My goal at the beginning of the season was to ride down a lot of volcanoes. More specifically, I’d set my sights on 15 specific volcanoes and had been obsessively researching lines chronicled by experienced ski mountaineers that hadn’t yet gotten their fair share of interaction with a snowboard.  A lot of the obsessive research centered around Amar Andlakar’s Ski Mountaineer website, famed both for its exhaustive precision and attention to detail. Amar is a physicist based in Seattle with extensive Cascade volcano experience. As you might expect, I was flattered when he began touring with me, and together we had tackled nine of the volcanoes I’d set my sights on. So, Jon and I were off to get lucky #10… a dormant volcano named broken top, merley a few miles from the Mt. Bachelor ski resort.

It was good the gear was wet, because the next day we got to navigate through swamp-like, mosquito-strewn territory on our approach. Remembering the stench of mildew mingling with mosquito bites really brings a smile to my face. But the bushwhack and bugbites were rewarded when we found ourselves out on the wide open slopes of Diamond Peak. Drool-worthy bowls were hard to choose from, but we selected one and rode back through the marsh to the car.

Mt. McLaughlin's terrain was something I had really looked forward to for much of the season. After we climbed up the south ridge and looked down into a beautiful NE facing couloir, I found my instincts had been correct: we dropped 3000’+ of perfect fall line between 200’ walls before arriving at a summer trail circling the mountain and hiking endless miles through the sparse forest back to the car.
 

At about that time, Jon had to return to Seattle due to commitments in the city, but the weather was still looking amazing down in Oregon so I made a couple of calls to see who else might be down to take advantage of the clear skies and sun. Ari (Seattle) and Buell (Eugene) were looking to get out and were heading my way. Jon deposited me at Detroit Lake where I babied my blistered feet (splitboarding is usually the answer, and duct tape is always the answer) while Ari and Buell hurtled toward me at mach speed (somewhere around 60mph.)

It was time to tackle the Three Sisters Wilderness. After a predawn start we were at the massive of the North Sister, who turned out to be a dirty rotten floosy, with rotten rock everywhere. We carefully climbed her steep rotten face with crampons on foot and ice axes in hands, ‘til we reached a highpoint 20’ from the summit proper. Content with the highest skiable point, we made our way into the entrance of her early morning couloir, an aesthetic line on the east face,  that was really just asking for it. After a seriously sketchy traverse on a 50 degree face above a massive cliff, we dropped into her gorgeous steep chute.
 

After saying goodbye to Buell, Ari and myself drove up to Mt. Hood where we camped at the Meadows parking lot in preparation for an attempt at the Wyeast Face. I had climbed Hood before, and one part of my goal for the season was that I would take a new route on previously climbed volcanoes, so Hogsback ridge was out of the question. Travel was quick while we skinned up the vacant ski runs until reaching the base of the wide open Wyeast Face. From here on, we climbed a rock-covered ridge nearly to the summit ridge where the smell of sulfur mixed with my pungent baselayers, and we could see the congo line of hikers attempting the summit proper via hogsback. The run down was amazing as we navigated through the snow all the way to Meadows base… not bad coverage for June.

 
That afternoon we drove back home to Seattle where the forecast had changed and the Emerald City was experiencing sunshine. I made a quick phone call to Amar who happened to be getting ready for a trip to summit Mt. Baker and merely minutes after making it home, I was off to Baker with him. By now, the pungent smell of mildew and dirty gear had officially replaced my usually sweet and musky odor, and I believe Amar was fully enjoying this fringe benefit as we climbed up the Squak Glacier on Baker’s south side. After the Roman headwall, where we bootpacked the rest of the way to the summit, it was all gravy. The ride back down was perfect corn on endless low angled slopes so nice that we considered getting seconds but after a quick discussion we decided against it… the next day, I was planning to leave on a trip that would turn out to push me harder than any other the whole entire season.

After waking from our trailhead campsite in the predawn hours to spandex-clad cross-country skiers energetically high fiving as we rubbed our sleepy eyes and silently sipped our coffee, we decided to get going. Jon and I skinned at a nice clip out to the Eastern ridge of the ’Top and discovered our intended run was variable with ice, corn, slush and flats. After an uneventful descent and ride down some cross country trails, we threw our gear, still sopping wet, hastily into the car in hawtt pursuit of the Diamond Peak Wilderness.

March 18th. North Twin Sister, Twin Sisters Range

John Cocci breaking into alpine with the North Twin Sister in the distance.

John Cocci and I began our assault on spring with a trip out to the Twin Sisters range, just west of Mt. Baker. Our ascent began with dust on crust but as we gained elevation, conditions quickly transitioned to steep and stable powder. Kickstepping up the north face, we were visually serenaded with uninterrupted views of Mt. Baker to the east, and the Puget Sound and Olympic Range to the west. Nearer to the summit, we could see the San Juan Islands to the west, the costal mountains to the north.

