The Many Adventures of an Insatiable Tourist

Simply Existing is Exciting

[insatiabletourist]

Prusik Peak in a Day

We started this trip off with some cranky feelings. We had watched some idiot try and fail to pass a series of cars using the shoulder of I-84. He flew off the road and hit a tree. We ended up calling 911, chatting with the police, and making sure the dude was OK. Turns out, he was. But his car was pretty messed up. Whoops.

Then, rolling into the trailhead well after dark, we found a parking area littered with trash, toilet paper, and forgotten gloves, socks, and hats. Bullshit. We crawled into bed and planned on waking up at the ripe hour of 630am for our single-day push up Prusik Peak. Our wake-up time was foiled by the sound of some dumbass thumping his bass all the way up the road and into the parking area. He decided to back his giant boombox of a vehicle into the empty space right next to us. So, what did I do? I got up, dressed quickly, and told him to turn it off. Because WILDERNESS.

And then we got ready to hit the trail.

Our march up to Colchuck Lake was shadowed and repeatedly passed by a troop of would-be Boy Scouts who thought it would be a fun idea to pass us, stop up the trail, let us get ahead again, and then pass us.... over and over again this happened and after a while, I was just plain irritated. Thankfully, they were only day-tripping and we lost them heading around the lake. I stopped caring about the number of people on the trail and instead turned my attention toward those who were fortunate enough to get overnight permits. Colchuck Lake is so stunning. My eyes were popping out of my head throughout our hike to its other side. 

Peaks on peaks and colors on colors. It was stupendous. It even kept my attention off of Aasgard Pass for a bit. By the time we started up its loose, crumbly flanks, however, my attention was fully invested in the ~2k feet we were in the process of gaining. The occasional Pika and Mountain Goat baby helped encourage me to put one foot in front of the other and eventually, we reached the top.

Once again, I was stunned. If I could spend a month in the Enchantments, you bet your butt I would. Spires of granite and pools of clear water and creatures of all shapes and sizes absolutely littered my view from every angle. If OZ were a place, this would be its likeness. 

We crossed small streams, scrambled up, down, and around granite boulders, and followed mountain goats across the open space until we reached the base of Prusik Peak. And then... the real fun began. 

We spent the next hour or so climbing the most stupendous system of granite cracks, flakes, and slabs I ever imagined. The photos don’t even begin to do it justice and the climbing itself certainly didn’t last as long as I had hoped it would.

We spent a few glorious moments on the summit, soaking in the views, the sunshine, and the PB pretzels, before starting back down. A few short rapps had us back on the trail and many, many hours of hiking had us back at the trailhead, happy to be done but ready to do it all over again.

[insatiabletourist]

Linking Three Fingered Jack and Mount Washington

Wheeeewww. This trip was a doozy for me. I felt absolutely destroyed after we finished and I’m pretty sure I drank 4 liters of water before I peed. Insanity. Anyway, the gist of the adventure was linking 2 of the Cascades on foot: the crumbly Three Fingered Jack with the slightly-more-solid Mount Washington. When we originally mapped it, it looked like we would be covering 20ish miles and gaining around 7000′ during the day. The Monday before we left, we checked our own work and saw that the mileage would be closer to 30. Woof. But, we accepted the challenge, packed the truck on Friday night, and headed out of Portland as soon as possible so we could get to sleep early.

The trailhead at Santiam Pass was pretty crowded and our fears of running into hordes of other people out to attempt Three Fingered Jack began to feel all-too-real. We decided to wake up at 4am and hope we would be able to pass everyone with enough cushion to make it through the technical portions without bottlenecking with everyone. Our packs packed, breakfast and extra water was set out, and our stash of “post-3FJ, pre-WA gear was ready to rock.” We fell into a restful slumber.

Saturday morning, we prepped in a flurry. We could see the headlamps from other parties already starting up the trail so we started moving as quickly as possible. Our general strategy for these “light and fast” alpine starts is to begin with fast-hiking. My body doesn’t wake up quickly enough to go balls-out from the beginning and I always feel like vomiting if we start off too fast. Besides, I’d developed a strange and sharp pain in my left knee the night before and was worried about aggravating it. The pain didn’t seem to be bothersome while I was moving though- only when I had to squat down to pee!

We slowly increased our pace and within the first mile, passed two large parties carrying an exorbitant amount of gear. The first party let us by without question but I had to loudly request for the second party to let us by. I was immediately irritated but was happy to be passing people. Fortunately, aside from seeing glowing eyes on the side of the trail and nearly peeing my pants (it ended up being a backpacker’s tied-up dog), the remainder of the trek to the climber’s trail went without incident. It was a gorgeous morning! The scree field was brutal. The last time we’d been up 3FJ had been in winter and aside from a stretch of 60ish degree snow slopes, the approach to the technical sections had been relatively straightforward. The scree set us up for a brutal one step forward, three steps back situation. It was great.

The sun was nearly up when we hit the ridge and made our way toward The Crawl. We climbed with the sun and quickly set up to head through the upcoming pitches. I lead us through The Crawl, placing a couple of pieces and clipping a slung boulder to belay Andy over to me. This “scary” traverse was infinitely simpler than I remember it being nearly two years ago. It’s funny how people’s skills and comfort levels progress over time!

Once we hit the spire, we were still all alone. I lead up the first pitch, placing two cams quickly into solid-enough pockets and Andy climbed past me and up the summit. We snapped a quick video and made 2 raps back down. Still fighting time, we simul’ed back through The Crawl and were off the technical portions and fast-scrambling down before we saw anyone else. Their reactions were hilarious when we told them why we were moving so fast: “Is that some sort of record?!” “Did you guys even bring a rope?” We laughed and bombed down the scree, picking up the pace on the way down and loving every minute of the beautiful trail.

Back at the truck, we swapped out gear, pounded more water, and each grabbed our 2 liter bladders. We were worried that the next section of PCT would be burned out and lacking shade and wanted to have as much water as possible. At 12 miles in, I was starting to feel tired and, as usual, had zero appetite. I forced NUUN and a bunch of chocolate-chia granola into my stomach and we started off, crossing the highway and entering a section of some of the most beautiful terrain I’ve ever had the pleasure of running through. Most of it was shaded and we were so very grateful!

At mile 18, I was sick. I half spit up/half vomited up half of a bar, noted that I was already worried about running out of water, and was momentarily ready to quit. We were so close that I couldn’t justify it. This day wasn’t going to be the fast day I had been hoping for but I sure as hell wasn’t going to quit. I choked down some Newman Os and willed my body to keep it down. We only had a couple more miles of runnable trail left- the climber’s trail off the PCT was riddled with downed-trees and more brush than I remembered encountering on my previous trip up Mount Washington nearly 2 years ago. We lumbered up to the ridge, relishing in the shaded sections as the day was becoming hotter... and hotter... and hotter.

When we started traversing over to the spire, we saw a woman sitting alone on a rock. She said her friends were climbing and that we should “be careful because it’s treacherous.” We laughed and kept making our way over. When we reached the base of the pinnacle, we saw two more people waiting for their friends who were making their way up to the summit. Our tiny packs must have made us conspicuous because they were eyeing us warily as we started solo’ing up the rock, easily pulling through the 5.3ish initial move. We reached the summit and met a wonderful and hilarious couple who gave us a PBR! It was so amazing and still slightly chilled :) 

We chatted with them for a while and enjoyed the light summit breeze for a while, shaking out our tired legs. We looked through the summit register, signed our names for the second time as a team, and finally began scrambling back down. We busted out our ropes & harnesses to make the final rappel back down to “solid ground.” As we passed the woman who had warned us about the “treacherous mountain,” she exclaimed, “wow that was fast! you guys must be experienced!” We had a good laugh about that for a while, our exhaustion definitely not inspiring many feelings of experience.

