05-09-10 The Approach
I left work in Bloomington, IL late in the afternoon on Friday, September 9th and boarded the usual Embraer RJ45 bound for Chicago’s O’Hare airport. Trading my briefcase for a daypack, I patiently waited to board one of American’s many MD80’s, which was, of course, late on its inbound from Logan. I met the plane, which arrived just over an hour and a half late, at the gate to find it expelling a stream of rowdy Bostonians into the K terminal. "Hey Fitzy, wait up ya retaaad!" I couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Why is it that, even with an increasingly narrowing window between occurrences, these trips can’t seem to come soon enough?
Stepping out of the terminal in Seattle, I immediately felt comfortable carrying my duffle, stuffed full with 40lbs. of climbing equipment, when I saw that others were also waiting for their packs at the carousel. Around and around the baggage belt went...suitcase, suitcase, backpack, suitcase, backpack, suitcase, huge blue duffel-bag. "Excuse me, if I can just get through...that’s me...thanks." The van driver met me with a smile, "You got your girlfriend in there?"
"It’s my wife, here you take her." I said. Just a few days ago leaving Philadelphia, I was on the other end of some strange looks from the TSA personnel. I’m sure thoughts of body parts crossed their minds at least once when seeing the big, lumpy blue bag slung over my shoulder. At SEA-TAC, this was more of a common sight. "Actually, I’m going climbing in the Cascades this weekend." My explanation was accepted with a nod as if to say, "Duh, thanks Captain Obvious."
I got to the hotel in downtown Seattle around midnight, Pacific Standard Time, set my watch for 5:15am, watched some Conan, and hit the sack. Street racing must be big in Seattle these days, which I’m sure is exciting for the kiddies, but not so much when you’re trying to sleep before the ‘big day’. Morning came in the blink of an eye, and soon I was dragging the blue duffle downstairs to meet the guide from Mountain Madness. Ben Haskel was out front waiting by the car and introduced me to Steve, his other client who would be joining us on the climb.
Steve, an oral surgeon from Grand Rapids, was an older gentleman, but that’s not to say he was old by any means. When you’re 29, everyone is either a kid or an older gentleman, or a woman, but Steve definitely wasn’t one of those. I was immediately humbled when our hi-how-do-you-do chat switched over to conversation relating to our own individual forays in the climbing world. This wasn’t Steve’s first trip to the Cascades as it was mine. He had indeed climbed many more big, mean mountains than I had; including Mt. Baker and Mt. Hood as well as the 19,000 footers Mt. Cotopaxi in Ecuador and Kilimanjaro in Africa. On top of this, he described himself as an avid ice-climber. Needless to say, I was feeling a bit outgunned in the experience department and began to ask myself questions like, "What the hell am I doing in this car?"
The tension mounted as the conversation continued over breakfast in Sedro-Woolley, until it was finally broken by the realization that there was no way out for me. Back in the car, en route to the Mount Baker District Ranger Station, I hinted through the power of suggestion that no matter what was to happen, it wasn’t my intention to ruin the trip for everyone else. I could perceive some apprehension from the group during the question and answer sessions. My companions had every right to feel concern, for my skills seemed to be severely lacking. I finished my soliloquy with, "No one wants to be that guy, but someone always is" and sat back for the rest of the ride, intent on just enjoying what scenery I could see through the clouds.
We arrived at the trailhead, which is really just an old road-block at 2,560’ on Shannon Creek Road, to find the small parking area nearly full. We had learned at the ranger station that there were as many as four other groups attempting the route; fortunately, there was still space for us to leave the car. We geared up and set off up the ‘road’. I use the term loosely because this old logging route has not been used since the area was clear-cut perhaps decades ago. In reality, it’s narrow, steep, muddy and overgrown with brush and fallen timber.
Determined not to show any weakness, I stayed on Ben’s heals, keeping pace with him without slowing down or stopping to rest. I found that I got into a good rhythm, which made me feel as if I was getting a good workout, but not tiring very much if at all. Almost from the start, we could both see that Steve wasn’t having a similar experience. Many times I looked back to find him out of sight, the only sign of his presence the clink of his hiking poles and his gasping for breath. After a solid hour of chugging uphill with our full packs, we stopped and took a rest. It was almost 5 minutes before Steve was able to join us. It was going to be a long day for Steve.
