IBEXtrax.com - Cascade Mountains of Washington State Alpine Lakes Wilderness

Mount Stuart - first attempt

16 August 1975

I was with Paul in his blue Valiant when we pulled up to the Mountaineer Creek trailhead. We quickly packed, and then started up the dusty trail. The weather was clear, but not too hot. On a rocky knoll after a short rise, we found a young man playing a clarinet. We stopped to listen as I taped my feet. Just beyond the Colchuck Lake cut off, the trail entered an open flat. The jagged peaks to the south looked exciting. Just before the trail started switchbacking toward Stuart Lake, we jumped off the trail to the left, and then cross the creek on a log. The guide said, "open forest", but we found many windfalls. We followed a sometimes visible climbers trail as we hiked along the west side of Mountaineer Creek. Upon reaching the west fork, we climbed up the steep slope. We took a long rest after fighting a maze of fresh windfalls. Our route continued up into the upper valley, and then through a brushy meadow.

The plants that grew in the meadow, had fake berries growing out of their leaves. We pitched Paul's tent on a grassy spot surrounded by large boulders. At sunset the Ice Cliff Glacier came alive. The thundering sound of falling ice echoed around the valley.

We slept in and then got a late start. We put everything in a duffel bag, and then lugged it up the moraine to the base of Mount Stuart's North Ridge. We met two climbers with the dog. We climbed up to the slabs on the lower north face. It didn't take long for me to decide that the lower north ridge was too hard. We decided to climb up to the mid ridge notch via the Stuart Glacier. As we wove through the lower crevasses, I notice the threatening clouds. We stopped to look at what we thought was Stuart lake, and then watched the gathering clouds. The clouds continue to thicken. So, we decided to go back down. After taking off our crampons, we glissaded down the glacier. We saw one of the other climbers yodel from the top of an impressive spire; over on Mountaineer Ridge. I wanted to do some bouldering, so Paul belayed as I played with a small face. After I was satisfied, we went down and broke camp.

We went back down the valley, and then contoured around upper Mountaineer Creek. The bugs tried to harass us as we climbed up from the bottleneck. Above the narrow corridor, the terrain open up into a snow covered cirque. To the left was the shoulder of Argonaut Peak, and to the right rose the northeast face a Sherpa Peak. I spotted the balanced rock on the top of Sherpa Peak. The view faded in and out amidst threatening clouds. We pitched the tent on a heather slope, and arranged big rocks at the foot of the tent to keep from sliding down hill. We crawled into the tent as it started to rain. We cooked dinner over Sterno fuel. We ate and then dozed. It rained most of the night.

When I awoke, I looked out of the tent, and saw that the peaks were still socked in. So, we packed out in the rain and mist. Below the bottleneck, the mist thinned and the sun poked through. We picked up the climbers trail, and then followed it down Mountaineer Creek. We eventually lost the trail as we neared the swamp. So, we had to bushwhack around the border of the swamp. Paul and I chose separate logs as we crossed the creek. Back on the trail, we quickly buzzed on down to the car. At the parking lot, we found that Paul's car had been vandalized.

The Mountain of a thousand thrills

23 August 1976

I had tried to climb The North Ridge of Mount Stuart twice before, but I blamed bad weather for my lack of success. The truth was, when I was confronted with the ominous ridge, I would look diligently for an excuse not to climb. In August of 75 my brother Paul and I briefly explored the North Ridge. Then in August a 76 John and I found the Ice Cliff Hilton and then climbed a 7,200 feet on The North Ridge before turning back due to wet rock and un-confessed fear. Two weeks after John and I made the second attempt, we planned to try again. Chris H showed up in time to accept an invitation, and that made it a threesome. We left Juanita later than was planned. I napped in the car until we stopped to eat at the Holiday Inn in Monroe. Then I slept some more after breakfast to fight off the "Second shift at Boeing" sleep deprivation.

The weather was good as we rumbled up the washboard surface of Eightmile Creek Road to the Mountaineer Creek trailhead. Soon after we left the car, where the trail crosses Mountaineer Creek, we met a church group who had been downhill skiing on Little Annapurna. I led up the switchbacks and continued non-stop past the Colchuck Lake trail junction. After a quick sip of water at the pool above the juncture, we continue to hike until we reach the meadow. We stopped in the meadows to rest, eat and taken the view. We followed the trail to the first switchbacked, and then left the trail to cross the creek on the same log Paul and I had used the year before. We climbed over a few open knolls and then detoured around a maze of "pickup trees". We found a sometimes confusing path close to the creek, and then played a fast moving game of "pick your own route". The lead man had the disadvantage, so the lead was changed frequently. We stopped near the creek forks and then ate crackers smothered with a peanut butter, brown sugar, and honey mixture that we descriptively named dog shit.

