25 april 2010. Hmm. So this is not going to be a fun post really. Sort of like the one for Buckner but not for the same reason. I don't know why. Maybe cos we didn't make the summit cos I made the call to turn back. Maybe cos it doesn't take place sprawled out amongst the glaciers and crags of the North Cascades. I don't know.We had made good time. It was only about nine o'clock or so in the morning and although it wasn't a perfectly clear day it was calm and a muted sun rose in the sky to our east. I hadn't really noticed climbing up towards the notch in the east-west ridge of Constance. We were just climbing. And it seemed spectacular. The snow was as hard as ice. Just ice in places come to think of it which we tried to avoid. Our crampons bit in without leaving enough of a mark even to see our tracks. It was steep. Steep enough to front-point instead of traversing back and forth up the narrow chute leading to the notch a thousand feet above. Near the top I trailed behind Matthew giving him space above so the ice he couldn't help but kick down was not just falling right on top of me. And in case he slipped and fell I would have a chance to move out of the way so as not to be knocked off the face of this mountain myself. Seriously.
Thirty feet from the top he went up one of three gullies that led off to the left. It was steep. It was insanely steep had to be over sixty degrees. And icy. But he made it. Tenously. He admitted straight away he wasn't very excited about having to come back down that. I knew what that meant. We each had our own way of understating the obvious. So I waited for him to give the thumbs-up that it was that chute we wanted before putting us both in the same predicament. Waited to hear that he had topped out in the right place or rather that I should head right. Sure enough. He yelled back he didn't think it would go so I headed up the just-as-steep and just-as-icy and just-as-narrow chute towards another crest in the ridge off to our right. Got to the top and peered over the edge at a sheer dropoff a few thousand feet down to the Tunnel Creek drainage. Um yeah that way was definitely a no go. Matthew must have been mistaken.
Sure enough again. A few moments later I hear him yell back it looked like it would work. He could see the summit. Trouble was I was about fifty lateral feet away from the chute he had climbed up. Fifty feet. I would have to traverse at a downward angle to get to him across a sixty-plus degree slope of ice. I hadn't really noticed climbing up. But I noticed now. Noticed now that I was teetering on the edge so-to-speak. That all I had were the front points of my crampons and the pick of my ice ax holding me to the ice. A self belay was all. Nothing more. There were scattered bands of rocks littering the chute all the way down for at least a thousand feet below me. And at least another thousand feet below that. That same thousand feet we had flown up thirty minutes ago was now terrifying. If my ax came loose or did not hold me. If one of the points of my crampons slipped. That was it. For real. There was no self-arresting on this kind of terrain. I hadn't really bargained for this. I was done.
But I had to get down.
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It started out like any other climb. I met Matthew at the Days Inn off the highway in Port Orchard and bid Spencer a somewhat admittedly reluctant farewell. I hoped he'd be okay. And we took off for the town of Brinnon on the Olympic Peninsula. We'd head inland along the Dosewallips River to the point the road washed out something like ten years ago and had never been and never will be repaired. No worries. It meant we had to bike up the road about four miles and seven hundred feet of extra elevation but the road was not as steep as I remembered or I was in better biking shape cos I could bike most of it without having to get off and walk.
We crossed four creeks and two bridges and passed by the Olympic National Park sign before finding ourselves at the trailhead for the Lake Constance 'approach.' Approach it was called. A long time ago it was actually called a trail. But it really wasn't a trail. That was apparently too misleading so the Forest Service or the National Park downgraded it to just an approach. It climbed thirty-four hundred feet to the lake in two miles. Insane. You literally just climbed straight up the ridge leading up to the lake at times grabbing onto tree limbs and roots to pull yourself up pack and all. There were cliffs near Constance Creek. The snow had started to melt out and was soft and slippery in places. Good times. But in a couple of hours we crested the ridge and found ourselves at Lake Constance a popular backpacking spot during the height of the summer months when it was warm and the bugs were in full force.
