IBEXtrax.com - Cascade Mountains of Washington State Gifford Pinchot Forest

Mount St Helens

7 February 1976

Jim K was back in Seattle. He called me after I returned from a too windy weekend attempting Mount Rainier again. When I told him how smooth the Nisqually Ice Chute looked, he was up for a winter ascent of Mount Rainier. A few days before our planned departure for Mount Rainier Park, Jim called to tell me that the trip to Rainier was postponed. The new plan was to go with Max J and friends, for an annual pilgrimage to climb Mount St Helens. I gladly accepted the invitation.

I had been assigned to work second shift at Boeing. So, when I got home after midnight on Friday, Jim came by to pick me up. I threw my pack in the back of Jim's Mustang, and then we headed south toward the Guardians of the Columbia. On the five hour drive from Juanita to the Timberline parking lot, I tried to pick up a few hours of sleep, but it was hard to sleep. When we reach Timberline, we grabbed an hour and half rest before the sun came up.

It was so icy that crampons were used directly from the parking lot. Our five person party strolled up from a parking lot in bright sunny weather. As we climbed toward the Dog's Head, I noticed that I was out of breath and sucking air, while the others were strolling and gabbing. I was glad that my crampons were sharp, for the snow was covered with a hard, thick icy crust.

At the base of the prominent bulge called the Dog's Head, we stopped to rope up. After tying-in, I led out onto the Forsyth Glacier with Jim, then Max, all tied into my new nine millimeter Eldrid rope. The other rope connected Glen and Birdy, and they fell in behind. My crampons bit well as I use the French technique on the steepening glacier. It was a typically busy weekend; the mountain was dotted with many climbing parties.

Halfway up the Forsyth Glacier someone hinted for a rest. So, I cut over to a flat spot on the broken Forsyth Glacier. Jim pulled out an Insolite pad, but before he could sit on it, the pad slid over the edge and disappeared into a crevasse. I received slight harassment from the peanut section regarding my technique as I used an Ice axe belay while Jim looked over the edge for his runaway pad. I used my small Tele-Instamatic camera to capture a few fuzzy flicks before continuing to lead on up the glacier.

Another party was climbing to the left of us where the glacier was more broken. The leader was clawing up a short steep ice pitch. Jim liked what he saw and was for going over to do the steep ice pitch. However, I declined to lead on the steep ice. I continued up to the right, and broke into switchbacks as the slopes steepened. Max and Jim followed me indirectly by climbing straight up across my tracks. I traversed right past a few wands that marked the route around the bergschrund. Once on the upper slopes, we encountered six to eight inch tall ice pillars (nieve penitents). They were slanting toward the mid day sun. I switched out across the nieve penitents. But, when Max cut straight up, the rope was soon tangled. I finally got the point and led straight for the false summit. On the long snow trudge over the false summit, Max pulled me to a stop a few times to remind me they were still on the steep part.

We unroped after reaching the crater, and then Jim headed over to check out the Upper Shoestring Glacier. I tried to follow, but the effects of the altitude slowed by pace. I cut over to the summit and met Jim who was talking with other climbers. The chilling southerly wind persuaded me to sit in the lee of the summit and soak up the sun. A few yards below us sat a party of three. An attractive blonde joked about getting back home and bragging about their winter ascent of Mount Saint Helens. The joke was that it was a beautiful day and the conditions were very much like summer. I wandered back to the false summit and then ate my summit strawberries to keep up the tradition. Jim had planned for going down early so we could camp at the base of the Shoestring Glacier. So, we roped up and started down the Dog's Head route.

I led down initially at a fast pace. However, much care was needed to negotiate the steep ice. The thigh muscles in my legs began to smart from the over exertion. So, I went out of my way to descend in the few softer snow patches. The pain in my legs soon became too much. So, we took a short rest, just above the Dog's Head.

As we jogged over the top of the Dog's Head, I felt a blister coming on. My hopes for a nice easy long glissade down the Dogs Head were filed away because the slope was a tilted plate of hard steep ice. The blister on my toe started to bother me more and more. So, I set my sights on a rock outcrop for an inspection of my foot. Jim tripped, yelled falling, and I quickly dropped into an arrest position. I immediately jumped down on top of my axe, dug in my crampons and prepared for the jolt of Jim's weight on the rope. An awkward moment passed before I looked around to see that Jim had been successful with his fast self arrest. I began to complain more and more about my toe and my aching legs. Jim seemed to be disgusted with me. So, we unroped, and soon Jim was a tiny speck in the distance.

