow state. Bills, kids, husbands, cars, student loans, what's going to happen tomorrow--- none of it matters. All that matters is this present moment. If you've never experienced this, I will warn you now, don't try to go after it. It is an intoxicating and addicting elixir. Once you've had a taste, you'll stop at nothing to get more. And as far as I know, there is no 'Mountain Climbers Anonymous' 12-step programs out there.

A base layer with thumbs loops and an extra pair of wool socks meant we could continue our summit bid. We had backup gear to warm cold hands if it should come to that. We checked our ropes, knots, and coils one more time, shouldered our packs, and forged ahead. Our first 'obstacle' was Winne's Slide. A steep (80 degrees perhaps?) section of snow slope that was maybe half a rope length high. It looked quite intimidating. It did require using the front points of our crampons and using our ice axes more like an ice tool then a piolet. Since there were already steps kicked in, it actually wasn't too bad, and by the top, I was enjoying it. However, it was still very much a 'no-fall' zone. With no protection between her & I, if I slipped, my end of the rope would pull on my partner and rip her from her stance as well. You can accelerate pretty quickly on a snow slope like that, enough so that may not be able to self-arrest. In effect, we were soloing, so I had to bring the soloing mindset to the fore.

Winnie's Slide is just ahead. It looks deceptively low-angle in this shot.

Above Winne's Slide, we negotiated a rocky col and then ended up on the Upper Curtis Glacier. We climbed up the icy glacier several hundred feet and then had to descend it. That was a little heartbreaking to lose almost a thousand feet of elevation. Sure it felt good in that moment, but I knew it would suck on the way back to camp. At then end of this trek down the Upper Curtis you reach another 'obstacle' known as Hell's Highway. It's perhaps a tad steeper and much longer then Winne's Slide. In fact, it make Winne's Slide look like child's play. Again, we had to employ some front point technique to get up it, but already existing steps from the parties above us made it a bit easier. I don't even think we protected this, though some parties we saw used snow pickets to create a belay of sorts. We were riding the line of wanting to move quickly, but safely, jumping back and forth over that line. I will say that for people who don't think much of Northeast climbing, I felt pretty prepared and comfortable climbing this after some of my ice climbing forays in NY and NH.

The view across the Upper Curtis Glacier. The top of Hell's Highway is bathed in sunlight.

At the top of Hell's Highway you are deposited on to the Sulphide Glacier. This becomes an interesting backcountry crossroads as the route joins the more popular Sulphide Glacier route. Since we were on the mountain over a weekend, we ran into LOTS of people on the Sulphide Glacier. It's deceiving up here, the summit pyramid looks like it is right. there. but it still took an hour to get to the base of it. There is no way to get around it, this was an hour long s l o g. The sun was beating down and at that elevation on snow, it seemed like I had to stop every 5 minutes to smear sunscreen on (I still ended up with a pretty good negative of a helmet strap burned into the side of my cheek and was apparently trying to make a new fashion statement by rocking a big old glop of sunscreen IN my ear). This was also an hour spent worry about our time. For safety purposes, we had set a turn around time of noon. From teams coming back down, we heard estimates that it could take anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours to negotiate the gully of the summit pyramid depending on traffic and how fast your team moved through it. Fifteen minutes we could make, 2 hours and we would be going home empty handed.

Looking up the Sulphide Glacier at the summit pyramid

Smiling through the tedium of the Sulphide Glacier

At the base of the pyramid we ran into a guide short roping two clients up the gully. They were moving very slow and after negotiating the first little step, he decided to turn them around. Less then 100 feet from the summit. We asked him how long he thought it would take to get to the summit and he thought it would take 2 hours. Its was 11:50 am.

Looking up the gully to the summit. That big crack in the center of the frame is about chest high and was the first step we had to negotiate.

When I looked up though, it seemed he had to be wrong. I mean, I know he's a guide, and probably does this route frequently, but my eyes were telling me that summit was very close. At hearing the estimate of 2 hours, I think Partner was ready to turn back right there, but I pleaded to keep going for the next ten minutes and then see where we were. Something in me dug deep and let the hammer drop and I started to move. It was almost a flow state, scrambling up and over 4th class terrain, negotiating around the various parties rapping down. We passed one party and I asked how much further the summit was. They confirmed that it had not been a trick of foreshortening so common in the mountains, the summit really was right there. I raced on with sure and graceful movements, Partner following behind and at 12:15 PM we stood on the summit of Mt. Shuksan.

