Vibrant red and orange goose down jackets pierce the morning darkness as we pull into the parking lot, the sounds of aluminum clinking as gear is racked and bags packed. We’re not alone in our early morning efforts, though, we rarely are. A man sits on the edge of his trunk, tightening his mountaineering boots. “What route are they doing? How fast are they? Are they going for the Summit? Will they pass us, or us them?” These questions always fill my mind in the presence of the kindred, curious about my fellow explorers. Andy and I make quick work of the process, we’ve done this many times before and we don’t waste any time. Light has barely begun to filter through the trees as we drop into the forest, leaving behind those who had beaten us to the parking lot.
The familiar trail serves us well, guiding us quickly towards our objective at amazing pace, stopping only once along the way to catch our breath and fill our water. Our packs are so light, a far cry from the week before when we were burdened with overnight gear, and far too over prepared for cold or bad weather. Fast and light is truly a principle worth pursuing, tirelessly, continually. “It’s like I’m not wearing a pack at all!” Andy exclaims, every joint and muscle grateful for our revised battle plan. We reach the glacier in about 75 minutes, surprising not only ourselves but the tired and dreary climbers who slept high on the mountain, still clawing their way out of bed. A strange apparition we must be indeed, two figures shrouded by the last remnants of darkness and mist, frolicking up the last stretch of chossy ridge line, a bird’s nest of gear jutting out from our packs. I wonder if they are as surprised to see us so far into the day trip as I am to see people still at camp as the sun begins to rise?
We choose a seat at the lip of the glacier and shared words with a rope of 3 who had slept at high camp, also from Vancouver, they were making a weekend of our day trip. Just above us some two hundred feet a foursome began traversing out left to avoid the crevasses overhead, which had grown considerably since our visit a week ago. We moved without urgency, confident there was plenty of time to complete our goal, and enjoying the sight of two brightly dressed climbers ascending a small outcropping of rocks to our right. All that was left was to fill Andy in on some of the basics…
“Always hold your coils like this, not like this. If I disappear out of sight immediately drop to the glacier and dig in. Don’t step on the rope.” I say, among other things, “And just don’t fall into a crevasse and we’ll be fine!” I finish, grinning wide.
The bright twosome step off the rocks above us just as we begin moving up the glacier. We close on them but leave them a decent birth, no one wants to be chased up the mountain, plenty of time and space for everyone. The going is easy on the glacier, and the first 2000 feet fall away without incident as Andy and I climb quickly and confidently, weaving our way through crevasses of varying size and depth. The parties in front of us have gifted us a route, though their tracks disappear from time to time, muted by ice or filled in with spin-drift snow.
A pair of Ice climbers leading the charge up the glacier.
The view from the glacier is spectacular, the nearby peaks boast a light covering of fresh snow, an early gift from a season long overdue. Above 6500ft our own path begins to show signs of the dusting, growing ever deeper as we climb. Thoughts of the exposed glacial ice, and the difficult skiing they likely bring begin to fade away, replaced with anticipation for this soft smattering of long forgotten white gold. The duo in front of us peel off and head for a group of large crevasses, eager to test their wits and skill in some early season ice climbing. As they do Andy and I catch a glorious sight, a trio of ski mountaineers who had slept high on the glacier come racing down after catching their prize. This spectacle puts a smile on both our faces, and we begin to accelerate, no longer worried about crowding the group in front of us we begin to move faster up steep slopes than we had on the flats.
A fresh smattering of snow, winter is fighting for its time to shine!
At 7500ft we roll over onto more flats and catch sight of both ropes we had seen while gearing up, we’ve gained a lot of ground on them and they don’t seem to be moving too fast. We break for lunch and watch them move slowly up the next ramp of snow and ice. They pause for a long time, mid-traverse, and we watch curiously as they fiddle with gear and move around uncertainly.
“Let’s just wait and watch for a moment, it looks like they are having troubles.” I say to Andy motioning towards the other climbers, who have all seemed to gather on the top of the next ramp.
I assume that all is well as the last of the climbers slowly vanishes out of sight, and we continue up the glacier. We had stayed low in hopes that if their route had proven impassable we would not have wasted the time and effort. As we climbed the slope and began to see over the crest of the ramp we could see that all was not well, the two ropes had stopped moving just above the ramp. It took us no time to climb the slope and join them, eager to inspect the situation for ourselves.
