Outdoor Research Verticulture » Jason Hummel http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com Just another WordPress weblog Wed, 01 Sep 2010 20:15:11 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.2 en hourly 1 Mt. Buckner, North Face http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/05/mt-buckner-north-face/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/05/mt-buckner-north-face/#comments Wed, 05 May 2010 22:27:25 +0000 Jason Hummel http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=3199

Hidden dangers on the Boston Glacier. Jason, stemming the deep crevasse. Photo by Steph Abegg

Mountains have personality. We forget and all is forgiven, even when they are cantankerous, belligerent and vile. The pretty face and homely smile, seductive pull and salacious dress of rock and ice excite us climbers too much to turn away and never come back. But there, too, are so many mountains. Just a fraction of them you may visit in a lifetime! So when I do go, it isn’t with a heavy heart thinking that I may never return, but with great respect and honor that I go to meet these elders of stone and earth. They teach us lessons and reward us in ways that the confines of brick and mortar can’t.

Steph is ready when I pull up to her house in Seattle at 4 a.m. We quickly proceed to a nearby park-and-ride where Kyle is waiting. Everyone is excited. The weather appears promising. Stories and conversation carry us all the way to the end of Cascade River Road, where the final few miles are blocked by a gate. We can not see our objective, Mount Buckner. All that is visible among vine maple, willows and firs is Johannesburg’s vertical mile of rock and ice. Imposing as it is, such dominance steals an otherwise sunny morning. Those rays are for creaking joints and aching shoulders to earn. Such required efforts are why I love North Cascades National Park so much.

Along an old overgrown road, we push through deep and wet snow over ice. Steph and her snowshoes make headway while Kyle and I wallow behind, unable to skin without slipping. As we leave the trees, in no time at all we meet sunshine and the Quien Sabe Glacier. Steep climbing at its head, half a day later, brings us over Sharkfin Col where there’s an anchor set-up. What makes for an easy rappel leaves us swimming in waist deep snow below. “Hello there Mr. Schrund, you mind not eating me?”

Unconsolidated snow on a glacier, especially the Boston, the widest glacier in the lower 48, convinces us to rope up. Every dip and swale, shadow and curve hides a potential monster beneath snowy covers. Repeatedly I decide which way to go. Up, down, or straight? And now my brain fires off an answer, “Straight.” As I push through the snow, a tiny shadow I hadn’t seen glares at me. “Oh no!” I think. Between my feet everything begins to crumble. My skis catch the far wall as my back slides backwards. Blocks of snow disappear past a narrowing in the crevasse 50 feet below. After a moment to gather myself and yell behind me, “Kyle, anchor me…can you have Steph come forward?” Several minutes pass and I begin to feel comfortable, so I pull out my camera and take a few photos. Moments later with further tension on the rope from Steph, I am able to wiggle out. After brushing snow off, I’m soon back on my skis and in the lead once again. My decision this time when I ask myself “up, down, or straight?” “Left,” because down is a bad choice of words.

 


One lesson I relearned is the importance of always keeping the rope tight between you and the guy in front. I weigh 160 lbs and my pack and gear another 60. Imagine standing on a 10 story building with 220 lbs strapped to you. If the rope is tight and it falls a foot or two, you can hold it. Imagine then a guy standing on the buildings edge with that same 220 lbs with 10-ft of slack. Could you hold it when suddenly without warning (an hour, 3 hours, or even15 hours into your day) you look up and don’t see anything? Now that’s something to think about when you’re roped up on a glacier again!

On a nice overlook of Mount Buckner, we make camp. The sky is hazy and wind is beginning to drive snow into our camp where eating and melting water takes a few hours before we all drift off into a restless sleep. There’s nothing like waking up repeatedly to slapping layers of tent. It’s like trying to fall asleep next to a rocket engine! I awake to Steph photographing first rays on Buckner.

That morning, two feet of wind-deposited snow covered our tent and gear. After digging it all out, we start upward. Not until that moment do I realize my sunglasses are gone. It appears the crevasse didn’t come away empty handed! Staying low, I cross beneath the lower schrunds to the base of the North Face where we put on crampons and take out axes.

Since Steph is ready first, she takes off in the lead up wind-buffed powder. One thousand feet higher she passes a rocky constriction on the left and soon after, on the lee side of a cliff, she pulls up for a rest. After a drink she says, “Jason, you want to lead?” Since we are only a 100-ft shy of the summit I reply, “No, you should finish it off.” I know I feel excited when I lead an entire route. Once her pack is on that’s what she does, quickly disappearing over the slope and to the summit ridge beyond.