 Hitting the summit with Mt Baker in the background, (photo by John Cocci)

From photos we knew that the north face proper of the North Twin looked a little too gnarly for our taste, but found we could traverse around to a beautiful northeast-facing coulior. Amazingly stable conditions coupled with deep dryish snow delivered many positive vibes as we milked turns on the lower apron. Warmed by the afternoon sunlight, we rode back to the car and the dry gear it held for us.

John ripping a turn down the steep headwall. 

March 19th Johannesburg Mountain, CJ couloir

Our ascent path in red and the decent path in blue. 

The next morning, Scott Stugelmeyer and I were on our way to my next objective. Johannesburg Mountain is a vertical wall of rock and ice on the western border of the North Cascades. Our eyes were set on the CJ colouir, a famous line known for its technical climbing and equally technical decent. I quickly stowed the splitboard and got out the crampons and an ice axe, as we climbed the 50 degree slope, careful not to slip and tumble down 3000 vert of exposure. The climbing was slow and each step an ascent in itself, as we wallowed thigh- to waist-deep powder until we arrived at the CJ col.

Scott taking the last few steps up to the Col

Where it had previously slid, conditions were firm, but on the sides of the colouir laid deep, wind-packed powder. Milking the powder for all its worth, we soared past huge chunks of glacial ice and through deeply gouged canyons within cliff bands. The crux of the descent was a rather tense moment when we rode a 60 degree colouir with only a foot of bulletproof snow on top of an ice waterfall. Upon reaching the apron below, celebrations were in order, as we had gotten out with both our sanity and our lives.

Taking a pow turn right before the crux. (photo by Scott Stugelmeyer) 

March 20th, Flett Glacier Headwall, Mount Rainier National Park 

By now it was Saturday, and the last day of promised sunshine. To finish off my official celebration of spring, I decided to head out for a solo mission to a favorite summer spot. Situated on the north side of Mt. Rainier National Park, the Flett Glacier headwall was a place I’d never before visited near wintertime. Normally (in summer) it’s a full day tour of about 14 miles… but with the road and trails still covered in snow, I’d be traveling 24 miles roundtrip, and I felt it would be an accomplishment to pull it all off in a day.

Spray Park and the Flett Glacier headwall, My line is the highpoint in the center of the photo)

I boot packed, skinned and cramponed in solitude for 7 hours making a trail among the high alpine and glacier-carved terrain until finally reaching my destination. What was at first firm yet carvable quickly transitioned to deep wind loaded slopes for an uninterrupted 3000 vert run, which I found to be well worth the 4 passes and 8500 vert I would climb throughout the day.

First Snowboard Decent of Mt. Buckner

Climbing the Boston Glacier with Buckner in the distance. (photo by Jason Hummel) 

Since spring had officially arrived, and I’d celebrated in style, I knew the time had come to tackle something bigger. I’d been studying Mt. Buckner and the possibilities around Johannesburg for a while, and had not found many accounts of ski descents on Buckner’s north face.

This time I teamed up with talented ski mountaineer and photographer, Jason Hummel, as well as his new friend and another talented photographer, Steph Abegg.  Within one day, we experienced one repel, two Glaciers, and one potentially fatal crevasse fall before calling it a night under a star filled sky. After 10 hours of rest we were climbing Buckner’s north face with two Ice axes in hand, and crampons on our feet. The climb was nerve-racking to stay the least—careful steps in wind-scoured powder slopes finally led us to the summit.

Climbing the north face of Mt Buckner. (photo by Jason Hummel)

Our summit celebration was expedited by the cold wind that pelted us, so we transitioned as quickly as possible while taking in the contrast of dark blue above us and endless white around. As soon as all were ready and accounted for, we dropped into the aggressive headwall. Once again we were lucky, as conditions were stable and visibility good for navigating the maze of rock bands. Steep pockets of powder greeted us as we took in the late-morning sun, then ripped down the lower slopes. Riding out on what is one of North America’s largest glaciers, we couldn’t help but be stoked at our lines engraved on a perfect canvas of white.

 pow turns on the lower apron. (photo by Jason Hummel)

In early December, Jason Hummel and I climbed out into a seldom-traveled area near Steven's Pass, the Chiwaukum Range. Out there, we tackled a sub-summit of Big Chiwaukum (the Big One itself seemed out of reach due to low snowpack and short days), known as "point 7142."

Climbing deep in the Chiwikum range (photo by Jason Hummel)

Climbing the final pitch to tag the summit of 7140 (photo by Jason Hummel)

Later in December, north facing slopes in the Cascades were still holding bare ice, but there was a chance that south facing slopes would hold perfect corn. Joe Bell and I decided that in the event that this might indeed be the case, a trip was in store. We hiked the deserted Comet Falls Trail on the south side of Mt. Rainier, until reaching our turnaround point of 9000.' It turned out that we got well over 4000' of perfect, fall-line corn.

