Rainier via Kautz Route (June 7-8, 2014)

I hadn't done in a trip with Gerhard in a while, and knowing that his usual climbing partner was out of commission with a broken hand, I asked him if he'd like to get out and do something; Rainier was one of the options I threw out.

He responded that he might be interested in Rainier; he suggested Liberty Ridge as a possibility.  I didn't know the specifics of the Liberty Ridge route, but when news broke the next day that six AAI climbers were missing from the Liberty Ridge route, I suggested that maybe we consider other options.

The Kautz Glacier ended up being our route of choice for the weekend, and the weather forecast held... and so it was that we found ourselves getting permits at the Climbing Information Center around 11 a.m. on Saturday June 7.  When we asked the ranger if anyone else was heading up the Kautz Glacier who had registered, he replied that there was a party heading for the Kautz Headwall, but no one for the Kautz Glacier.  When I expressed surprise at how few people were planning on heading that direction, he double-checked and realized that indeed, there was a party of 6 heading for the Kautz Glacier the next morning.  (We later saw 9 on the route.)

Fortunately, a recent trip to The Sisters had reminded me how heavy an overnight pack can feel and how much of a challenge altitude can add.  So when our pace up the Turtle can be was turtle-like, I wasn't too surprised.

Neve Penitentes by a bivy spot on the ridge.

There were at least 4 tents already in place by the time we arrived at 7 p.m., but we found a decent spot half-covered with ice; we added snow to level out the spot, started making water, and were in bed at 10 p.m.  Winds were light to non-existent; the temperatures dropped only a bit below freezing (evidenced by freezing in my hydration tube in the morning, which had been stored in my pack).

View from our tent site.

We planned to wake up at 4 a.m. and start moving at 5, but since our neighbors had left later than they planned (around 4:30 - 4:45), I didn't mind getting a slower start (we actually left at 5:20 a.m.) so that we could let them get through the gully near camp (which has a fixed line) before we got there.

Gerhard checking out the fixed line near camp to get to the glacier Saturday evening.

After rappelling the gully and then roping up we started up the ice steps.  The ice sections were OK, but I wish I would  have sharpened my Grivel air-tech axe.  (Or perhaps that that wouldn't have helped?)  Certainly the Petzl Quark was much more effective.  Gerhard led the way, placing a single screw (on the 2nd pitch, which we agreed was more challenging). Gerhard also threaded the rope through the neve penitentes so that the rope would catch if he did fall.

After we got through the ice sections, it was about 7:45 a.m..  This brought us to 12,000'.  (800' of progress in 2.5 hours.)

The ice steps, as viewed from near camp  Some of the snow is just a thin layer over ice.

The route was much more straightforward from here, and in the next 2.5 hours worked our way up another 2000'.  Despite having skis and skins with us, conditions dictated that we'd have to carry them... and so we huffed and puffed our way up to the top.  Like the guides say:  "Pole, pole".

Perhaps the most surprising sight of the day was a fox that Gerhard spotting heading toward the crater rim (away from us). I had no idea they went that high on the mountain!

The wind was quite strong at the crater rim, and even stronger at the true summit.  (I'd guess 30+ mph.)  Just 20' below we found a much friendlier spot, relatively wind-free.  We ate and stowed the rope, sat down, and watched other groups reach the summit.  It felt really very nice to be able to just sit and relax there.  We weren't in any particular hurry, since we were hoping that the snow would soften up a bit before we headed down.

At the top, trying not to be blown away.

After close to an hour we left our perch.  We chatted with a group of our neighbors and decided to take a slightly different route down; this route was the route that's actually shown in the Gauthier guidebook; the route that we had taken up had seemed like the obvious way to go, but is on the other side of the Wapowety Cleaver.

The "standard" route has the advantage of being southeast facing, and given how icy our route was on the way up, we weren't certain that it would have corned up in 90 minutes for the on the trip down and liked our chances better on the "standard" route. Given how icy the snow was when we flipped over the ridge at 13,000', I'm glad we made that choice.

Our route: Red is up, Blue is down.  (Accidentally turned off GPS around 11,700' on the way down)

The snow off the top was actually what could be described as "packed powder".  Down lower there was some snow transitioning to corn.  Unfortunately when things were in ideal corn shape, we were futzing our way down the ice chute.  Things were quite sloppy down low (below ~8000').

