Moving!

Please be advised that all blogging activity (possibly to increase in frequency?) will now occur at Mountainous.

Woohoo!

Traditional Girl

In a rare bit of non-climbing-related news, which serves only to explain my complete disappearance from this blog until now, I (along with 50,000 other people) found myself in the middle of the Black Rock Desert at the beginning of this month for Burning Man. Fear not, I met fellow mountaineers at Camp D.O.A. (Decadent Outdoor Adventurers) and spent a dusty week of art, dancing, inspiration, and new friends.

Although I returned to the “default world” a mere three weeks ago, I’ve already launched myself heard-first into a new chapter in my climbing life. Since the day of my return from Nevada, I’ve been learning the basics of trad climbing, which involves a climber placing all pieces of protection to insure against falls (pitons, cams, stoppers, tri-cams, etc), as opposed to sport climbing where all protection is permanently installed on the route (bolts, etc).

This started with building trad anchors. Each anchor involves placing three pieces of protection and then connecting them with cordelette. After building our anchors (and getting the blessing of someone infinitely more knowledgeable), we rappelled off them. I can tell you that, in all the stupid and dangerous things I’ve done in my life, there have been few adrenaline rushes quite like letting go of the rock and hanging on an anchor that you hope you built correctly.

A bit of an idea of what we’re working with. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

That’s me in the black top on the face of the cliff. What you can’t see if how desperately I’m clinging to the rock. (Photo by Andrew Holman)

Trad climbing, and the bit of of sport lead-climbing I’ve been working on, is a whole new mental game. When I got into mountaineering my habitual gripe was how much I was forced to trust – I had to trust the anchors that other people built, I had to trust the gear that other people placed. Now I realize that it’s a lot easier to trust someone else’s work – I’m constantly second-guessing the way I placed that cam or whether or not that stopper has enough points of contact.

I was lucky to make it down to Smith Rock State Park last weekend (the first time in about a year!), and will be down there for two more weekends in the next month. This trip involved a humbling moment for me. I climbed Sky Chimney – a 5.7/5.8 three-pitch route. One bolted pitch, two trad pitches. The route kicked my butt, to put it mildly. Sky Chimney involves overhangs, crack climbing, stemming, liebacks, and all manner of moves in which I’m woefully unskilled since my all my time has been spent summiting peaks and not hauling myself up cliff faces. I took a fall past my tiny belay ledge (with a little too much slack in the rope) that resulted in a blood curdling scream, a purple and black thigh, and a bruised ego.

It looks impressive, right?

In short, I’m completely thrilled with how much I’m learning. My accident on Sawtooth last year rattled me more than I thought, and some of this multipitch climbing terrifies me; but that’s just a sign that I need to more of it, right?

Also, this gives me unparalleled opportunities for gear acquisition, as if I needed more.

LUST

The Falling Season

Sobering news out of the Pacific Northwest this weekend.  Mt. Hood released an eight foot deep slab avalanche and Rainier’s Ingraham Glacier experienced its own massive slide around 4:45 AM on Saturday. 10 climbers were buried and one is still missing.

Having intended to climb Hood on Saturday night.. this kind of news never gets less scary. I like to think that the folks I climb with are experienced, knowledgeable, and pretty damn wonderful and trustworthy, but none of us can withstand an avalanche. Even a one foot deep slab can gather more than enough speed to kill a climber. One of my rock climbing partners took a tumble down Hood last year after tripping over his crampon and ended up in a halo for months and months.

Definitely keeping all the climbers on Rainier in my thoughts. This season’s weather has been sketchy at best, and fatal at the worst.

The Northwest Weather and Avalanche Center has issued a warning of significant avalanche danger above 7-8000 feet.

A current storm system moving through the Northwest should deposit an additional 4 to 6 inches or more of snow at elevations above 7 to 8000 feet along with moderate southwest wind transport helping to further load steeper lee terrain. More showery weather anticipated late Sunday should be followed by decreasing showers early to mid Monday, with slowly clearing skies, decreasing clouds and brief warming likely later Monday and early Tuesday before another moderate storm system affects the area and brings another surge of precipitation and winds late Tuesday and Wednesday along with lowering freezing levels. As a result of both current and expected weather and avalanche conditions, travelers venturing into higher elevation terrain in the Cascades and Olympics should be conservative in their decision making, cautious in their route finding, and factor avalanche danger into their goals and route selection for the upcoming week…as very few goals or routes are worth injury or death.

