holiday.

Once again, Julian and I will be heading for sunny California for our summer holiday (not that there is much to complain about the weather in the Pacific Northwest this summer–it has been absolutely beautiful and actually, well, a lot like summer). Road trip, of course. We're planning on backpacking again into Kings Canyon National Park and camping by ourselves among granite peaks, strewn boulders and high alpine lakes. The weather is slated to once again be hot and sunny so far which is exactly what I want.

We're also going to backpack to a place I have wanted to visit for a few years in the Tuolumne Meadows area of Yosemite National Park. Here's hoping we score permits!

I am excited and looking forward to another spectacular summer vacation of hiking, laying next to lakes, gazing up at fantastic granite peaks deep in the Sierras waiting for the light to change and the shadows to move because there is really  nothing else to do but watch, wait and listen when in places like that. Oh, and relax. And play a little. And hopefully not get sunburnt. And toss a pad on the ground (or not) and close your eyes. And swim. And run around with a camera and tripod (this time, rather than a stick) while the light turns to exhilarating.

I'll be sure to take some pictures of J clambering over rocks, hiking up trails and swimming in the lakes. And maybe a couple of some of the mountains and scenes that we'll be fortunate enough to see.

the veils @ chop suey.

Well, to start it off I finally got to see The Veils, well, actually in Seattle. You know, as opposed to flying across the country to St. Louis back in August of 2007 and then missing them completely last year–both times because I never heard about the shows here in Seattle. I was fortunate to hear about that '06 show in time to quick book a flight a week out to St. Louis and catch them in a total dive bar near the Anheuser-Busch brewery with about ten other people. That show was way too short but definitely worth the trip.

I caught a bit of their on-air segment at KEXP as I was finishing up at work that afternoon, then was off. And so our evening in Seattle began with pre-show drinks at The Elysian a couple blocks away from the club. I got a phone call and the place was crazy-noisy so I headed for the door to step outside, walking right past Finn and Sophia as they walked in probably looking for the other three. Turns out they all grabbed a table across the way from ours, but we were finishing up and heading out. A quick run by the club told us they weren't on until midnight and it was all of about nine o'clock so we had some time to kill and we proceeded to hit up a dive bar followed by some coffee for all.

Around eleven we started swaggering back over to the club to hear the end of some lame band's set (sorry to whoever that band was but every song sounded the same and did not interest me in the slightest). A bit of time setting up for The Veils (this time they had help, whereas in St. Louis they dragged in all their own gear and set it all up). I'm not sure but am assuming sometime around midnight they took the stage and the club was fairly crowded (a good sign–although it was something else being in a bar with ten other people listening to The Veils).

I didn't jot down the setlist but they played a decent mix of songs. It was sort of the epitome of a small show–the drummer (a stand-in for the band's drummer who I think I read somewhere was on holiday cos his wife or girlfriend had had a baby–although Wikipedia already has the lineup as just Finn, Sophia and Dan Raishbrook so I'm not sure if he is gone for good or not) had to signal to the sound dude in the back that he needed to hear more kick and vocals via hand gestures. Until Sophia–the bassist–cued in and got on the mic with the same polite request. Apparently they got their way, and I think I noticed I heard a bit more kick after that but the vocals were still a little too subdued in the mix to hear well. We were right up front by the stage so I'm not going to bother critiquing the sound any more than that–I'll just say it's what was to be expected again from a show at a club like Chop Suey with maybe a hundred or so people. I thought the drummer was a bit too mechanical, whereas Henning Dietz–the band's drummer–was much more organic and fluid when I saw them in St. Louis. Regardless, the show was great, energetic and they played together live really well. This is good or bad (depending on how you look at it as the bassist is, well, pretty darn cute) because on their website they promise that "we’re going to play the best shows we’ve ever played and if we don’t you can have sex with a band member of your choice for free."