Massive crevasses, furiously deep and wide, bared travel in all directions, save one. A small snow-bridge, no more than 3 feet wide and angled led to a small platform and in turn to another snow-bridge. The foursome hummed and hawed, indecisive and uncertain as the time passed quickly around us. I moved in closer and saw the ground fall away for a hundred feet or more on either side of this narrow snow-bridge. The terrain itself seemed easy enough, the width of a side-walk it was merely the consequences of a fall that froze these men in their place.
Their behavior next startled and confused me. They could tell a fall would be lethal, as could I, but with all their axes, pickets, and the assortment of other gear we could see strapped to their packs, they placed nothing, not even a boot belay was offered or suggested. One man stepped out onto the bridge, testing it with his axe step by step, spending a great deal of time on this exposed terrain. Once across the bridge, a mere 3-5 feet long, they paused again and continued to talk about the situation. Some 20+ minutes had passed now since we had joined them on this platform, with only one man across the snow-bridge and 6 men on two ropes still between us and this feature, my thoughts turned to the time, and the degrading visibility.
How easy, I thought to myself, it would be to deal with this small bump in the road. One picket firmly placed, a climber on belay over rough terrain, a second picket once the step is crossed, and a safe belay for every following member, safe travel for a party of four. I considered, only for a second, passing them on the feature, but I know I have more sense than that, it wouldn’t be safe, fair, or polite. I scolded myself, don’t be impatient, this isn’t the place.
Andy waiting patiently for the path to clear.
We began conversing with the rope of 3 from Vancouver, and it seemed they felt the same as I, the terrain didn’t look too bad, but no one could see where the next snow-bridge led to, or if it would provide passage to the upper glacier at all. Even if it did, there’s still the matter of the foursome, now split between the two sides of the first snow-bridge, stopped dead in their tracks. I know that many a mountaineer would push past them, muttering under their breath as they made the situation worse for everyone but themselves, but this is not the way one should behave in the mountains, or anywhere. After some time, weather rolling in, getting darker and colder by the minute we opted to take the turns we had earned and call it a day. Neither Andy or I were upset at this prospect, as some thousands of feet of varied terrain lay below us, much of it covered with a dense but soft layer of snow, perfect conditions for the ski out.
Off with the crampons, away with the axes, the changeover is relaxed as we enjoy the anticipation. As we swap out our kit and pack up our rope the other Vancouverites begin their descent, obviously sharing our feelings on the situation, time more an issue for them than for us. We wish each other well as they step down onto the ramp and out of sight.
A quick push with one ski and gravity quickly takes hold, coaxing us down the mountain with great strength. The snow is fast, but soft and easy to control. I wave a ski pole at the descending party as Andy and I rip past them with great intensity, charging full-bore down the slope. We hold up only briefly at the end of the flats to eye out our route through the next field of crevasses and we’re off again carving turn after electrified turn through a minefield of danger, skiing un-roped over snow bridges and dangerously close to large crevasses. About two-thirds of the way down I almost drive straight into a medium sized crevasse, a gnarled and weak covering of snow tempting me into the void, I execute the what must be the quickest stop of my life, and point my ski pole at the danger for Andy to see .
The skiing continues to be phenomenal from start to finish, even the exposed glacial ice mid-run provides baffling control and excellent turns as we gleefully carve our way towards cold beer and greener pastures. We cut skier’s left under the last grouping of crevasses and dodge rock outcroppings, skiing to the lowest point of the snow. I am surprised how quickly the run is over as we arrive at the base of glacier seemingly only minutes after having started, though, we were skiing pretty fast. As we stow our ski gear and ready ourselves for the hike down, we turn and see the ice climbers high on the glacier, just beginning their descent. The day is a great victory, we had a lot of fun on both the up and down, and though we didn’t make the summit, we know we will be back, soon. This is a local mountain, a mere 2 hour drive from home, and one we will visit a dozen or more times this year alone, and perhaps hundreds in our lifetime!
The hike down is fast and easy, still feeling fresh and energetic, a testament to traveling light and fast. Every hiker we pass stops us and picks our brains, on all matter of things, curious and full of questions. We enjoy their interest and kindly share with them all we can. We make the car by 3:30 and quickly find ourselves winding down glacier creek drive headed for the border. The customs officer seems surprised, “Just how many people are doing this?” he exclaims when we tell him where we have been. Andy and I laugh loudly, we had the same border guard last week heading back from the same place. We share a laugh with the officer and head on our way, back home to work and all manner of commitment, the desire to be in the mountains already growing inside me.
andrewleduc
avidalpinist
Luke Elder
the avid alpinist 