Well, I’d say none. Be careful out there!

UPDATE: Photo from Hood this past weekend. Pretty glad we cancelled our plans at the last minute. Check out the huge slide in the background.

Door of No Return

Ahh, the month of May. The month of my birth, the beginning of spring, and the first month where conditions on Mt. Hood are (usually) consistent and climbable. Until now.

Horrible weather patterns have resulted in serious avalanche concerns and a slew of poor outlooks for climbing conditions. Although I’ve had a few friends make the summit recently (under highly questionable circumstances), I’ve stayed down around 10,000 feet for fear of being swept into Zig Zag Canyon by sloughing on the Old Chute.

This doesn’t mean that I’ve been slacking, though! Absolutely not! I rounded out the months since my last update nicely by assisting with my friend’s Basic Climbing group – leading training hikes, teaching people about snow travel, and having a blast by using the proper French terms for crampon techniques in my snootiest accent.

My very favorite hike in the Columbia Gorge – Ruckel Ridge!

Sniped by Andrew Holman, as usual – hanging out above the Climber’s Parking Lot at Timberline during BCEP Snow Session.

My best attempt at explaining ice axe techniques for ascending and descending.

Despite being foiled on Hood a few times, I managed to climb St. Helens again on Mother’s Day. In the proud, longstanding tradition – I climbed in a dress, as did my entire climb party and the hundreds of other people we met on the mountain. It was a day of celebration and socializing as we ran into dozens of friends.

Photo by Andrew Holman. What a shock.

Climb season is almost fully underway! This next weekend will find me launching another assault on Hood (hopefully successful this time), and my season has already filled up nicely with solid plans for Mts. Adams, Stone, Rainier, Washington, Shuksan, Three Fingered Jack, Middle Sister, and Sahale, Wedding Cake, and Thompson Peaks. Plus whatever else I can fit in there – current considerations include backpacking the 40 mile Timberline Trail around Hood.

Fingers crossed, campers!

Hiatus: Complete

I promise I started this blog with the best of intentions, only to get distracted by.. life. In the (long) time since my last post, I’ve changed living situations, gone backpacking, done some outdoor climbing, and separated my shoulder in a ridiculous bike accident. I figured I’d do a short review in picture form, since I’m typing this all one-handed.

Shortly before my last post I hightailed it down to Terrebonne for some outdoor climbing. I went with a friend who far eclipses me in terms of skill, but patiently led me one some multi-pitch sport routes. We also happened to run into my climbing guru (the man who led me on the climb which resulted in my black eye – the one for which I’m famous throughout the Mazamas) who led us on some trad routes and let me clean them.

Taken at the bottom of the final pitch of Brogan Spire.

Clearly very pleased with myself and the beautiful backdrop.

I also met a very talented photographer with whom I became fast friends – Andrew. I’ve made him promise to accompany me on as many hikes, backpacking trips, and climb as possible, in order to have some good-looking photo documentation of my adventures. He’s an aspiring mountaineer and even “looks up to” me. It’s hard to keep from laughing  sometimes.

We decided in mid-January to go up to Olympic National Park and backpack along the Hoh River. The Hoh Rainforest is supposed to be one of the wettest spots in the country and is mere spitting distance from.. FORKS, WASHINGTON. No sparkly vampire sightings, though. We were incredibly blessed with beautiful weather the first day, but long stretches of completely submerged trails and some sketchy water crossings.

Early on and still mostly dry. (Photo by Andrew)

Could this look any more artificial? (Photo by Andrew)

Photo by Andrew. Obviously.

I then dragged Andrew with me on a climb of Mt. St. Helens in mid-February. My first winter climb and his first ascent of a glaciated peak! We had bluebird skies and the best possible company.

Andrew’s phenomenal pano which is currently my work computer’s desktop wallpaper.

My friend Matt’s glorious and faithful dog – Roscoe – who snuggled with me at night to keep me warm. (Photo by Andrew)

Taken from camp. (Photo by Andrew)

Our group, with Andrew in front.

I even got to make Greg’s dream of Summit Boggle come true. Also, I won with “armoire.” (Photo by Andrew)

*You can find more of Andrew’s wonderful photography at his website.