Nothing like that for us though this time of year. No one there. No bugs. Still frozen over. I grabbed some water from the creek and we took a bit of a break before heading up into Avalanche Canyon as the clouds moved in towards the base of the south chute - the twelve-hundred-foot climb up that would take us to the top of the north-south ridge that in essence was Mount Constance. The weather had been pretty decent considering the forecast partly sunny as we had made our way up to here mostly just cumulus clouds drifting to and fro.
But then from the top of that south chute we would turn and head north up another thousand foot chute to a notch in the dissecting east-west ridge. From there we would be able to see the summit though still at least a half mile further north but only a few hundred feet above us. Most of the climbing at that point would be done and it would only be a matter of traversing to it although over some apparently sketchy terrain.
But for the moment I found us a good spot to set up camp. I was sort of excited to be trying out a prototype single-wall tent I got cheap at an REI sample sale last Fall. It weighed just over three pounds and packed up smaller than any other tent I have ever owned. It meant Matthew and I could not split the weight of it (where one of us would take the body and the other would take the fly) but no worries. He had grabbed the rope before we set off from the car now what seven miles or so and almost five thousand feet below us.
After some trial and error of figuring out just which poles went where we got it pitched. It was cold. Cold but calm thankfully. I fired up the stove over on some rocks nearby to melt some snow so we could have hot soup and chocolate. That was delightful. Wrapped up in my down sleeping bag and Matthew in his we tightened up the tent for the night and dozed off.
I slept well only waking up a time or two. Then it was light. After dozing off and on for maybe half an hour we were both up getting ready to head higher. I was first ready and so headed off Matthew about five or ten minutes behind me. Up the south chute I climbed. Up and up. I love the feeling of starting out cold my fingers numb then ten or fifteen minutes later they were tingling. In another five minutes or so I was completely warm enveloped in the sound of my own breathing. What a way to start the day at seven o'clock in the morning. Nothing like a little warmup routine. But my crampons bit into the hard snow spectacularly. I loved the feeling. Of just climbing. Sheer climbing. All I could hear was the sound of my breathing and the crunch of my crampons and ax. It was wonderful.
I stopped a couple of times. To catch my breath. Admire the view. Check on Matthew's steady progress. After an hour I topped out on the chute and gazed across the wide expanse to the east greeted for the first time that morning by the rising sun. I could make out Seattle. Rainier. Glacier Peak. The Stuart range. Said hello to some folks to myself that I could more or less see from my vantage point high on Constance. Matthew came up shortly after as I was taking some photos and having a bit of a snack. We rested quick and then he led off up the next chute that would take us to the top of the east-west ridge.
It was another thousand feet up. We made good time. I had led the south chute while Matthew took over leading this one. We avoided the patches of sheer ice. The patches of scree where the snow had thawed out. And soon enough we found ourselves staring up at three different chutes all within fifty or so feet of each other. Which one to head up? Matthew chose the one in the middle to our left.
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Well before my mind checked out of this climb and all I could think about was getting home. Saying 'hi' to Julian. Mowing the lawn. Working more on his bed. The house. Playing the piano. Before that I had to cross those fifty feet of incredibly steep ice to get to the base of the chute on which Matthew was standing at the top. I was safe where I was sitting although a few feet to my right was that several thousand foot pretty damn sheer drop to a creek and valley snow-free and green nearly a mile below. I had my ice ax and my crampons. I couldn't stay where I was. But all of a sudden I was acutely aware of how steep it was. The thousand feet. The bands of rock. The ice. 'Easy-peasy lemon squeezy' I said under my breath something Julian used to say when he was little that I still use when climbing over sketchy ground. Gingerly I headed across. Facing into the slope I front-pointed my crampons into the ice. Strapped the wrist loop over my glove and dug the pick of the ax in. Took two steps. Extracted the pick and dug it in again this time closer to me. Repeat. Repeat. Tried to keep my mind from panicking too much. Breathe dammit. I felt secure just knew that if for some reason I slipped it would not be a good day. And so I was not having fun.