Climbing under Comet Falls (photo by Joe Bell)

Riding wide open corn fields (photo by Joe Bell)

By this time, we were all starting to worry about what was in store for the PNW, with a dry spell stretching for over two weeks. Glued to the local weather forecast, I was relieved to see that precipitation was coming back and what was ice was soon forgotten under two feet of fresh snow. With conditions looking good, we all flocked to our local resorts, and I, to Crystal Mountain. Knee to waist-deep pow greeted us for a week straight, as I rode with locals Jacob Hase, Sky Risvold, and Blair Habenicht along the way.

Laying down some tracks under REX at Crystal Mountain (photo by Jason Hummel)

Stoked on my bomber gear from TREW Hiking back from lapping the Southback with Jake Hase (photo by Jason Hummel)

January, however, was a battle inbounds, as it was one of our warmest in history with freezing levels hovering around 5000' and rain often halfway up the resorts. Given those conditions, it was an easy decision for Jason Hummel and I to head to British Columbia to meet up with local steep skier, Sky Sjue, for some hut skiing near Pemberton. We decided to take advantage of the best fall line within the Joffre group and ride Slalok Mountain's South face for well over 3000' of sustained fall line all the way down to Joffre Lake.

Skinning out to Slalok with Matier in the distance (Photo by Jason Hummel)

Riding past the toe of the Anniversary Glacier (photo by Jason Hummel)

A week later, it was time to head out again, but instead of focusing on British Columbia, we decided to trek further east to the Canadian Rockies. The snowpack was as stable as it gets in Alberta, so we climbed Mt. Hector, an 11,000 foot giant just North of Lake Louise. Conditions couldn't have been better for our skin up Hector Glacier-- blue skies served as backdrop to breathtaking views of the glaciated Rockies. The next day, due to visibility issues, we chose Mt. Fairview, right by the Lake Louise Hotel. After a glorious 2500' descent down the open col at dusk we skinned across the frozen Lake Louise under a starlit sky.

Skinning up Mt Hector with the Canadian Rockies in the background (photo by Jason Hummel)

Hitting a sub summit of Mt Hector (photo by Jason Hummel)

Riding down 5000 vert of Champagne powder (photo by Sky Sjue)

When I got back to Crystal, I kept myself busy and my legs strong by working up at the resort and touring in evenings. I took a long, scenic tour with John Cocci in the deep Crystal Southback one day, tackling well over 9 miles and 6000 vertical feet.

Riding down the Dog Legged Chute (photo by john Cocci)

Making a nice heelside turn off the walls (photo by John Cocci)

High freezing levels do have their advantages, though, as access to seldom-visited places can be good. Jason, Connor, and I went out to the Glacier Peak wilderness to attempt Mt. Pugh. We got within 1000 vert of the summit when we set off a slab, and chose to opt for turns down a safer, low-angled glacier, before heading back for the car, 4,000 ft below.

Traversing out to Mt Pugh (photo by Jason Hummel)

Sweet Low angled turns on the Straight Glacier (photo by Jason Hummel)

For more pics from this trip and endless more check out Jasons site at alpinestateofmind.com

This is only a taste of what is in store for the spring touring season.

Our intention was to set up base camp near Mt. Olympus, and summit it, as well as venture south, to the seldom-accessed Valhallas Mountains. We'd been inspired to christen the area with a couple of sets of first tracks. Our 100 lbs of food, gear and photography equipment packed, and the weather window found (NOAA predicted a seven-day stretch of potentially sunny skies), we commenced hiking toward our intended basecamp.

Eighteen miles through rain forest on the first day, and a graduated ascent of the blue glacier on the second, deposited us at an abandoned research station on Panic Peak-- the only non-glaciated, flat terrain within miles. From here, we hoped to access untamed terrain and remote descents.

Skinning up the Blue Glacier with Olympus in the Background

Our big objective for the trip was to tackle a region known as the Valhallas, a remote area southwest of Mt. Olympus. On our first day, we had had a partial view of this unique area, which revealed that we’d have to cross seven miles of ice cliffs, cliffs, waterfalls, canyons, gullies, and rivers along the way. We quickly concluded that clear weather would be absolutely necessary. Day after day we awoke at basecamp to see clouds surrounding us. So, instead of attempting to head out to the Valhallus, we tried to take advantage of the terrain nearby; there were first descents waiting to be taken all over the place.

The Valhallas from our Vantage Point

On our first day from basecamp, we focused on Olympus’s west summit (summit proper) and the east summit as well. The west summit involved some gnarly 5th class climbing, where a fall from the exposed south face would have been fatal, and was not skiable from the top, so we descended via skis and snowboard from the east summit on that day as well. Despite its more hospitable terrain for ski descents, the terrain on the middle summit was gnarly as well. Exposure to cliffs and gaping crevasses with every turn dictated a careful descent. As the day wore on, the clouds rolled in and visibility became an increasing concern. Hastily riding back to camp, we arrived to watch a picturesque sunset over the cloud-covered Pacific Ocean.

Descending the Five Fingers on our way to Olympus's middle Summit.

Decending the Middle summit of Olympus

Riding down the steep face of the Middle Summit. 