Since we were already 15 minutes behind our pre-negotiatied turn around time, we didn't terry long. Take some pictures, refuel and then it was time to rappel. By the time we got back down through the summit pyramid, we appeared to be the last summiting team of the day to be heading back down. The trek on the Sulphide Glacier went much more quickly. Downclimbing Hell's Highway got the heart rate up, especially at the point of 'going over the lip.' As I feared, climbing back up the Upper Curtis when we were that tired, in a word, sucked, but scarier still was getting back down to the col. That part of the glacier was steep and very icy. In order to avoid risking a bad fall, the equivalent of a fumble on the 10 yard line, we escaped across the route to a rock outcropping and climbed through that to make it down to the col. Here we ran into a fellow Gunks guide and it was nice to see a friendly face and hear some encouragement & congratulations for all we accomplished. Back down through Winne's Slide and the Fisher Chimneys, neither was as bad as I expected. We arrived back in our camp exhausted, but elated that we had accomplished what we set out to do. The next day, we would pack up camp and head back out the Lake Ann trail on a journey that seemed to never end. Those celebratory margaritas always seemed just out of reach...

From the hike out, looking back on the cirque we had just been in.  Shuksan's summit is on the upper right, just next to wear the sun is shining through.

Finally! Celebratory margaritas and a mess of Mexican food!!!

Special thanks to some people who without them, this climb wouldn't have happened. Partner, of course, for always being up for an adventure in the mountains, Mr. ClimbingBetty for his patience and willingness to indulge me in these kinds of climbing trips, Ma and Pa ClimbingBetty for helping out with a couple of pieces of crucial gear for the trip and of course, to the American Alpine Club for choosing my dream and giving me the grant to pull off this whole thing in the first place. If you're a climber of any sort, you should be a member. Go join. NOW.

Fisher Chimneys route Mt. Shuksan, Day 1

Oh my poor, neglected little blog. What can I say? Sometimes you're just too busy doing it to write about it. :-) Right now, we seem to be in between seasons, so I have a little extra time to write.

Let's see, when last I left off, I was spewing about my Live Your Dream Grant from the AAC to climb the Fisher Chimneys route on Mt. Shuksan. If you prefer the Reader's Digest version (SPOILER ALERT) we did it!

Betty & partner on the summit of Shuksan

If you prefer the whole story, well, grab a blankie or some down booties and your favorite adult beverage and sit back….

It was a bit of an auspicious beginning when we arrived in Seattle late at night and had a bit of trouble securing a rental car, but by the morning we were ready to spend a day gathering supplies and making our way to North Cascades National Park. We planned to hit REI for fuel then head to Sedro-Wooley to get our permits for the climb. We would spend a night there, then launch the next day. Unfortunately, when we got to the ranger station in Sedro-Wooley, we were informed that we could only get permits for Shuksan at the Glacier ranger station, an hour's drive away. They called ahead for us and from the sounds of it, if we waited until the following day to get our permit as we drove into the park, there was a better chance then not that we would miss out on getting a permit for the days we planned to be on route. Fortunately, it was still early in the afternoon, so we had the time to drive two hours round trip just to get the permits.

We did meet with a lovely park ranger at the Glacier station who seemed pretty... impressed? pleased?… to see a team of two women and no dudes getting a permit to do a route like this. I won't lie, that did feel kind of cool. I definitely felt like a pretty badass chica in that moment. However, it also made me sad. Where all the ladies at? Why is alpine climbing such a male dominated sect of the sport? Are the gals afraid, uninterested or unskilled? Or all of the above? Sure, I see females out when I'm in the mountains; its not like we are an endangered species out there, but on Rainier and Shuksan, the few women I did see were almost 'token' members of a male team. On both mountains, I was fortunate enough to be part of an all women's team. I'd like to think that maybe that was an inspiration to those 'token' females in the other groups- 'you can do this, you can be the leader, you can be self-sufficient in the mountains'- or maybe that was just a pipe dream of mine.