As I write this, the climb schedule for the summer has been released and a printed copy is sitting on my desk, covered in notes scrawled in the margins, stars next to big climbs, and highlighter swathes to remind myself of what I just HAVE to climb. It’s an exciting time of year for me, filled with hours spent rearranging my calendar and saying goodbye to any semblance of a social life.

If all goes well, my darling readers (by which I mean.. you know, six of my friends) will be regaled with stories of Mt. Adams, Hood (again), Rainier, Olympus, Shasta, Jefferson, Middle and North Sister, Three Fingered Jack, and as many more as I can possibly cram into three and a half months.

Climb on!

Of First Peaks

Every person has a set of turning points in their lives. First prom, first time winning the game, graduation. I can confidently say that all of these (especially prom) pale in comparison to the experience of reaching my first “true” summit.

On May 23rd of this year I set off with several aspiring mountaineers to ascend our first glaciated peak – Mt. St. Helens. A talus heap in the truest sense of the world and a mere speedbump for most climbers, but it represented 8,365 feet of effort and follow-through.

As the sun set that first night on the mountain, I felt a sense of serenity, calm isolation, and awe unlike anything the desert or the lowlands had ever delivered. I sat on a rocky outcropping with four men with whom I’d developed an amazing sense of trust, and we watched the sun slip beneath the horizon.

Summit day began rather uneventfully. We pulled on our long underwear and stuffed cold feet into our boots and started trudging up to what our leader kept pointing out as the “false summit,” telling us that once we crested it we’d our true goal – the true summit. Progress was slow-going as we kicked steps into the snow and traded off leads.

About three quarters of the way up, I was struck with a terrible thought. What if I’d made a mistake? What if I got to the summit and felt nothing? What if my financial investment in gear, the time I’d spent in conditioning, and all the effort I’d put into dipping my toes in the proverbial waters of mountaineering all culminated in disappointment and the realization that mountain-climbing wouldn’t be my next great passion?

This promptly ended when I, leading our group, crested the “false summit” only to be faced with a giant crater below us, and the knowledge that I’d just summited my first peak. People whipped out their cameras, shook hands, clapped each other on the back.. and I cried. Covertly, of course.

It was an infinitely more magical experience than I’d been prepared for. At that moment I understood why people took the biggest risks imaginable, all in the name of a mountain. I stood in the company of friends and felt proud, overwhelmed, and excited – knowing that I’d found the thing that would consume my thoughts and calendars for years to come.

An Introduction

Hello all!

Over the years I’ve occasionally been hit with the desire to start a public blog devoted to my passion of the moment. Past inspirations have included veganism (ongoing, and likely to come up in this blog, too!) and rugby. Rugby proved too violent and physically damaging, so I’ve switched to the calm and serene hobby of mountain-climbing. The title is drawn from my mountaineering club’s official motto – Nesika Klatawa Sahale. Loosely translated from Chinook it means “We Climb High.”

Despite a minor obsession with gear that all mountaineers quickly acquire, I don’t know nearly enough about the technical aspects of gear to ever review it here, so I’m going to stick with photos, trip reports, and the occasional comment on vegan options for climbs and backpacking trips.

Having grown up as the child of a Foreign Service officer, I spent my time moving around the world every few years. However, my travels took me from the vast dunes of the Persian Gulf to the low-lying swampy climate of Washington, DC to the rolling hills of Indiana where the highest point in the state – Hoosier Hill – clocks in at a whopping 1,257 feet. Mountaineering never once appeared on my radar since mountains were foreign to me – infinitely more remote and terrifying than the sand dunes I scaled and the flights of stairs in the Washington Monument. Once I graduated from college I set off with a good friend of mine to drive from our home state of Virginia to our new, chosen city – Portland, Oregon. Our stops along the way included St. Louis, Missouri where we ended up at the St. Louis Science Center (because that’s what we do for fun). While there, we fell victim to the draw of the Omnimax theatre and watched “The Alps.”

“The Alps” covers the story of John Harlin III who sets out climb the Eiger Nordwand – the route which killed his father 40 years prior. The film included stunning footage of Eiger and a rather chilling story, especially considering the manner of John Harlin II’s death – falling 4,000 feet after his rope snapped near the summit. My friend (now roommate) tells me that she turned to me upon exiting the theater and made a comment about how unhinged a person would have to be to climb mountains. I said I had a new goal in life.

Thus began my continuing affair with mountaineering.

I’m in the early stages of my technical skill development and still walking up “talus heaps” as David Roberts would call them, but every book needs a first chapter.