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IBEXtrax.com - Cascade Mountains of Washington StateWhite Chuck Roadless, Mt Baker-Snoqualmie Forest |
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My brother and I took the left turn after Dead Duck Creek and then drove up the steep switchbacks that climbed out of the valley of the White Chuck River. Part way up the narrow track to Rat Trap Pass, we had to roll a 200 pound boulder off the road in order to pass by. We watched with delinquent delight as the big rock crashed down the slope. The gleeful excitement was due to the rare occasion that a climber gets to purposely create rock fall. Ironically, the huge boulder stopped with a thud in the middle of the switchback below. We knew we would have to move it again on the way out, but that was later as we had a mountain to climb.
As we left the car at Rat Trap Pass and strode off with determination to fight the thick brush, a multi axel flat bed truck rumbled into the pass. The big truck had come up the Suiattle side to drop off a few dozen buzzing beehives. With a renewed haste, we quickly pushed up through the scrub slide alder and then put some distance between the swarming white boxes below and the jingle-jangle of climbing gear that swung around our necks.
Soon we passed the outlet of Thornton Lake and then climbed the steep between the White Chuck Lakes. Stacks of avalanche debris lined the shallow lakes wild shoreline. It was messy but pristine. Onward we toiled up more brush, then loose talus and finally steep snow. It had taken most of the morning to do the approach. But at last, we stood at the base of White Chuck's East Face.
The East Face of White Chuck Mountain loomed above us with a neck raking height. The green-schist rock was now in the shadows, making it even more ominous. The obvious crease that slashed across the shear facing walls looked doable and was rated five eight. However, before we could get at the broken rock of the couloir, we had to deal with the moat.
The moat was an eight to ten foot gap between the steep rock wall and the icy hard late season snow. We both bellied-up to the sharp snow lip, and then peered wide eyed into the seemingly bottomless chasm. An off hand yet ingenious plan was conceived for the leader to be lowered down to reach the cold dark rock, and then the first would climb up to belay while the second jumped the gaping moat.
"I'll let you go first," I said; sounding my most polite.
"That's OK. Go ahead," was the gracious but strategic reply.
"I don't want to hoard all the fun," and then I reasoned: "Besides, jumping the moat will be the tricky part."
While I hacked-out a three foot diameter bollard to belay my fearless leader, I heard the flutter of a high speed bird fly by. I had heard that sound before and on occasion seen hummingbirds zoom through a few high alpine passes. Then another hummingbird flew fluttering past between us. They do travel in groups; you know. The third hummingbird crashed into the side of my climbing helmet and whipped my head to the side. This is when, I finally noticed that the snow was speckled from rock fall. "Those aren't hummingbirds; you dummy," I thought to myself.
With that conclusion, we turned in unison to face each other, and then both recited with an uncanny synchronized cadence, "I don't think so." Then, like a pair of fleeing rodents, we hurriedly scampered down the mountain with tails between our legs, to the relative safety of Rat Trap Pass. We agreed it would be better to deal with swarms of aggravated bees, than to be bombarded with deadly whirling rock fall; even if the rocks were disguised as harmless hummingbirds.
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