Glacier Peak Summit

We’ve been trying to fit in a climb up Glacier Peak for over a year, so when it worked out for both of our schedules I didn’t let a nagging sinus infection stop me and my dad didn’t let an aching knee stop him. We left super early and took the fastest MapQuest route which meant going through Davenport and Grand Coulee and then up to Highway 20. The drive along the Cascades Highway was beautiful and to me the peaks looked bigger than the last time I made the trip. We had terrific teriyaki burgers in the small town of Marblemount and then rolled the Prius up to the trailhead around midday.

Glacier Peak, along with Mount Rainer, Mount Adams, Mount Baker, and Mount Saint Helens make up the five volcanoes of the Washington Cascades. Glacier Peak reaches an elevation of 10,541 feet, and has more than a dozen glaciers. It is not visible from any major populated area and is the most remote of Washington’s volcanoes; therefore, it has fewer visitors than the other peaks.

Old-growth cedar, fir, and hemlock line the North Fork Sauk Trail as it slowly gains elevation along the bank of the river. We passed the Mackinaw shelter after five miles and then reached the bend in the trail that would deliver us to White Pass. The pleasantly cool air of the river shore was soon replaced by startling heat as we climbed three thousand feet in three miles on unending switchbacks. I’m a lightweight hiker so I wasn’t excited about all the extra weight I had to carry in the shape of rope, mountaineering boots, an ice axe, and crampons.

Although I’m more of a hiker than a mountaineer I do try to get at least one glacier climb in per summer. I sure do enjoy climbing the big peaks of the Cascades. So the climb up the switchbacks nearly killed me. My dad walks crazy fast no matter what the weather condition or his physical conditions and I felt like I could barely get enough air into my congested sinus’ and lungs for my muscles to function. And in the breaks of the tree canopy where the sun had me like a cheesy casserole on the top rack of the oven, just inches from the red-hot broiler I was thinking about leaving myself for the wolves…but I made it.

Up at White Pass, we took a sharp turn off the Pacific Crest Trail and took the “climbers’ trail” toward the mountain. This climbers’ route gets a lot of use and is in good shape; up the path about one hundred feet is where we had our first views of Glacier Peak. The trail ascends and descends more times than I was hoping and eventually comes to an end at the base of the peak in a jambalaya of boulders, scree, and sand. After a long day, we made camp on what looked like the last patch of sand around. I was like a worn out dog and I honestly don’t think I could have climbed one more hill, no matter what the size.

I brought a packet of Theraflu with me that eased my congestion and I slept like a log that night. In the early morning, I ate as quickly as possible by stuffing my face with handfuls of trail mix, dried fruit, and cereal. (I’m a long-distance hiker at heart and I don’t like to waste time not walking, dammit.)

There is no path through the rock and boulder field at the base of the mountain and there are cairns everywhere marking seemingly hundreds of different routes so we just did the best we could and eventually made it to the Cool Glacier where travel was much easier. Our guidebook said that instead of picking our way through the rocks it would be possible to bypass them by way of the glacier up on the side hill to our right. But global warming is a bitch and there wasn’t enough snow up on that slope to make a slushy.

We picked a great day for our summit attempt; the sun was bright and the wild was mellow. Past the boulder field, the route up is rather simple and easy to navigate. But like on any glacier climb one needs to be prepared as there were open crevasses and many spots where a fall would make the national news. We passed a few climbing parties, some heading up and some heading down. Those coming down were cheery and practically in awe of what they had just accomplished. Those going up looked miserable and like they were trying to breathe out of a coffee straw.

With very tired bodies, we slowly took off our crampons to ascend the last sandy slope that leads to the summit. We were the only ones up there and didn’t stay much longer than it took to look around a little, snap a few pictures, and sign the register. The wind was howling and too cold.

Travelling down the mountain was a blast and I glicaded and slid on my backside. I couldn’t feel my butt after a while, but I didn’t care as it sure beat walking. Back at our previous campsite, I crawled into my probably 110 degree tent and took a nap. I slept for about an hour until I was just too sweaty and hot to stay in there any longer. By this time Dad’s knee was finally starting to bother him so we didn’t make it all the way back to the trailhead and instead camped at White Pass. That was Saturday night so the entire area was packed with backpackers. It was a pleasant evening only spoiled by the climbing party camped very close to us and camped on sensitive vegetation. The guide talked and talked about all the peaks he had bagged for nearly four hours straight. The two men he was guiding barely got in a word. I thanked the high heavens he finally shut up when it got dark out because his voice was driving me bonkers.

We were the first group to leave in the morning and it was glorious heading down the switchbacks in the morning mist, especially compared to climbing up two days before. Hiking in the morning is as good as it gets in my book and I enjoyed every minute of the descent, even though I was pretty much running on fumes and struggling to breathe.

Back at the car, I had fortunately remembered to bring an extra change of clothes and some flip-flops for the long drive home. It was great getting out of those heavy La Sportivas and into a clean shirt. We took a somewhat different route on the way home, spending more time on the Cascades Highway and traveling through 104 degree Omak.

During parts of the climb I thought there would be no way in the world I would ever climb Glacier Peak again. The North Fork Sauk Trail starts off at close to two thousand feet and for most people it is a three day adventure to get to the summit and back. It’s a much more physically demanding climb that Mount Adams, Mount Whitney, or even Mount Rainer, but now that I’ve had some time to be nostalgic I’d do it again if I had the opportunity. Isn’t that how mountain climbing always is.