I used long gliding switchbacks to descend. My brakes were completely burned out. As I neared the parking lot, I tried to descend without crampons. But, it was as slick as ice. I began to wonder if I was ever going to make it back to the car that day. I finally did make it to the parking lot by sliding on my haunches down an inter tube track.

Jim was excited about climbing the Shoestring Glacier route. But, it took him a long time to eventually persuade me into going. Finally Jim and I packed overnight gear and then ground across the snow free parking lot while wearing our crampons. Two Hippy types drove up in a Volkswagen bus and offered us a summit smoke after inquiring about our plans. It was a long slow trudge to Windy Pass. However, My sore legs felt better after we got going. Many snowmobile tracks could be seen crisscrossing back and forth across the mountain; as far as the eye could see. Near Windy Pass we met two Around-the-Mountain trekkers that did not have crampons. At first they seemed lost and then thanked us for the directions to the parking lot. As we drop down off Windy Pass and onto Abraham Flats, my legs started feeling a lot better.

Jim and I hiked into the dusk before we chose a tent site. As we set the tent, I noticed a light on the right, descending the Dog's Head route. I thought it strange for someone to be still up on the mountain that late at night. I then saw someone climbing on the skyline to the left. But, Jim thought it was a tree. I made Jim watch until it moved and then he was sure it was a Sasquatch. I felt intrigued due to our close proximity to the fabled Ape Canyon. We set the tent on an almost level spot on the ice, and then we cooked dinner that was to large for me to eat. As we were trying to finish the meal, a man came by with information and questions. The information was that he was searching for three friends that were last seen falling from the false summit. Jim and I had not seen three climbers. Another searcher came by on a snowmobile and he said that he had had no success in finding the missing climbers. As Jim and I hit the sack, we consoled ourselves with the thought that the missing climbers were probably spending the night down in the tree line. It was hard to get to sleep due to the tragic thought of injured climbers nearby.

Jim woke me at dawn and then we quickly ate a light breakfast. The decision was made to take only one pack. So, I loaded my Millet Sac. Jim was attired with all the technical ice gear and he said that he felt like a jingling gypsy. We left the tent standing and then started a climbing traverse toward the Shoestring Glacier. We passed through an area of recent rock and ice fall. I thought it looked like thermal activity. As the slopes steepened Jim pulled ahead and I broke into switchbacks. Off to the east I notice the clouds that were slowly descending on Mount Adams.

As I was about to break over the ridge crest, a M.A.S.T. helicopter flew close overhead on a landing approach. I climbed over the ridge and then I noticed a group of people in the rocks below. Search and Rescue climbers were lowering three bodies down the ice chute using many ropes and pulleys. I didn't have to ask the question; as I could see that we had found the fallen climbers. The sight made me feel squeamish. I gawked at the deformed bodies that had obvious shattered legs. Where skin was exposed it was scraped off to the bone. I saw the mutilated face and bloods streaked blond hair of the attractive girl I had heard joking on the summit. I felt sick and I had to sit down. Besides the half dozen Search and Rescue people, there were too tired looking climbers who had spent the night with their dieing companions. I overheard one of the upset climbers say that he had followed the trail of blood from the false summit.

Jim and I didn't feel like climbing any more. So, we helped the Search and Rescue people move the bodies to the helicopter pickup point. I had to pull the wool hat over the dead girls face because I couldn't stand to look at it. I thought it strange that the Search and Rescue people didn't use the body bags to slide the bodies down the abrasive ice. There was a delicate balance between getting the job done and showing respect for the mourning companions. Just before the helicopter was ordered up from Timberline, the body bags were used. They used two helicopters for the evacuation.

Jim and I watched from a distance as the last helicopter lifted into the windy gray sky. The weather was quickly deteriorating and Mount Adams was soon completely obscured by clouds. Jim and I traveled back to the tent and then packed up. The wind came up to a steady howl and then the snow started to fall. As we policed the tent site for litter, Jim tried to joke with one of his famous sayings; "take only pictures and leave only urine". But he only got an abrupt forced laugh from me.

By the time we reached Windy Pass, the visibility had dropped to less than one hundred feet. With the wind driven sleet at our backs, we started down in the direction of the parking lot at Timberline. It took compass and altimeter before we spotted the parking lot. It felt good to sit in the car, protected from the ferocious storm that rocked the car back and forth. We drove down to Spirit Lake Ranger Station to sign out at the climbers register. Then in solemn silence, we followed the monotonous ribbon of concrete 5 hours north to Seattle. I never returned to Mount St Helens ever again.

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