Instead of staying close to the creek, we decided to make the high traverse. The traverse involved a few blow downs, but it turned out to be a shortcut. John and I stopped at the edge of the rock slide that fell from the upper valley of the west fork of Mountaineer Creek. John cross the slide and disappeared into the trees of the upper valley. I hung back and watched for Chris, but soon I too moved up. As I followed the familiar route near the creek, I heard Chris yelled down from above. I caught up with John and we waited for Chris. While John killed bugs, I smoked a Top cigarette, and we both waited for Chris to come down.

As Chris arrived, I notice that my sunglasses had fallen from my shirt pocket. So I went back to search for them. I didn't find them until I had given up and was starting back. It looked like I had stepped on my only pair of sunglasses. I straightened the temples and then put the glasses back on as the last raise of sun left the valley. We detoured around the west side of the bug infested "Bush Berry" patch that sat at the head of the valley. The detour involved some tricky tree moves and scrambling on large blocks. As we ascended, talus gave way to scree and then clumps of small flowers. As we gain the upper moraine at the outlet, I saw John almost to the Ice Cliff Hilton. I hurried on. I took quite a few rest stops to admire the improving view, but primarily I just stopped to catch my breath.

I reached the Hilton after Chris. The Ice Cliff Hilton is a rock wall bivouac site that is partially protected by a huge overhanging boulder. John and I called it the Ice Cliff Hilton because of its close proximity to the broken blue snout of the Ice Cliff Glacier. The Hilton sits on a slight rock rib and a few hundred feet below the start of the North Ridge route. We sat around and watched the wispy clouds float by. Occasionally the restful cloud watching was interrupted but the loud, crashing ice fall from the glacier. We decided not to set the tarp. Dinner was prepared by candlelight. We slept head to foot. I traded places with Chris during the night to let him continue his downhill roll. Chris and I didn't bring sleeping bags but we slept warm in our down coats and pants.

It was clear in the morning. We sat and waited for the sun to reach the Hilton before we got up. After we ate one of John's breakfasts, we packed our gear. "Well this was it", I thought. I couldn't use the weather for an excuse to turn back. I kicked steps up the snow slope in my new boots. The souls were softer than I was use to. So, I felt uncomfortable as we moved into the shade of The North Ridge. The snow was hard and as we passed between two cracks, the conversation turned to; "Let's get off this icy, hard snow". "This is actually rock climbing isn't it?"

I led over to a gravel covered ledge, where we roped up. I changed into my PA climbing shoes. The first lead was fun friction climbing that ended just below the main ledge that John and I had previously explored. John came up and climbed past me to the main ledge. I continue to belay as Chris came up past me. I gave Chris directions as he climbed above me. After we scrambled up the main ledge, we regrouped at the base of the open book that John and I had turned back on. I remember the previous wetness. But now, even though the rock in the open book was dry, it didn't look easy.

At first I climbed up into the open book with my pack on, But after I unsuccessfully tried to muscle over a bulge, I took my pack off. I hung my pack by a chock, and then climbed over the bulge by grunting, sliding, leg jamming, and a pull-up. I set up a belay on a pile of loose blocks and then took in the rope as John scaled the bulge with full pack. I hauled my pack as John belayed Chris. The three of us sat in a maze of slings on the small crowded ledge.

Next Chris set a piton belay and then I moved right on small holds without my pack. I traversed a small sloping ledge and then found a fixed pin just below a spacious ledge. Access to the big ledge was found via a delicate balance step-up to friction, and then a jam crack. Once on the big ledge, I belayed John while he cleaned the pitch. I set up a complicated looking hauling system and then pulled up the first pack with much effort. John hauled up the other two packs before Chris came up.

I led up the left side of the ledge to a dead end before I took a tension traverse to the right. I slowly picked my way up between small ledges. I was slightly shaken after a delicate step-up and dropped a carabiner. I didn't feel like taking any unnecessary risks. So, I felt out all the possibilities. I placed a sling on a protruding block. I thought about doing a pull up, but I swung around instead. I had tied my boots to the top of my pack. But they came loose and kept kicking me in the helmet. After another tricky step-up, I moved right onto easier ground. The rope drag was almost unbearable by the time I reached the end of the ledge system. I pounded in a knife blade piton into a dirty crack before I move left onto small face holds. After a few more delicate moves, I came to the end of the rope. I yelled for slack. It was too hard to climb back down. Just five feet higher was a small sandy belay niche. I stood on small holds and kept yelling for slack. I finally reached the dirty niche and rigged a piton anchor belay. John move past me and climbed to the ridge crest. I moved up and join John on the ridge crest. John had been belaying for an hour and a half while I was struggling with the last lead. He said he didn't want to belay Chris, but he did. We ate chocolate and then I used my camera while Chris came up.