Ascending the final few feet to the summit of Buckner

On the maps Buckner’s NE and SE summits are shown as 9112’ and 9114’, respectively. Still, there’s a valid disagreement as to which is higher. From our perspective the NE summit did appear taller. All aside, though, as a skier I’m more interested in fall-line. So, for us, the SE summit is the only way to descend the north face. The same can’t be said for the North Face Couloir and when I come back to ski it, I’ll descend from the NE summit.

While my partners prepare for descending I continue to the SE summit to find a flat spot to transition to skis. Doing a balancing act, I teeter trying not to slip in either direction. Wind pushes me one way then the other, and neither direction would have a happy ending. I glide to Kyle who has built a huge platform to put his splitboard together in. Knowing she would be far behind, Steph, who is without skis or board, downclimbs out of sight while I stand in chilly gusts and wait for Kyle.

A satisfying first turn traverses me onto the face and Kyle follows. From the far ridge, which had blocked the wind all morning, fingers of snow and ice rip across, swirling and churning as watery rapids will. They whirl and stall in eddies before spinning out of control on top of our heads, which drip and freeze at the same time. Between this chaos, we drop a few turns at a time until we are in the middle of the route, at which point we wait as Steph climbs out of the way. Here the wind lessens and the turns improve all the way to the bottom. What a descent. What a route. After a decade of dreaming about it, I finally came and skied it – awesome!

After sorting camp, we decide to climb over Boston Peak’s 8500-ft col rather than Sharkfin col, the way we had come. It takes much longer to climb than I expect and the upper slopes are getting hit hard by wind. At a point where I am about to reverse course over concern about stability, the snowpack solidifies and we boot the remainder of the way to the notch. I love it when a fine line of safe decisions leads to success.

Heights of Buckner and our route up

After setting a picket, Steph descends out of sight and to the end of the rope. I belay her another 25 meters from there. Next up is Kyle. He decides he is going to keep his snowboard on. Just as he drops out of sight, I hear him say something like, “It looks good.” The wind is too strong to catch much more than that. A few moments later, the rope goes slack. He went without a belay. Figuring since he boarded it, I’d be fine with skis as well, I attach mine to my feet and drop into the couloir. As I get closer and see what Kyle had descended, I shake my head in wonder. Snowboards can side-slip some serious stuff! There was an inch of ice over a foot of granular snow with rock beneath. I hung from my knots at the end of the rope below a small cliff while I took my pack and skis off, pulled my axes and pons out, and put everything back on, a process that took over 15 minutes of cautious work. All the while I’m getting pelted by falling ice and buffeted by wind. Overall, a most unpleasant experience! Happily I descend far enough to coil the rope and put my skis on, so I could drop down to Kyle who is very glad to get going. There wasn’t much light left. Steph is already 45 minutes ahead of us.

As we stormed down the Quien Sabe Glacier with 5000-ft to go and 10-minutes of light left, I am already forgiving Buckner for her tormenting of me. In these mountains, there are those who find the rewards far outweigh the risks. For me, these adventures are the great eraser. There’s nothing but the moment to battle and all worries and concerns are rubbed out because they are of no consequence here. Even as night pulls up her covers and we pull out our headlamps, we understand the value of challenge in a world that continually seeks out ways to make life easier. The last few miles battling through brush to Cascade River Road and renewed sights of Johannesburg’s great walls fills me with joy all the way back to the car and civilization.

Find more of Jason’s photos from his Mt. Buckner trip at Alpine State of Mind and more stories of his adventures on Cascade Crusades. You can also read Steph’s take on the trip here.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/05/mt-buckner-north-face/feed/ 0 Sacrifices to Ullr http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/03/sacrifices-to-ullr/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/03/sacrifices-to-ullr/#comments Fri, 12 Mar 2010 23:45:26 +0000 Jason Hummel http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=2347 Josh Hummel over a cornice at Hogsback.

Josh Hummel over a cornice at Hogsback.

This winter, I continually hear about the East Coast and how their snow is stacking up as fast as cars on their freeways. But here in Washington State, it has been thus far, “The winter that wasn’t”. There are a few of us who scoff at that statement, though – it has been a winter of premonition, the one we dream of, but can’t achieve without sacrifices. An old pair of gloves burnt on the flaming stake, a lock of hair stolen from your girlfriend’s head and used in ritual rites to the Snow God Ullr – anything at all to gain favoritism. It certainly hasn’t been a winter to forget! It has been a winter that dreams are made of.

Don’t get me wrong. Like all faithful brethren, I’m a fan of blower powder sweeping over my knees. I’d do anything for Ullr. But when he sends his love and attention to other regions of the planet, I make the best of what’s at my feet. In the Pacific Northwest, that’s ready access to high country and beautiful weather – two traits this frosty time of year generally lacks.