We opted to belay the downclimb of the last 20-30 meters of the 2nd (upper pitch of ice), rather than rappel, using a V-thread.  (Backed up with 2 screws for the first down-climber).  The lower pitch was bypassable on climber's left.  That is, on that side we could use the neve penitentes as steps / handholds in many places.  It was my first time downclimbing ice like that before!

We knew that one of the obstacles to getting back to camp would be the gully that we rappeled down on the way up in the morning.  We had the option of bypassing this and skirting the icefall above us, but instead we opted to prusik up the fixed line.  I finally got to put that prusiking practice to good use!

Things were faster than I expected getting back to the car from camp.  Only 90 minutes back, including the climb up to Glacier Vista!  At 6:30 p.m. we were back at the car, satisfied with a challenging but fun third trip up Rainier.

Many thanks to Gerhard for a great trip.

Timeline
Saturday -
7:45 a.m. - Leave Seattle
10:45 a.m. - arrive Paradise
11:45 a.m. - start from Paradise lower lot
4:40 p.m. - base of Turtle
7 p.m.  - Arrive at camp at 11,200'

Sunday -
4 a.m. - Awake
5:20 a.m. - Leave Camp
7:45 a.m. - Done with Ice steps
10:20 a.m. - top of Kautz Glacier (near Point Success, 14,000')
11:00 a.m. - Arrive Summit
11:50 p.m. - Depart summit
2:30 p.m. - Done with descent of first pitch
4:30 p.m. - back at camp
5 p.m. - Leave camp
6:30 - back at Paradise lower lot

Equipment:
* 60m 8mil rope
* Petzl Quark ice tool
* Grivel Air Tech Evo ice axe
* 6 screws total (used max of 2 at once)
* Skis, boots, poles
* Beacon, shovel, probe
* Lightweight 3-season tent

Weather: 

Some clouds (mostly below us, except on Saturday)

Summit: around 20 degrees, 30-40 mph winds (less just south of summit)

Link to more pictures on flickr!

Play day on the Sulphide

Ever since I'd heard of skiing the Sulphide several years ago, the idea sounded intriguing.  Back in 2007 I summited Shuksan via the Fischer Chimneys route (I didn't even own any skis at the time; we were on foot).  And I'd been curious about what the rest of the Sulphide Glacier looked like (from the Fischer Chimneys route, one only gets a glimpse of the upper part).  And unlike many skiers, I really enjoy flat, mellow runs that I can straightline while I watch the scenery go by.  Glaciers can be really good for that.

So after three days of good weather (Saturday - Monday) entered the forecast last week and Carla suggested the idea of doing three days of skiing, I didn't mind taking a vacation day.  June is a great month for skiing in the Pacific Northwest: long days and snow starting at 4000' or lower.  The only tricky part is finding good weather windows; our dry summers don't really start until July 4.

So after an easy, short day from Heather Meadows (around Table Mountain) and a moderate day on Mt. Ruth, we drove to Shuksan from Bellingham, departing at 5:15 a.m. and arriving at the trailhead at 7.  (We stopped for gas, coffee, and bathroom en route.)  I had never driven to that trailhead (Shannon Ridge) before, and had never been that far down Baker Lake Road.  What a fun drive!  Until the pot-holed, dirt section began.  The potholes in that section threatened to swallow the Saturn whole.

There were two other cars at the trailhead, but by about 6000' we'd seen both parties descending (on foot).  We had the entire mountain to ourselves!  We didn't see anyone after that until we were nearly back at the cars.

By 7:15 we were on our way.  The trailhead is at 2600' and patches of snow started around 3000'; by 4000' it was consistent.  We put on skis and skins when we got to the start of the ridge at 4600'.

The snow was a bit firm and steep just below the col at 5400', but fine without ski crampons.  The view of the steepish slope that we needed to traverse after leaving the col gave me pause.  It looked really steep!  I threw on ski crampons, though they really weren't necessary, and a pre-existing skin track made things easier.  The soft snow was well-enough behaved for our traverse.

We continued onward and upward, doing some heavy snacking at 6400' before continuing up to the base of the summit pyramid.  The views of Jagged Ridge and Mt. Baker did not disappoint.  The views of the summit and the sea of white below lured us on.  The summit itself looked steep enough to be impossible to climb.

Around 12:30 we made it to the base of the summit pyramid: 8400'.  I have to admit that getting there was a bit anitclimactic.  Clouds had started to roll in; enough to obscure views.  And we hadn't brought equipment (ice axe, rope, etc.) to go to the summit, since we figured we wouldn't have the time or energy to do so.  But it was still a wonderful day in a beautiful place.