On the next day at camp, our hearts sunk when we opened the tent door to find that the weather had deteriorated still further. Our hopes of reaching the Valhallas were slowly diminishing. We tossed ideas around as to how to spend our day and eventually opted to check out the terrain around the Hoh Glacier and possibly climb Athena, a high point in this unfrequented area, and one of Olympus’s five summits. As we climbed up its steep face, we were greeted by thickening clouds. Up on the summit itself, visibility was no more than 10 feet. It was nerve-racking to descend between crevasses and cause a wet slide with every turn. We were forced into survival mode as we navigated the whiteout for miles on our way back to basecamp.

Dropping Athena in zero visability
By the third day, we’d stopped hoping for good weather, but lo and behold, clear skies greeted us from above. Giddy and psyched, we threw together our gear and were quickly on our way toward the Valhallas. Our first descent was down the South face of Mt. Olympus, where we carefully navigated through ice-cliffs and a nasty 100-ft waterfall before reaching the gateway to the Valhallas-- the south fork of the Hoh River. We followed the river downstream until arrival at a snow-filled gully, which we believed would grant us access to the coveted terrain for which we’d come.  But things were not as simple as they seemed. Once in the highlands, we found that an impassible rock cliff separated us from the base of the Valhallas. So, we down-climbed the steep, snowless face until once again we were on snow and a mere thousand feet from the base of the Valhallas. It was getting close to our turn around time, but we were within shouting distance of the area for which we’d come. We quickly moved towards the base of the peaks as the weather deteriorated rapidly. In no time, we found ourselves climbing the steep, open face of Hugin, in a complete white-out.

Dropping the South face of Olympus with the Valhallas in the distance

bypassing a Ice cliff on the south face of Olympus

Jason looking across at the Valhallas now covered in clouds. 

Our summit celebration was no more than 5 minutes, since visibility was poor. We hastily made our descent down the featureless terrain. Though we were exhausted, we had no choice but to push forward for the 7-mile return trip. Moving one step at a time, we only exchanged the most archaic communications. We knew all too well that we wouldn’t make it back to camp until after dark. But, once we reached the southern face of Olympus, we were greeted with some of the most amazing alpenglow I’ve ever experienced. We were humbled by the light glowing on the Valhallas as we cramponed up the steep icy face, one excruciating kick step at a time.

Riding below the clouds on the lower apron of Hugin.

A quick moment to celebrate our victory.

Heading back up the South fork of the Hoh river exhausted with miles still to go.

By the time we’d reached the low saddle of Olympus, it was dark, and we had a 700 foot descent back to our base camp, through the crevasse-filled Blue Glacier. It was a clear night, and to our surprise, moonlight completely illuminated our route through some wild terrain. When we finally arrived back at camp, we hooted and hollered, celebrating our achievement before falling to our knees in exhaustion. The next day, we would depart the area.

For reference, according a climbing guide book we had referenced, summer excursions should budget two days for travel from Mt. Olympus to the Valhalas. We had done the round-trip in one.

For a more detailed account click here

Special thanks to Jason Hummel who's photos can be found here

There was excitement in the air, as people waited eagerly for the lifts to start spinning at Crystal. Since Crystal was the first resort to open in the area, it was inundated with
both local and Seattle-based crowds, that took lap after lap on the lower mountain.

Joe, Chris, and I were looking to get to parts of the mountain that were a bit less accessible, so we skinned out to the upper mountain and took advantage of vast untracked powder fields, which we had the pleasure of breaking in for the first time of the season. Our plan was to progress in a northerly direction throughout the day. We moved across the hill, getting first tracks on Sunnyside, Green Valley, Northway Peak and morning glory bowl, before returning via lucky shot to the base lodge and celebrating with our friends.

My Lonely track down Green Valley

Making first tracks down the Northway Chute (Photo by Chris Lyles)

After that day-long taste of steep, waist-deep Cascadian champagne, we had to go out and get some more. Over the years, I've ridden all over and deep into the Crystal Backcountry. I had always eyed an aesthetic line that is a northeast-facing couloir. We decided that Friday, November 13, would be the perfect opportunity to tackle that line.  Our (Dan's, Scott's and my) objective was quite the distance-- we skinned over two passes and five miles just two reach our line. Now, I have had many deep days throughout my life, but this was the deepest POW I've ever ridden, with (I kid you not) neck-deep snow. It was so thick and heavy out there, that we had no choice but to straight-line through the narrow chute. It was a long day, but definitely worth the effort... and a day that I'll remember forever.

Our line is in the center of the pic (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

Im in there somewhere. (Photo by Dan Howell)

Yeah it was that deep (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

With a forecast of more blue skies, Dan, Scott, and I decided to head out to Mt. Rainier the next day, Saturday, to ride another line we'd been eying for a while, deep in the Tatoosh Range. As we climbed between two massive rock towers, we contemplated the aesthetic south face of Castle Mountain ahead. We switchbacked up the steep slopes and were on the summit in no time, looking down at endless possibilities of terrain to tackle later in the season. Soon we were dropping into knee deep powder turns on the steep face. These epic turns were followed by more thigh-deep powder as we rode through steep, old-growth forest all the way down to the now-closed seasonal road.