The way down was horrible. At this point, it was so hot that we couldn’t even run the flat sections. We were too dehydrated and didn’t have nearly enough water to sustain anything more than a fast-hiking pace on the way out. I found myself weaving drunkenly down the climber’s trail, willing myself to move for 15 minutes at a time and swishing small amounts of water around in my mouth. By the time we were headed back down the PCT, I was nursing Mentos and staring at a dead watch. I felt destroyed. By mile 27, I found myself sitting down on the side of the trail, turning my bladder upside down in an effort to drain any remaining water out of it. I did NOT want to keep going but since no other options remained, I picked myself up off the ground, tried to mask my exhaustion with an air of lightweight humor, and started walking again. Sitting became my primary focus. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow and I became fixated on the idea of Grapefruit Juice and Sprite. Totally fixated. I decided in these moments that dying of thirst has to be the worst way to die. By the time we could hear the highway again, we were slowed to the slowest walk I think we’ve ever walked. When we reached the edge of the highway, I sat down, tears welling in my eyes as I looked up at the truck, 200 yards away but at the top of a small hill. I was done. Toast. All I wanted was water. Or juice. Or sprite.

Andy kept going. I eventually followed, slamming as much water as I could into my body and sitting in the cool shade of the truck for a few moments. We had done it. And I was tired.

[insatiabletourist]

Mount Rainier: In A Day

When the alarm went off at 9:45pm, my first instinct was to throw my phone out the open truck window. It was too early, too late, too ___ to be waking up. What should be labeled as a ‘glorified nap’ had turned into 4 hours of tossing and turning in the heat of the evening as car after car rolled in and out of the parking lot- babies screaming, music blaring, voices screeching. Nothing about that sleep had been restful. But, I knew I needed to pony up, get dressed, and try to amp myself up for the long day ahead.

I shook Andy awake and began getting dressed, glancing out the window as I did and noting that the truck was enveloped in a sea of fog. Visibility wasn’t what I had hoped it would be. But, as I’ve learned over the course of the last two years, just because you hope for something in the mountains doesn’t mean it will come to pass. We dug ourselves out of the truck bed and started multi-tasking seamlessly: eating breakfast while pulling on ski boots, attaching skis to packs, and triple-checking that we’d packed everything. In a few minutes, we were ready—at least we were ready on paper. Now it was time to get psyched. Psych would be the only way we would be successful today, the only way we would make it from the parking lot in Paradise, WA to the summit of Mount Rainier in a single-day push.

Carting skis and hiking in ski boots up the paved trail out of the parking lot was initially kind of brutal. I walked as quickly as I could- trying to shorten the amount of time I carried skis on my back. Turns out it didn’t matter. After missing a crucial switchback, and discovering a patchy, partially snowy trail, we found ourselves taking skis on and off- packing them up steep slopes, hunting for the lost-and-found trail in the darkness. It was quite the adventure.

Eventually, we found our way to the Muir Snowfield and began skinning up its frozen flanks- noticing the occasional burst of howling wind as it ripped across the open area. I slipped and nearly fell multiple times- my skins refusing to gain traction on the ice. At one point, I did fall, and smacking my knee with force on the top of my skis left me momentarily shaken and assessing the damage. I was thankful my pack was so light as I pulled myself carefully up off the ground and began making upward progress once again.

By the time we reached Muir, all of the guided parties had already left- the camp was a ghost town. Even here, tents were billowing in the wind- rainflys rippling with the current. We stashed our skis and put on our harnesses- ready to cross any yet-unseen crevasses. Right before we started off, an overwhelming wave of nausea hit me. I couldn’t move. It wasn’t altitude, going from sea level to 10,000’+ in a matter of hours had become relatively passé to us. It wasn’t from food- I hadn’t eaten anything weird. I couldn’t figure out what it was, all I knew was that I was scarily close to projectile vomiting the contents of my stomach all over the snow, effectively ending our summit-bid. I sat on the ground and curled up, willing it to pass. 30 minutes later, we were finally able to start moving again- slowly, but we were moving.

Making our way up to Ingraham was fun. Rocks came shooting down behind us as we made our way to the other side of Muir- it felt like we were playing dodgeball with the mountain… only, Rainier was playing nice with us. The rest of the climb to the flats was a chossy mess- we stayed roped up since we weren’t sure how quickly we would be back to traveling on the glacier but it would have been much faster and more efficient for us to have packed the rope away at this point. Our crampons had a rough time stumbling up the loose, chunky scree. On our way up, we ran into multiple parties who had elected to turn around due to the fierce wind that was howling around us. Apparently, the wind grew progressively more violent as the elevation increased and decisions were made to stay off of some of the ‘more technical’ terrain while it was present. One of the parties decided to take the ‘choose your own adventure’ route during their descent and sent a number of cooler-sized blocks careening down toward us. They didn’t take any more caution after they realized we were traveling below them so we had to time our progress based on their location. I was frustrated with their inconsideration and inexperience since it (as is the usual case) was affecting the safety of myself and those traveling with or near me. Please, please use caution when traveling above other people- it’s the safe, smart, and ethical thing to do.

Eventually, we crested up to Ingraham Flats and took a quick break behind a snow shelter someone had built. My nausea seemed to be holding off for now but I was worried it would kick back up at any time. I still felt slow, weak, idiotic, but I fueled up and assessed myself, realizing that I was still safe enough to climb and descend from where we were heading. The sun was coming up in full force at this point and we basked in its glory before covering every inch of exposed skin we could find. The wind was brutal and it was doing its best to unstake the tent city we were sitting amongst. Rainier certainly wasn’t going to let this day be easy.

Up and up we went- crossing our first crevasses of the day on our way to the Cleaver itself and enjoying a brief reprieve from the wind when we drifted behind larger rock outcroppings. The trail was so well marked that I didn’t even have to think about navigating. Just one foot in front of the other- mindless movement. Which, given the state of my body at the time, was probably a blessing. Above the Cleaver, we traversed out onto the glacier and were smacked in the face by the most powerful winds of the day. We could see a few small parties heading back down and as we met them on the snow, we gathered bits of info, “the wind just gets worse and worse,” “the summit is really bad,” and/or “we turned around at 14,000’- we couldn’t take the wind anymore.” We pushed on- the wind didn’t seem too bad and we were continuing to make decent progress despite how slowly I was moving. Winding around crevasses and crossing snow bridges at their marked points didn’t take any mental energy- we simply followed the same path that hundreds of parties had taken and braced ourselves when the gusts became their strongest.

Above 13,000’ we took a break and assessed ourselves. I had started to regain a little bit of pep but we were moving slowly. Very, very slowly. Looking around, we set our sights on the next highest point we could see, our 12noon turnaround time seeming to echo in my ears. I didn’t feel tired. I didn’t feel pushed. I just felt like my pack weighed 75 lbs instead of the 15 or so that it did.

As we climbed, one foot in front of the other, we noticed that clouds were beginning to make their way in down low, obscuring what we could see of Muir and heading in toward Ingraham. By the time we finally made our way to the crater, we were in the middle of the craziest windstorm I’ve ever felt. The winds rushing over the crater’s rim were so intense that they knocked me to my knees and sucked the breath out of my lungs. With the true summit in sight, we kicked our way across the snow as quickly as possible, heads down, one step, two steps, three steps. Trudgery.

When we finally reached the summit, I felt a huge wave of relief. We had actually done it. We were sitting on the summit of Mount Rainier, our 20th Cascade, and we had done it in a day. The winds were so powerful up top that I had to crawl onto the summit- standing was a precarious balancing act and I didn’t want to waste any energy stabilizing myself for a few selfies. We spent no more than 60 seconds up top, briefly enjoying the views, before heading back down. Thankfully, the way down was as straightforward as the way up and the wind-chill had kept the snow in relatively frozen shape. The risk of snow-bridges collapsing seemed small but we moved across them carefully, as we had on the way up.

At this point, Andy was starting to feel the altitude and we were both moving slower than normally. We took a break before descending the Cleaver and forced calories into our bodies. I was so looking forward to reaching our skis.

