Mt. Baker - August 5-7, 2011

Mt. Baker - the final climb of Pentaquest 2011 - took place August 5-7, 2011 in the wilderness of the North Cascades near Washington state's border with British Columbia. At 10,778 feet, Baker is the third highest mountain in Washington. And, due its location, receives an enormous amount of snowfall, resulting in miles and miles of glaciers, snowfields, crevasses and other ice-related things.

Having once spent six years of my life going to school in Bellingham, Baker has long held a place in my imagination. I used to pass the hours staring in its direction and snapping sunset photos of alpenglow when I should have been studying. Over the course of my collegiate years, Baker probably negatively affected my grade point average to the same extent the original Halo did on the Xbox (seriously, Halo should have been scheduled as I or II as part of the Controlled Substances Act). When I was presented with the opportunity to climb Baker as part of Pentaquest 2011 up the Coleman Glacier route with my old college friend Scott and his girlfriend Mindy, I couldn't say no.

I started the journey by driving from Portland to Bellingham the evening of Thursday (8/4), making a necessary pit stop at the Ivar's in Everett. As I sat scarfing down some of Puget Sound's best fish and chips, I had a perfect view of Baker lording over the landscape. Much in the same way Mt. Rainier dominates the Seattle-Tacoma area, Baker is an omnipresent force from Everett north to Vancouver, BC. You can't miss it if you're driving up I-5 on a clear day.

Day One

After crashing at my sister-in-law's place, I woke up Friday morning and met Scott, Mindy and our guide Mark from Peregrine Expeditions in the parking lot of the Bellingham REI. We went through the traditional pre-game festivities of checking gear and signing death/injury waivers before consolidating into one car and departing for the hills down the Sunset Highway. As we fueled up the car in the small hamlet of Maple Falls and noticed a liquor store, we made a wise group decision to treble our alcohol provision.

We continued onward down the highway through the town of Glacier, turned south and drove a further eight miles on a thoroughly potholed road to the trailhead. The sky was cloudy, but the forecast for the next three days looked great. We were optimistic the marine layer covering the valley would eventually burn off.

Our day one plan had us hiking a few miles on the Heliotrope Ridge Trail to base camp on the Coleman Glacier around 6,000 feet at an area known as the Hogsback. Upon dividing up the climbing rope, ice anchors and other group gear, we loaded our backpacks and hit the trail. The route was largely forested, crisscrossing smalls streams fueled by glacial melt. Our heavy packs made balancing on the slick rocks while crossing the rushing water difficult in a few places.

After a few hours, the trail reached the edge of the timberline and we stepped on to the Coleman Glacier in sight of the Hogsback camping area. Our guide Mark ran ahead to see if the best site was still available. Even though several other climbers had already set up shop in the area, the premium location on a large, flat, rocky outcropping sticking up above the snow remained untouched. We quickly unloaded our gear and built our temporary home for the next few days - Scott, Mindy and Mark in two tents and me in my bivouac sack up against a small rock wall. Here's footage of the scene:

The view from base camp was amazing. The upper reaches of Baker, including much of our climbing route, was clearly visible. And we could see the length of the Coleman Glacier, the valley we had ascended earlier in the day and mountains extending across the border into Canada. As an added bonus, we were within several hundred feet of two portable toilets that had been recently dropped by a helicopter, meaning we wouldn't have to carry our waste off the mountain via a "bluebag."

Over the next few hours, we cooked a range of freeze-dried meals (yakisoba noodles) and old classics (macaroni and cheese) for dinner, cleaned up the campsite and destroyed a bottle of glacially-chilled Jagermeister while watching the sunset. It's hard to have a care in the world in a setting like this, and we didn't. As darkness started to set in, we went to bed to catch a good night's rest before starting alpine training the next day. Here's video of the sunset from camp:

Day Two

We awoke around 8:00 a.m. to a marine layer obscuring much of the view. But conditions were still calm and the sun soon burned off the clouds. After breakfast, Mark began teaching "snow school" on the fundamentals of mountaineering. For me it was largely a refresher course, but for Scott and Mindy some of the skills covered were brand new since they'd never climbed before. However, as Mark began having us practice basic techniques it became apparent to me that some of my skills were a bit rusty. Here's a textbook example of two climbers self arresting:

