Mountainous

Yet again, it’s been a shamefully long time since I last updated. It turns out that trying to sum up some of the most life-changing months in a single blog post is a daunting task!

In May I took off for the Great White North for my NOLS Instructor Course. I spent 33 days in the field in the Eastern Alaska Range with 11 other aspiring outdoor educators. Although I (surprisingly) found myself to be one of the more technically proficient climbers in the group, those 33 days pushed me out of every other imaginable comfort zone. Heads butted, opinions clashed, and people’s individual leadership styles became apparent.

I met with the NOLS Staffing Director upon exiting the field, and was offered my first backpacking contract starting six days after our gear de-issue. With mountains and medical training on my mind (and my schedule), I had to decline, but I’m hopeful for fall employment and supremely confident that I’ll be working backpacking and mountaineering courses by next summer. All in all, the course served as a reaffirmation of the path I’ve chosen, and it was glorious to spend so much time around similarly idealistic people with an unbridled passion for the outdoors.

After a few days of recuperation in Portland and a brief jaunt to Seattle to see my Tribe, I hightailed it to California where I had two lovely back-to-back climbs: Mt. Hilton in the Trinity Alps, and Mt. Shasta.

Summit!

Looking back in the general direction of Hilton’s summit.

As I update this, I’m sitting in a hostel about 15 miles outside of Yosemite. This has been my home for the past week, and will be home until August 12th. So far, the world of Wilderness EMT material involves a lot of Wilderness First Responder review, but with the promise of so much more to come. I did my eight hour ER rotation last night at the Community Regional Medical Center in Fresno. It, to say the very least, deserves its own post.

I also managed to find a free moment to apply for a job that seems like a dream come true. I don’t want to jinx it by saying too much, but I’ll either be incredibly happy or stupidly frustrated as of the 29th of this month.

After a shamefully long hiatus, I’m only throwing up this quick post as a promise to myself (and the very small group of people who might end up reading this) to be a little more active with the posting this summer.

I’ve spent a wonderful six months learning about the intricacies of more technical mountaineering. In the Pacific Northwest, this means a whole lot of standing around in completely miserable conditions and practicing haul systems and digging avy hasty pits until you’re too frozen to do anything but drink large amounts of beer and bourbon.  It’s been fascinating and thrilling, especially when I consider how many more routes (and how many more mountains) these skills will prepare me for.

Now our Basic Climbing Education Program season is in full swing, which means all of us newly minted sort-of-technically-competent climbers are turning around and teaching very basic skills to aspiring climbers – something which brings me a special joy that reminds me why I spent so long teaching martial arts.  It also means lots of conditioning hikes and where all my weekends used to be blocked off for snow camping and beer drinking, they’re now recorded in an Excel grid. An Excel grid which lets me (in true nerd fashion) calculate my average vertical gain per weekend, miles traveled per weekend, and (eventually) cumulative elevation gain.

For those who don’t know, I’ve been offered a spot in the National Outdoor Leadership School’s Alaska Mountaineering Instructor Course – the course which qualifies a person to guide for NOLS. Not only have I been offered a spot, but offered a 60% scholarship. I leave on May 19th for Anchorage and will spend 28 days in the Chugach Range.

I then take off for California in early July for another Trinity Alps trip and Mt. Shasta double-header, and then off to Midpines, CA for my Wilderness EMT course. Everything in between is dedicated to climbs up and down the west coast. Shuksan, Rainier (via two routes!), Hood, North Sister, Washington, Black Peak, and whatever else I can cram into my schedule.

I promise to update as often as possible, though I’ll no longer be spending 40 hours a week at a desk (huzzah!)

For lack of anything better to update about (but just you wait – tonight promises some fun of an epic nature and this weekend will bring with it my first outdoor lead fall!), I figured I’d take the few pictures I managed to wrangle out of my climbing buddies and do a short post about what I actually summited this season.

After giving up on Mt. Hood, I climbed Middle Sister in mid-June. I think this might be new my favorite climb. There’s a beautiful pack-in to camp, through trees, over water, and representing so much of what I love about central and eastern Oregon. The climb itself isn’t terribly difficult, although we spent far too long kicking steps in the SE Diller Glacier route. Pretty gratifying to only see single boot tracks here, and knowing that we were the first team to the top that day!

Here’s a shot of our climb leader, with the Oregon Cascades behind him. North Sister to the right (my next objective, and one that terrifies me), with Mt. Washington and Three Fingered Jack to the left. It was an amazingly clear day and we had a perfect view of Washington, 3FJ, Hood, and Adams.