We found Muir alive with activity. New groups were setting up camp and a number of individuals were walking around- some, terrifyingly, were wear tennis shoes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many selfie sticks in use before! The fog below Muir was thick and we were worried about shrinking visibility so we started skiing down almost immediately. The snow was incredible and skiing on tired legs, although requiring much stopping and starting, was a great relief. I practiced skiing in the chop, working on turning on a dime and picking my tips up and over dense patches of ice and crud. Climbers had completely flattened out most of the skiable terrain so the ride down was not without effort- especially for me and my baby-skier skills. The really eerie part was that the lower we went, the thicker the fog was. Since we were both totally tired and I can’t keep up with Andy on skis (yet…) we were skiing in shifts- Andy would ski ahead of me and I would catch him. By the time we hit 8,000’, I was having to follow the tracks left by his skis. We were losing sight of each other at about 50’. It was crazy!

After what seemed like ages, we packed our skis on our backs and made our way down the marked trail to Paradise. I’d kept blisters at bay during this trip and I was totally psyched about that. When we reached the parking lot, I dropped my stuff and started getting it ready to load into the car- Andy walked down to the overnight lot and brought the car up to us. We were exhausted, thirsty, and still letting the events of the day sink in.

[insatiabletourist]

Glacier Peak: Desperate for Sweet Turns

After a grueling drive out of Portland, we finally rolled into the TH at 830pm on Friday night. The winding road leading out of Darrington had turned into a pothole-riddled, muddy, slippery, swamp and I was relieved that my poor Susierolla managed to get through it without any damage. With a dry night forecasted, we sat down, made dinner, and blew up our sleeping pads- ready for a night spent sleeping under the stars. Minutes after I laid out the double-wide sleeping bag (the best car-camping investment EVER), fat rain drops began falling.

So much for a dry night. We’d elected to not bring an extra tent and with the backpacking tent shoved deep into the depths of Andy’s pack, we had to quickly dig it out, through our now-wet pads and sleeping bag into the car, and find a legitimate place to camp. Thankfully, the tent is easy to pitch and we were able to be in bed, warm and dry, before long.

The next morning, we awoke around 6am, re-packed everything while we broke down camp and made breakfast, and readied ourselves for the long approach to our intended “high camp” at Glacier Gap. In the month or so since we climbed Cooper Spur, I’d managed to forget how stupidly heavy packs become when skis and ski boots are attached to them. I tried to think of it as training weight as we set off up the trail, enjoying the relatively flat approach to the Shelter. We took a quick water/snack break here before started up the grueling. “never-ending” switchbacks to White Pass. I tried counting them as we climbed up the trail but lost track after 16… I am sure, however, that there were well over 20 by the time we got through them.

Throughout this entire hike, we were completely socked-in. Visibility beyond the trail was no more than 100’ and everything was covered in dew. Around the time we reached the 10th switchback, I became concerned at how much I was sweating. My baselayers and my hair were completely soaked. A quick reassuring conversation with Andy helped me rationalize the situation: I was wet because EVERYTHING around us was wet. We passed through long stretches of “jungle” where the trail was so overgrown that I had to use my trekking poles to see the ground in front of me. Each step into these areas left me saturated with droplets of water.  I probably could have stayed hydrated by drinking off of the vegetation we were passing through.

At the top of the switchbacks, we ran into 2 women who had elected to head back to the TH without pushing for the summit. Visibility, it seemed, was not going to improve once we were above the treeline.

The sections of the trail above the trees and before white pass were stunning. Wildflowers dotted the trail and mountain streams ran here and there across the trail. Visibility was still pretty poor but we were happy to be out of the trees and were excited to know we were out of the switchbacks.

Once we reached White Pass, we ate a quick lunch, stashed our hiking shoes, and got set up on skis. The sky began to clear up and we were finally able to see the surrounding area. It. Was. GORGEOUS. We were encapsulated in a sea of snowy peaks. Despite the miles we’d already covered, I found myself breathing in the beautiful area and, as I did, my psych was amplified.

I felt a renewed sense of energy course through me when I shouldered my newly-lightened pack and we started across the snowfield. We could see a small guided group traversing towards us and we stopped and said a quick ‘hello.’ One woman, when I asked her how the trip had gone, immediately complained that it had been ‘wet and miserable.’ I was so sad to hear that response. The mountains aren’t a spa day. The weather is shitty some days, and gorgeous the next. To sound completely cliché, it’s all about the process. Summit or not, if you don’t enjoy being out in the high places, pushing your body and mind, then why the heck would you do it? Mountaineering sucks if you aren’t excited about it!

That interaction aside, we could see the area from which they had come and decided to try to find a quicker shortcut. Andy had seen a couple TRs from people cutting up and over the ridge early so we decided to try to do the same. We picked a point we could skin to and made our way up. I relished in the frequent sightings of Marmots and their furry little faces and enjoyed the clear skies and sunshine as we gained elevation.

Once we reached our projected “up and over’ point, visibility had shrunk down to what it had been before. We had maybe 200’ of good visibility and this point. Looking at the GPS, we slowly negotiated our way down and into the “meadow,” trying not to lose more elevation than we needed to. A few fields of vegetables and rock outcroppings blocked our direct path so we packed our skis down the hillside- traversing as much as possible. Once we reached the snow and were able to get back on our skis, we began traversing around the low points. Visibility continued to shrink and we became progressively more reliant on the GPS as we moved forward. At this point, we were out of water. The 1L we’d each packed in was now gone and I became fixated on the sound of running water that was echoing around us, just out of sight. I hadn’t peed in a couple hours at this point and became pretty concerned that I would see the effects of dehydration if I wasn’t able to get to water in the next hour or so.

Eventually, the sound of water was so loud and we were so thirsty that we knew we needed to detour. Snow was melting in droves off of a large rock formation and I quickly stripped my shirt off and filled up my bladder, drinking over a liter in a matter of minutes. The water was frigid and my hands went numb every time I went in for a refill. It was glorious.

After a few minutes, we headed back in the direction of Glacier Gap, crossing paths with 2 guys who had turned around due to poor visibility. At this point, our window was maybe 100’ and I had difficulty leading us into the soup.  I’m pretty prone to vertigo and have simply fallen down in whiteouts when I’ve been up skiing. Basically, without a point of reference, I become a complete spaz that struggles to determine which direction UP is.

After hours of slowly making our way through the sea of fog, we reached our intended high camp. Still unable to see Glacier Peak, we resolved ourselves to the fact that the clear skies that had been forecasted might not join us until the next day- if at all.

We multitasked easily, pitching the tent, melting snow, blowing up sleeping pads, repacking our packs, and making dinner. We (intelligently) forgot a utensil so we ate off of 2 spare tent stakes. We fell asleep early, ready for 9 hours of sleep, and listened as the wind rolled in…

We woke up to pee at 1am and discovered CLEAR SKIES. Our campsite, it turned out, was in the middle of a gorgeous sea of peaks and Glacier Peak looked stunning- perfectly silhouetted on the skyline only a few miles away. After a few more hours of sleep, we hit the snow and headed up toward our objective.

We decided against climbing the direct line up Disappointment Peak after seeing evidence of some recent big slides and knowing that we wanted to ski the Cool Glacier. There were a few small cracks but they were easy to avoid and our glacier travel gear stayed buried in our packs, acting as nothing more than training weight for the trip.

The final push up to the summit was really neat- the terrain steepened a bit but with a clear fall line and perfect crampon’ing conditions, our ice axes stayed on our packs- more training weight, right?

We had the summit entirely to ourselves and with no one in sight, we enjoyed our time above 10,000’ in total peace- one of the few times this has happened to us. Several rounds of snacking later, we headed down- me on foot since I’d left my skis down lower to avoid skiing the icy upper crust, and Andy on skis.

Off the ice, I stepped into my bindings and joined Andy for a very memorable, very corny, very AMAZING ski down the Cool Glacier. We ran into 2 skiers who were resting below the glacier and chatted with them a bit about conditions. At that point, climbers came toward us in droves- rope teams heading up into crevasse-free territory ascended the snowfields like small groups of ants. We skied by them, enjoying our gleeful descent, and wished them all an excellent journey to the summit. They smiled and waved, happy to be out under the clear, blue sky.

