Mt. Shasta - June 24-25, 2011

Mt. Shasta - the second climb of Pentaquest 2011 - came just four days after the kick-off on Mt. St. Helens. Anyone traveling along I-5 through northern California on a clear day has seen Shasta and likely marveled at its magnificence. In a remote corner of America's most populous state, the mountain exerts total dominance over the landscape for miles and miles.

There's a spiritual significance to the place. Between the Lemurians, "New Age" groups, UFO sightings and other phenomena, Shasta is a hotbed of folklore. And many Native American groups in the area consider the mountain sacred, with a prominent role in world creation myths and legends. Whether or not one subscribes to any of this, it's hard not to feel something when climbing Shasta - I certainly felt an odd energy when I climbed it for the first time last year (although I think it was probably the affect of being at 14,000 feet).

On Friday, June 24 at 1:30 a.m., I picked up my friend Jared in Portland and headed south on I-5 for northern California. We drove through the night, only stopping for Arizona Ice-T, energy drinks and gasoline. The darkness began to fade south of Roseburg. By the time we reached the northern outskirts of Medford, we could see Mt. McLoughlin standing out impressively in the morning light. Just over Siskiyou Summit, we caught our first glimpse of Shasta and the work ahead.

The first order of business before climbing is a successful pre-game meal. Jared and I sat down for a breakfast that was nothing short of excellent at the original Black Bear Diner. Black Bears are scattered throughout more than 50 rural small towns and suburban hamlets in the Western U.S. But it all started in Mt. Shasta City. I scarfed down a mushroom omelet and Jared ate the largest portion of steak and eggs I've ever seen (outside of Chet Ripley eating the 96'er in The Great Outdoors).

Fully fueled, we picked up climbing permits at the U.S. Forest Service station and drove up the mountain to the Bunny Flat Trailhead - gateway to Shasta's Avalanche Gulch route. The weather was looking great. The past two weekends had seen a snowstorm resulting in five climber rescues and 80 mile per hour winds on the summit. But everything at the trailhead seemed to indicate the best climbing weather of the season awaited our ascent. Here's a clip of us getting ready to head out:

We briefly chatted with a ranger headed up to high camp at Helen Lake, double-checked our gear and hit the trail. Deep snow extended all the way to the parking lot. Fortunately the snow was still frozen enough that we didn't post-hole too much - although snow shoes would have helped. We slogged through the forest under clear blue skies with unlimited visibility. After more than an hour or so we reached Horse Camp - home to a cabin maintained by the Sierra Club and the best water on earth (seriously). We both drank copious amounts of the pure, ice-cold spring water and refilled our water bottles. I dumped out some store-bought bottled water just to refill it with real mountain dew. Here a clip of the spring:

Beyond Horse Camp, we passed through the treeline and started climbing upward to Helen Lake. The route steepened, but not enough to require the use of crampons or an ice axe. Our climbing poles provided enough stability for us to feel relatively safe. Hour after hour passed and we steadily climbed higher up the snow-covered slopes of Avalanche Gulch. The altitude began to exert itself and cut into our stamina as we neared 10,000 feet. I started to feel fatigued, largely from the absence of sleep. Here's some footage from one of our rest breaks:

Finally, sometime around 4:00 p.m. we rolled into Helen Lake and set up camp along with 30 other climbers. The Red Banks rock formation and our climbing route for the next morning loomed several thousand feet above us. Jared and I quickly set up shop and took care of the necessary camp chores - building up a snow wall to protect us from the wind, melting drinking water, etc. Jared built one of his trademark alpine iceboxes into the wall of the site - Sub-Zero refrigerators have nothing on this. Here's a clip of us preparing the camp site:

With the chores complete, we ate before catching some zzzs. My meal was entirely unsatisfactory. And I only had myself to blame. Back in Portland I made a short trip to the grocery store and picked up some rolls to go with a pouch of pink salmon leftover from Pentaquest 2010. I was barely able to choke it down - only the pursuit of nutrients pushed me through the meal. Thankfully I had plenty of energy bars and other snacks, and Jared kindly gave me some of his ramen noodles. Here's a clip of me griping about the food:

Here's footage of me walking from one end of Helen Lake to the other:

The ensuing rest can only be described as fitful. A combination of altitude, cold temperatures and loud fellow campers caused us to sleep only sporadically. Around 2:00 a.m. we woke up and prepared ourselves for summit day. By 3:30 a.m. on Saturday (6/25) we started our ascent toward the Red Banks equipped with headlamps, crampons and ice axes. Mercifully we were able to leave half our gear at Helen Lake for pick up on the way down.