But I made it to the base of the chute below Matthew. We knew no matter what he obviously had to get down. Luckily he had the rope. Of course I had the picket with the only sling we had (except for the ones looped around our ice axes) so in order for him to set up a rappel he would have to cut off a section of my rope. 'No worries go for it' I said. I wanted him to get down safe as much as I wanted to get down safe. 'I could belay you up' he said from above. Getting up wasn't what worried me I told him. It was getting down. We had a thousand feet of steep, icy terrain we had breezed up to get down that now all of a sudden seemed dizzying. And all we had was an idea of what lay ahead. There was an exposed bypass of a couple of even more exposed traverses. The Fingertip Traverse was called that because in order to cross it required hanging on by fingertips. At least so-to-speak. And below that the other option called the Terrible Traverse. A steep snow slope on the edge of a couple thousand foot dropoff with no run out. At this time of the year the Fingertip Traverse was not really an option caked with snow the ledges narrow. So the option to head over and cross to the west side of the ridge behind the Fingertip Traverse is what we were after. Not sure though how that would be. Sounded like a steep chute then to gain access to the summit ramp.
All of this and the thousand foot icy descent. 'Go ahead' I told him cut the rope and get yourself down safe I was going to head down to safer ground. Calm down a bit. Breathe. 'Mind your surroundings' I muttered to myself (a quote from near the end of the movie Batman Begins I also repeat to myself while climbing - it helps). Think of each foot placement. Each ax placement. Do not move down until your ax is secure. Then step down. All of this in my mind I faced into the slope and headed down while Matthew set up his belay and rapped off down the narrow chute just above.
We regrouped a few hundred feet down. Back up there me at the bottom of the chute Matthew at the top we had talked about whether or not we would continue on for the summit. But I was wasted. All I could think of was getting down. Down this chute. Down the south chute. Back to camp. Tear it down and back down Avalanche Canyon. Past the lake. Down the steep slope to the creek. Along the creek and down the ridge through the forest. Back to the road. Our bikes stashed behind a log. Screaming down whipping past people trudging along maybe thinking damn if only I'd thought to bring a bike. To change into cotton and flip flops. Have a burger. Mow the lawn. Work some more on Julian's bed. The house. Play the piano.
But for the moment I found us a good spot to set up camp. I was sort of excited to be trying out a prototype single-wall tent I got cheap at an REI sample sale last Fall. It weighed just over three pounds and packed up smaller than any other tent I have ever owned. It meant Matthew and I could not split the weight of it (where one of us would take the body and the other would take the fly) but no worries. He had grabbed the rope before we set off from the car now what seven miles or so and almost five thousand feet below us.
After some trial and error of figuring out just which poles went where we got it pitched. It was cold. Cold but calm thankfully. I fired up the stove over on some rocks nearby to melt some snow so we could have hot soup and chocolate. That was delightful. Wrapped up in my down sleeping bag and Matthew in his we tightened up the tent for the night and dozed off.
I slept well only waking up a time or two. Then it was light. After dozing off and on for maybe half an hour we were both up getting ready to head higher. I was first ready and so headed off Matthew about five or ten minutes behind me. Up the south chute I climbed. Up and up. I love the feeling of starting out cold my fingers numb then ten or fifteen minutes later they were tingling. In another five minutes or so I was completely warm enveloped in the sound of my own breathing. What a way to start the day at seven o'clock in the morning. Nothing like a little warmup routine. But my crampons bit into the hard snow spectacularly. I loved the feeling. Of just climbing. Sheer climbing. All I could hear was the sound of my breathing and the crunch of my crampons and ax. It was wonderful.