Eventually, we stepped out of our bindings and packed our skis up to Glacier Gap to breakdown camp, enjoying a few more minutes of rest and silence before commencing the long journey back to the TH.

The crazy part about being so socked in during the approach was that the entire way out was brand-new to our eyes. We saw the beginnings of Alpine lakes forming in low points and even filled our bladders up in one- carefully avoiding the weak points and the icy dip that would result from it.

Glacier Peak was GORGEOUS. From Glacier Gap, we could see no one and we had been certain that we would be among few teams to have attempted the summit that day. But, as we rolled up and over another roll, we saw 10 or so tents pitched in small groups and were happy that we had pushed through the zero vis to find our private campsite.

On the way out, we elected to take the “Standard Approach” – whatever that means- and followed boot pack up and out of the small valley.

PSA: A large group of people decided it would be a fun idea to completely wipe out the skin track left by the skiers who came in for the weekend. Please, please, please, do NOT walk in the skin track. It’s rude and unnecessary.

Turns out, this way was long, much longer than our crazy shortcut, and we ended up spending at least an additional hour or so losing and gaining elevation. The terrain was certainly easier to navigate but the repeated gain and loss was not worth easier travel- at least in our opinions.

Sometime later, we found ourselves back at White Pass happily stripping our ski boots off of our feet to dry out while we ate lunch. We drained the remaining water in our packs before we set off, trying to lighten our heavy loads as much as possible and knowing that there would be plenty of accessible, probably-clean water on the way out.

The hike out was long. So very long. After doing the approach in a haze, the trail seemed completely new, which was great, but it made tracking our progress toward the trailhead very difficult. More often than not, my optimism had me thinking we were a mere mile or two away and we would get the GPS out, check our location, and see that we still had several hours to go. By the time we made it down the never-ending switchbacks, my feet and knees were screaming.

And we still had miles to go.

By the time we reached the car, we were ecstatic. I quickly stripped my sweaty, dirty, zinc oxide-soaked clothes off and we jumped into the car, munching on chips and pounding water with a vengeance. It was a long drive back to Portland….

[insatiabletourist]

Mount Hood: North to South

Andy and I have been talking about heading up Cooper Spur for months now. With the weird weather we’ve had in the PNW this year, getting up on a new route on a distant mountain proved challenging so we started looking for new, more limit-pushing route on one of the giants in our backyard.  Cooper Spur seemed like it fit the mold and we reached out to friends and did a bunch of reading online to get beta on the “killer” route. We were actually on the verge of trying it a couple of months ago but we were presented with the tiniest of weather windows and bailed the night before, electing to wait for more ideal conditions.

Friday night, we readied our gear and went to sleep at 7pm. Alarms set for 11:40pm, we were looking at only a few hours of sleep but we wanted cold, early morning temps in order to feel that we could complete the route safely since avy risk and slipping on the slushy, late afternoon snow were our primary hazards. Our proposed descent would be down another North side route, the Sunshine Route, and since there was a chance that we would be facing a pretty gnarly bergschrund, we brought harnesses and a rope, just in case. Our packs were heavier than we wanted but we sucked it up and considered it “training weight” for some of our upcoming, overnight objectives.

Tilly Jane TH was nearly empty when we pulled into the parking lot. We grabbed our packs and started hiking up the trail, getting to the Tilly Jane shelter in just over an hour- we were blazing. The wind was howling pretty hard down low but we had decent enough protection in the trees so we trudged on- hoping to find skinnable snow sooner rather than later since the skis and boots on our backs were beginning to feel pretty dang heavy. By the time we reached the Cooper Spur shelter, we were in a sea of suncupped snow. Optimistic, we switched to skis and skins and began making our way up toward the ridge. It was getting brutally chilly at that point and I bundled up in my puffy and hat, shivering and moving to keep the screamers at bay (since they’ve been known to make me burst out crying with little to no notice).

The snow was NOT skinnable. We were merely walking with skis on our feet, skins gripping the snow with hardly anymore security than our crampon-less boots had been during the first part of the approach. Once we gained the ridge, we ditched our skis and switched over to crampons. Looking up at the route, it didn’t look that bad- the sky was clearing and the wind had become more of a mild annoyance than anything. The climbing up the first section was relatively low-angled- our biggest objective hazard was rockfall and after the first man-killer came screaming down the chute in front of us, we decided to climb in shifts.one person leading out at a time and the other person with eyes-up, looking for tumbling rocks that we would (hopefully) be able to avoid with careful maneuvering. 

Our shift-climbing worked and, despite the quickly-warming (and, in places, very rotten) snow, we were eventually able to head up toward a ridge that would get us from the line of fire. Andy went up right before I did and took the quickest path up-ending up on some pretty slick snow (both of his tools lost their grip during one particularly spicy instance). Deciding to avoid the snow/choss, I took and alternative route and ended up on the steepest section of climbing I’ve ever been on (that wasn’t made from rock). It wasn’t until after I pulled myself up over the lip and onto the ridge that I realized what I’d been climbing. It was STEEP! And rad. Like, really, really cool. However, I was feeling pretty worked and needed some serious fuel. The rotten snow required more throws with my tools than I had anticipated and my shoulders and arms were shaking. We quickly ate food while leaning against a tiny platform we dug out.

At this point, clouds started rolling in. We had maybe a hundred feet of good visibility in all directions which obscured some of the steep drop off on climber’s right. We took a few moments after we finished eating to check out the North Face route which got our stoke up.  Then, we started up. Less steep climbing from here to the summit was on mostly good snow with a few thin snow layers masking solid ice (which wasn’t super fun to climb). We eventually gained sight of the summit and scrambled to the top.

Andy topped out ahead of me and got some sweet photos of me coming up the last section of climbing. The summit cornice was not in place at all so pulling up and over the edge was cake. We drank it in. First North side route on Hood CHECK!

With visibility getting worse and worse, we decided to bail on our planned descent- the sunshine route. Instead, we down-climbed the Pearly Gates and found ourselves face to face with a budding crevasse that was beginning to block direct traffic to the gates and which was also stretching its way across the old chute. Good luck, late season Hood climbers....

Together, we skied down from the kitchen and had 4,000′ of perfect, prime, amazing corn. Both of us were pretty worked at this point but we managed to enjoy some sweet turns.

We managed to snag a ride back to the Cooper Spur turn off on hwy 35 and another back up to our car.

(BIG thanks to the wonderful people who helped us back on this one)

It was another long but wonderful day in the alpine :)

[insatiabletourist]

5/7/16: Mount Baker

It’s become a bit of a theme this Spring that the weather gods choose only to bless those who are able to take time off during the week to go adventuring. Tuesday through Friday morning of every week are clear and cold and simply beautiful. Then, Friday afternoon, a storm rolls in that drop 2’ of snow on top of everything within a 5 hour drive of Portland. Trust me, if I could just peace out of work on Wednesday to go climb something, I absolutely would. But I can’t, so I have to make do with the Weekend Warrior lifestyle I’m currently pursuing with a fiery passion.

When the forecast for Mount Baker rolled around early in the week, Andy and I were psyched. For the first time, we were being presented with a great weather window to climb our first “new to us” mountain since January. We were incredibly psyched. And then…. Thursday happened. I’m not sure what kind of sacrilege I uttered to piss the universe off but our window to climb had shrunk to a single day. We would get to climb Mount Baker in a single push or we would not get to climb it at all.

Being the overly ambitious people that we are, we decided to go for it- light and fast style- up the Boulder Glacier/Cleaver route from the South Side. It would be a long push but with skis and what was touted to be a maintained trail for the approach, we were confident that we would be up and down with more than enough time to grab a beer and some food before driving back to Portland after accomplishing our goal.

Oh boy how wrong we were.