Getting our first look at Castles south Face (Photo by Dan Howell)

Dan drops in first (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

Making turns with castle in the background (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

After taking a few days off, it was time to get back out. A quick phone call to Drew convinced him to head out towards Crystal Mountain. Wednesday, November 18's forecast called for cloudy skies, but we were stoked to find blue skies above the clouds, as we skinned into Silver Basin with our attention set upon the Silver King.

The Silver King is the high point of the area, and the crown of the resort-controlled "Southback" and we wanted to get tracks down it before it was turned over to ski patrol for the remainder of the season. With high winds our tracks quickly refilled as we dropped our first run into Silver basin only to head up again, and put tracks down Hourglass off the aggressive North face.

Skinning out to the King (photo by Drew Tabke)

Dropping into Hourglass (photo by Drew Tabke)

Drew ripping up the lower apron

Its crazy to think this is only November and we are in full on winter mode here in the Cascades. Let's hope it keeps dumping for the rest of the season!

For a more indepth look at these trips and more click here

Our next objective was Shastina, A sub peak of one of California's few 14ers, where Amar and I climbed in solitude. As we submitted, we calmly reflected upon the day's climb and looked down upon the towns of Weed and Shasta City, more than a mile directly below us. Then we descended via the Cascadian Gulch, a snow-covered corny finger bounded on each side by sharp volcanic rocks.

 Dropping in with the Summit of Shastina in the background. (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Lassen Volcanic National Park is cool (or rather, hot!) area filled with geologic attractions of all types (think a lesser-known version of Yellowstone). On the way down from Mt. Lassen's peak, we opted to follow alongside the obsidian flow from its 1918 eruption. Below, I'm snowboarding away from the oddly-shaped weather station atop the summit.

Dropping in to find perfect corn (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Day four was a great day because it was my birthday! Woot! Amar and I traveled to Crater Lake National Park to explore Mt. Hillman and the Watchtower, two of the ancient caldera's high-points overlooking Crater Lake. From the top of Mt. Hillman, we gazed deeply into the vibrant blue waters of Crater Lake.

Claiming it on Mt Hillman (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Next we ventured to Yamsey Peak! After Amar got his car stuck on the way in and we practiced strategic shoveling for Toyotas, we followed an abandon road up to the summit. Despite the xxxtreeme gnarl on the way up, we decided to take a more eventful route on the way down...which included fall-line turns, a wetslide, and me falling into a creek. Good times.

That night, we slept at the five-star accommodations offered by the Diamond Lake parking lot, with an aggressive windstorm lulling us to sleep. In the morning, we watched the sun rise over Mt. Bailey before driving toward Mt. Scott. After a quick three mile hike in, we had the pleasure of descending Mt. Scott via its East, South, and West faces, for what Amar so aptly termed, "a Mt. Scott Triple Shot." Descent of the Western face yielded views of Crater Lake, while the Eastern side afforded us an intimate look at a raging wildfire down in the valley.

Our final run down the East side all the way back to the Car (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Our final rendezvous was with two sisters out in the Three Sisters Wilderness, where we awoke in the morning to discover Jason Hummel and Christy Kinney as our neighbors. After a jovial breakfast with them, we headed out to the Pole Creek trailhead, from which we hiked toward Camp Lake, our base camp of choice sandwiched between the Middle and South Sisters. After 3 and half miles we dropped of our overnight gear and the lake and started climbing the southern ridge of Middle sister. On the summit we noticed that the SW face had a great fall line and was somewhat towards our camp so we rode down a few thousand feet before traversing back to camp.

 Amar Climbing the Southern ridge of the Middle Sister

That night was the only time within the trip that we camped in the backcountry and before long we were in deep sleep resting for a long day ahead of us. Though the solitude wasn't quite like the parking lots to which we were accustomed, Amar and I woke early to watch the sunrise over the peaks. After a quick breakfast, we began traversing towards our ascent route up the west ridge. Travel was easy as we cramponed up to the summit taking in view of the southern cascade landscape. To our surprise the Eastern face (proudy Glacier headwall) looked smooth, so we were able to ride all the way to our camp 4000 feet below us. We quickly packed all of our overnight gear in our backpacks and did the long traverse back to the Pole creek parking lot, which was now buzzing with activity.

Preparing to drop the Prouty Glacier Headwall. (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Ripping down the lower portion of the headwall with our route in the background. (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

We had a long drive ahead of us as we planned on heading back home to Seattle but before doing that we slept in the Santium Pass parking lot. The next morning we drove nonstop arriving home around 11a.m. and I unpacked my gear and took a much needed nap. That afternoon I received a call from Amar who mentioned Rainiers climbing conditions were looking good. After a quick conversation we agreed that a one day push would be the way to go so once again I packed up my gear and was back on the road.

