index.

So our latest climbing adventure began a little something like this ~

Friday afternoon, 3 o'clock or so, me in my office putting a shout out to Matthew ...

Me: So, it looks like the weather is supposed to be stellar this weekend – wanna climb something?

Matthew: Hmm, can't do Saturday but how about Sunday (I didn't realize at the time Matthew wasn't working Monday – me, not so lucky)?

Me: Sure, no worries. What do you want to climb?

Matthew: Hmm, dunno – what do you want to climb?

Me: Well, let's each go through our various guide books and get back in touch tomorrow.

Matthew: Deal.

Saturday afternoon, after spending a good half an hour on my couch (windows open, it was amazing outside) wading through the Jim Nelson/Peter Potterfield classic Selected Climbs in the Cascades and only coming up with Ruth Mountain (long drive) or North Twin Sister (already climbed, albeit with really not much of a view cos it was clouded over) ...

Me: How about Ruth or North Twin?

Matthew: (seemingly not impressed but with little of his own to offer) Why don't I call you back in thirty.

I go out to mow my lawn, come back to find a voicemail.

Me: What did you come up with?

Matthew: How about Index?

Ah, Index! The legendary Cascade peak that holds the range's record of having the most elevation gain in the least amount of linear distance (it rises nearly five thousand feet from the base in less than one horizontal mile). The peak with three summits, serrated ridges, a pristine alpine lake (named Serene), and – although being literally right off Highway 2 – sees very little climbing activity (mostly due to its reputation and difficulty). Yep, that Index.

Me: Sure, why not. I've been wanting to climb that for a while.

So after quickly ironing out the details, it was settled. Another six a.m. pickup at Fauntleroy, meaning a 4:45-ish rise for me the next morning after of course an after-midnight bedtime. It was a beautiful day to start, crazy how it gets light before five o'clock in the morning now. We made a quick stop for espresso and some bagels for Matthew and were off – up 405 to 522 to the small town of Index not too far from the eastside cities of Kirkland and Monroe. We were at the trailhead and changed ready to go at 7:45, then off to cover the three-and-a-half miles and two thousand feet of elevation to Lake Serene in what turned out to be an hour fifteen, no stopping. It was a nice trail, interspersed for some reason with fabricated staircases which I commented to Matthew must have took a bit of effort and we weren't sure if it was really worth it.

The lake was still completely frozen over and we passed by a tent off to the side of the trail – someone taking advantage of the gorgeous weekend and getting away for a bit. We contemplated for a second just walking across the lake to get to the other side where we would begin climbing up the East Ridge, but upon closer inspection the ice was not that thick (near the edge at least) so we chose life and instead went around the west side, skirting under the immense, towering buttresses of the three peaks. These rose sheer from the lake three thousand feet and we could make out the corniced ridge of the main summit thirty-five hundred feet above us. Long way.

Avalanches crashed down from high above, spreading out in huge debris fans at the base of the walls. We eyed them mostly out of intrigue rather than concern, but cautious all the same as we made our way around the lake and began climbing the six hundred feet to the saddle that met the base of the East Ridge. It was then up the ridge proper, a nasty three hundred foot climb up overgrown and steep rock walls interlaced with über-steep snow slopes that required us to grab our ice axes off our packs, lashing them to our wrists and letting them dangle when we were pulling on roots and anything else to claw our way up the ridge. It was atrocious, and we passed by several anchors lashed with slings that people had used to rappel down. We did have my thirty-meter glacier rope but no harnesses (I did have two slings just in case), but we would cross that bridge on the way down. For now, we gained the crest of the ridge and it leveled out as it led to the base of the towering cliffs leading straight up to the main summit.

We skirted around these cliffs to the first buttress that we guessed around which lied the infamous Hourglass Gully – a roughly two thousand foot snow slope varying from thirty degrees at the base to forty degrees at the top, narrowing in the middle to resemble, well, an hourglass. I handed the lead over to Matthew for this bit of fun having had my own fun leading up the ridge, and we set off in true mountaineering fashion – one foot in front of the other. And on. And on. And on.

We watched as small avalanche slides came down through well-formed chutes (nearly like glissade paths), snow crashing onto the steep face high above us. We would try to work our way into the chutes because the snow was firmer, but would be forced out by the slides that seemed to be nearly relentless. At one point about five hundred feet from the top of the gully, where the hourglass narrowed, we stopped for a bite to eat then I set off to lead the last of the chute. About five minutes after setting off, on one of our glances above us, we both witnessed – seemingly at the same instant – a slide launch off the rock face above us to the left, snow crashing into the gully and heading towards us. We both yelled, Matthew jumping to the left while I ran to the right to get out of the chute. Close call.

As the slide passed, I continued up self-belaying every two steps – reaching above me on the slope, burying the shaft of my ax into the snow up to the head and walking up to it with both feet, then repeating – over and over. And over. And over. It was slow and steady, but soon enough I crested the gully up onto the summit ridge with Matthew not far behind. I turned around to photograph him coming out of the gully up onto the ridge as the 360º views of the North Cascades opened up to us. Stuart. Baker. Glacier. Shuksan. Whitehorse. Baring. Persis. Rainier. Adams. And hundreds of others we didn't know or recognize but totally incredible all the same.