After a brutal 7-hour drive out of Portland (thanks, traffic), we arrived at the trailhead at 10:30pm, surprised to see a few cars there since the route was not supposed to see much traffic. We quickly prepped for our 3:30am alarm and got to sleep.

Bright and early we boiled water, secured our skis to our packs, and downed oatmeal with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. 20 minutes after we woke up, we were off. The trail was very, very overgrown. I was continually waving my ski poles in front of my face to knock damp cobwebs out of our path. The overgrowth, however, was the least of our worries after about a half mile of hiking. We soon began encountering monstrous windfalls at increasingly frequent intervals- trees so big that we had to climb around them or belly flop our way over them. To make matters worse, before we reached the end of the ‘maintained’ trail, our path was intermittently interrupted with deep puddles that left Andy’s feet soaked and my feet very damp (thank you, Merrell for using Gore-TEX!).

By the time we hit the bog slash would-be “meadow” we were both pretty cranky. About halfway across, however, we caught our first glimpse of Baker and our energy was renewed- it’s funny how that happens.

About 3 miles up the trail, we hit snow and were finally able to ditch our wet shoes and switch to skis and ski boots. At that point, we heard voices behind us and saw a group of 4 guys rolling up- more day-trippers!!

We made our way up to the section of 3rd class climbing and easily scaled the fixed line- this was made more challenging by a number of things:

1. Skis on packs 2. Ski boots on feet 3. THICK overgrowth at the top that we had to bust through

At that point though, the only thing that stood between us and the summit was a LOT of skinning and a big, cracking glacier, so we quickly transitioned back to skis and began making our way up.

Still nursing my knee/IT band, I moved slowly and I could sense Andy’s impatience at my pace. I definitely felt like a total gumby when the group of 4 guys caught and passed us, their superior skinning skills kicking ass on the steeper sections of snow. Being such a new skier, I still don’t have the amount of confidence it takes to skin straight up steep sections of snow and although my skins are a nylon-mohair blend, they still don’t have best traction for steep skinning. Andy patiently waited for me to fumble my way up the steeper sections and we made decent time up to the Cleaver.

Before reaching the meat of the glacier, we put on harnesses in preparation for needing to rope up- it’s better to get ready for anything when you’re not facing something, right?

On our way up, a group of skiers were heading down. After a quick conversation we learned that they had bailed after one member of their party had dropped quickly into a crevasse. They had pulled him out without much trouble but had decided against tempting the fates with any more excitement and headed back down to camp. I watched their tracks in envy - the snow at 10am was perfect corn and I wanted so badly to ditch my skins for a quick jaunt… okay, maybe I just wanted a quick break from all the uphill skiing...

I fought the urge, however strong it was, and we continued up, leaving our skis at the top of the cleaver since neither of us was psyched at having to ski down through a maze of snow bridges and crevasses. Andy set out to break trail for the first section since I was still wary of how well my knee would take climbing the perma-stair master.

Traveling as a rope team takes FOREVER. This climb reminded me why we don’t do it unless we’re at risk of falling to our deaths. Navigating the traverses across steeper bits of solid snow, however, was quick and easy and I grew more appreciative than ever of the partnership that Andy and I have.

As the summit grew closer, we switched spots and I led us up to the top. My body felt good- better than it has in a while. We met the group of skiers at the summit and they did a little good-natured shit talking as they stepped into their bindings for the ski down. “Getting old already, are ya?” one of them chided. I laughed and replied, “I definitely feel old! And I’m wishing I hadn’t forgotten beer at home!” They laughed at the ridiculousness of my only concern and jested that they might leave us a beer at the trailhead- if we were lucky.

They started down and we stood on the summit for a few moments, excited that our early season climb had left us with an amazing few that we had almost entirely to ourselves. The North Cascades are so beautiful and I was once again reminded and impressed at the world we live in.

The way down went without incident- quickly plunge-stepping our way through solid snow and carefully tip toeing (and in some cases, jumping) across snow bridges until we made it back to our skis.

Our hope at having decent conditions faded quickly as the familiar “ckkkkkkk!” sound shot out from underneath us as we tried to turn. Ugh. I packed my skis down a couple hundred feet- post-holing and getting even more snow melt inside my soaking wet ski boots. Eventually, the snow softened and we got into some sweet, sweet snow.

We hustled down to the edge of the snow and quickly switched to hiking shoes as the light faded. We then ran into the reason we got back to the car in the dark- the GPS was dead and all of our tracks had either melted out or been washed away by snow melt. It was time to bushwhack and use our map, terrain navigation skills, and compass to get back.

TWO HOURS later, we navigated our way back to the Boulder Ridge trail and began the brutal process of climbing over the same giant trees in the dark. Exhausted, cursing, and covered in bruises from falling, we made it back to the car at 10:30pm- over 18 hours after leaving the trailhead- to find 2 beers waiting for us, courtesy of our skier pals :)

It was a horribly long day and I was pretty worked for a couple of days. However, Baker was such a beautiful mountain that I would be happy to go back for another push. This time, however, I’m bringing waterproof trail shoes and a change of socks.

Visit www.mountainrefugees.com for more info and detailed (less story-focused) information on this climb!

[insatiabletourist]

Lassen Peak: A Backcountry Skier’s Paradise

At the end of February, I had the privilege of spending my second weekend in as many years exploring Lassen Volcanic National Park.  Just outside Mineral, California, LVNP is home to one of the most beautiful mountains I’ve climbed to date: Lassen Peak.  On this trip, however, we elected to spend the weekend exploring a new area, relishing in the company of incredible friends, and skiing new lines in the fresh, untracked snow.

Despite the fact that I was struggling to breathe through my nose and mouth throughout the trip, I enjoyed the skin up to where we camped.  The path up to the climber’s trail follows the road and the climb is gradual and beautiful.  I found myself gasping for air at times from the sheer beauty of the park- not because of my illness.  Snowshoers and skiers alike follow this road up to Lake Helen to camp for the weekend or to simply see other areas. We, however, decided to camp just below it, in an area overlooking Lassen Peak that was protected on two sides by trees.  We built an amazing snow barrier to keep the wind off the third side of our tents and dug out an incredible kitchen area, complete with two benches and a platform for cooking.  I love going places with our friends...

Once camp was set up, we went off adventuring.  Andy and I skinned up the road for a while and found some really, really neat lines below a big cinder cone.  We mobbed through some neat recesses, Andy cruised over some cool lips and down some steep stuff, and I worked on re-familiarizing myself with skis and the basics of turning, etc.  After the first lap, I’d figured it out again pretty well, so we jetted back toward camp to meet up with our friends.

The boys dropped down one of the steepest lines we saw and boot packed up it a couple of times since skinning up the steepest sections would have been a pain.

After a few more runs, we went searching for new lines and, once again, the boys went off on a crazy tree-filled adventure while us ladies found some gentler, less death-defying things to ski down.  The snow was crusty and gorgeous and we tore it up until we were exhausted and wanted dinner and margaritas... and then I went to sleep for 13 hours.

After a night of fighting to breathe through my oxygen-transporting orifices, I awoke feeling somewhat refreshed and significantly more chipper than I had the night before. That final morning, we messed around, finding small jumps for us ladies to go off of, new lines through the trees for the boys to adventure down and, in general, enjoyed our last few hours soaking up the natural world in peace.

Kelsey started learning how to Tele Ski during the trip!

Hopper showing off our BALLER camping spot.

And then it was time to pack up. We reluctantly packed our backpacks, filled in our snow kitchen and knocked down our snow barrier- LEAVE NO TRACE, PEOPLE!, and started back down the trail.  

Great friends. Gorgeous place. Incredible life.

[insatiabletourist]

We got the chance to climb Mt Hood again a couple of weeks ago- this time with a friend who’d never been up there. It was an incredible day and thanks to his fitness, we had our fastest time ever to the summit! (It doesn’t warrant bragging rights yet but hopefully one day I’ll be psyched to share a new, beautiful record on the PNW’s beautiful guardian).