We arrived at paradise around 1:30 am and were hiking by 2:00 with skinning to nothing but the headlamps that illuminated our path. We quickly made it to Camp Muir in time to watch the sunrise over the cascades from our 10,000 foot vantage point. It was Memorial Day weekend and Muir was at maximum capacity to after a quick break we were climbing up the Ingram Glacier. We arrived on the summit around 11:00 and shared the space with around 20 others before making our decent down the Fuher Thumb a steep lined colouir on Rainier’s southern face. We rode around 8000 feet to the base of the Nisqually glacier and skinned back up to paradise as the afternoon crowds commented on our skis along the way.

 Muir buzzing with Activity

Ben looking down into the Fuhrer Thumb

We had climbed 9 Volcanoes in 10 days merely hours before Amar was on a plane heading for the east coast it was one of many trips I would take throughout the season but easily one of my favorites.

Sleep should have been inevitable as I laid nestled cozily in my sleeping bag atop a thermarest and concrete parking lot, yet the continual sounds of people rustling their gear as they headed off in fifteen minute intervals kept me tossing and turning through the dead of night. As I laid there, half-asleep, my mind kept returning to what was in store for the week ahead of us.I felt fortunate to join Amar Andalkar on one of his Cascadian road trips.  Both mine and Amar's only goals for our California road trip were to climb as many Volcanoes as our legs would allow. With our only constraint being time (9 days), we decided to begin with Mt. Shasta.

In the early morning, the alpenglow began to light up our potential climbing route. I began moving as much as I could to warm up my chilled body. Since most of the climbers who hadn't planned on sliding down on the descent had left in the middle of the night, the parking lot now appeared lifeless. We were the last group to head out. While climbing parties prefer the firm snow conditions of early morning we had other plans in mind, having come to ski Mt. Shasta from the summit, and descend down the south-facing Konwakiton Glacier in the early afternoon.

The wind increased in voracity as we skinned up the standard south-side climbing route known as Avalanche Gulch. Its increasing velocity pelted us with coin-sized ice chunks before we were forced to take cover in some partly melted rock that would provide purchase for our feet. From here, the slope was too steep and the snow too firm for skinning, so we chose to switch over to crampons for the final 4000' feet between us and the summit proper.

By now, Amar and I were both familiar with each other's climbing techniques, so we swtich-backed up the slope and took full advantage of the firm bootpack put in by a group of two who were climbing several hundred feet above us. As we climbed, we could momentarily make out yells from the group ahead, which became more and more recognizable. When we got closer, we figured out that the group ahead were none other than Christy Kinney and Jason Hummel, two friends also intent upon taking advantage of the fabulous corn snow and perfect California conditions!

Our team climbing at the base of Misery Hill

From there on out, our group doubled in size, and the good times doubled, as well! After the last fifteen hundred verts, known as "misery hill" our group found ourselves atop Christy's first fourteener amid the overwhelming smell of sulfur dioxide.

The final few steps to summit proper (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Celebrating the summit and waiting for the snow to soften, we drank some water and prepared a snack. The route we had planned for the way down was the Konwakiton Glacier, which boasts 3000' of perfect fall line, before a traverse to the final 2000' vert.

Our first turns on the Konwakiton Glacier (photo by Amar Andalkar)

We dropped in to find that the corn was soft and the conditions, joyous. We ripped down the slope, one at a time, enveloped by the seemingly foreign glacial terrain.  Below us, California's arid mountains were spread out across the horizon for our viewing pleasure.

Jason dropping down the steep face (Photo by Amar Andalkar)

Putting up some spray (photo by Amar Andalkar)

Our legs were burning when we finally reached our low spot. After much-needed rest, we began traversing to a low col, which brought us to our traverse from earlier in that day.

All that stood between us and the parking lot was the final thousand feet of low-angled glades and gullies now covered in boot prints and bootpack from climbers returning from their summit attempts.

Last few turns in alpine (photo by Jason Hummel)

We carefully navigated through the maze of terrain back to our motorized vehicles. It had been a long day but we were overwhelmed with the joy that accompanies an all-around successful tour. That night, we said our farewells to Jason and Christy over some well-deserved and insanely delectable Mexican cuisine.

But before I rehash my Volcano season, I'd like to take a brief intermission from recounting last season to bring "What Up" a trip report from more recently... since October Pow is more along the lines of what's up with me right now.

Recently we had a front rip through the Pacific Northwest and drop over a foot of fresh new snow, which wasn't bad for October if you ask me. With negligible snowpack lower down, there is really only one type of terrain you can depend upon for taking advantage of early season pow conditions-- the high glaciers of the volcanoes.

Since volcanic glaciers are my forte, and powder, my calling, I had to head out as much as possible for the weekend. On Friday, October 2nd, I met up with my good friend Scott and we drove up to the North side of Mt. Rainier with the intention of tracking out the now deserted Flett Glacier.