Scott and Mindy were quick studies and Mark was able to rapidly advance through the material. Before long, we had gone from talking about self-arrest and the classic French step to practicing crevasse rescue. Mark had us practice placing ice anchors, including the "deadman" - an anchor or other item buried in the snow and attached to a rope. Mark shared that he once knew someone who had successfully used a frozen chocolate bar as the "deadman" object. After conversing on the feasibility of using other objects, an executive decision was made by the group that we had to test whether or not a Jagermeister bottle would be effective. So Mark attached a rope to the empty bottle from the night before, buried it in the snow and had us pull on the line. Within moments, the "deadmeister" was born. I doubt this will ever make it into the glossary of the climbing bible Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills. But it's now in my mental rolodex of terms. If I'm ever in a dangerous climbing situation and all I have to assist the belay is a bottle of Jager, I'm confident it will hold my weight. Here's footage of the "deadmeister" in action:

The training continued into how to use a prusik to help get someone out of a crevasse. The likelihood of an accident involving a crevasse on our climbing route was low, but it was still interesting and helpful to see the technique involved in such a rescue. We closed the day by learning about knots. Mark had us practice a whole range of knotage - from the double-fisherman to the münter hitch. At some point during our schooling a huge serac broke loose from up near the top of a headwall below the summit and crashed down the mountain. The sound echoed for miles around us.

We then made dinner, sipped on some Pendleton Whisky and hit the sack for our 3:00 a.m. "alpine start" for the summit, which means climbing early, descending early. I moved into my bivouac sack with the sun still above the horizon while Scott, Mindy and Mark waited for sunset. Despite the hard day of training, I think we all had difficulty falling asleep. I pondered our impending summit attempt from the confines of my alpine cocoon.

Day Three

Mark got us up around 2:00 a.m. to begin preparing for summit day. I emerged from my bivouac sack into a celestial wonderland. Stars blanketed the sky, with the Milky Way running like a superfreeway from one end of the horizon to the other. The occasional meteor passed by, adding an exclamation point to Mother Nature's already impressive special effects. We fueled up, put on harnesses and crampons, clicked on headlamps and departed camp around 3:20 a.m. Mark led the way with Mindy, Scott, then myself on the ropeline. The first hour took us up the steep section of the Coleman Glacier above our campsite in darkness except for the glow of lights from Abbotsford and the Fraser River Valley in British Columbia. The early morning snow was in great shape for gaining purchase with our crampons. Each step took us higher until the slope began to level off and we reached a plateau. All around us were minor crevasses, but the firm morning snow and unseasonably robust snowpack significantly reduced the risk of falling in. Over the span of 20 minutes, we probably stepped over a dozen cracks.

Around this time, the first signs of the impending sunrise started to appear. Bastille Ridge, across the Coleman and Roosevelt Glaciers to the north, looked as though someone had traced its outline with a blue pastel. Further to the north, the jagged peaks of the Canadian Coast Range began to show themselves like dorsal fins sticking up in a sea of clouds. Over the summer, I had seen many impressive early morning views. But perhaps none were as breathtakingly beautiful as this one. I was excited that Scott and Mindy were able to see such a sight on their first climb. Here's a clip of morning's early light:

And one more:

The route continued to gain elevation, but not as rapidly as the initial stretch above high camp. We passed several climbing groups - and were passed by others - as the darkness faded and vibrant morning hues colored the landscape. The upper heights of Baker shielded us from direct sunlight and loomed impressively above our path. And we could see much work remained for us before we would reach the summit. As we climbed, we passed by several wide crevasses. I didn't dare get close enough to see how deep they were.

After a few more hours of climbing, we reached the Black Buttes, Colfax Peak and the base of the Roman Wall. The wall is the steepest part of the Coleman Glacier route and leads directly up to the summit. We refueled at its base and readied ourselves for the final push to the top. I noticed for the first time we could see Mt. Rainier to the south, including the route up the Emmons Glacier I had climbed several weeks prior.

Mark continued to lead the way as we took one careful step at a time up the Roman Wall. Although the route was steep, a solid boot path from previous climbers was chiseled into the snow. We made quick progress and before too long paused at about the mid-point to eat and drink before our last push to the summit. In addition to Rainier, Glacier Peak could clearly be seen to the southeast. At this point we were still protected from the sun, but could see rays touching the highest points above us. Here's footage of our team ascending the wall:

Now, with summit fever taking hold, we dug deep and pushed ourselves to the finish line. Speaking for myself, I was feeling low on energy - largely from not eating or drinking enough. But we all kept climbing and eventually reached the top of the Roman Wall. The grade of the slope rounded out and we began strolling across the massive summit plateau. After a few minutes, a bump came into view that marked the true summit. About twenty yards away, we unclipped from the rope and took in the scene.