[insatiabletourist]

First Time UP The Old Chute

Compared with our climb at the end of March, this trip up Mount Hood was a different beast altogether.  The old chute has formed completely differently this year and we were both left wishing we had two tools with us during the descent.  It was shockingly warm and we moved as quickly as possible from the hogsback over to the base of the final stretch of climbing.  I was pouring sweat despite completely undoing my side zips and climbing in an unzipped baselayer on top.  I smeared sticky zinc sunscreen on every bit of exposed skin and hoped I wouldn’t sweat it off this time.

Although the snow was in excellent shape when we reached it, the terrain was, in places, 50 degrees with short, lower angled stretches that allowed us to rest briefly while climbers ahead of us climbed through the rimey chutes that guarded the summit.

We actually got some GoPro footage (on accident) of the climb up the old chute as well as some of the traversing section coming back down toward the hogsback.  I couldn’t quite figure out if the thing was on video or photo mode so I actually ended up with nearly an hour’s worth of footage of JUST the ascent up the old chute. It was really crazy to look at... and slightly nerve-racking to watch...

We chose a different path for the descent and decided to come down the furthest west chute (climber's left, skier's right) of the old chute (so many chutes!) in order to help avoid dropping unnecessary amounts of ice and rime on top of climbers who were just beginning their ascent. This chute, however, was steeper than the one we'd chosen for the ascent and we did end up facing into the slope to downclimb through sections.

The biggest challenge for me during this climb was the fact that I was in my new AT boots.  The feel of stiff plastic articulating with the snow was unnerving to me- especially in the steep sections.  In my Scarpa mountaineering boots, I can feel the tips of my crampons bite into snow and ice and I know when my foothold is good.  My lack of experience with the AT boots left me wasting stupid amounts of energy kicking extra steps- rather than trusting my skills and experience in knowing where a good point of balance will be.

I do have to admit that despite the fact that I, once again, found myself feeling pretty worked coming down the hogsback, skiing down from the top of the Palmer was amazeballs. Like... how have I waited so long to learn how to ski?

[insatiabletourist]

Gear Woes

I spent the better part of my morning looking for a new pair of fully waterproof, super durable, and ski-compatible mountaineering pants. You know what I found? Websites riddled with exactly what I was looking for.... for men.

The further I’ve delved into the world of alpine climbing and have started testing the waters of ski mountaineering, the more apparent the divide between the gear offered to the sexes has become.  I click through one website, narrowing down the clothing selection to the specifics of what I need: Women’s Pants-> Waterproof-> Skiing.... 2 options. If I go to the Men’s section on the same website? 5 options.  Another website, same specs, I get 3 options for women and 7 options for men. I mean, what the hell?  It is amazing to me that still, in 2016, there is significant gear-inequality for men’s versus women’s gear and apparel.

I do understand that since there are fewer women involved in the ‘more extreme’ side of outdoor sports (SkiMo for example), companies probably don’t have much of an incentive to market burly gear to women. That being the case, however, maybe women simply give up on purchasing 3 layer GORE-TEX ski bibs after discovering that they only have one or two options to chose from, most of which are lacking in detailed reviews by women who have actually used them in the alpine.  

On a related/unrelated note, there seem to be a few companies that are developing bibs with velcro adjustment straps that rest along the sides of women’s chests.  Which is really, really rad since it’s taking women’s-specific to a whole new level (IF the velcro can hold up).

I had a very interesting interaction at REI when I was there a couple of weeks ago doing some ‘preliminary gear scouting.’ I walked in and asked an associate in the ski area if they have any Arc’teryx pants for women.  He got an incredulous look on his face and replied, “that’s what you’re looking for? what on earth are you doing here then?”

Suffice to say they didn’t have anything related and I ended up ordering the Theta SVs online based on a size-chart comparison between the Arc’teryx sizing and the Patagonia sizing (which I knew).  Thankfully, they fit beautifully and I was incredibly impressed with how they performed last weekend during our trip up Mount Hood. 

My other recent complaint has been with Mountain Hardwear.  I purchased one of their “waterproof” alpine jackets last winter and discovered, in the most unfortunate of circumstances, that the jacket is in fact NOT waterproof and is actually quite willing to absorb water until it’s completely saturated.  The mild winter we had in the Cascades last year kept me from truly testing it I guess... basically, I ended up pissed so I reached out to their warranty department and had an AMAZING amount of help shipping the jacket to warranty by the folks at the Portland MHW store (seriously, they are AMAZING).  After discovering that, yes, the jacket is not waterproof, a wonderful member of the warranty team caleld me to discuss options for replacing it.... I had one option that was remotely comparable in value and design.  ONE OPTION.  Unfortunately, that option happened to only be in an XS- with my 5′8″ frame at nearly +2 ape index, I am a hard medium simply to have my entire arm covered in motion. The wonderful man advised me to try their men’s version of the jacket... which had all of the things I needed: belay zipper, pit zips, helmet compatible hood, fully waterproof and seam sealed design, zipper garage, and velcro sleeve cuffs. The really wonderful and kind of hilarious part about this jacket? The women’s version was the barebones version of it and was lacking in all of those wonderful qualities minus the waterproofing. For a $600 jacket I was appalled and sad. My very helpful friend empathized with the ridiculousness of making a women’s version of a jacket that’s lacking in all of the technical benefits of the men’s version. Who thought that was a good idea? 

In the end, I cannot say enough amazing things about the MHW warranty team- never have I felt so helped and never have I had someone work so hard to make sure I had an adequate replacement for my gear.  Going through warranty is a crappy process, but it couldn’t have been any better!

I think my main issue is that the lack of technical options for women is downright appalling.  The fact that a sales associate actually laughed at me is also appalling (although he did apologize for the general lack of inventory).  I continue to hope that more and more women begin to enter the outdoor industry in a safe, respectful, and motivated manner so that, one day, I can go to backcountry.com and find exactly what I’m looking for... for women.

[insatiabletourist]

As we were beginning the icy slog up to the Devil's Kitchen yesterday morning, the sky reminded us that, once upon a time, Mount Hood set the world on fire 🌋

[insatiabletourist]

Hyperlite Mountain Gear, Biddeford, Maine. 39,535 likes · 2,370 talking about this · 219 were here. Visit: www.hyperlitemountaingear.com 800-464-9208...

VOTE FOR ME!

[insatiabletourist]

A Few Unfortunate Things, One Beautiful Day

I guess I should have realized we were in a bit deeper than safety would allow after the second round of gale-force winds nearly dropped me to the ground.  In that moment, I silently thanked myself for leaving my skis at the previous clearing.  The snowshoes I was now wearing would have become very inconvenient sails had I still been packing them on my back. I looked back at Andy and tried to silently communicate my exasperation at the conditions before realizing that I had bundled my entire face up in an effort to prevent more ice from stinging my face.  I decided to simply shrug before trudging a few more steps toward our yet-unseen objective: the summit of the beautiful Diamond Peak.

As I lifted each snow-laden foot out of the billowing snowpack, I took slow inventory of what dominos hadn’t fallen as we’d intended... one, downed trees and knee deep snow prevented us from coming anywhere near the trailhead, adding what had ended up being 5 miles to the approach, two, my left ski binding had snapped apart one mile up the trail, three, we had missed the trailhead due to heavy snowpack and no signage and had to backtrack a short ways, four, the GPS was dead, five, I had hastily forgotten to swap out the GoalZero charging cable for the one that actually charged phones, six, it was 2:45pm and the sky was already starting to turn, seven, what we had expected to at least be slightly consolidated snow was cracking in slow slabs in front of us and we weren’t even out of the trees yet... 

I stopped again and looked up toward the shapeless cloud hiding the summit.  Andy walked up next to me and we began acknowledging that between the negative temps, the quickly-becoming-apparent avalanche risk and the fact that the mountain was very obviously ready to throw whatever it could at us to encourage us to turn around (I’d already had a massive pile of icy snow dumped on my head and we’d been experiencing increasingly-powerful winds as the day had gone on), we should probably head back.