In early July I took a road trip down to Weaverville, CA with a few others and spent three days in the Trinity Alps, the site of my accident which left me with an epic black eye that people are *still* talking about. Sadly, our photographer (the only person who really took any photos at all), has been on an extended vacation ever since, so I’m still waiting on the proof that I didn’t injure myself. Just imagine three days of crystal clear alpine lakes, blazing heat, steep snow fields, aggressive deer (who stole: trail mix, t-shirts, bandanas, trekking poles, and our urine).

I got back on a Thursday and then left on Friday morning to climb Mt. Adams, officially knocking off all my Guardian Peaks. Our climb was made super deluxe by a bear sighting. Yes, a bear at 11,000′. In the glissade chute.

Our group at the Lunch Counter, with the false summit behind us. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

All of us at the summit! I’m third from the left in the back row.

And my final climb (perhaps the most memorable) – Three Fingered Jack. My first true exposure to climbing on the rotten, crumbling, disastrous rock of the Oregon Cascades. This mountain is ready to fall apart at any minute. Luckily, it didn’t happen while we were on it.

Looking out over “The Crawl” towards the summit. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

At the base of the summit chimney. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

Who wouldn’t put their lives in our hands? (Photo by Andrew Holman)

About the rappel off the (almost) summit.

Another season in the books! Now it’s just a short wait until winter!

In a rare bit of non-climbing-related news, which serves only to explain my complete disappearance from this blog until now, I (along with 50,000 other people) found myself in the middle of the Black Rock Desert at the beginning of this month for Burning Man. Fear not, I met fellow mountaineers at Camp D.O.A. (Decadent Outdoor Adventurers) and spent a dusty week of art, dancing, inspiration, and new friends.

Although I returned to the “default world” a mere three weeks ago, I’ve already launched myself heard-first into a new chapter in my climbing life. Since the day of my return from Nevada, I’ve been learning the basics of trad climbing, which involves a climber placing all pieces of protection to insure against falls (pitons, cams, stoppers, tri-cams, etc), as opposed to sport climbing where all protection is permanently installed on the route (bolts, etc).

This started with building trad anchors. Each anchor involves placing three pieces of protection and then connecting them with cordelette. After building our anchors (and getting the blessing of someone infinitely more knowledgeable), we rappelled off them. I can tell you that, in all the stupid and dangerous things I’ve done in my life, there have been few adrenaline rushes quite like letting go of the rock and hanging on an anchor that you hope you built correctly.

A bit of an idea of what we’re working with. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

That’s me in the black top on the face of the cliff. What you can’t see if how desperately I’m clinging to the rock. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

Trad climbing, and the bit of of sport lead-climbing I’ve been working on, is a whole new mental game. When I got into mountaineering my habitual gripe was how much I was forced to trust – I had to trust the anchors that other people built, I had to trust the gear that other people placed. Now I realize that it’s a lot easier to trust someone else’s work – I’m constantly second-guessing the way I placed that cam or whether or not that stopper has enough points of contact.

I was lucky to make it down to Smith Rock State Park last weekend (the first time in about a year!), and will be down there for two more weekends in the next month. This trip involved a humbling moment for me. I climbed Sky Chimney – a 5.7/5.8 three-pitch route. One bolted pitch, two trad pitches. The route kicked my butt, to put it mildly. Sky Chimney involves overhangs, crack climbing, stemming, liebacks, and all manner of moves in which I’m woefully unskilled since my all my time has been spent summiting peaks and not hauling myself up cliff faces. I took a fall past my tiny belay ledge (with a little too much slack in the rope) that resulted in a blood curdling scream, a purple and black thigh, and a bruised ego.

It looks impressive, right?

In short, I’m completely thrilled with how much I’m learning. My accident on Sawtooth last year rattled me more than I thought, and some of this multipitch climbing terrifies me; but that’s just a sign that I need to more of it, right?

Also, this gives me unparalleled opportunities for gear acquisition, as if I needed more.

LUST

Sobering news out of the Pacific Northwest this weekend. Mt. Hood released an eight foot deep slab avalanche and Rainier’s Ingraham Glacier experienced its own massive slide around 4:45 AM on Saturday. 10 climbers were buried and one is still missing.

Having intended to climb Hood on Saturday night.. this kind of news never gets less scary. I like to think that the folks I climb with are experienced, knowledgeable, and pretty damn wonderful and trustworthy, but none of us can withstand an avalanche. Even a one foot deep slab can gather more than enough speed to kill a climber. One of my rock climbing partners took a tumble down Hood last year after tripping over his crampon and ended up in a halo for months and months.

Definitely keeping all the climbers on Rainier in my thoughts. This season’s weather has been sketchy at best, and fatal at the worst.

The Northwest Weather and Avalanche Center has issued a warning of significant avalanche danger above 7-8000 feet.