Scott and Mindy were the first to step on to the summit around 9:00 a.m. as Mark and I snapped pictures and took a video of their alpine moment. And then Scott dropped to his knees and proposed to Mindy. It's hard to imagine a more epic place for a proposal. Mark and I soon joined them and we all shared celebratory high fives and fist bumps - both for reaching the summit and, more importantly, for Scott and Mindy's impending nuptials. Here's a video of the proposal from afar:

As I took in the panoramic view, I realized the extent of what we could see - British Columbia to the north, Rainier and beyond to the south, Bellingham to the west and deep into the North Cascades to the east, including Mt. Shuksan. If not for the chilling wind, I could have spent hours studying our surroundings. After taking all of the requisite victory photos (including one with my Portland Timbers scarf) we retreated to a point below the summit to rest, refuel and prepare for the descent. I covered myself with sunscreen as to not repeat a painful mistake from previous climbs. Here's a full panorama of the view:

Before heading down, Mark mixed up our order on the rope and put Scott in front, followed by me, then Mindy and himself. We crossed back over the summit plateau and took our first steps down the Roman Wall. Scott performed yeoman's work and did a superb job blazing a trail down the mountain. We soon reached the halfway point, then the base of the wall. Looking back towards the summit, we could see other teams beginning their descent. I was thankful the worst of the climb was over before the warmth of the sun melted the snow and made descending the wall more treacherous.

We then began an all-out march back to high camp. The elevation quickly fell away as we retraced our path from the early morning hours, passing crevasses and a few other climbers along the way. I started to feel exhausted, largely from dehydration. Fortunately the descent - despite the fatigue - did not take long. Within a few hours we were back at our camp near the base of the Coleman Glacier.

We lounged around for a bit and then cleaned up the site before heading back down the path to the trailhead. I took a few minutes to bandage up my feet with duct tape and clean an emerging blister situation. Scott was waging a similar war with his feet. As we descended just below high camp, I paused at a stream that had served as our water supply for the past few days and dunked my head in to cool down. Each step at this point brought us closer to the car, to good food and a hot shower. But it also took us away from a place of true alpine beauty. And for me, it marked the end of Pentaquest 2011.

We reached the trailhead sometime after 5:00 p.m. I blurted out an expletive upon reaching the car that was overhead by a family picnicking nearby. Thankfully the dad didn't say anything about it and instead offered his congratulations for our success and asked questions about the route. By some miracle of nature we were able to jam our gear into the vehicle and depart.

It must be noted that something happens after spending a few days in the wilderness without access to showers. The effect is heinously enhanced when you pack four people suffering from the same non-shower affliction into a cramped car. I know our experience pales in comparison to most of human history when people didn't regularly bathe. But our mutual stank was really something to behold. We unanimously agreed our smell shouldn't deprive us of good food as we pulled into the North Fork Brewery outside of Deming on the Sunset Highway. After smoked salmon and pineapple pizza, cheese sticks and copious amounts of beer, we headed for home.

Reflections

Overall this was an exciting climb for me because I'd not previously attempted Baker or climbed with Scott and Mindy. It was also great to spend a full day at camp on the mountain - usually the ascent and descent is so rapid that it doesn't afford an opportunity to stop and smell the roses. And witnessing a marriage proposal is a hell of a thing at 10,778 feet.

Here are the lessons I'm taking away from the climb.

1. Drink lots of water - I was severely dehydrated on the descent, not because I didn't have water, but because I didn't drink enough of what I had on me. It's critically important to stay hydrated, and idiotic to ignore your thirst when you have the means of taking care of it.
2. Climb with new people - I wouldn't trade my regular Pentaquest hiking and climbing friends for anything. But it was nice to share the Baker experience with Scott, Mindy and Mark. I hope to climb with them again in the future.
3. Take an extra day to camp on the mountain - all too often, I've rushed up and down the mountains. Spending a day to sleep in and enjoy the scenery with friends at high camp is worth the extra time.

With that, I've reached the end of Pentaquest 2011. I'll continue to post on the blog throughout the fall and winter in preparation for another climbing season in 2012. Also stay tuned for the documentary...