As we spoke, we got one of our few brief glimpses at the summit ridge, so close yet so far away.  Another tree dropped a massive load of snow onto the ground next to us and we turned back, watching our trail wipe itself further and further into oblivion with each gust of wind.

[insatiabletourist]

Breaking trail in what, in places, turned out to be waist-deep snow was too much for my baby-skier skill set so, Andy and I had to abandon our first attempt at Diamond Peak this weekend. We went touring around the beautiful Diamond Peak Wilderness Area instead and Andy taught me some of his mad skills. "Success" in the mountains is never a guarantee but I certainly learned a lot this weekend and my god am I hungry for more snow. See you in a couple days, Diamond Peak- we're psyched to see your gorgeous face {get it?} again.

[insatiabletourist]

Goats, Rocks, and Route Finding

We rolled out of bed and jammed breakfast down our throats with barely enough spare time to claim seats on the first boat of the day.  Today was the day we were heading to Telendos, a small island off the coast of Kalymnos that is host to a number of highly recommended multipitch routes. The plan was to swing leads on the hardest multipitch of my climbing career: 9 pitches and 265 meters of rock at the proud grade of 6a+.  I was vibrating with excitement as the boat pitched us toward the main village.  Of course, that could have been from drinking too much “gourmet” instant coffee on a mostly empty stomach but I was going to take it as excitement so I could keep my nerves at bay.

Andy, my boyfriend and climbing partner, shot a big grin at me when we stepped onto Telendos.  A far more experienced climber than me and with a significantly more padded multipitch resume that the one I’m touting, Andy was psyched to help me move my climbing to the next level and encouraged my desire to lead the crux pitch.  He was also excited to make the 90 minute on foot approach to the base of the climb in lieu of paying the fisherman to take us around the island.  Despite the growing heat, we really wanted to see as much of the island as possible before we started up the route.

The sun rose quickly and we tried to stay in the shade as much as possible as we (repeatedly) lost and regained the trail.  I was carting the rope in backpack form and Andy was carrying our metal and we were both sweating bullets by 845am- not the best way to start the day since we were carrying 3 liters of water between the two of us and the temperature was rising steadily with the sun.  I eventually had to roll my pants into capris and stuff my long-removed shirt between my back and the rope to keep it protected from my salty body juices.  Our psych, however, did nothing but build as we crested the small ridge and the massive span of rock greeted us.  It was magnificent. Our pace quickened against all logic.

As we drew closer to the base of a massive cave that frames on side of the route, I heard a sharp “baaaaaah!” and saw what looked like legs kicking up out of a sea of brush. I turned to Andy and said, “I think there’s a goat up there… and I think he might be stuck.”

What a strange concept- a creature as agile as a goat, stuck in the brush- I thought I must be experiencing some strange Greek Island- mirage.  But as we drew closer, I could definitely see the outline of something hairy, and when I didn’t hear another peep from him, I began to really feel that something must be wrong.  I tentatively veered off the trail toward him, passing a dead and ripely decomposing goat on the way.

I cautiously dropped the rope from my back and stood back as Andy, too, drew nearer.  I knew I would fall to pieces if something was seriously wrong with this four legged friend.  We didn’t have anyway of helping him if he were in really bad shape but neither of us could just walk away and leave him without at least seeing if we could do something.  We had to at least see what kind of condition he was in.

Andy looked him over and discovered that he was alive and breathing but was firmly stuck by the horns, legs, and neck in thick, rooty brush.  We quickly devised a plan to drag him out and release him from his prison.  I stood back and pulled a particularly thick branch out of the way so Andy could better access his body.  With a quick tug, Andy pulled him loose, scratching his hands on the porcupine-like brush.

The goat sprang up but fell back down almost immediately.  For a split moment, my childish mind thought, “oh, that’s kind of funny, his leg has fallen asleep!”

And then he fell again and it hit me: his front right leg was broken.

In his panic to escape from us, his terrifying saviors, he stumbled rapidly away and fell off of a 4 foot cliff and onto the loose, rocky hillside below.  My eyes quickly filled with tears and a sob sprang from my chest.  I couldn’t bear to watch him tumble down the rest of the trail.  

The goat was out of sight for a moment and the island became silent.  

Then, as if we had been blessed by the gods of Greek goats, we heard movement and small rocks began to roll below us.  After a minute, the goat drew himself into sight,carefully picking his way down each step of the trail on three legs.

“At least he’s through the worst of the trail,” Andy said, putting his arm around my shaking shoulders. “And we saved him from a long, horrible death lying up here in the sun.”  I nodded and smiled, shaking my body back to life and trying to rattle the psych back into myself.

“Let’s get climbing!” I said, in an attempt at immediate cheerfulness.  We grabbed our gear and started back up the trail.  I glanced over my shoulder occasionally to check on our furry friend and was glad to see that he was still making his way down the path.

We finally reached the base of the climb only to find it shrouded in a swarm of these crazy-looking red-bodied bee things.  I laughed a little. Andy did not.

“It’s a good thing you’re leading the first pitch,” I jested.  Andy hates bees more than anyone I know and these creatures are particularly terrifying to look at.  We swiftly organized our gear and Andy started up the pitch, climbing as fast as I’ve ever seen him climb.

Belaying attentively, I stole occasional glances at the Aegean, enjoyed the feel of the light breeze, and relished in the pleasant feel of toes free from climbing shoes.  I had only brought my La Sportiva Muiras on this trip and I was not excited about wearing them for much of the afternoon.  

When it was my turn to climb, I took a deep breath and touched the rock.  It felt good.  Really, really good.  I felt a rush of gratitude that we were able to take breaks from our lives back in Portland to travel to this amazing island to go sport climbing. What an amazing life we lead (that can be taken literally, I guess).

The first four pitches went smoothly- I got a little sketched out in a corner but as we hit the crux pitch, I felt warmed up and mentally ready- not to mention incredibly excited to lead the way over the roof we saw a few bolts up!

As I started up the pitch, I took a moment to gather my thoughts- it looked intimidating from the anchor but I’d been onsighting grades much harder than this pitch during this trip and knew I had it in me to pull the roof and hit the anchor in style.  Moving smoothly up the slabby start to the roof, I took deep, calming breaths and pumped myself up, yes, climbing is fun! you love climbing! and this pitch is the best! you’re going to send and it will be so sweet!, I thought to myself, smiling inside.  I reached up and clipped the last bolt before the perceived crux, looking ahead for the jug I knew would be there- it is only 6a+, afterall!

My heart sank- there was no jug.  There. Was. No. Jug.

I frantically looked around for some reasonable-looking hold and found myself staring at a few tiny nubbins and a small ledge about 3” out of reach.

Shit.

I retreated to the rest below and felt my eyes fill with tears. “I can’t do this,” I mumbled down at Andy. “I’m not strong enough to pull this move. I can’t lead this pitch.”

“Yes, you can,” he replied, calmly, “take a minute to breathe and then try again.”

My crying intensified.  How can he believe I can do it?! He can’t even see the holds I’m looking at. He’s not up here! I told myself, frustrated at his faith in my ability. There is nowhere for me to go.

Knowing that I needed to try again, at least just to humor my partner, I took a deep breath, pulled myself out of the rest, and took another attempt at the roof.  Heel hooking through the move was an impossibility with the jacked hip flexor I’d been dealing with for the last week and my left hand had nothing to pull on aside from a tiny nubbin of a crimp to the left of my already-clipped bolt.  Frantically I began trying to palm my way over the roof without even the tiniest amount of success.

A deep sob escaped my throat, “You can take. I can’t do this and I want to come down.”

Andy, knowing better than to argue with me when I was crying, reluctantly followed my request and lowered me back to the anchor.  I clove-hitched myself back in and let loose.  All of the tears, all of the anger I’d been fighting to hold in when I was up there began pouring out of me.  