Take a late February trip I took into the Picket Range, long considered one of the most wild and remote sets of mountains anywhere in the lower 48. Who could have imagined when the season began that there’d be an entire week of clear weather without so much as a solitary cloud marring the sky! Not me. My knees still buckle whenever I recall memories of this fantastic journey.

 


Take another trip a week before the Pickets. There, chalky snow breaks over my knees and each wallowing step lead me higher up Mount Rainier’s Fuhrer Thumb. It was so cold that morning that I could barely stay warm. Every scrap of clothing I had was wrapped around my shivering core; even my sluggish thoughts of warmth eluded me. Then, hours later, I was knee deep in powder at 12,000-ft with no gloves and a tee shirt, shading my eyes from a glaring sun, stoked and dripping with sweat. Below me waited shaded fields of powder full of hoar frost that scattered at my every turn! According to Ullr, I was in heaven descending to Earth.

Looking at city lights from Three Fingers Mountain

Looking at city lights from Three Fingers Mountain

So great has February weather been, that even my summertime scouting trip of the Three Fingers area east of Everett, Washington proved unnecessary. This year in mid-winter the 17 miles of gravel road was dry to the trailhead! I was aghast. These secluded mountains are normally reserved for spring tours, not for those in the midst of winter. And, yet, as I chased my brother to the summit in the middle of the night, I couldn’t help but wonder if those city lights dancing below weren’t those of some massive spaceship about to lift off. As if to comfort me, fog and cloud soon sheltered them from view and the next day would be full of intermittent snow flurries.

Even though a few malcontents poke fun at the lackluster winter of 2010 here in Washington State, you now know that there are a few who celebrate it. We will look back at this past year with a twinkle in our eyes, so delighted that come next winter, we will pull out all the stops and double the sacrifices. We devotees of winter adhere to the wills and whims of a petulant god. You never know what will appease him. One thing’s for sure, come powder or sun next year – I’ll make fine use of either!

Jason’s adventures can be found on Cascade Crusades and check out his drool-worthy photos at Alpine State of Mind; just don’t forget the towel to sop up the pool around your keyboard.

]]> http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2010/03/sacrifices-to-ullr/feed/ 0 Going Full Circle http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2009/12/going-full-circle/ http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2009/12/going-full-circle/#comments Mon, 21 Dec 2009 16:36:04 +0000 Jason Hummel http://outdoorresearchverticulture.com/?p=1206

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    Blueberries on the way to Upper Anderson Tarn

    Blueberries on the way to Upper Anderson Tarn


    In 2006, I made a crossing of the Ptarmigan Traverse – over 100 miles of ridges, rivers, glaciers, and roads – with a self-propelled return. Since then, this type of adventure has appealed to me. It combines several of the sports I love, and when you are transported at more humanly paces – not by auto, train or plane – you get to ‘smell the roses’. It’s like eating cake and ice cream, too!

    The North Cascade traverse from Mount Watson to Blum appeared perfect for this sort of outing. With my kayak, bike and hiking gear crammed into my car and my last few dollars into its gas tank, I headed into the mountains.

    My little brother, Jessy, joined me and we let gear at the end of Baker Lake Road and Baker Lake before arriving at our final destination, the Watson Lake Trailhead. Josh and Christy joined us for the day. Except for the bike ride back up to Watson, Jessy would keep me company for the next 9 days.

    Day One and Two: Watson Trailhead to Diobsud Lakes

    Mt. Baker from our camp below Watson's summit.

    Mt. Baker from our camp below Watson's summit.

    A nice trail for the first 2 miles was the last we’d see for a week. We explored the area heading to Upper Anderson Lakes and the lower slopes of Mount Watson. The way forward captivated us. Since we couldn’t imagine leaving the high country for Diobsud Lakes, we soon found camp. That night we watched as bright stars tumbled out from behind dark mountains.

    Morning sun and clouds rose long before we did. With curious glances ahead, our eyes met sloping heather fields nestled below cliffs and sights of Diobsud Lakes.

    We dropped into a huge meadow of Fireweed, Daisy’s, Salmon Berries and Cow Parsnip’s. After a rest, we proceeded up the wrong side of a waterfall toward a ramp on the south side of Bacon Peak. For several hours we struggled through grizzled, arthritic hunks of trees more dead than alive and masqueraded ourselves as tree huggers between cliffs before submitting defeat. Scratched and bruised we arrived below the waterfall once more.

    After camp was set, Jessy and I left split up to find a way up Bacon Peak. Just before dark Jessy burst out from the brush. He had found a way. Two smiles were shared before it began to rain. The tap, tap on the tent at bedtime left me ill-at-ease. As good luck eventually follows bad, I dreamt of blue skies.