As clouds near us started to get taller and closer, they helped motivate us to start moving from our lunching high-point.  Around 1:15 we started down; at about 2:30 we were taking our skis off at 4000'.  At 3:30 we were back at the car, trying to figure out what to do with ourselves and the rest of the day.  Enjoying the other awesome thing about June - the lack of mosquitoes - we lingered for about an hour at the trailhead, drinking our beer and ginger ale, doing some reading, even making a cell phone call.  (Yes, there was cell reception at the trailhead!)

What a fun day!

Jury Duty in King County, Washington

A few weeks ago I went to King County Superior Court to fulfill my jury duty.  There was a lot of information that wasn't communicated to me that I would have liked to know in advance of jury duty about how it works, so I'm writing it down here in the hope that it helps someone else.  Note that I never served on an actual trial, but I was selected to be in jury pools for 2 different trials.

"The length of one trial" - My summons for jury duty did not explicitly say that jury duty was at least 2 days.  It said "2 days or the length of a trial".  I had no idea how long trials lasted, but assumed they were usually pretty short and that 2 days was the maximum, but it's actually the minimum.  When we arrived at the courthouse, however, a judge told us that trials in her courtroom were usually at least a week and a half long. Apparently there's large variances in the length of a trial; a DUI case might last just one day, but some complex lawsuits can last 4 weeks or more.  Jurors are expected to schedule their jury duty for a time when they can be available for 2-4 weeks for a trial.  That is, when they don't have any vacations / trips scheduled, etc.  It would have been great to know how long trials can last, both in terms of scheduling and setting expectations for coworkers, etc.

The lower your number, the more likely you are to actually serve on a jury.   In one of the trials I was part of the jury pool for, 50 jury candidates were selected.  I was juror #31.  The judge wanted 13 jurors. 18 jurors in front of me (of jurors #1-30) would have needed to be dismissed for reasons of hardship, peremptory challenge, or other challenge in order for me to make it into "the box".  As it was, only 5 or so jurors were dismissed, and I got nowhere near the jury box.  Superior court cases require 12 jurors + 1 or more alternates.  District court cases require 6 jurors + 1 or more alternates.  When I showed up for jury duty, I was surprised to see how many people had been summoned: there were about 200 of us in the jury assembly room.

Juries don't meet on Fridays.  That's right -- if you're selected for a jury for a trial that lasts 2 weeks, you'll only need to be at court Monday - Thursday.  I don't know why the court works that way, but it does.

You will be paid $10 per day for your service, but don't expect to be paid that day.  They don't hand out ten-dollar bills that you'll be able to use to pay for lunch.  You'll be paid in the mail in a month or so.  If you aren't convinced to donate your compensation to the courthouse daycare facility (which I was).  Also, I find the $10/day payment comical.  If we paid jurors a reasonable amount for their time (minimum wage, at least), perhaps the legal system would use jurors' time more efficiently.

There is wifi at the courthouse.  There was some glitch with the portal setup, so the Chrome browser will refuse to connect to the portal (where you agree to terms of wifi use), but once you use Safari, Firefox, or some other browser to "sign in", you can use Chrome just fine.  You can use your laptop, smartphone, etc. in the jury assembly room, but not in the courtroom.  While waiting to be selected for a jury pool, there is plenty of free time.  I can't recall the speed of the connection, but I don't recall it being too bad.

You will have about 1.5 hours for lunch each day.  Lunch breaks are quite generous.  I found that this was plenty of time to walk to Pike Place Market and stroll around.

There is a jury orientation on your first day.  This involves watching a video and listening to a judge speak.  I found this pretty informative, since this was my first time going to jury duty.

You don't need to be at the courtroom at 8 a.m. every day, just the first day.  My second day I didn't need to be at the courtroom until 8:45 a.m.

Goodbye, Coach Collins

This morning I got the news, a bit late, that Coach Collins passed away last Thursday.  (http://www.eagletribune.com/local/x1196448741/End-of-an-era) The news wasn’t completely shocking; at the age of 82 he wasn’t a spring chicken any more, and his health wasn’t perfect, either.

What was more surprising than his passing was how powerful the news was to me and how deeply saddened I’ve been since hearing the news, despite the fact that I haven't seen him in over a decade.