After a great Mexican meal that evening, we packed our stuff and got ready for the climb ahead. In the morning we drove north into the park on 542. There is a small little crossroads of sorts right at the border of the park. This is the last place to get gas for quite awhile. Unfortunately, we had driven about 45 minutes into the park before we realized this. Since we were kind of low on fuel as it was, we opted to turn around and fill up rather then getting stranded somewhere. This turned into a not-so-funny comedy routine when we drove into the park a second time, only to realize that we had forgotten to buy lighters while we were at the gas station- facepalm! Luckily we had only driven about 10 minutes in the park this time. When we finally reached the trailhead, it was 1:30PM instead of the 12 PM start we had planned on. Once we finally got started, we had a scenic and thankfully, uneventful, hike into Lake Ann.

After arriving at Lake Ann, the real fun begins. You start to gain some pretty significant elevation rather quickly in a seemingly endless series of switchbacks. Then there is your 'test run' for the Fisher Chimneys where you have to cross the lip of snowfield on to slimy, mossy covered rock, then gingerly scramble up a Class 3-ish chute. There is a rappel anchor at the top of this section if that gives you any idea. Passing this obstacle leads you to a part of the trail that is quite steep with loose sand and rocks for a trail. Careful attention to your feet is necessary to avoid sliding backwards two feet for every one forward. From this section, we gained the top of a shoulder of the Shuksan mastiff and entered a cirque that is at the bottom of the awesome hanging, Lower Curtis Glacier. (For the record, I am no geologist, so geologists and cartographers of the world, please forgive me if I am using terms like 'mastiff' and 'cirque' incorrectly. But they sound cool and after all, blogging is all about sounding cool, right?)

The Fisher Chimneys go right throughout that center couloir.

The Chimneys still lay head, but at this point we had been hiking for hours. It was nearly 6:30 pm and while we probably had 2 solid hours of light left, the shadows were getting longer. It also didn't help that we could see a party trying to descend the Chimneys and looking lost. My partner seemed to want to press on, climbing through the Chimneys, then setting up camp at the top of them, making for a shorter summit day. This would increase our chances of summitting. I argued that we should make camp in the cirque, go to sleep early and then we would be able to climb through the Chimneys unencumbered. It would a bit longer, but we could make up for it by moving faster. So we set up camp, cooked a nice meal of dehydrated something or other and watched the sunset over Mount Baker.

The view of Mt. Baker from out campsite. Those are my green Scarpa boots in the pic.

As twilight deepened, we could see the headlamps of the climbers still in the Chimneys. They still appeared lost. At one point we couldn't tell if one of them was trying to signal us or if the flashes of light were just the glint of sun reflecting off of a snow picket at just the right angle. After some deliberating and a few phone calls (yes, there was cell service here!) for some respected advice, we decided not to go after the lost party. They were all still moving, no one appeared injured, and with us being unclear if they even wanted assistance, we determined that it was best not to put ourselves at risk by entering the fray especially in the waning light. When we went to sleep, they still hadn't made it down. The last we saw of them, it appeared that they decided to backtrack through to entire chimney in order find where they had left the proper trail. We heard them come through and were awoken by their headlamps about midnight. I thought about how long the day had been for them if they had gotten an alpine start. I hoped we would not meet that same fate.

Still a smiles after Day 1

And that seems like a good place to leave this story for now. Come back and read the next blog post where I'll tell you all about summit day. I promise not to make you wait 6 months!!!!

Zen and the Art of Leading

Each of the last three times I've gone rock climbing, I was sure it would be the last rock day of the season. But these unseasonably warm days just keep hanging on. Each time I go out, I have this odd kaleidoscope of feelings- happy to still be out rock climbing, having one of my best seasons ever, but also sad that on December 4, with new skis on the way, there's barely a whisper of cold & snow in the upcoming forecast.

One thing I am grateful for in this weird shoulder season weather is that the guiding season is slow, so I actually get to go climbing with my hubby for a change. With me having a regular 9-5 ish kind of job, I only have the weekends off, which are his busiest days of the week during the guiding season. So the last fews times that I have gotten to tie in with him have been a real treat.

But it hasn't always. Many people dream of having a partner in climbing and in life. I can say that it is a wonderful thing, but it has its moments. Especially when your husband is a professional guide. Unless you really like being treated like a total novice climber all the time. I don't, so this has caused friction in our climbing relationship on more than one occasion. I don't think we've managed to go on a climbing trip without getting into a huge fight in 3 and a half years.