At 3,200’ we met up with the Shannon Ridge Trail which continues to ascend into a beautiful forest. Here the brush gave way to older growth, and I felt like I was finally out of the rain forest and on a real trail. Climbing steadily, we stopped a few times to let others pass from above and to wait for Steve. By now, Steve had finally admitted to us that he was feeling a bit nauseous and under-the-weather. Concerned that we wouldn’t reach camp in favorable time, Ben began unloading weight from Steve’s pack and loading it into his own. I offered to help, and ended up carrying his ice axe. Shaving pounds, or even ounces, in backpacking usually provides relief, but Steve would have to tough it out.
Near 4,600’ the trail reaches a sub-ridge and begins northeast towards a col at 5,400’. The trail opens up here, and we were finally offered views of the peaks and valleys surrounding us. We sat and took a short rest, anticipating a wretched climb to the col. Baker Lake sat peacefully to one side of us, while Mount Baker peaked in and out of the clouds on the other. Moving on, I found that the climb to the col went extremely quick, or at least, much easier than I had feared. We rested again at the top, this time pausing for a snack. Steve was falling way behind at this point. When he finally reached us, he looked awfully forlorn. A splitting headache had joined his nausea and dry cough, and for a while I thought the next words out of his mouth would be, "I just can’t go on."
Steve managed to hold it together, although he would lag behind most of the weekend. I can’t say that I would have done any better in his situation. Being in his condition in that environment is utterly undesirable, something anyone should avoid at all cost. I guess it is time I come clean here; I became quite frustrated with Steve, though not overtly. Looking back on the experience, I realize I should just count my lucky stars it wasn’t me. But the impact his performance was having on our pace was jeopardizing our chances of success.
From the col, the trail begins to disappear as it traverses between cliff bands below the upper ridge. Slowly, we began working our way up again, ascending a rugged talus slope to the snout of the Sulphide Glacier. Here we paused to put on more layers and switch into climbing mode by donning our harnesses, crampons, ice axes and helmets. Noticing that I was spending most of my time looking around in shear awe, Ben inquired, "Is this your first time on a glacier?"
"Uh, yeah, first time." I spat back. I couldn’t get my mind off the shear size of the giant sloping headwall rising above the terminal moraine on which I was now standing. The wind began to whip down from above, making it feel as if I had just entered a walk-in freezer. No way was I going to say what I was really thinking, "Wow, so this is what an actual glacier looks like."
We began climbing the glacier favoring the gentler terrain to our right. Some sections were fairly steep, and I was glad that Ben looked back every now and then to offer some suggestions on how I could improve my crampon technique. I found myself using the French technique primarily, switching to American only when the terrain steepened. We rounded the crest of the snout, working our way back left to avoid some huge crevasses, eventually reaching the high camp at 6,500’.
Ben began scouting for a site to set up the tent, while I waited for Steve to come over the crest. I couldn’t resist pulling out the camera to snap shots of Shuksan’s summit pyramid looming above. Between my vantage and the summit lay the crevassed surface of the Sulphide Glacier, our route would take us over this terrain.
We set up camp on the snow right where I stood in wait for Steve. The traditional camp area on the rock adjacent to the glacier was full; all the sites taken by the groups who had started before us, or passed us on the way up. After having fulfilled my duties at camp, I scrambled up the rock past the other sites, spending about a half hour capturing some memories on digital media. Returning to camp, I was able to catch some of the waning sunlight hitting the mountain and the area around camp.
We sat in the tent until darkness fell, filling up on calories provided by miso soup and macaroni and cheese with tuna. "Can you believe those guys?" Ben quipped, talking about a group scouting the route up in the camp area, "They actually asked me how I planned on getting around all those crevasses up there!"
"What did you tell them?" asked Steve, as I also waited patiently for his answer.
"I said we don’t plan on going around anything," he replied, "We’re going to go right over them." With that comforting thought, it was time for bed. We set our alarms for 3am and turned off our headlamps. Having just hiked 5 miles and 3,000’ of elevation gain with a 40 pound pack was a blessing in disguise, as I don’t know if I could have slept much otherwise.