I spent about an hour this morning reading his memoirs “The Word Quit Does Not Exist”.  My perspective since it was published, when I was 19 (I’m now 36) has changed significantly.   Growing up in Andover, Coach Collins’ dedication was not nearly as astounding to me as it appears from the perspective of a software engineer, where people change teams, projects, or companies every few years.

Coach Collins taught and coached football and track and field at Andover High for 37 years.  In the summers, he taught at Phillips Academy.  Did he ever have a free minute for himself in all those years?  I can’t imagine that he possibly could have.  I, on the other hand, grumble about volunteering just a fraction of my free time to teach climbing and backcountry skiing.  And yet he gave so much that in return he received much joy in the form of love that his students and athletes gave to him.

I remember wondering why Coach Collins wrote his memoirs back in the day, shortly after he retired.  It seemed like somewhat aimless storytelling.  Where, exactly, was the plot?  Now I see his book as a gift to all of us, the community of Andover, sharing our successes and reminding us of the good that is in all of us; he spoke ill of no one.  And in it, we again receive the gift of his wit, wisdom, and values; we learn about his own heroes.

In a time when I find it hard to find people whom I genuinely look up to, Coach Collins stands out as someone I truly respect and admire.  I will never be someone of his stature, but if I had 1% of his skills as a speaker, leader, and coach; 1% of his generosity… for just one day, I would be truly happy.

It’s funny, the random things that I remember about him, too.  “Never curse a ballpoint pen,” he said when he tried to write something on a piece of paper posted on his door but failed as gravity fought against him.  There was some story about him receiving a scholarship from a ballpoint pen company.  I think about that every time I can’t get a ballpoint pen to work.

Sometimes when I close a presentation I’m giving, I find myself asking, “Any questions, comments, or words of wisdom?”  That’s how he closed every class, and it still works today.

I loved his system of coaching track & field that rewarded everyone for hard work, in a sport where talent is more often praised.  When I tell my current friends of our track team that had over 150 members, they’re astounded.  It was the fairness of system that drew people to it.  More people working hard meant more success.  And more success drew more people.

I learned of Coach Collin’s passing this morning when I picked up my phone after returning home from my early morning run.  If it hadn’t been for his fairness, his reputation, and success as a coach, I may never have considered quitting the softball team to join the track team.  If it hadn’t been for Coach Collins, I might not have started running and enjoyed running in college; might not have made so many friends through running; might not have explored many places around the world through running; might not have maintained a high level of fitness by running.  The gift of running was one of his great gifts to me.

His smile from those many years ago shines through brightly as I think of him.  He seemed so genuinely happy to work with us and see us. He clearly cared about us - his students, his athletes, his colleagues, his community. I wish I could see his smile and shake his hand again.

Thank you, Coach Collins.  I miss you so much.

Argonaut

We'd been hoping to do Argonaut on a nice fall day (we'd heard that fall was a nice time to be there), but for some reason it was the best thing we could come up with for a 50%-chance-of-showers-and-cloudy weekend.

We'd been checking the weather models every 6 hours or so and decided that we'd have dry weather until 3 p.m. on Saturday and all day Sunday, which would be just right for a 7 mile approach on Saturday and a climb and de-proach on Sunday.

It turns out that weather models aren't always spot-on.

For example, when we pulled into the parking lot just before 11 a.m., it wasn't raining, but it started doing so almost as soon as we opened the door.  Sigh.  After getting ready much more slowly than usual, and putting on our boots while snug inside the car, and even reading some comics in the newspaper, we finally decided that the rain had tapered off enough that we should start our trek to camp.

I decided that it was the perfect trip for an umbrella, so I stuffed a leopard-skin-print one in my pack as we headed out.

We were pleasantly surprised to not be rained during our trip to camp; it didn't rain while we set up camp, did arts and crafts, napped, or cooked dinner, either.  In fact, as we got ready for bed, we could spy hundreds of stars through the trees above us.

Arts and crafts time at camp

The next morning it seemed to take forever for the sun to rise; it was just light enough to start our bushwhack uphill at 6:40 a.m.

According to most reports, one can avoid most thrashing about if you head straight uphill from the junction of the Ingalls Creek and Fourth Creek trails and stick to game trails.  Apparently we were following game who stuck to only one topo line for their entire lives, for we seemed to find innumerable trails that traversed, but only one or two that actually went uphill at all.