I stopped a couple of times. To catch my breath. Admire the view. Check on Matthew's steady progress. After an hour I topped out on the chute and gazed across the wide expanse to the east greeted for the first time that morning by the rising sun. I could make out Seattle. Rainier. Glacier Peak. The Stuart range. Said hello to some folks to myself that I could more or less see from my vantage point high on Constance. Matthew came up shortly after as I was taking some photos and having a bit of a snack. We rested quick and then he led off up the next chute that would take us to the top of the east-west ridge.
It was another thousand feet up. We made good time. I had led the south chute while Matthew took over leading this one. We avoided the patches of sheer ice. The patches of scree where the snow had thawed out. And soon enough we found ourselves staring up at three different chutes all within fifty or so feet of each other. Which one to head up? Matthew chose the one in the middle to our left.
-----
Well before my mind checked out of this climb and all I could think about was getting home. Saying 'hi' to Julian. Mowing the lawn. Working more on his bed. The house. Playing the piano. Before that I had to cross those fifty feet of incredibly steep ice to get to the base of the chute on which Matthew was standing at the top. I was safe where I was sitting although a few feet to my right was that several thousand foot pretty damn sheer drop to a creek and valley snow-free and green nearly a mile below. I had my ice ax and my crampons. I couldn't stay where I was. But all of a sudden I was acutely aware of how steep it was. The thousand feet. The bands of rock. The ice. 'Easy-peasy lemon squeezy' I said under my breath something Julian used to say when he was little that I still use when climbing over sketchy ground. Gingerly I headed across. Facing into the slope I front-pointed my crampons into the ice. Strapped the wrist loop over my glove and dug the pick of the ax in. Took two steps. Extracted the pick and dug it in again this time closer to me. Repeat. Repeat. Tried to keep my mind from panicking too much. Breathe dammit. I felt secure just knew that if for some reason I slipped it would not be a good day. And so I was not having fun.
But I made it to the base of the chute below Matthew. We knew no matter what he obviously had to get down. Luckily he had the rope. Of course I had the picket with the only sling we had (except for the ones looped around our ice axes) so in order for him to set up a rappel he would have to cut off a section of my rope. 'No worries go for it' I said. I wanted him to get down safe as much as I wanted to get down safe. 'I could belay you up' he said from above. Getting up wasn't what worried me I told him. It was getting down. We had a thousand feet of steep, icy terrain we had breezed up to get down that now all of a sudden seemed dizzying. And all we had was an idea of what lay ahead. There was an exposed bypass of a couple of even more exposed traverses. The Fingertip Traverse was called that because in order to cross it required hanging on by fingertips. At least so-to-speak. And below that the other option called the Terrible Traverse. A steep snow slope on the edge of a couple thousand foot dropoff with no run out. At this time of the year the Fingertip Traverse was not really an option caked with snow the ledges narrow. So the option to head over and cross to the west side of the ridge behind the Fingertip Traverse is what we were after. Not sure though how that would be. Sounded like a steep chute then to gain access to the summit ramp.
All of this and the thousand foot icy descent. 'Go ahead' I told him cut the rope and get yourself down safe I was going to head down to safer ground. Calm down a bit. Breathe. 'Mind your surroundings' I muttered to myself (a quote from near the end of the movie Batman Begins I also repeat to myself while climbing - it helps). Think of each foot placement. Each ax placement. Do not move down until your ax is secure. Then step down. All of this in my mind I faced into the slope and headed down while Matthew set up his belay and rapped off down the narrow chute just above.
We regrouped a few hundred feet down. Back up there me at the bottom of the chute Matthew at the top we had talked about whether or not we would continue on for the summit. But I was wasted. All I could think of was getting down. Down this chute. Down the south chute. Back to camp. Tear it down and back down Avalanche Canyon. Past the lake. Down the steep slope to the creek. Along the creek and down the ridge through the forest. Back to the road. Our bikes stashed behind a log. Screaming down whipping past people trudging along maybe thinking damn if only I'd thought to bring a bike. To change into cotton and flip flops. Have a burger. Mow the lawn. Work some more on Julian's bed. The house. Play the piano.