I unsuccessfully tried to force a direct route up a friction ledge before I backed down. The alternate route followed an easy tree covered ledge to traverse east of the ridge crest. I ran out of rope in a mosquito infested spruce thicket and then yelled for John to come over. I was surprised to hear an almost perfect echo from the sheer granite wall that rose across the Ice Cliff Glacier. John came over and continued up a gully that climbed toward the ridge crest. When Chris arrived, I followed John up some class three rock. After I stopped to belay Chris, the three of us scrambled up together over easy ground. Once we reached the ridge crest, we moved around a blind corner and then found a spacious but exposed ledge that held a single small evergreen. Chris belayed from the tree and John led up a steep dihedral. The lead ended in a rocky hollow that sat under a large roof.

Chris accepted the next lead and John belay. Chris climbed around a large block and then moved out of sight as the sun started to set. I relieve John on the belay as Chris stalled and the rope stop paying out. After a time, Chris backed down with the aid of an angle piton and my belay. I knew we must be close to the mid ridge notch were the guide told of an often used bivouac site. So, I started up to the left of Chris's line. Chris tried to convince me that it was too dangerous in the failing light. But, I had set my mind to reaching the mid ridge notch before dark. John's over riding vote silenced Chris.

The rope was pulled through the abandoned pin and then Chris jammed himself into a body width crack to belay me. With the protection of a number ten hexentrlc chock, I did a strenuous mantle on to a larger sloping block. A few moves above the block the route veered right following a line of cracks. After pounding in a pin at the base of the short open book, I frictioned up to follow the next set of rightward leading cracks. A good placement of a number seven stopper gave me enough confidence to move through a delicate hand jam step across without delay. Another pin in an open book brought me up to a vertical step. With the PA climbing shoes smeared onto two small holds and my cheek crushing lichen to maintain the tricky balance, I manage to loop a nylon sling around a sturdy rock horn that sat just beyond the reach of my left hand. After two encouraging tugs on the newly place sling, I leaned left and inched my fingers around the horn. My body position was so delicate that it dictated the point of no return. So, I leapt from my small footholds and swung past the rock horn. Soon I stood up on a small platform and faced a shallow dirt filled crack. The obstinate vertical crack refuse to accept a single peace of my protective hardware. So, I promptly inform the dirty little crack that it was dark, it was insane, and that I was going down. The dirty crack seemed unable to rebut such obvious facts.

I swung back down around the rock horn to the small holds below the step. From that precarious position, I untied the rope from my harness, and then with literally blind confidence, tied a bowline knot to encircle the horn slung sling for a repel anchor. After I rigged a carabineer break, I called down to Chris to relieve him of his belaying duties. I cleaned the pitch by Braille and then I repelled down the fixed line. The rope turned out to be exactly the right length, as I found out when a reached the rock hollow. Chris gladly left the uncomfortable body jam he had so unwillingly occupied.

John, Chris, and I went to work as a team and fabricated a rock platform that evolved into a masterpiece of masonry. John's nylon tarp was set over the top to crown our bivouac site. As we scraped the pudding from our cups and completed that filling meal, it became ridiculously evident that we were surrounded with luxuries. It was more like camping than climbing. "Yah", John said. "Some people go camping in campgrounds in the mountains. But, we go camping on the mountains." We again slept head to foot to efficiently use our close quarters. Chris was on the outside edge. So, he tied himself in. The sleep went well except for the occasional flap of the tarp and an annoying midnight rodent raid.

The morning weather was a high overcast that was drifting in from the south. The last of the water was used during breakfast that John prepared. I climbed up the fix line using the Jumar self belay. After retrieving the angle piton that Chris had left, I attempted to climb the crack the Chris had backed off. But, soon I pendulum to the left and then followed my route to the highest open book below the rock horn. When John came up, his modest talk of a difficult crack couldn't camouflage his wide eyed excitement. When Chris arrive, we drop down to the right to eat snow. I climbed above John's belay into a blocky slot to the left of the rock horn. After I flipped the sling and did a few go-for-it pull ups, I ran out the rope over easy ground.