In the end, we ended up doing some thrashing.  My hopes of ascending anywhere near Charlie's estimate of 1000'/hour were dashed.  (After our last trip together, my estimate was a fair bit slower than that).  However, the thrashing didn't last too long, and after that the going was quick all the way up to ~7600', where things steepened a bit.

The crux was, advertised, the 50' up to the east ridge.  We didn't rope up for its ascent, but we did for the way down, and as the wind howled and the route started to look even steeper on the way down, I was glad we did.  (For some reason, it was quite windy in just that section).  The summit block itself was good fun; the only disappointment was the complete lack of views to the north.  And much to my surprise, we had still averaged 1000' hour (for a total time of 4 hours), despite our thrashing!

 The summit block.  You can't see the deep hole to Charlie's right!

Charlie descending the summit block

It was fun to see that the new summit register, 3 months old, had about a half dozen parties in it, three of them with Washington Alpine Club representatives.

Charlie rappelling down from the east ridge

Other than cranky knees, the way down was relatively smooth.

We decided that we had time to spare for a shortcut, so we took a different way back down to the Ingalls Creek trail with the hopes of avoiding slide alder.  We were relatively successful for much of the way, but no bushwhack is complete without at least some of it.  Let's just say that if you end up on our descent route, you might keep an eye out for a pair of thin OR gloves in some slide alder.  They weren't attached to my pack very securely....

We ended up swinging a bit further east than intended (the fall line led us that way), but still ended up getting down faster than our way up (which is often not the case for us when the going is steep or tricky).  It took us 3:40 to get back down to the trail (and then another 15 to get back to camp).

The weather had treated us relatively well so far, but at about 5 p.m. we noticed the skies getting significantly darker.  Yikes.  A few minutes later the skies opened up.  Thank goodness I had my backcountry umbrella!

The ranger in the parking lot sounded surprised when we told him we had done Argonaut.  I don't think he's used to seeing climbers carrying umbrellas!

Return to Ragged Ridge

It's funny how some mountains build you up, and others smack you down.

After our trip to Luahna, where everything went according to plan, and we got back to civilization in time for burgers and shakes at my favorite diner, I was feeling pretty competent at this business of mountain meandering.

Charlie on the Fisher Creek Trail

And for some reason, our view from a col between Kimtah and Katsuk on our first trip to Ragged Ridge had made the slope below Cosho look mellow; friendly, even.

And perhaps it's the mismatch of expectations and reality that kills me.

After just over a thousand feet of bushwhacking through what was advertised to be "open forest", I was already grumpy.  In hindsight, the sub-par mood had started at the car, when my climbing partner had decided that he was going to bring an 18 liter pack for the trip.  It's true that I didn't need, strictly speaking, every item on and in my forty-ish liter pack that weekend, but I don't tend to call a hat and gloves "optional" when planning on bivying at 8000'.  But I digress.

That "open forest" had already applied pine needles over every square inch of my body and a goose-egg sized bump to my shin.  And the flies and heat were starting to drive me mad.

To add to the stress, the gully where my ever-optimistic climbing partner had predicted water contained zilch.  This on one of the sunniest, hottest days of the year as we headed up the 4000'/mile incline for another 3000' of southwest facing fun.  And no, we hadn't refilled our bladders at the river.

Well, 3000' doesn't take fit people all that long to ascend, and we were pretty sure that we'd be able to access the glacier at the top of this gully.  So we continued upward.

My climbing partner, who in addition to being the most optimistic one I've ever had is also the kindest, gives me credit for espying the trickle of water we found at 5400'.  And when I say trickle, I'm not kidding.  It took about 10 minutes to get 1.5L into my water bladder.  Drip, drip, drip.

The Optimist was reluctant to take his bladder out of his pack to fill it because he would have to completely re-pack his pack, and getting everything into and out of a stuffed-to-the-gills 18-liter pack is apparently the climber's equivalent of flossing your teeth: something you'd really rather not do more than once per day.  So he proceeded to perform what I can only describe as the "avian parent" to his water bladder.   Yes -- he extracted the water from a pool not much bigger than his face (we're waiting for the giardia to hit any day now...) with his mouth and then into the bladder via the hose.  Not something I've seen done before, and even slower than waiting for the trickle to fill.  (Drip, drip, drip).

The luck with the water heartened us and helped us through the next 1500 feet.  We even stumbled across an even bigger trickle (still not big enough to call a stream) where we loaded up on more water.