    Day Three and Four: Diobsud Lakes, Bacon and Green lakes to Nert Lake

    Coming down Bacon Peak

    Coming down Bacon Peak

    My dreams weren’t ignored. Under blue skies, over huge logs and small cliffs, beyond steep, slick heather, up further we climbed to the top of Bacon. At the summit, views of the Pickets and all the mountains between hoisted our desire to see what was around the next corner. We wound our way through a few glaciers and ridges before finally descending hard ice to smooth rock slabs.

    First sights of Bacon Laken set above Green Lake kept us moving fast. We ran down the last rock fields to the outlet falls of the lake. Fording the falls was easy enough, although more water would be challenging.

    Camp was set as light eased into a peaceful slumber. Under the moon’s scope, the waterfall and lake were inebriated, moving in slow motion like the stars.

    The next morning rain came again. The cerulean outlines of Green Lake pleaded with us to come explore and to our dismay, we packed camp and set off. We went along the lake shore thinking it would be easier than the ridge. Easy ground morphed into a waterfall, the climbing of which was fast becoming a forte of ours, and traversed mid-falls on a ledge to enter slide alder.

    Green Lake with lumbering clouds overhead.

    Green Lake with lumbering clouds overhead.

    We climbed steep then gentle slopes to Nert Lake. Our progress was subverted by never ending fields of the biggest blueberries I’ve ever seen. Blue fingers and faces brought us to camp.

    Day Five through Seven: Nert Lake, Berdeen and Blum Lakes to Baker River

    The way to Berdeen Lake either goes high or low. We went low entering a beautiful valley just as a black bear crossed boulders in the midst of a waterfall.

    From the meadow we climbed up a steep gully to Berdeen Lake. With our exploring done, we we struck camp with time to relax. For Jessy this meant a swim to an island and fishing. For me, a nap and photos.

    In the morning, we regretted having to leave. We traversed rock and then glacier up to a narrow pass between Skitzo and Hagan Peaks. A quick jaunt to Hagan was much enjoyed. Nearly all that we had crossed in the days previous could be sighted.

    A heck of a place to take a nap. Berdeen Lake

    A heck of a place to take a nap. Berdeen Lake

    Steep boulder fields were carefully crossed on our downward hike to Blum Lakes. We made camp in a grassy field and spent the remaining hours watching the fire and smoke from blazes to the Northeast.

    I’ve been up and down from Mount Blum twice and the experience was less than enticing. Over 5000-ft of forest and bushes split by cliffs. The descent can reward excessive amounts of suck. It’s best to stay on the ridge. If you descend off of it, you become blocked by steep ravines full of slide alder and rocks. Jessy and I spent 7 hours descending less than 2 miles.

    More steep forest led to vague boot paths. Bashing our way through the last remaining Devil’s Club, we arrived at Baker River. Feeling like warriors, we marched to the car, eyes sparkling in the late day’s sun with satisfaction over completing what we had set out to do.

    Day Eight and Nine: Baker River, Baker Lake to Watson Road and Trailhead

    Chilled waters high from the mountains all meet in Baker Lake. Once a natural lake, the river was dammed twice in 1925 and 1959 to create Lake Shannon and Baker. As promised, my twin brother Josh joined us. Cramming our gear into boats and dry packs was a challenge as we were sparing no comforts.

    Though the river isn’t long, there were plenty of massive trees to slow us down. Over and under we went until we arrived at the lake. Far above Shuksan and Baker’s glaciers shined in the sun.

    Jessy and Josh kayaking past a massive tarn. Mt. Baker in the distance.

    Jessy and Josh kayaking past a massive tarn. Mt. Baker in the distance.

    Halfway to camp we stopped for several seal launches. Jessy and Josh couldn’t get enough and found another spot a few more miles down the shore.

    The last few hours to Maple Grove Camp were spent battling the wind of whose presence I’d earlier said, “At least we don’t have a headwind.” Now that we did, the brothers could only blame me. We were relieved to pull our boats onto the shore.

    The last day was both sad and happy for me. With so much adventure this year, it was hard to see this one come to pass and be finished. What else was there? No more big trips were planned. This was it. Parting ways, Jessy and Josh jumped in their car and I was on my own now, at least no human companions. The mosquitoes were ruthless as I climbed into the bushes to retrieve my bike.

    Around 3700-ft of vertical gain was ahead of me and 10 miles of road. Far below me the blue waters of Baker Lake appeared small.

    At the car, heart pounding, I sat not wanting to leave. Could I do it again? Could I throw my pack on and put foot to trail, paddle to lake, and cleat to peddle? Would it be the same? You only live through these days once and they are gone. As my mind raced over every moment I knew I’d certainly smelled the roses along the way. I’d gone full circle and isn’t it the best of journey’s that bring you back to their beginning?

    Read more stories by Jason on Cascade Crusades and check out more of his incredible photos at Alpine State of Mind.

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