Until mid-May, I had primarily focused on peak-bagging, but as the days got longer and warmer, we began to head into what I like to call, the "Volcano Season," since it's the best time of year for climbing and sliding down stratovolcanoes. So at that time, I made the switch from primarily pow-seeking touring to really working on my volcanic goals.

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.

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.

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.

It was a long, cold night as we slept next to the highway hidden between two-ten foot embankments of snow. Joe Bell and I were camping out in celebration of the inaugural weekend of an open North Cascades highway, and the unofficial start of touring-only season for me. 
 
We had come to climb Black Peak, a prominent mass of rocks that towers above its neighbors at a summit elevation of 8970 ft. More importantly, we had come for a particular aesthetic chute that runs down its southern face. We had first viewded the chute on John Scuclock's website, which includes arial photography of dramatic peaks within the Cascades. When we looked at that line, we thought it was just begging for tracks.

Installment 4 from Kyle Miller's 08-09 touring season:

Here it was mid-April, and the storms had raged all the way until the last few days of lift-riding season. With the resort season coming to its close, touring season was just beginning. Nonetheless, I had one final objective on my to-do list for access from within the resort.
 
In Crystal Mountain’s Southern backcountry, “Southback,” lies an aesthetic line with 45-degree pitches called Smoka. It’s an aggressive couloir on an east-facing peak riddled with cliffs, with 1500’ of vertical rise from the valley below. While usually a multiday tour our intent was to pull it off in a single-day push.

Part 3 of Kyle Miller's 08-09 touring season:

From mid-March through April, storms continued to hammer the Cascades. The epic pow conditions made avalanche danger a huge concern, and I focused on resort riding for a bit at both Crystal Mountain and Alpental. 

While I was up at Alpental, I ran into Amar Andalkar, a talented ski mountaineer endowed with a vast knowledge of the northwest’s weather patterns, as well an expert at glacier travel. I’ve used his site, skimountaineer.com, a number of times, due to its comprehensive information about various routes up the northwest’s volcanoes. Much to my delight, we got to talking, and he agreed to tackle Rainier with me.

Part 2 of Kyle Miller's 08-09 touring season:

After my trek to Silver Star in the midst of seven long weeks of negligible precipitation, the Cascades were suddenly hammered by front after front, delivering daily accumulations in the double digits. With the resultant avy danger through the roof, the safe bet was to ride at my local stomping grounds Crystal Mountain.
 
But finally after two weeks of snowing (and laps of waist deep), we got a break between the storms and the sky changed from gray to blue. Stashes got tracked and it was time to head into the backcountry.