But the heat, the flies (and horseflies!  I swear I've never seen any horseflies in the Cascades, but between the two of us we killed at least a dozen during the trip), and constant fear of slipping took its toll.

"This isn't fun," I declared at a particularly low point.

"I'm sorry," the Kindest Optimist replied.  "You're right.  We don't have to do this."

I'll plead the fifth and avoid providing an accurate description of my state at this point, but my lower back had already been rubbed raw by my pack; my left food couldn't get an edge at all on this stupidly-hard-packed dirt because an achilles problem had forced me to wear a trail running shoe on that foot; the flies continued; the sun only intensified through the afternoon.  Maybe you can guess.

"I guess I'm willing to go up to the col, at least."

Our plan was to bivy at the col just east of the summit of Cosho, where the Kimtah Glacier reaches the ridge.  We just had to continue up another 1500' of frustration to get there.

There were all sorts of rocks on the way up that gully:  vertical strips of softball sized-sized rocks that all moved when you tried to traverse them, covering your ankles and making you wonder if you would escape.  Hard-packed dirt-sand that wouldn't hold an edge unless you kicked steps repeatedly.  Solid rocks whose only edges were covered by small, loose rocks.  If I'd been in any sort of mood to do so, I would have taken pictures to remember all the different ways in which rock could be so terrible.

Keeping all muscles tensed throughout the ascent was exhausting: physically, mentally, and emotionally.

When we finally reached the col, we sat and ate and in subdued conversation.  Only after 45 minutes did we even think about heading up to the summit.  It certainly didn't look like class 3 from our position.  Would we be able to make it up there and back before dark?

Fortune smiled upon us at this point, however, and given us a very pleasant trip up to the summit from the col, the best 400' we'd had all day, containing just one "move" that gave us pause.

And the sunset and moonrise that we got to see from the summit might have made it all worthwhile.

Moonrise over Kimtah Peak at sunset from Cosho's summit

That night we talked about our plans for the next day.

"We don't have to climb Kimtah tomorrow," I said, even though that had been the original plan.

"Nope, if it's not fun, we shouldn't do it.  Unless that's what we want to do,"  said the Kindest Optimist, in his usual accommodating manner.

Since I'm usually willing to get up earlier than my climbing partner, I asked him when he'd be interested in waking up on Sunday.

"Any time after 5 a.m."

"All right; I'll wake up you up when I'm ready to get up."

Generally I'm in favor of getting an early start; whatever's needed to accomplish the next day's objectives, as long as I get at least five or six hours of sleep.  But sometimes exhaustion and sleep deprivation trump summit ambitions,.  And despite having a very nice evening, I still hadn't forgotten the day's suffering.  I didn't set an alarm for the next morning, but I knew that I'd be able to wake up around 5 without one.

But I hadn't accounted for our visitor.

From within my bivy bag bed, I heard some bustling about outside.  An animal?  We hadn't seen so much as a marmot since we'd left Easy Pass.  It was the Kindest Optimist, responding to an invasion by one "large rat."  My sleep-infected brain knew this didn't sound right, but nevertheless was mortified by the thought of a rat running around and nibbling on our gear.

I might get up pretty easily in the morning, but the middle of the night is a different story.  By the time I became fully conscious after feeling what I thought was a rat trying to nibble on my wrist (?!), Optimist had already secured our helmets on top of trekking poles, his pack on top of two poles, and all of our boots and his water bladder in his bivy bag.

The maybe-not-always-Kindest Optimist was blathering something about the morality of trying to kill a rat that was after our gear with an ice ax.  I wasn't convinced that the likelihood of death was great enough to merit debate, but in the end he decided to refrain from violence.

I pulled my pack into my bag, turning it into something resembling a pillow and got a few glimpses over the next few hours of the "rat", which looked much more like a pika to me.  As the restless night progressed I swung from "no need to do Kimtah" to something like "well, maybe if we can bandage up my back somehow..."

When I looked at my watch around 5:30 a.m. I felt like I'd barely slept;  when Charlie pointed out the beauty of the sunrise a bit later, I caught a glimpse, grunted, and went back to sleep.

It wasn't until almost 7:30 a.m. that we started getting out of our bivy bags, a very late start indeed.  Fortunately the damage from the pika was minimal:  a few nibbles from the handles of my trekking poles, a small hole in the Optimist's pack, and a bit of chomping on the bite valve for my water bladder (which, lucky for me, didn't prevent me from drinking any of my water).