With little hope of the front clearing, we knew we'd be some of the few people out there, but the snow, wind, sleet, and whiteouts did little to deter us from a six mile hike that dropped us at the base of the Flett. Nonetheless, when all hopes of visibility seemed dashed to the wind, the clouds miraculously parted for a few moments of glorious sunshine. Bathed in momentary sun and upon a glacier covered in a smooth surface of freshly-fallen snow, it was inevitable that we would lap the area until our legs could take no more. While it wasn't epic powder, it was damn fine conditions since a few inches of wind-buffeted pow covered the glacial ice and left a smooth riding surface.

On our way to the Flett Glacier (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

The Flett Glacier looking rather good for October (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

Our last lap we made it all the way down to the glacier's toe, where we noticed an ice cave that we decided to check out. We spent an hour exploring the ice cave and its deep shades of blue and the complex frozen shapes that had been sculpted by mother nature. Feeling sated by the pow and the ice, we hiked back down to the car with brilliant red alpenglow limelighting Rainier's Northwest face.

Causing some spray on the Flett (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

Exploring the Ice cave (Photo by Scott Stugelmeyer)

It seems that one fix just wasn't enough, so I packed much of my still-soaked gear into a pack the next day. My objective was to head north for an overnight trip on Mt. Baker's Coleman Glacier with Jason and Josh Hummel. I sprinted up to our camp at the base of Heliotrope ridge and watched the sun fade to a dark sky with a full moon reflected on ice. After a brutal night of little sleep in sustained 50 mph winds, we trekked up the glacier to Heliotrope's high point.

A long nights sleep on Heliotrope ridge (Photo by Jason Hummel)

Early morning winds on Mt Baker (Photo by Jason Hummel)

I was amazed by the conditions, since well over 6 inches of wind-deposited pow and blue skies greeted us. Josh did a nice rock drop while I basked in the sun. We dropped about 700 vert in calf-deep pow with perfect fall line riding, quite a difference from what I'd been riding the past five months. The conditions were so phenomenal that we couldn't help but go right back up for seconds, heading for terrain that was untouched and wind-loaded.

Josh getting airborn (Photo by Jason Hummel)

While the first run had been good, it paled in comparison to the second. This subsequent lap delivered my first face shots of the 2009/2010 season, and served as an exceptional prelude to what I hope will be an excellent season to come.

First face shot of the season (Photo by Jason Hummel)

Stay tuned for more updates...and for more on my the 2009 Classic Cascade Volcanoes Cirque!

It was yet another brutally cold morning as the early morning sun beat down upon my sleeping bag. My body was still exhausted from the trip to Snoqualmie that I'd done the day before, so I downed a few delicious ibuprofeins with my freshly-boiled instant coffee. Looking up from this delicious schmorgasbord, I considered the peaks nearby.

Icicle creek boasts some of the truly more picturesque peaks within the Cascades, and we were there to tackle one such massive-- Dragontail Peak. A large rock spire situated between Mt. Stuart and Cannon Mountain, Dragontail is home to an impressive south-facing chute that will yield 3000' vert of snow after quick climb. Luckily, a storm from a few days earlier had dumped over a foot of powder, that would be free for the taking-- not bad, for a glorious day in May.

The South Face of Dragontail Photo by John Scurlock

Dan and I set out on the trail, whose whereabouts were somewhat obscured by a foot or so of snowpack. The trail was a steeper climb with neverending switchbacks and morale-shatering false peaks. After two hours of climbing I was relieved to make it out to Colchuck lake, nestled below Dragontail, which towers above the lake to its south.

Colchuck Lake with Dragontail on the left

I had intended upon meeting up with Jeff and Scott somewhere near here, and they'd camped at the lake the night before, but they were nowhere to be seen. I skinned across the lake in a fruitless search for traces of recent camp, but found nothing.

Confused by their absence, but also hungry, I decided to make some Top Ramen while I waited for Dan and contemplated my next move. People say that everything tastes better in the woods, and this is incredibly true. As I waited for Dan, I hungrily downed a delicious snack of Top Ramen, which satisfied my hunger. When Dan arrived, he mentioned he saw two people skinning at the base of Dragontail, so I figured I'd run ahead and try to catch up with what could potentially be my lost touring partners.

Once again, the skin track was a series of switchbacks and was marked by significant elevation gain. I finally caught up with Jeff and Scott at Cochuck Pass, a low-lying col that grants access to the southern face and lower part of the main chute on Dragon Tail. We cooked a quick meal and then began our climb up the final 1000 feet between us and the summit.

Skinning up with the col in the background

The first half of the climb, we skinned in the shade, but for the final stretch, the sun beat down on us and sapped our energy as we climbed the slope, which steepened dramatically for the final 300 feet to the summit.

Near the summit

Our arrival at the summit was rewarded with sweeping views of seldom-visited corners of the Cascades, dramatic pilings of colorful granite, and and a dizzying drop off of the northern face.

Mt Stuart Dominating the Skyline from the summit of Dragon Tail

We dropped into perfect fall-line skiing, but the sun had affected the slopes on the Southern side and turned the perfect powder to slush. It was great to tackle such an aesthetic line, but we were most stoked for what was in store for the final 2500 feet of the north face.