Finn had lots of energy throughout the show, played a bit of keyboard, fell down and got back up, took a shot of something and washed it down with a gulp of water, smiled once or twice (I even have a photo of it to prove it) and came out for an encore by himself to highlight the evening by playing a solo guitar version of The Tide That Left And Never Came Back from "Runaway Found" (second greatest pop album of all time). This seriously made the night. And in retrospect, I wondered given the fact they seem not to often play songs from the first album (but really, I've only been to two shows) and maybe it is because of some turmoil Finn might have with that part of his past and it is difficult to revisit but maybe he played it alone because of some personal reason–maybe that none of the current lineup was with him during that phase–I'm not sure but I would be willing to bet there is a reason or a story behind it all. Regardless, that song did it for me.

I do not even remember anymore what song they ended on (wait a minute, I think it was Larkspur–my least favourite song from "Sun Gangs")–but it was good and I was presented with a swiped poster at the end of the show to take home and put next to my autographed album of "Nux Vomica" (from St. Louis, where I apparently bought the last vinyl and yes–did the corny thing of asking the band to all sign it which they graciously did since it meant getting away from the obnoxiously drunk dude telling everyone the same story over and over and over). They say they love Seattle and plan on being back next year–and I'm hoping I hear about it and make it. Looking forward to it and wishing them the best of luck on the rest of their American tour.

cheers

north cascades photography by tom miller.

So I came across a book entitled The North Cascades with text by Harvey Manning (an old Cascades curmudgeon) and photography by a gentleman named Tom Miller while reading, well, another book about the North Cascades called North Cascades Crest (written and photographed by James Martin). I will post something about that wonderful book soon, but for now want to concentrate on this first one that I finished reading in a day and am still and will be for a while marveling at the photographs.

The book was published in 1964 by The Mountaineers–before there even was a North Cascades National Park. It was on the agenda, but Manning and in part Miller were both trying to persuade a national public that this area of spectacular and wild beauty was in need of protection before it was logged and stripped of its very essence. Manning's prose here tends to stay on the congenial side (whereas he normally–or perhaps just as he got older–wrote in more of an Edward Abbey style–crusty and gruff, but always with a sense of humor just like Abbey). He even tries to be optimistic and is downright nostalgic as he recounts family outings to Lake Chelan alongside reminiscing about his first climb and foray into the North Cascades after spending all of his time previously in the Olympic range–with The Mountaineers to the fog-enshrouded summit of Eldorado and the remarkable knife-edge ridge of snow.

About that first climb he recounts ~

Eldorado would have been a thought-provoking ascent if only for the eccentric summit and the ridiculously few names in the summit register. But as we returned along the knife-edge of snow, with rivers roaring in unseen valleys far below, a hole opened in the fog and we saw an appallingly large mountain. The hole closed before we were fully recovered from the shock–but then a new hole disclosed an enormous glacier, and when that hole closed another opened, with another mountain, another glacier. Holes opened and closed so fast we could only gasp in conternation and click our cameras.

Eldorado was the beginning of my personal discovery of the North Cascades–a discovery that continues every summer as each new hillwalking excursion increases my awareness of my ignorance. We hope ultimately to become, in some degree, experts on the subject; meanwhile, we present these glimpses of our explorations in order to stimulate in others the desire to commence their own discoveries.

Kool-Aid Lake, with Mt. Formidable in the background. Coincidentally, I am thinking of heading up to Cascade Pass this weekend to camp more or less in this very spot, as despite being up to the pass many times, I have yet to head south–up onto Mixup Arm and over Cache Col under Magic and Spider Mountains to wander beneath the imposing fortress of Formidable (beyond just being cool, many North Cascades peaks have spectacularly-fitting names–Formidable, Terror, Torment, Forbidden, Challenger and others).

Upper Challenger Glacier of Mt. Challenger in the northern Picketts. You can see two climbers making their way towards the summit in the middle of the frame, approaching an imposing ice cliff reminiscent of what makes this eighty-some miles from the Canadian border south so absolutely amazing.