I won't bore you with the rest of the details except to say that we opted for back bandaging and optimistic time projections, which added up to a trip to Kimtah's summit.  We probably should have taken the glacier route across to Kimtah, as it might have saved us two or three hours or more of travel time (although carrying glacier gear would have slowed us down on the rest of the trip...).  But as it was, we were ropeless and decided instead to we descend 1000', then traverse under Thieve's Peak and back up 1000' to the col between Thieve's Peak and Kimtah.  Then a traverse across ledges, and up more terrible slope to the top.  The route we took gave us some exposed class 3 scrambling on the summit block, but nowhere did we find any class 4 scrambling (the route up to the Cosho col had had some class 4-ish sections, but it was only rated class 3 for some reason?).

ABD Combination Pad = awesome. (And no, I don't wear my pants that low except for bandaging!)

Our time estimates that predicted our return to the trail before dark were a full two hours off, in part because we did some alder-thrashing before realizing that we really did want to take the not-so-open forest back down to the trail.  And in part because descending isn't always faster than ascending (which we knew, but there's that optimism thing).

I was very happy, if emotionally exhausted, when we finally reached the trail.  And even happier when, at 10:30 p.m. we decided to get some sleep before heading 10 miles back to the car and 3+ hours back to Seattle.

Thank you, Optimist.  For patching my back, for your patience, and for miraculously fitting the stove into your pack for the return trip.

Little Tahoma, June 26

Co-conspirators: Charlie Hagedorn David Teitlebaum Weather: Superb.  Freezing Level: 10,000'.  Breezy after 2 p.m. Pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/susanashlock/sets/72157627059611052/ Poor Little Tahoma.  Not only is he saddled with an inferiority complex by virtue of being known as the diminutive of his bigger brother, but ever since he got my attention a few years ago, all I've heard is a stream of complaints about his loose rock. "A pile of choss."  "I wouldn't do that one again."  "Ugh." Are we not skier-climbers of Washington state?  Do we not visit the likes of Jack Mountain, Boston Peak, Saska,andmore?  Do we not enjoy the challenge of trying to find one foothold that might not bonk our climbing partner on the head? At this time of this year, anyway, I found Little Tahoma to be a relatively solid, enjoyable scramble to the top. (Judging from their comments, my comrades on this outing might not have agreed...) But I've gotten ahead of myself... A 4 a.m. start saw us walking for the first mile and a half (something about the plethora of pine needles on the snow kept us from skinning earlier; it certainly would have been possible).  A couple of ski-carries across bridges, then back on the skins... until a beautiful boot ladder just below Meany Crest convinced us that our tentative steps with ski crampons might not be the fastest way. From there, it was skins and ski crampons all the way to the notch in the Whitman Crest, where skis were carried just a few feet.  We started booting again around 9600' and two of us stashed our skis next to the others we found at the ridge at 10,400'.  By then (11:30 a.m.) the snow had softened enough for knee-deep post-holing, but none of us wanted to scramble along the ridge, and instead opted for the SE-facing slope that took us to within a couple hundred feet of the summit. At least one of us didn't want to tag the summit without a belay (and we wanted to justify the cordelettes we had carried up!) so we set one up, tagged the summit, and came back down. Jealous I was of Charlie's skis, placed 500' higher than mine, but eventually all of us were shushing down the Whitman. Few joys are greater than straightlining across a glacier and watching the world go by.  The sloppy, sticky snow below Meany Crest was significantly less joyful, but the deep runnels did provide some adrenaline. At this point (mid-afternoon), there were quite a few folks about, out for a ski on the Fryingpan, heading to camp to prepare for a trip to Little Tahoma, or just out for a day hike.  Quite a contrast to the first half of the day!  (We didn't actually cross paths with anyone on our trip until 11 a.m.) We avoided the footbridge over Fryingpan Creek by crossing early, over a snow bridge; this shortcut only cost us about a half hour of sidestepping, tree straddling, and step-retracing. Unlike our previous week's trip out from Hoodoo Peak, where the descent through the trees was somewhere between terrible and miserable, the descent along the Wonderland trail was sublime: well-groomed and fast. Congrats to Charlie, who, except for one brief carry along the trail, kept his skis on to the car ... and demonstrated how to ski dirt and wooden bridges along the way! Total time: 13.5 hours.