A current storm system moving through the Northwest should deposit an additional 4 to 6 inches or more of snow at elevations above 7 to 8000 feet along with moderate southwest wind transport helping to further load steeper lee terrain. More showery weather anticipated late Sunday should be followed by decreasing showers early to mid Monday, with slowly clearing skies, decreasing clouds and brief warming likely later Monday and early Tuesday before another moderate storm system affects the area and brings another surge of precipitation and winds late Tuesday and Wednesday along with lowering freezing levels. As a result of both current and expected weather and avalanche conditions, travelers venturing into higher elevation terrain in the Cascades and Olympics should be conservative in their decision making, cautious in their route finding, and factor avalanche danger into their goals and route selection for the upcoming week…as very few goals or routes are worth injury or death.

Well, I’d say none. Be careful out there!

UPDATE: Photo from Hood this past weekend. Pretty glad we cancelled our plans at the last minute. Check out the huge slide in the background.

Ahh, the month of May. The month of my birth, the beginning of spring, and the first month where conditions on Mt. Hood are (usually) consistent and climbable. Until now.

Horrible weather patterns have resulted in serious avalanche concerns and a slew of poor outlooks for climbing conditions. Although I’ve had a few friends make the summit recently (under highly questionable circumstances), I’ve stayed down around 10,000 feet for fear of being swept into Zig Zag Canyon by sloughing on the Old Chute.

This doesn’t mean that I’ve been slacking, though! Absolutely not! I rounded out the months since my last update nicely by assisting with my friend’s Basic Climbing group – leading training hikes, teaching people about snow travel, and having a blast by using the proper French terms for crampon techniques in my snootiest accent.

My very favorite hike in the Columbia Gorge – Ruckel Ridge!

Sniped by Andrew Holman, as usual – hanging out above the Climber’s Parking Lot at Timberline during BCEP Snow Session.

My best attempt at explaining ice axe techniques for ascending and descending.

Despite being foiled on Hood a few times, I managed to climb St. Helens again on Mother’s Day. In the proud, longstanding tradition – I climbed in a dress, as did my entire climb party and the hundreds of other people we met on the mountain. It was a day of celebration and socializing as we ran into dozens of friends.

Photo by Andrew Holman. What a shock.

Climb season is almost fully underway! This next weekend will find me launching another assault on Hood (hopefully successful this time), and my season has already filled up nicely with solid plans for Mts. Adams, Stone, Rainier, Washington, Shuksan, Three Fingered Jack, Middle Sister, and Sahale, Wedding Cake, and Thompson Peaks. Plus whatever else I can fit in there – current considerations include backpacking the 40 mile Timberline Trail around Hood.

Fingers crossed, campers!

I promise I started this blog with the best of intentions, only to get distracted by.. life. In the (long) time since my last post, I’ve changed living situations, gone backpacking, done some outdoor climbing, and separated my shoulder in a ridiculous bike accident. I figured I’d do a short review in picture form, since I’m typing this all one-handed.

Shortly before my last post I hightailed it down to Terrebonne for some outdoor climbing. I went with a friend who far eclipses me in terms of skill, but patiently led me one some multi-pitch sport routes. We also happened to run into my climbing guru (the man who led me on the climb which resulted in my black eye – the one for which I’m famous throughout the Mazamas) who led us on some trad routes and let me clean them.

Taken at the bottom of the final pitch of Brogan Spire.

Clearly very pleased with myself and the beautiful backdrop.

I also met a very talented photographer with whom I became fast friends – Andrew. I’ve made him promise to accompany me on as many hikes, backpacking trips, and climb as possible, in order to have some good-looking photo documentation of my adventures. He’s an aspiring mountaineer and even “looks up to” me. It’s hard to keep from laughing sometimes.

We decided in mid-January to go up to Olympic National Park and backpack along the Hoh River. The Hoh Rainforest is supposed to be one of the wettest spots in the country and is mere spitting distance from.. FORKS, WASHINGTON. No sparkly vampire sightings, though. We were incredibly blessed with beautiful weather the first day, but long stretches of completely submerged trails and some sketchy water crossings.

Early on and still mostly dry. (Photo by Andrew)

Could this look any more artificial? (Photo by Andrew)

Photo by Andrew. Obviously.

I then dragged Andrew with me on a climb of Mt. St. Helens in mid-February. My first winter climb and his first ascent of a glaciated peak! We had bluebird skies and the best possible company.

Andrew’s phenomenal pano which is currently my work computer’s desktop wallpaper.

My friend Matt’s glorious and faithful dog – Roscoe – who snuggled with me at night to keep me warm. (Photo by Andrew)

Taken from camp. (Photo by Andrew)

Our group, with Andrew in front.