From the top of the gully it was another five hundred feet along a rather gentle though heavily-corniced slope of the summit ridge. The cornices were impressive, and we made sure to stay well on the windward side of them – not wanting to take the express route back to Lake Serene this day (which would have entailed an adrenaline-pumping, thirty-five-hundred-foot freefall). Nearly at the top it was behind and to the left of the summit block to climb the final pitch to the true summit (of the main peak – the middle and north peaks lie ahead, separated by a seemingly impossible ridge). I dropped my pack and scrambled up a twenty foot rock band just for fun, only to find that the summit was still a few hundred feet away. No worries though – an easy walk along another corniced ridge led around to the high point – 5'979 feet. It was 12:45 – five hours after we had set out from the trailhead, leaving Oliver to wait for our imminent return.

The wind whipped up and Matthew lent me his jacket while he scarfed down a sandwich and I took some photos, then signed the summit register for us. We didn't linger long – I left Matthew to his own devices and downclimbed to my pack to eat a bit of food and prepare for the über-steep descent down the upper part of the Hourglass Gully. We quickly descended the summit ridge, tightened our bootlaces and were off, taking one last look around at the scene of mountains spread out before us.

Gingerly – very gingerly – we eased our way down the forty-degree part of the slope, past the middle of the hourglass to where it opened up a bit and the angle eased, allowing us the chance to take a rest and glissade the lower thousand feet or so of the gully. That was fun, and quick! We were at the base of the imposing gully in no time, traversing back under the immense east face towards the top of the ridge to tackle that arduous descent. I knew though once back at the saddle at the base of the ridge we would be home safe. But also that this would section be a bit stressful.

We got to the top of the ridge, looking down a steep section of snow. The ridge was knife-edge, dropping off on the north nine-hundred feet to the lake and on the other some unknown distance that was equal if not slightly more. A slip would be bad. Very bad. I took a breath, sucked it in and headed down – digging my ice ax into the snow up to the head, securing the leash to my wrist in case of a fall. And it happened, once. My foot – thought to be solid and well placed – gave way under snow that slid beneath me and I rocketed down, only to be caught by my wrist and my hand gripping the head of the ax firmly planted in the cement-like snow. I regained my footing, frantically kicking at the snow that was so steep as to make the going a bit difficult but was able to again stand up. Regain composure. Must get down this, I told myself. Grasping onto roots as I approached the bottom of this slope of snow and headed onto what appeared a rough-trodden climbers path through thick brush that was not snow-covered. A hundred or so feet down. More snow, steep as the last. Gingerly again I descended, this time without incident to the next patch of brush. Then again more snow. Maybe only another hundred feet to the saddle. I breathed out a bit, grabbing at roots traversing a cliff's edge that fell now probably six or seven hundred feet to Lake Serene below holding on for dear life to reach the edge of a snow slope that led – steeply at first – but then finally with a runout to the east down to the saddle (meaning a slip here would just plant me – though maybe quicker than desired – on the saddle). I plunge-stepped down to the saddle, joining Matthew as he plodded his way down the snow face to the lake.

Relaxed and knowing that it was all downhill from here I literally ran down the slope (more like jogged), passing Matthew and arriving at the lake in short order. It was then a plod around it again, this time under the shadow of the imposing east buttresses as the sun had fallen behind the enormous northeast face of Index looming immensely over us. Avalanches still cascaded down the vertical faces, but our conversations were elsewhere. Surprisingly a fair amount of people ambling about the lake, mostly dayhikers we presumed mixed in with maybe a group or two camping. We hurried on, not even stopping, walking as fast as we could down the trail wanting to similarly make short order of these last three and a half miles that we knew would stretch on and on and seem much more than they did on the way up (which seemed a breeze).

But of course in time we found ourselves passing the gate blocking the road and then at the trailhead, Oliver waiting for us in the shade (deliberately parked that way) nine hours after we had set off. Matthew headed off to change, my manner more being if anyone at a trailhead sees me change too bad for them and I was quickly in the post-climb requisite cotton and flip-flops. No running water in which to wash the gobs of sunscreen off my face, so that would have to wait unfortunately.

We pulled out maybe fifteen minutes later, headed for a drive-in we passed on the way in just west of Index called Zekes. It was surprisingly close, and we stopped for a burger and for me to wash my face which was quite refreshing. The food was nothing noteworthy, and I remarked to Matthew no need to ever stop here again. We'd try something different next time. It was then just a matter of getting Matthew back to Fauntleroy and then me home.

After dropping him off, I whisked out the iPod and headed south, back onto the highways with the Veils looking forward to showers, lying in my cool grass as the sun set behind me, taking out contacts, relaxing. A long day. A bit stressful but good times had all around in the mountains of course. Onto another peak.