Ahead of us, more than a dozen tiny pinpricks of light were visible high up the slope from climbers even more masochistic than ourselves (they departed even earlier than us). One step at a time, we zigzagged back and forth mostly using standard French Technique. Behind us in the valley below, the lights of Weed, Mt. Shasta City and other locales dotted the landscape. As we rose higher, several dozen headlamps turned on and emerged from Helen Lake. We seemed to be in the middle of the climbing pack with many above and below us.

Eventually the sun started to rise and the giant shadow of the mountain moved rapidly across the landscape. Morning alpenglow radiated from the Trinity Alps and other peaks to the west. It's a sight that film and video cameras fail to adequately capture. At this point we had made solid progress toward reaching the Red Banks, but still had yet to reach it's steepest part. The ice-covered slopes remained perfect for gripping our crampons. However, the ice also made it difficult for us to self-arrest if a misstep sent us careening down the mountain. Here's a clip of Jared climbing up toward the Red Banks:

Here's a video looking back at the Shasta's shadow and the alpenglow:

And another video:

With Jared keeping a solid pace in front of me, we crossed through the Red Banks soon after the rising sun crested the ridgeline and hit us in the face. The timing for me was perfect - after severely sun-burning my face on Mt. St. Helens earlier in the week, I wasn't about to let the sun win again. The post-Red Banks respite gave me a chance to slather my face in a layer of SPF 85 from my wife's private sunscreen reserve. Here's footage from crossing through the Red Banks:

Although we were through the steepest part of the climb, we still had exhausting work to do before the summit. One step at a time, we climbed the stretch above the Red Banks as altitude and fatigue increased by the minute. I stayed back about one to two hundred feet from Jared and barely kept going. Since my pack was full, I decided back at the parking lot not to bring my CamelBak. As a consequence, I didn't have an easy way to reach drinking water without taking off my pack. This hadn't been a problem up to Helen Lake, but leading up and beyond the Red Banks, proper hydration was critical for warding off altitude sickness and bonking out.

Through sheer stubbornness, we reached Misery Hill - the aptly named slope below the summit plateau. I was feeling depleted of energy - my legs still had life left in them, but I was running on fumes. Jared, although tired, was determined to reach the summit and stayed ahead of me with an impressive pace. Having climbed Shasta before, I knew how awful this stretch could be and was mentally ready for it. Had I not known, I probably would have turned back.

Struggling a step at a time, I eventually reached Jared waiting for me at the top of Misery Hill and together we strolled across the plateau below the summit and climbed the last few hundred feet together. It was damn cold. And windy. Gusts blew somewhere between 20-30 miles per hour. But the sun was out and the worst of the climb was behind us. Shastina - a satellite cone coming out of the side of Shasta that by itself would be in the top five tallest mountains in the Cascades - was visible below us. Here's a clip of us walking across the plateau and toward the summit:

At 9:25 a.m., we took our triumphant first steps on the summit. Greeting us was a group of more than ten fellow climbers basking in their own personal wins - the comradery was real and felt by all present. I knew what to expect on the summit from last year, but it didn't make it any less magical. For Jared, he could add another "Fourteener" - along with Mt. Rainier - to his list of mountaineering accomplishments. I should note that although we are both competitive about reaching a summit, I don't think either one of us is a "peak-bagger": someone only in it for the summit. The overall experience of being on the mountain is what matters the most. Here's a clip of me walking across the summit:

I took out my Portland Timbers soccer scarf and found a fellow Portlander to snap my picture. After the requisite group shot with Jared and I, and writing a message in the summit registry, we soaked in the view. The usual suspects were all visible - Lassen Peak, Mt. McLoughlin, even Mt. Scott at Crater Lake. All of northern California and southwestern Oregon lay before us. As we sat, the ranger we had talked to at Helen Lake finished his own summit attempt and gave us each a congratulatory fist bump.