I even got to make Greg’s dream of Summit Boggle come true. Also, I won with “armoire.” (Photo by Andrew)

*You can find more of Andrew’s wonderful photography at his website.

As I write this, the climb schedule for the summer has been released and a printed copy is sitting on my desk, covered in notes scrawled in the margins, stars next to big climbs, and highlighter swathes to remind myself of what I just HAVE to climb. It’s an exciting time of year for me, filled with hours spent rearranging my calendar and saying goodbye to any semblance of a social life.

If all goes well, my darling readers (by which I mean.. you know, six of my friends) will be regaled with stories of Mt. Adams, Hood (again), Rainier, Olympus, Shasta, Jefferson, Middle and North Sister, Three Fingered Jack, and as many more as I can possibly cram into three and a half months.

Climb on!

Every person has a set of turning points in their lives. First prom, first time winning the game, graduation. I can confidently say that all of these (especially prom) pale in comparison to the experience of reaching my first “true” summit.

On May 23rd of this year I set off with several aspiring mountaineers to ascend our first glaciated peak – Mt. St. Helens. A talus heap in the truest sense of the world and a mere speedbump for most climbers, but it represented 8,365 feet of effort and follow-through.

As the sun set that first night on the mountain, I felt a sense of serenity, calm isolation, and awe unlike anything the desert or the lowlands had ever delivered. I sat on a rocky outcropping with four men with whom I’d developed an amazing sense of trust, and we watched the sun slip beneath the horizon.

Summit day began rather uneventfully. We pulled on our long underwear and stuffed cold feet into our boots and started trudging up to what our leader kept pointing out as the “false summit,” telling us that once we crested it we’d our true goal – the true summit. Progress was slow-going as we kicked steps into the snow and traded off leads.

About three quarters of the way up, I was struck with a terrible thought. What if I’d made a mistake? What if I got to the summit and felt nothing? What if my financial investment in gear, the time I’d spent in conditioning, and all the effort I’d put into dipping my toes in the proverbial waters of mountaineering all culminated in disappointment and the realization that mountain-climbing wouldn’t be my next great passion?

This promptly ended when I, leading our group, crested the “false summit” only to be faced with a giant crater below us, and the knowledge that I’d just summited my first peak. People whipped out their cameras, shook hands, clapped each other on the back.. and I cried. Covertly, of course.

It was an infinitely more magical experience than I’d been prepared for. At that moment I understood why people took the biggest risks imaginable, all in the name of a mountain. I stood in the company of friends and felt proud, overwhelmed, and excited – knowing that I’d found the thing that would consume my thoughts and calendars for years to come.

Hello all!

Over the years I’ve occasionally been hit with the desire to start a public blog devoted to my passion of the moment. Past inspirations have included veganism (ongoing, and likely to come up in this blog, too!) and rugby. Rugby proved too violent and physically damaging, so I’ve switched to the calm and serene hobby of mountain-climbing. The title is drawn from my mountaineering club’s official motto – Nesika Klatawa Sahale. Loosely translated from Chinook it means “We Climb High.”

Despite a minor obsession with gear that all mountaineers quickly acquire, I don’t know nearly enough about the technical aspects of gear to ever review it here, so I’m going to stick with photos, trip reports, and the occasional comment on vegan options for climbs and backpacking trips.

Having grown up as the child of a Foreign Service officer, I spent my time moving around the world every few years. However, my travels took me from the vast dunes of the Persian Gulf to the low-lying swampy climate of Washington, DC to the rolling hills of Indiana where the highest point in the state – Hoosier Hill – clocks in at a whopping 1,257 feet. Mountaineering never once appeared on my radar since mountains were foreign to me – infinitely more remote and terrifying than the sand dunes I scaled and the flights of stairs in the Washington Monument. Once I graduated from college I set off with a good friend of mine to drive from our home state of Virginia to our new, chosen city – Portland, Oregon. Our stops along the way included St. Louis, Missouri where we ended up at the St. Louis Science Center (because that’s what we do for fun). While there, we fell victim to the draw of the Omnimax theatre and watched “The Alps.”

The Alps covers the story of John Harlin III who sets out climb the Eiger Nordwand - the route which killed his father 40 years prior. The film included stunning footage of Eiger and a rather chilling story, especially considering the manner of John Harlin II’s death – falling 4,000 feet after his rope snapped near the summit. My friend (now roommate) tells me that she turned to me upon exiting the theater and made a comment about how unhinged a person would have to be to climb mountains. I said I had a new goal in life.

Thus began my continuing affair with mountaineering.

I’m in the early stages of my technical skill development and still walking up “talus heaps” as David Roberts would call them, but every book needs a first chapter.