September 22, 2012.

After a peaceful evening at the Big Lake campground listening to our neighbors’ blaring country and rap music mix, we were ready for a dark-thirty start of a Mt. Washington climb.

Somehow Lee got me roped into a West Ridge climb as part of a 5-person team. Most (sane) people climb Mt. Washington via the North Ridge. While it is as dirty and loose as the best Oregon rock, the North Ridge is do-able by beginner climbers with a competent leader. The West Ridge is pretty much never climbed by anyone of any ability. It was our task to find out why.

We left the campground at 5 am and started walking before 5:30. It was pitch black and the light of my feeble headlamp was hardly enough for me to move forward without stumbling. We reached the North Ridge climber’s trail before sunrise, and started making our way up the mountain. The trail was fairly braided and faint in some places. We wandered up to a viewpoint on the North Ridge to take a gander at our distant objective. There didn’t seem to be any great way to get over there without traversing the rocks pouring down the west side of the mountain. Eventually we crossed over the North Ridge and descended to the base of the talus. Then, we began the arduous task of walking horizontally across the shifting field of rocks. Our intention was to stay close to the treed areas, in an effort to walk on the most stable slope. However, there were huge gaps between the vegetation and so there was no avoiding the loose terrain.

At the other end of the scree and talus field, we turned up the slope, following a thin fin of rock. The rock was semi-solid, but covered with ball-bearings, er, pebbles in places. The slope steepened, and we grabbed on to any little tree or rock we could to make upward progress. At the top of this rock and tree section we reached the portion of the West Ridge where we would start our climb.

The sun was hiding behind the mountain and the wind was gently beginning to pick up. We searched for a place to build a belay anchor. Most of the rock was loosely adhered together, so it was useless to try to place rock protection in it. Chris eventually found a large boulder with some cracks in it that we could throw a few cams in. Now we were ready to go.

Or so we thought. It took two people and nearly two hours to get a body to the top of pitch one. It was frighteningly loose. Two more people followed on a single rope and the last two team members followed simultaneously on a pair of half ropes. Time had somehow drifted into the early afternoon so now it would be a race to ensure we could top out and get off the technical stuff before the sun set.

We pitched out the rest of the route based on rope drag and the location of the most solid rock. Above pitch one we tried to skirt the “Cascade Dinner Plates” as best as we could. The dinner plates were flattened rocks that stacked up in vertical piles and sent waves of fear and panic to all who touched them. We all gingerly climbed on and around them, trying desperately not to dislodge any of the rock. Doing so would cause the climber to fall or the belayer to get beaned on some really useful and sentimental body part.

The exposure on the route was really awesome in some places. It was a long way down to the base of the mountain. Although the sun was shining for most of the climb, the wind was blowing and we all climbed the route in our puffy coats. As the day drew to a close, the wind picked up even more and a sheet of ominous, gray clouds poured in. All the while we found amazing views of the raging Pole Creek Fire to the southeast.

It took 6 or 7 pitches of climbing, but we all reached the summit after 5pm and were ready to rappel by 6. The sky grew grayer by the second and we knew we needed to move. We had 5 people, 3 ropes, and 4 rappels to make. We managed to get everybody down in about an hour. We were cruising now.

There was just one tricky section on the mountain left to negotiate, then it would be smooth sailing from there. The slope at the base of the rappel was steep and screelicious. The easier sections had a deep enough layer of scree for plunge-stepping. The harder sections had hard rock beneath a thin layer of pebbles and dust. I made it down with a combination of techniques, including the graceful and technical butt-slide. In the fading daylight, I could barely make out the climbers descent trail that would take us back to the forest. Around 7:30pm it was time to get the headlamps back out and begin the two hour walk back to the cars.

The day ended about 16 hours after it began. I was feeling pretty wiped out, but content that we’d had a successful climb. The team was solid and fun to be around. Everyone worked together well and made good decisions. The weather, albeit cold at times, held out for us. We didn’t get the thunderstorms that could have made for a very bad day. No one got injured, even on the incredibly awful rock.

