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Monitor Ridge,
Summit, Mt. St. Helens |
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While talking with a friend, an impulsive urge of my former self struck without warning. Although I have tried to climb the south face of St. Helens before, it was always in spring and held plenty of snow. As I was not sure of conditions, I found myself not wanting to analyze it to death before heading out and just verified tomorrow's conditions. As I tried to explain this irrational impulse to my cell phone, my bag was packed. I awoke the next morning at 5:30 a.m. and arrived at the trailhead, geared up and on my way at 7:30 a.m. sans breakfast. Indeed the snow level was not what it was in spring, but should provide the adventure I needed to appease my brash behavior.
Conditions were perfect with well packed trails leading me to the worm flows. I stopped a moment to don my snowshoes as the top crust was not quite solid enough to keep me from falling through. While the snowshoes went on, so did the iPod. I have done this approach so many times, I thought a little music would make the time go a bit faster.
The perfect conditions along with a little SDS made the long slog to the flows quick. I gulped down a bit of Gatorade to get a few calories before I started eating. I felt great and the snow conditions were as good as it gets. Soon after crossing Swift Creek, the power snow deepened, but not enough to slow progress.
Just before the real climbing began, off came the snowshoes as the snow got quite thin. The rocks that are normally covered in snow in the spring were exposed with 2 to 3 inches of sugary white stuff, hiding the sheet of ice that promised a twisted ankle for anyone foolish enough to trust their false security. Luckily, I had a group ahead of me that were breaking a nice, easy trail to follow through to the end of timberline.
At the 4800 foot marker, I met up with a few from the local Mazamas group. A couple of them I will see again during my basic skills training in February. They so kindly offered for me to break trail as we were now the lead group on the mountain. I set off at a reasonable pace, unfortunately leaving them far behind. I reached the 50 degree slope along the ridge that stopped me the last time. This time, I just plowed my way up its banks, reaching a lesser climb to the final pitch before the USGS survey station.
I reached the station and was exhilarated as I had never been this high along this route. I took a moment to think about someone that blessed me before this trip as I munched on a chocolate bar, followed up with a banana. Indeed a moment was all I had as the wind hit me like a freight train, hurling ice pellets that stung my face, turning my cheeks a soft shade of red. I donned my snowshoes again and worked my way up farther, but was tiring fast as I quickly got passed by a man that obviously knew how to climb and had the physical conditioning to do so. No poles, snowshoes still on his pack, wearing no gaiters, he said hello with a large smile and was quite personable.
I snapped another photo and trudged on. Just then two more people passed me, one being Mike. Mike was from Chicago and had only lived in the Portland Metro area for a couple years. We all continued together until Mike's friend gained a little distance from us. I huddled to a nearby rock to escape the wind for a moment as it was turning my fingers numb. I donned my mountaineering gloves while trying to wriggle my toes to see how badly they had been frozen. The temperature, later calculated, was around -10 including wind chill.
I sat for a few minutes with my back to the wind. I turned my head and watched the others try to work their way up the ridge. The difficulty they were having with the wind led me to decide it was time for a retreat. I was tired and still 1200 feet from the summit. Although the last 1200 feet was the easiest, not having any rocks or obstacles, I wondered how tired I would be after the final push as there was still a lot of careful, tedious work ahead of me. I knew the descent down would be no faster than the climb up as every step had to be a calculated move. Last spring I would just plunge step my way down the parts I could not glissade. Now, neither one was possible.
Carefully I worked my way down into the white out. I could sometimes hear voices in the mist, but could not tell where they were coming from. At 4200 feet, the only climber to make it to the top stopped on his way down as we chatted for a couple minutes. He just moved from Alaska and could understand the reasons for my decision to turn around as he was right in saying, "one is supposed to enjoy it and if you are not having fun, something is wrong". As he took off at an astonishing speed, I was back on the trail and was passed by Mike's friend on skis. Mike was not far behind as he caught up to me, explaining their reasons for turning back were similar to mine. We talked all the way back to the parking lot, making great time. As much as I have lost over the last couple months, this trip reminded me of how much is out there if one longs to find it.
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