It also doesn't help that he is practically a Zen master when it comes to climbing, especially leading. He climbs just about as hard on lead as he does on top-rope. Some days I am in total awe of this mental space, but mostly I'm just jealous. There I said it, I'm jealous. We've had endless conversations about what I need to do to obtain this mental space myself while climbing and leading, but his esoteric retorts about just putting your mind into that space, like turning on a switch, only infuriated and frustrated me more. How the hell am I supposed to find said switch when I'm stuck in the pitch black without a headlamp?

Sunday was forecasted to be a nice climbing day, all things considered. Mostly sunny, highs in the low 50s, so we decided to head out. At his insistence, I took a pair of his rock shoes that were too small for him, but actually kinda perfect for me to wear with socks, a big plus for a chilly day of climbing. We got to the cliff and I had a real urge to lead a climb that I have lead many times before,  but I will often use as a gauge of where my head is at for leading that day. Even though I knew it was totally within my ability, I also knew it was going to feel weird in different shoes. Gleaning from past experience, it is not uncommon for something to "not feel right" and it negatively impacts my climbing that day. For instance, if my layering system is off and I feel too restricted by my clothing, I often won't climb nearly as well I know I otherwise could.

So leading this climb on shoes that were fitting a little more sloppy then I'm use to was going to be a bit of a mental challenge for me. I did have a few moments during the climbing where my feet felt insecure and I started to get a little nervous, but overall, it didn't seem to degenerate into the all-out-fear-fest I've had happen on some climbs before. You know, the kind where you're practically in tears wishing you could get off that damn hunk of rock as quickly as possible?

While belaying Hubby up the climb, I had a brief moment to reflect (I do mean brief, he usually runs up my leads in his approach shoes) and I had a little epiphany. Namely, that I found my light switch. This season, especially the later half of it, I've switched my focus to just having fun. I've had this as a goal in the past, but this year, I achieved it in way I never quite had before. Previously, I would make having fun the goal of my climbing day, but would unwittingly focus on the times when I wasn't have fun. I expected that the fun would just happen because I was outside and climbing and had made it my goal. What I realized I did differently this season was that I actively chose to have fun while climbing outside. I let go of all the "shoulds"(re: expectations) and just embraced the "coulds" and "cans." Instead of a mental dialogue around I should be able to do this, I structured a mental dialogue around I could try that, its looks fun! or I can totally do this climb! And when I took that pressure to perform off of myself (and yes, I realize that I was the only person putting that pressure on me in the first place), boom! I found my switch! I succeeded on climbs a grade harder then I thought I could. Granted, it wasn't always pretty & graceful, but letting myself at least try them, I discovered I was better then I thought I was. And this led directly into having more fun climbing and, well, more climbing!

I also realized that everything I could remember leading this year was a climb I have lead before. And while I hadn't made any gains in terms of the numbers, I had made significant mental gains. The climbs I lead the second half of the season stick out to me because I felt calm and strong enough on them to actually enjoy them. No freaking out. No crying or pleading with God to teleport me to the ground instantaneously. No placing gear every foot because I was that scared. When I stopped placing expectations on myself to lead a certain grade and just started enjoying whatever climb I led, no matter what grade, it all seemed to fall into place. And it struck me, that by traversing familiar terrain, what I had done was to create a positive mental dialogue about what I was doing. Instead of getting scared and then letting the fear ramp up in my brain, when I started to feel scared I practiced taking deep breaths and reminding myself that I could totally handle the task in front of me. Once I learned how to break the fear cycle, I knew how to turn on the switch to access that clear Zen-like state where a subconscious part of my brain continued to make second-to-second decisions about what needed to be done, but my conscious brain felt clear and vast, like a blank state ready to be imprinted with the details of that moment- the crystalline feel of the rock, the sound of feathers slicing through the wind as peregrines dove into the updrafts, the angle and strength of the sun and even the exact hue of the blue sky and white clouds.

Unfortunately I think that everyone has their own way to their Switch and what works for one person will not always work for another. And because each path is so unique and elusive, its easy to pare it down to "you just do it" and make it sound much easier then it really is. If you haven't found your Switch yet, keep trying; its an ever-evolving process and there are no shortcuts. For myself, I'm looking to try out my Switch on new climbs next season. That will be the true test of what I have learned this season- if I can find Zen even on foreign terrain.

Oh and one more thing, I also learned that when I have fun & just enjoy the climbing, Hubby & I have a lot more fun at the cliffs. I went from avoiding climbing with him to it being my second favorite way to spend time with him. We might even take a our first fight-free climbing trip next year :-)