John took the next lead, while I belayed from a small tree. John took his time to set good protection before we stopped on a large ledge to belay. I climbed up and belayed Chris. After Chris arrived, John led to the left, and then up into a steep chute. A period of time pass, before John backed down from the dead end he found. I took a turn and chose the next chute over and soon I popped over the crest to see the mid ridge notch level on my right side. There were some bivouac sites across a snow filled couloir that led to the notch. Chris came up and then came John, before we drop to the snow via an awkward boulder move. John soon had his pan under the snow drip as Chris yelled down from the notch to tell of good tarp sites on the other side of the notch. John and I moved over to meet Chris and occupied the best spot.

I fired up the stove and started melting snow while Chris and John went over to climb a prominent point that stood west of the notch. I scrambled over to the point between snow melts. We decided not to climb higher that day, partially due to the threatening overcast sky, but mainly due to the lateness of the day. We all went to work making water: Chris melted snow on his poncho; John searched out a healthy drip; and I use the stove. I sewed the sleeve on my shirt and eagerly helped Chris drink his Lipton ice tea. Chris and I returned to the rock point to sit in the late afternoon sun. With the help of a photo copy of the guide, we located the upper climbing route and then traced it up into the clouds that were descending on the summit of Mount Stuart. Back at the mid ridge notch, we did some entertaining bouldering and filled all the water containers. While fixing the sleeping platform by moving a few big rocks, John got a chance to practice first aid when I found a finger eating rock. After the tarp was set, John and Chris made rock walls and a door. After dinner we let the candle burn down before we went to sleep.

The morning weather was still threatening rain, my finger was swollen and the upper section of the ridge looked really hard. So, we decided to pack up and then pack out around Lake Stuart. I noticed that my altimeter was missing during breakfast, and by the time I finished packing, I had pronounced it officially lost. While waiting for my companions to finish packing, I climb the point immediately north of the notch. While climbing back down off the small summit, a short volley of rain confirmed our early morning weather predictions.

On the descent from the North Ridge Notch, we descended a steep gully with two long repels. When I repelled off the end of the rope I ran ahead down some very loose rock. I waited at the edge of the Stuart glacier, and hid around a corner away from the falling rock. Soon after a few bounding boulders came screaming past me, I decided to move out on the Stuart Glacier to get farther away from the unintentional bombardment. "Should we stay roped up to cross the glacier?", I thought. Instead of answering, I chopped steps down a short steep traverse that crossed above a deep blue chasm. Past the tricky traverse, I hurried out on the flat part of the glacier, and quickly reached a small section of steep talus on the west side of the glacier. I felt insecure in my new soft boots as I crossed a small ice patch.

On an old lateral moraine at the edge of the glacier I waited for John. After John scrambled over the top of the moraine, we glissaded down the snow slope. John was having trouble with his Royal Robins rock climbing shoes he was wearing. He slipped and then arrested. We wondered what was taking Chris so long to catch up. Then I agreed with John when he said, "Chris must not be use to snow travel." We plunged over to a wide gap and waited for Chris.

Eventually Chris appeared at the top of the moraine. So, John and I pushed off at the top of a long snow band. John and I gleefully glissaded down the slope. We each occasionally crossed the boundary of reasonable control and fell a few times. Chris came down under control with the help of his long ice axe. The snow ended in a maze of large boulders where many marmots whistled at our approach. We rested on a small alp and swatted large quantities of mosquitoes.

We drop down and crossed an aging avalanche fan. Soon after leaving the snow, we picked out the faint trail that led down the valley. We dropped below some glacial polished slabs before we separated to navigate some easy brush. I emerged from a vine maple thicket to find John and a well trodden climbers path. We rested at the head of a large meadow where I rolled and smoked. Then John went ahead while I tightened my boots. Chris and I moved out together, but soon Chris past me. The trail skirted a marsh were the route was a compromise between mud and windfalls. The trail improved in the trees at the end of the marsh. There were many tents at Stuart lake. I caught up with Chris where multiple trails parallel the lake.

We found John at a picnic table near the outlet of the lake. The stove was lit and a large meal was prepared. While we ate we talked with a middle aged man with a dog. He said he saw us cross the Stuart Glacier. A young fisher-boy walked by and confessed his poor luck. During a brief rain shower we escaped a wetting by merely stepping under a healthy thick evergreen tree.

We drop down the switchbacks below the lake and maintained a brisk pace down the trail. After two short water stops and seemingly endless foot pounding, we reached the parking lot and were relieved to find no vandalism.

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