Scott drops in first (Photo by Jeff Spicolli)

The first few turns were wind-scoured, but below that yielded exquisitely deep powder turns, as we ripped up the slope. We all met up once again halfway down, each grinning from ear to ear.

Jeff Drops into the North facing section with Colchuck lake below

Scott throwing up some rooster tails (photo by Jeff Spicolli)

Little did we know that these would be our last powder turns of the season as we milked those last 100 feet to the lake. One last goofy-grinning glance at our ski tracks, and we were back off towards our cars.

John and I pulled up to the deserted parking lot. In 24 hours, it would be bustling with activity as avid skiers and boarders squeezed a final weekend of turns out of the Alpental Ski Resort. But for the moment, on this Friday morning, it was merely quiet and cold. My coffee had gotten cold, too. John and I lingered momentarily in the warm car, taking a final look at the map and reluctant to step out into the early morning frigidity. We were about to embark upon what would be a true test of my endurance-- 8000 vertical feet over 12 miles of cliffs, peaks, lakes, and now-raging creeks.

Our first little pitch of skinning was a frequently-trafficked traverse that alpine skiers often use to exit the backcountry and return to the lifts. We skinned up this mellow-angled slope until we reached Source Lake Basin, at the base of a large, open bowl area. As we began to climb the steep, cliff-riddled, exposed face of the bowl, we opted to cease skinning and switch over to ice axe and crampons. I carefully packed down the snow on a cliff-ledge to make a safe place to adjust the straps on my crampons, stow my splitboard, and pull out the ice axe.

With an ice axe in hand, it's amazing what you can climb comfortably. We kickstepped up the rest of the forty degree face until we found ourselves at the first pass of the day, a spot known as the Chair Peak Col. Here, John and I opted for a quick rest as we marveled at our new perspective on the Alpental backcountry. I'd skied in this area many times but had never seen it from this vantage point. Consuming cliff bars, we relished the early-morning sun on our faces.

Kicksteping up the Chair Peak Col photo by John Cocci

From here, we dropped down to Melaqua lake, where we filled our nalgenes in a small unfrozen section near the shore. We found that the availability of water was to be a pleasantly reoccurring theme throughout our tour.

After a push up the next valley, our first objective came into view-- the steep southern ramp of Kaleetan Peak and its particular aesthetic chute that we'd come to ride. Kickstepping across the steep face to minimize avalanche exposure, we moved up toward the peak one foot at a time. Finally, all that remained between us and the summit was the steepest terrain of the day. I climbed up the final pitch by carefully placing my feet into John's bootpack, until arriving at the summit-- a spot three feet square, with cliffs on all but one side.

Acquiring the summit ridge with Chair Peak in the background photo by John Cocci

The final pitch to the Summit of Kaleetan photo by John Cocci

On that little speck on top, I gingerly reconstructed my snowboard from its two parts, looking over the 2000' cliff face that was less than a foot from my own. A part of me was still sluggish and dreaming about my once-warm coffee back at the car, but I knew that this was not a smart place to relax. On our way up, we'd observed some rocks lurking only a few inches below the snowpack. So with this and the health of my board's base in mind, I inhaled deeply before dropping straight in.

Dropping down Kaleetans Southern face photo by John Cocci

After the first hundred feet or so, I began to relax, turn, and take in the scenery. It was clear enough to see the endless foothills of the Cascades. We rode as far down as possible, following the path of a snowed-in creek until we reached its source, raging with seasonal snowmelt. 
 

John rippping down the face

From here, we climbed through old growth forest by a number of ponds 'til we reached Tuscohatchie Lake. Tuscohatchie was a mere 1000 verts from our final destination, Granite Peak, so we celebrated not only its aquatic offerings but its demarkation of our proximity to more powder turns:

A moment of rest at Tuscohatchie Lake photo by John Cocci

By now, the sky had changed from high clouds to brilliant sunshine, which we gladly consumed alongside some much-needed calories. Warm and refueled, we began skinning up our final section of forest. As we climbed, the view soon began opening up, limelighting our route to the north and our last few steps to the Granite summit.

Our route with Kaleetan to the left and Chair Peak to the right

At the summit we were greeted by an old lookout tower. It was earliy beaten down by the decades of cruel weather. Transitioning back to fully-constructed snowboards, we left this lonely shelter behind, dropping into perfect descent conditions. Three inches of dust on top of slightly melted crust yielded beautiful arc turns down the south face of Granite Peak.

John at Granite Mountains look out tower

We ripped down the slopes, hooting and hollering the whole way down.

A brief stretch of bushwhacking, we reached another desolate parking lot, where we'd stashed John's car. We looked back at the terrain as if to reconfirm that all the trekking had been worth it. Which it was, without a doubt. Dry clothes on my back, and our gear stashed in the car, John drove me back to the nearly empty Alpy parking lot, where the end of my cold coffee and car awaited me.