05-09-12 The Walk Out
We awoke at 6am on Monday to much of the same drizzle and fog we had experienced the evening before. After breakfast we got our stuff together, broke down the tent and sorted out group gear for the haul out. My pack felt heavier than it had on the way up, no doubt due to its soaking wet contents. Climbing in the Cascades is different than climbing in the Rockies for many reasons, not the least of which is due to the challenge of "moisture management", as Ben had called it. The Northwest is humid while the air in Colorado sucks the sweat right out of your body; so much so that gear that works well out West doesn’t prove as efficient in the Cascades.

Before long we were headed cautiously back down the snout of the Sulphide Glacier, driving our crampon points into the ice pack forcefully to keep from crashing into the moraine below. Descending with a full pack presents a challenge, especially when the only thing between your feet, and the massive moving sheet of ice beneath them, are 24 little chromolly steel points and a nylon strap. Soon we reached the terminal moraine, where we removed our glacier gear and began our scramble back down to the col. Again, Steve had terrible trouble negotiating the talus slope in his plastics. The more flexible Gore-Tex/Kevlar boots, like the ones Ben and I were wearing, allow for greater feel of the terrain. Steve was fighting a losing battle.

I continued following Ben as I had on the way up. This allowed me uninterrupted opportunity to pick his brain on a variety of subjects - from crazy climbing adventures, handling ill-prepared or inept clients and ski-mountaineering (Ben is a certified ski-mountaineering guide) to nutrition, physical conditioning and professional sports. The climb itself was the main course, but many of the things I learned along the way down I consider being the desert. There is no substitute for experience, but talking with someone who has experienced so much provides invaluable insight. Every break we took to wait for Steve, lasted longer than the previous one, but there was nothing we could do.

Back at the car, we packed up and dug into the soda and potato chips that Ben had stashed in the trunk. The ride back down the access road was a quiet one, each of us no doubt reflecting on the events of the last 48 hours. It was tough to leave such a beautiful place, even though the peaks were still hidden in the clouds; but knowing that I’d be back here someday, when I again felt the pull of these great glaciated beasts, offered comfort for my soul.