After gingerly sliding my rig into the snow park, I grabbed my pack and donned my snowshoes in the darkness.  The air was still, but chilly as my breath could be seen for some time before evaporating.  Crunching my way through the parking area, I hoped the snow from the last weeks had consolidated enough for a quick hike up to the base of the mountain.  Astonished, there were few snowmobiles in the trailer parking area as the tranquility was much appreciated.

I reached timberline faster than anticipated and rewarded myself with a small break; gulping down water followed up with a Power Bar.

My new MSR snowshoes made side hilling so much easier than my old Atlas shoes letting me enjoy the sunrise.  I incredulously looked all around for any signs of clouds or impending weather, but found neither.

I slogged my way up to Chocolate Falls and glanced at the work I had in front of me.  I thought of all the fun I have had while failing to summit so many times.  For years.  It seemed I had an excuse for every failed success.  The weather turned bad.  My snowshoes were sliding too much.  It was too windy.  I had a stomach ache.   I did not bring enough water.

Although some of those were legit, I had no excuses today.  The weather was pristine.  I had the experience to bring the right gear, enough water, enough food, and I felt fine.  One thing that was vastly different on this trip was the absence of anything to ponder.  I was here, living in the moment, taking in the whole day.

I crunched my way to Swift Creek and decided to follow it up for a while.  Normally, I would just follow the trail, but this was my day.  My trail.  Today, I wanted to hike me own hike.  I never really understood what that meant until last year's PCT sections.  After following the creek, I tried my luck on a 50 percent grade to climb out.  My movements were almost effortless as I dug the shoe's crampons in and leveraged myself up to the next kick-step.

As I approached the beginning of the actual climbing, I noticed the snow level was not as high as I was used to.  Even though the PNW got hammered last month with a cold front that dumped feet of the fluffy, white stuff there still was not enough to cover the ridge, making snowshoeing difficult.

At 4000 feet, I gave up the snowshoes and strapped them to my pack.  It was a scramble as far as I could see, about 6000 feet, as I quickly passed the permit sign.  I was surprised how good I felt, but was quickly reminded by the thinning air I still had a long way to go.

I never get tired of views from altitude, if you can call 5000 feet altitude.  I can, but I live at 280 feet above sea level.  Adams looked as beautiful as it did intimidating.  Knowing if I make this summit, I would still be about 4000 feet below Adam's.  I trudged on.

I made it to about 6000 feet and started slipping on hard pack.  The snow was much firmer here, covered in a healthy layer of ice.  I found a small rock to sit down while I donned my crampons and ice axe.  I still felt good, but also felt the remnants of the cold I had two weeks ago flair up in my lungs.  I was not going to let my own mind get the better of me.  Cough.  Hack.  Spit. 

I trudged up a long, 30 percent draw before taking a break.  I needed to catch my breath as I was starting to feel better than I had the entire trip, but noticed a few people in front of me which made me pick up the pace.  I wondered when they had passed me as I started quite early in the dark.

I started reeling them in as it gave my mind something to think about other than the lack of air I was feeling.  My lungs burned slightly, so I sat in the snow-ice for a couple minutes to rest.  I gulped down some Gatorade before chewing on a King-Sized Snickers trying to replenish the calories I had lost thus far.  The others above me were moving at a very slow pace so a few minutes rest would not matter, I thought.

A few minutes later I felt much better and shouldered my pack.  I caught the others quickly and passed them while practicing some rather precarious side hilling.  A few chose not to follow me as the angle was too steep for their comfort zone.  I felt at ease as my crampons were working magnificently.  The sloping distance while kicking steps went by sans drama.

After passing the others, I reached the top of what I thought was the rim and threw out a boisterous F-Bomb.  The alien-like ice rocks that are formed in these environments helped a bit to ease my frustration as I thought they had it worse than I.  I broke through the crusty surface of what I was standing on with every step while heading in the direction quickest to the summit.

I was on Death March.  I had not been here since September of 2004.  Five minutes after I began my slog, I was greeted by a guy with a large K9 climbing partner.  We both huffed our way to the crater rim with the dog whining in boredom while waiting for us bipeds.

At the summit, I thought I would choke up and get all emotional.  I didn't.  I just gawked in all directions as the people I had passed earlier made their way up.  I felt great physically, mentally and spiritually.  The past was behind me.  Far behind me.  A new chapter had been written as I could never write it before.

I sat on the summit.  No wind.  Warm.  I laid back on my pack, soaking up the sunshine while munching and gulping.

Laying back only lasted a few minutes at a time as the views were too much to pass up.  To the north, Seattle was buried in clouds, while the Olympics were out in full Glory.

To the south, Mt. Hood loomed high.  I could barely make out Monitor Rock as I was so far above it.

To the northeast, I could spy Goat rocks.

I could not look at Fatty as I knew staring at it too long would make me foolishly want to climb it.  Of course, that is real climbing.  It's summit topped out more than a vertical mile from where I sat.  Maybe someday.

An unexpected pleasure as I recognized a couple guys from Chris Willett's web site.  Indeed, it was Peter and Wayne who were up here enjoying the weather as well.  Not 10 minutes later we were greeted by Erica who graciously offered some incredible home made cookies that she brought up.

I sat on my gloves, gazing below me as I watched in envy.  Peter was the first to start down, making the ski down look easy.  Although he bet to be the first to wipe out, he went down like a pro while not once looking out of control.  After everyone slid their way off the rim, I began my descent.

I have only glissaded two times, but had ample opportunity today.  In 20 minutes I had lost around 1500 feet of elevation.  I was simply giddy as I slid down on my numb ass trying not to shred my pants along the way.  I wanted to make the truck before it got dark and needed all the time savings I could muster.

I made it to the falls in record time, for me at least, and took a few minutes to reflect on what all I had learned today.  I had a sit in snow and thought.  Everything was perfect today.  Meeting Wayne and Peter was icing on the cake and it gave me leverage to think  about things like I never have in the past.  Things that I never thought I would be able to do; could be able to do.

I thumped my way back to the truck smiling endlessly.  It is rare that a trip for me turns out so well.  I had just enough food and just enough water.  I met awesome people and most of all, I made the summit.

Home