Buckner, taken in mid-September of 1951. That is the north face, the climb that it looks like Matthew and I will be doing now in the beginning of August as our schedules have just not been able to line up.

And finally, a parting shot of a climber on a glacier or snowfield heading towards an unidentified North Cascades summit.

Tom Miller's photography is spectacular–with a certain candid quality to it but with obvious signs of a mastery of his cameras and his work. He was a climber first and photographer second as he admitted in the afterword, pointing out that most shots were taken during rest breaks, summit sackouts or when the group was in camp. For those moments when he felt compelled to break out his camera from deep inside his rucksack, his climbing partners evidently reacted in typical fashion–by continuing on, leaving him to catch up on his own.

But through his work this book was published and he can partly be held responsible no doubt (at least in my opinion) for the creation of the national park. The book is out-of-print and the copy I found was on Amazon, but if you are also compelled by incredible mountain photography and stories of climbing trips half a century ago when climbers–despite the upscaling of gear and clothing–were still climbers, unchanged and just as excited and in awe of these peaks as those of us climbing are today I would recommend trying to find a copy for yourself. It smells wonderfully like an old book, and the ink rubs off slightly on my fingers as I work through the pages.

I think this range perhaps more so than any other instills in climbers that venture out to unknown or seldom-traveled areas an intense passion and a deeply-held sense of revere for the ruggedness and the accompanying beauty to be had in the mist-filled, fog-enshrouded valleys, the seemingly-endless glaciers, the rock walls and steep, icy north faces.

And to that end, Manning also writes ~

We think that consideration must be given to scenic and recreation values in order to achieve the greatest good for the greatest number of American citizens, in this generation and a century from now. We are not ashamed to say that the spiritual values of virgin forests and wild rivers are also worthy of consideration.

I have caught myself wondering at times why human beings have through our history felt the need to build cathedrals and synagogues, when places like this exist–not created by the hand of man, but here for all of us to find our own way and our own meaning. To take away something from each visit and encounter when we find ourselves in these wild places, uncompromising in their indifference and beauty. Finding ourselves isolated from everything but the sound of water cascading over rocks or under glacier moraines, or the complete silence raking over the ice of glaciers still carving through time.

the next giant leap.

From an article in July's GQ ~

[At this moment, NASA] is engaged in work that can be more enduring and far-reaching than anything else this country is paying for. At NASA's inception the government declared that "activities in space should be devoted to peaceful purposes for the benefit of all mankind," and this is one of the few promises in American history that have been kept.

NASA is now fifty. The moonwalk was forty years ago this month. The NASA of yore did the unimaginable in eight years, making good on President Kennedy's assertion that "this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth." It succeeded for two reasons: access to a staggering 4.4 percent of the federal budget (now it's half a percent) and, more importantly, perhaps resurgently, a national desire to believe in ourselves–and in something more than ourselves. Since then, NASA, vision flickering, public imagination uncaptured, has stooped to offering belittling practical justifications for spaceflight (GPS, cell phones) that ground and practicalize the sublime, killing its poetry.

In explaining why space is worth exploring, as NASA frequently finds itself doing, there's a mistaken supposition, because–as with anything of real value–the benefits are largely unknown. It's a philosophical matter, almost religious in its insolubility. Why do we need to love or live at all? The answer is in wondering. And NASA is all about wonder.

As is space. As is space. The author then goes on to say ~

Direction doesn't matter when you're weightless. Up and down are no longer markers. I suddenly understood how in space there is only everywhere. And this revelation was accompanied by the fleeting physical knowledge of what it was to leave the earth. I could move in any direction. All was calm and effortless. And to an astonishing degree–astonishing largely because the understanding was so matter-of-fact–this sort of comfort with wonder felt like the goal of both science and spirituality.

the north cascades photography.

Seriously, if there is anyone who enjoys photos of mountains that are beyond words this is THE site to visit (photography by John Scurlock). I stumbled upon it today from this site that lists out the top 100 highest peaks in Washington and has a lot of the photography from the first site–it is organized wonderfully, provides hi-res/exif/etc. of each image and, well, the photography is f'in breathtaking. The photo above is an aerial shot of the northwest face of Forbidden Peak during the winter. 