It was 6a+! I should be able to do this pitch! This was going to be our grand outing as a team during this trip and here I was, as usual, blowing it because I’m not the strong climber I aspire to be.  All of the training down the drain. I was just a failure crying on a ledge 5 pitches off the ground with my poor helpless climbing partner rubbing my back and trying to comfort me.

“How about this?” Andy began tentatively. “Let’s eat some food and we’ll take a minute to look at the pitch together and you can try again.”

I glared up at him through my tears. I did NOT want to try again.

But the little spark of “be better” inside of me knew I needed to so I begrudgingly nodded my head at him.  We pulled the rope, ate some food, and after some time chatting through the possibilities, I started back up, full of PB&J inspired- confidence.  I reached up above the roof, clipped the draw and looked around hopefully.  

There was no jug.  

I kicked and screamed and, as if a faucet had been turned on inside my chest, cried some more.

And then I found a bomber jug- a big, beautiful jug made of nylon and I pulled on that sucker until I was through the roof.  

I was not proud of myself for my forgoing my climbing ethics but, I had stopped enjoying myself in that moment and I wanted to get through the pitch so I could move on to bigger and better things- this was supposed to be an amazing climb, right? I kept climbing and vowed to keep my hands off of holds made by Black Diamond during the remainder of the pitch.

And then I came to another roof with no jug.  Once again, I cried until I found the beautiful BD jug. Hating myself, I cried all the way to the anchors, put Andy on belay, and tried to enjoy the view through freely- flowing tears.

I was done.  

I asked Andy to lead the remaining pitches since I no longer felt emotionally balanced enough to lead anything harder than 5c.  I simply wanted to have fun now- no more scary roofs, no more pushing my limit on the hardest multipitch I’d ever attempted.  I simply wanted to climb.

He strolled up each pitch, put me on belay, and I tried to get myself back into a space where I could enjoy the sound of the Aegean rolling around behind me and the feel of the rock underneath my tired hands and feet.  My feet were screaming, my arms were raw and scratched from my battle at the roof, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin the rest of the climb with a sour attitude.

Tired as I was, I had nearly reached that point when we hit the final belay.

It was a hanging belay 230 meters off the ground with a tiny sea of crimps I could place my screaming toes on.  In my exhausted state, my ability to manage my fear had dwindled to the point that I became so flustered and repeatedly tied in with a munter until Andy intervened and safely tied me in with a clove hitch.  I eventually managed to put him on belay and determinedly did not look down or let my mind wander to the mutilation going on inside my climbing shoes. I was shaking with fear, pain, and exhaustion at that point. I watched him move gracefully from one edge to the next (there really were a LOT of holds) until he was out of sight.  I heard him shout “off belay!” and went through the motions of making sure I was safely able to follow him up the pitch once he put me on.  I carefully eased myself, too tired to shed more fear-driven tears, onto the wall, coaxing my once- responsive feet up the rock.  Eventually, I relaxed into the climbing (my feet were still protesting), and found a calm rhythm through the final pitch, eventually climbing past Andy’s belay to the top.  Sweating, I carefully peeled my shoes/delivers-of-pain off my feet and looked around me.

The sea was becoming tinged with pink from the slowly setting sun and the sky was incredibly clear as I belayed Andy up to me.  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, thinking back on how difficult the day had been and trying to figure out exactly why I had been so shut down on the crux pitch.

“Hey,” Andy said behind me. “There’s a summit register over here… and it looks like we may not have climbed Wild Country…”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah, people are calling it “Wild Eterna.” We may have ended up on a route called “Eterna” that goes at 6b+.”

Something clicked in my brain.  I had remembered seeing another set of anchors on a ledge and hadn’t thought anything of it.  A sigh of relief passed over me; I had never even attempted to onsight 6b+ and although it was only just above my current climbing ability, the fact that it had felt so impossible made so much more sense now.

I wasn’t a weak, blubbering failure.  I was a blossoming climber who had just hit the chains on her first 6b+ after swinging leads on three pitches in the heat of the day.  I may have grabbed a few nylon jugs but I had managed to live through the whole ordeal. And that alone felt like an accomplishment.

I am definitely more scared than most climbers and am certainly more scared than any climber I know who has been climbing for 5 years.  I get irrationally terrified when I know a route or a boulder is “beyond” my current ability but I have certainly been known to cruise through the cruxy sections when I have no idea what the grade is.  Had I known that I was setting out to lead my first 6b+ on the longest multipitch I’d attempted, I would have tied myself to the anchor and refused to move.  However, our little misadventure had once again proven that I am a far more capable climber than I give myself credit for.

And that alone was worth the hours of sweating in the sun; the shredded toes and grated skin; the intense fear and balls-out pulling on a crimpy roof just to try to get to the next bolt.  I had proven to myself, without anyone’s knowledge, that I can climb harder than I think I can and that I am as capable of facing my fears as any other climber out there- I just might need to stop having to go off-route in order to do it in the future.

[insatiabletourist]

Gettin’ Down

A little known fact about my trip to Kalymnos last month is that about a week after getting there, I managed to tweak an old hip flexor injury during a warm up route.  I wasn’t sure how bad it actually was until we were hiking back to the boat... I had spent most of that day doing dragon lunges in between belays and stints on the wall.  The most pain came whenever I needed to high step which, unfortunately, is one of the few decent skills I’ve managed to hone during my climbing career.  I tried to simply laugh it off as I half hobbled down the trail and I was soon able to convince myself that the mild but stabbing pain that was rattling my right hip with each big step would dissipate after a night of good sleep.

The next morning, I woke up stiff but okay enough to climb, and so off we went.  Every morning, I awoke a little stiffer than the previous day and with each new “try hard” and each new high step, the pain intensified until, by the day Andy and I went to Telendos for our multipitch adventure, my eyes were running with tears from the pain.  But still I climbed, trying out every intermediary, looking for any chance to smear rather that hand-foot match or heel-hook with my right foot.  I climbed every day I could until the final day when I was too wrecked to keep trying.

And then we went home.

I soon discovered that running was an impossibility and after a very much looked-forward-to “back to work” 5K run, I gave in and called an acupuncturist.

I made my appointment for mid week.  By that time, I couldn’t even lift my leg to pull my shoes on without experiencing a stabbing pain in my hip.  I decided to drop myself out of the half marathon I was scheduled to run that weekend. I went to acupuncture with high hopes that, at the very least, I would be able to dress myself with little trouble the next morning.

I was completely blown away with how improved I was after the first session.  I stood up from the table and was immediately able to pull my boots- pain free!  I made plans to return the next week and walked, without a hitch, out to my car.

My decision was made: I would “run” the 10K in Madras so I was at least not wasting my entry money.  Andy and I drove down that Saturday and I watched him cruise across the finish line, tired but in first place in his age division! I had spent the morning jogging at 12 minute pace through a beautiful, snowy canyon.

At least progress had been made.

This week, I ran a few stiff miles early on but by Thursday, I was bopping out 735 pace, happy as a clam that I was actually able to move.

Thursday night, I dreamt about doing a track workout.

Today, I went for another acupuncture session and was able to fully lift and extend my leg- without pain!

Tonight, I rode my horse- without pain.

And then, stupidly, I decided to go bouldering.

BIG mistake.  I cried my way back to the freeway after spending the session climbing everything under V3 that didn’t involve any dynamic foot placements.

This sucks. It’s so hard to not get down on myself when I am definitely healing, but after two VERY successful weeks climbing abroad, I was psyched on climbing and hopeful that I was healed enough to have a good session.

I also might not be able to enjoy opening weekend at Meadows if I can’t ride my toe edge AT ALL.

OOF. So, in an effort at positivity, here are some things I CAN do- without pain:

1. ride my horse!

2. run (not on the track but I can run)

3. walk up and down stairs

4. turn over in bed without waking myself up.

5. get dressed.

6. do sun salutes and dragon lunges.

7. hangboard workouts.

8. play with my furry and feathered roommates

9. bake delicious holiday things.

10..... all other boring life activities.

[insatiabletourist]

Missing this delicious Greek food...