Between the cold, wind and fatigue, it soon became time for us to begin our descent. As if on cue, clouds quietly began to form on the horizon and around the mountain. Here's a clip of our first steps down from the summit:

We soon reached Misery Hill, then the top of the Red Banks. Last year, I made a mistake and had to self-arrest when I stopped to adjust my pack while glissading in the same location. With the memory of that experience and the snow still a bit icy, we initially downclimbed in lieu of a glissade. But after a few hundred feet, conditions seemed ripe for a rapid descent.

I stopped to talk to two climbers while I removed my crampons and prepared for the glissade. About twenty feet above me, a group of Mazamas - the climbing club from the Portland area - sat on exposed rocks below the Red Banks and, much to my surprise, accidentally kicked several rocks down the mountain. I couldn't believe it! These idiots (please use your imagination and insert a much harsher multi-word expletive here) knocked not one but at least four rocks at climbers below. I tersely suggested them move, and the other two guys I was sitting with did the same. What really pissed me off is that they didn't move after the first rock - it took several before they realized what they were doing could kill someone. Needless to say I was not impressed. Although I have thought about joining the Mazamas, I am not a member. And now I have serious doubts about them.

With the Mazama unpleasantness over, I conservatively glissaded down the slope to Helen Lake. I'm sure my slow pace annoyed the people behind me, but I wasn't about to repeat my mistake from last year. The icy snow yielded to softer sun-warmed slush as the elevation dropped. Jared, several hundred feet below me, completed his own glissade and we both met up at almost the exact same time at the tent.

As we packed up the campsite, the newly formed cloud formations cleared and the sun came out once again. I took off my sunglasses for a moment and was temporarily blinded by the intensity of the solar glow coming off the snow. We leisurely finished stowing our gear and continued our descent. We were able to piece together several glissade runs - thanks to advice from a ranger - that got us down to Horse Camp in a fraction of the time it took to climb up. I glanced back every so often to gauge our progress.

At Horse Camp we filled up every receptacle in our possession with spring water. I still contend it's the best water on earth, and challenge anyone to prove me otherwise. I'm a huge fan of Portland's water from the Bull Run, but Shasta blows it away. I've been rationing the water I collected ever since returning and still have a water bottle and a half in the fridge at home.

With our water stores replenished, we slogged our way through the slush back to the Bunny Flat Trailhead. The promise of another meal at the Black Bear Diner gave us a newfound energy. We strolled into the parking lot less than an hour after leaving Horse Camp, loaded up the car and drove away. After life-affirming sustenance at the Black Bear, we left for Portland. Only a few stops for caffeine and refueling delayed our homeward journey. By the time I dropped Jared off, it had been about 45 and a half hours since our departure.

The overall Mt. Shasta experience as part of Pentaquest 2011 was a good one. Here are a few lessons I took away from the trip:

1. Bring good food for dinner. Energy bars, trail mix and other snackables are easy to remember, but a delectable sandwich, cup of ramen or other entree is also a must - especially when spending a night at a high camp. I will never forget the taste of dry pink salmon - borderline past its prime - on an even drier kaiser bun. I will eat better next time!
2. Don't sit on crumbly rocks when climbers are below you. This should be a no-brainer, but the dumbass members of the Mazamas I encountered apparently didn't know it. Your actions - whether deliberate or out of ignorance - can kill or maim other climbers. I've certainly made my share of alpine mistakes, but I strive to never do anything as reckless as what I saw on Shasta.
3. Stay well hydrated. I'm usually pretty good about drinking water, but I made a mistake on this trip. Next time if I'm not using my CamelBak I'll bring a water bottle that's easily accessible from my pack or that I can clip to my belt.

Two mountains from Pentaquest 2011 are now officially done. Stay tuned for a trip report from Mt. Hood.