Can it be any clearer why I am totally head-over-heels in love with this mountain range called the North Cascades? Incredible beyond description. I cannot get enough.

Here is a shot of Maude's north face (just climbed two weekends ago, albeit not in winter). Yes, umm, quite impressive.

And endless. Absolutely endless.

OK, there are thousands of images but how about this last one of Boston Peak, behind of which can just be seen the north face of Buckner. I cannot wait to climb Buckner literally I am crawling out of my skin to take in the view across the expanse of the Boston Glacier (the largest in all of North Cascades National Park) and the Eldorado Ice Cap–glaciers as far as the eye can see.

Okay, okay one more–aerial shot of Eldorado Peak in the winter.

The standard climbing route follows the ridgeline on the lefthand side of the image up the Inspiration Glacier to the infamous knife-edge ridge (this link is the main site where there are more incredible photos of this guy's trip). That very photograph is wholly responsible for me having climbed Eldorado–once, stuck in a blizzard at our high camp on the Inspiration but successful on the second attempt making it car-to-car in a day. Now I just need to go back, climb it again and enjoy the changing light a bit rather than making a race of it (which was not our plan, but brought upon us by a ranger whose story I will not get into at the moment). What I would like to do is to summit in the evening, then descend back to high camp and enjoy the spectacle of being surrounded by ice caught by a setting and the next morning a rising sun.

Even that experience–actually all of my combined experiences–are just a fraction of a fraction of the essence of this range that has such an absolute grip on me. I cannot and will not ever be able to get enough.

too good to be true?

I am leading a hike for REI to Cascade Pass on Tuesday and I just checked the weather. Umm, I will be ecstatic if this holds (*knocking on wood now, seriously*).

buckner [preview].

So in thinking about our next climb, I came across another fantastic north face climb that would be spectacular and fit right in with our north face theme we have going this year–the north face (or north face couloir) of Mt. Buckner. After quickly reading a bit about the climb, this is appealing to me in every way. Let's see–it involves camping up at the base of the Sahale Glacier at the top of Sahale Arm, would allow for a quick tag of Sahale's summit (which I missed without a rope by about twenty feet last year), would be climbing an incredible and steep north face route with views back to the expansive Boston and Inpiration Glaciers, Forbidden Peak and the Eldorado Ice Cap and a stunning panaroma of the entire Cascade Pass region of the North Cascades (which I have decided is my favourite climbing spot in the world). It looks like it offers an alpine experience tough to match anywhere in the Cascades.

Oh, and apparently July is prime climbing season for this peak (which I was initially afraid might have already passed). Oh, and it's also a "nine-thousander" (9080' to be exact–forty feet higher than Mt. Maude–and there is a limited number of non-volcanic peaks in Washington higher than nine thousand feet which is what makes them special). But to avoid the crowds and permit issues at Sahale, Matthew and I might have to try for a weekday climb which is fine. It looks like it would be a long two days but doable, or what I might suggest climbing ultra-light (i.e. bivy gear only) and instead of camping at Sahale–going from the car, tagging Sahale's summit then dropping down to the Boston Glacier to bivy after traversing around Boston Peak (where it has been said that there is a genuine feeling of remoteness and discovery as a climber crosses the Boston Glacier to the base of the north face routes). That would mean a long first day, but would put us within an hour of the north face and make it a much easier summit day.

Of course the other option would be to climb up from Boston Basin, up the Quien Sabe Glacier to the Boston-Sahale Col to bivy. But we would still end up descending via Sahale Arm (at least that is what appears to be the best option) so we'll see.

I am excited in any case.

And for those that have not been to the this area, this is the view from the Quien Sabe Glacier looking back at a piece of that panorama I mentioned above from where we could possibly camp (the Sahale-Boston Col–mountains everywhere) ....