Are you SCARED of the DARK?

My parents still live off a dusty road among a scattering of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir trees. Over a small wooden bridge, up a gravel driveway, and in a blue, cedar-sided house is where I spent my younger years.  On the other side of the county road, up on a sunny slope, used to live a man who was like a third grandfather to me.  He took my brother and me fishing, on a camping trip to the top of Kalispel Peak, to the bowling alley, and to the circus for a ride on an elephant.  I have a wealth of fond memories from those days.

This neighbor fashioned himself an outdoorsman- actually now that I think of it he called himself a sportsman.  He owned a great deal of land, complete with small ponds laden with trout and mountainsides ripe with deer, moose, elk, and bear.  Every October brought the start to hunting season and he and his sons went off tromping through the woods and fields in search of prey with their calf-high leather boots, binoculars, and orange stocking caps.  The four of them would hunt until dark on the land surrounding his house and then come home in time for a late dinner and then bed.

I didn’t tag along on these trips, even though I was often asked.  My mom didn’t care much for guns and nearly lost her mind when, as a four year old, I told her I had shot a pop can with a rifle while in my neighbor’s field.  It was fine that I wasn’t allowed on these hunting trips because there were plenty of other things to do, like building rafts to float in the ponds, flying gliders, or playing catch with a Frisbee or baseball.  So although I didn’t spend much time thinking about it, it would be safe to say I assumed my neighbor was an accomplished and wide-ranging outdoorsmen, meaning he knew how to find his way in the woods, build a shelter, start a fire, identify wild plants to eat, and other things that people who recreate outdoors are supposed to be able to do.  And CERTAINLY there would be no way a rough and rugged sportsman would be scared while out in his element.  Wild animals, escaped convicts, and monsters that could be creeping through the woods might frighten a little boy like myself, but definitely not a great hunter.  And being scared of the dark?  Preposterous.  Children were afraid of the dark, not adults.

So imagine my surprise when, as a grown man, and visiting my neighbor and rehashing a backpacking trip that I had taken into the Bitterroot, he confided to me that he had always been scared of the dark.  I was stunned. No, actually I was outright shocked. I tried not to show it didn’t because I didn’t want to cause any (additional) embarrassment on his part but I doubt I did a respectable job of it.  He then asked me if I was scared of the dark.  Caught somewhere between trying not to laugh and attempting to salvage what was left of the man’s ego, I said, “No, not really.”

I’ve spent hundreds of nights outdoors, alone, and without anything that could be called a weapon.  Sure, there have been times I’ve been scared; two instances that come to mind are when I was setting up my tent in the dark and a perfectly healthy-looking fifty foot tree fell over not more than ten yards from my tent and also when twenty Tennessee hillbillies, driving five “muddin” trucks decided to use the Appalachian Trail as a proving ground and nearly turned me and my tent into a pancake.  Where I’m from it’s not uncommon for people (loggers and firewood cutters mostly) to get seriously injured or killed by falling trees and for anyone who has ever seen Deliverance I don’t think I need to explain why I was a little on edge in the deep south with gang of rednecks about.   My point being that just because it was dark outside doesn’t mean that was the reason I was frightened.

I’ve been scared shitless during daylight hours too.  Riding in the passenger seat while my wife drives is a prime example.  She insists that her drivers education teacher never taught her about a two second following distance so while tailgating the car in front of her she likes to get close enough so that she can read their fuel gauge.  I admit I have some fears (and one debilitating phobia I will talk about sometime in the future) but I don’t see the dark as being one of them.

It is a fact there are people who are afraid of the dark so now the question that arises is just how many scaredy cats are actually out there.  And to be clear, I’m talking about adults here, not children.  Kids are afraid of everything.  I would know, having been a little nancy pants in my younger years.  The pig-man, whose existence I learned about in a supermarket tabloid and then had confirmed by an episode of Seinfeld, was a creature who tormented me for years since he did, in fact, spend his nights in the hallway between my bedroom and the nearest bathroom.

So how many adults are afraid of the dark?  What percentage?  And how many of you little sissies out there are willing to admit it?  Well, the answer to that second question is somewhere around ten percent, according to a Wikipedia page on irrational fears.  A friend of mine from work says this percentage is definitely on the low side since most males aren’t going to admit an unmanly fear and that there are also a lot of people who don’t know if they are afraid of the dark since they live in urban areas where artificial light is practically as constant as hurt feelings at a Costanza family Festivus.  And I do agree.  If a person always has light from gadgets and other things illuminating their space they would be more likely to see things that weren’t there if they were all alone and in the dark on a moonless night.

It’s not hard to figure out what makes people afraid of the dark.  For most, vision is the strongest of the five senses.  Take that dominant sense away and the subconscious mind begins to imagine all the scary things that could be lurking in the shadows.  If the conscious mind is not able to counter with reason and logic then panic is very likely to set in.

Let’s say that you are one of the unfortunate ten percent of people who have an irrational fear of the dark.  The good news is that there is hope for you.  My lovely wife used to be petrified of being alone at night when I first met her.  We like to vacation at a place with no running water or electricity and an outhouse about one hundred feet away from the house.  The first few years we stayed there she was terrified to go to the bathroom at night, but now, after having lots of practice with the nightly jaunt to the latrine, she doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Gradually facing your fears (systematic desensitization is what smart people call it) is largely regarded as the best method of reducing or eliminating phobias and fears.  It worked for my wife and it has worked for lots of other people too.  Good luck.