This is a route best left to the history books, not to be repeated again. Maybe in a few hundred or thousand years, when all the loose rock is gone and a gorgeous, airtight, knife-edge ridge remains, it would shape up to be a worthy climbing route. Until then, set your sights on something, anything, else.

September 3, 2011.

12 miles | 3750′ ele. gain | 6.5 hours

Photos from this trip are on Picasa.

I had two sets of instructions for climbing the peak: one from Sullivan’s green book and one from the Oregon Scrambles book. Sullivan’s route included much less off-trail travel, and all of the “climber’s route” was in open terrain. The Scrambles route seemed to require much more off-trail navigation, and to make things worse, there was quite a bit of it in the depths of the trees. In making the switch from one backpack to another, I had forgotten to grab my compass before leaving town and I was not comfortable wandering through the woods with no directional cues. So I decided to follow Sullivan’s description.

I set out at about 7 am to enjoy the coolest part of the day during this hot streak. I proceeded to walk through a pretty forest on a well-graded trail. There was very little elevation gain over several miles of travel. It was very quiet. I stopped occasionally to observe the plants growing on the forest floor but overall I was able to maintain a quick pace. In no time at all, I found myself at the lakes. In a wave of confusion I ended up dead-ending at Marie Lake, having to backtrack my steps and return to the last junction before getting to the PCT junction and turning left.

Once on the PCT I timed myself carefully so as to not miss the climber’s trail mentioned in Sullivan’s book. As noted, there was a huge cairn about 50 feet from the obvious hairpin turn in the trail. Perfect! The trail immediately detoured uphill, a huge change from the last 5 miles or so. This was one of the best climber’s trail I’d ever walked upon; the route was clear and the tread was well worn. A great effort was put into building cairns frequently along the path as well. I stopped to rebuild several of them on my way up. As the trail left the trees, the ground turned to a steadily ascending slope of rocks and debris. Among the rock and gravel, there appeared to be footsteps all over the place as well as cairns barely discernible from the other rocky piles. It was easy for me to find the way up but I was concerned about the way down. I stopped several times to turn around and gain the opposite perspective, as well as make a few mental notes to help me navigate back down to the trail. With huge and distinct volcanic peaks sticking up everywhere as well as obvious features on Diamond Peak, it was pretty easy to get my bearings.

The slog uphill was long but absolutely gorgeous. It was like walking through an ornate rock garden. Delicate and hardy alpine plants emerged from the seemingly lifeless dust covering the rock. The hillside was adorned with buckwheat, stonecrop and paintbrush of various colors.

Upon gaining the false summit, I looked north to my final destination. A half-mile rocky, undulating ridge lay between me and the top of the peak. This interesting section of climb took me past several cliffy rock outcrops that I had to navigate down and around. Squeezing in the space left by melting snow as it parted ways from the rock wall, I pondered how much easier this would have been just a few weeks earlier with a more hefty snowpack.

The summit area was flat and broad; it was a great place to sit and relax before heading back down. In the sun and haze I was able to see several peaks including the Three Sisters (at least two of them), Mt. Thielsen (aka “Tomorrow”) and Mt. Yoran (aka “Yesterday”). It was remarkable to have this beautiful place to myself at 10:30 am on a holiday weekend.

But I knew I had to get down before it really got hot. I sadly left the summit behind, hopping across the rock to a narrow snow ridge that I walked across until it got a little too narrow for my liking. I squirmed through the moat again, returning briefly to the rock ridge before barreling down the talus and scree. I edged right to another snowfield and plunge-stepped down as far as I could before moving back to the rock. About an hour later I reached the trail, immediately encountering people. I passed another couple at the corner and then three backpackers further down the trail. After that short rush of congestion I swiftly walked out to the car in peace and quiet.

Summit 2 out of 4 for this trip is also highly recommended. The flat approach provides a nice warm-up for the climb itself, and the off trail navigation is pretty straightforward. This would likely offer an interesting snow climb for most of the year as well, although it would be a shame to miss the spectacular alpine flora during its brief bloom.