Colorado for July 4th

My brother, Trey, and I went to Colorado for the 4th of July. Since it was just the two of us, we decided to pack in as much fun as we could. We arrived very late on the evening of the third and it took us til almost three am to get groceries, get to the cabin, and get the cabin opened (turn on the gas and water). We spent the 4th in Georgetown, a small mountain town two miles from where the cabin is, at their parade and barbeque. Because of the very dry conditions, there were state-wide fire and fireworks bans, so we didn't get to see any fireworks. Instead, we went for a hike above the cabin. I taught Trey my single rope climbing and rappelling system and we practiced rappelling down some cliffs near the cabin. It was a successful day and set us up for the rest of the week.

On Thursday morning we loaded the Ford Fiesta rental car with all of our camping and fishing gear and set off deeper into the mountains. When we stopped at a fly fishing shop to buy fishing licenses and mentioned our planned destination, one of the guides told us that when he went to Boulder Lake last year, he "didn't see a single fish." Trey and I were a little dumbfounded about what to do, as our plans for the next two days had been instantly shot down. Luckily, the guy that had just sold us our fishing licenses was a local and had a great recommendation for a place we could go hiking, fishing, and camping and as a bonus, do a little off-roading in our Fiesta.

The salesman sent us to Mohawk lakes. The Mohawk Lakes are a series of pristine alpine lakes that lie in a valley just above tree line. After some pretty sketchy road conditions and passing many larger vehicles in our little rental car, we made it to the parking area for the Mohawk Lakes trailhead. Trey and I claimed our camping spot, then hiked up the trail, with a goal of exploring the area that we would be fishing the next day. We brought our ropes and climbing gear with us, just in case we found anything to rappel down. The many hikers we passed on their way down the trail assured us that there were tons of great places (though the park ranger we passed questioned us, and informed us it wasn't a great area for climbing and rappelling). After a short hike through the woods, we got our first glimpse of the series of waterfalls that cut straight down the steep valley we would soon be climbing.

We did pass another two guys that had climbing gear, who informed us that the rappelling was indeed great, that they'd just rappelled down through the waterfalls, at one point hanging behind one. Of course, being fed by alpine lakes, the water is near freezing and they had used wetsuits, something Trey and I were unprepared for.

When we got closer to the waterfalls, though, we knew why the fishing shop guide had repeatedly asked us if we'd brought our cameras. The views were gorgeous. My pictures don't even begin to do this area justice.



After gaining 1000 feet over a two mile hike, we made it two the first Mohawk Lake, a shallow alpine like right at tree line. It is a gorgeous lake, and I plan on returning to camp there one day (there were many people camping and fishing on the lake by the time we arrived mid-afternoon).

There were breathtaking vistas in every direction. Check out many more pictures and panoramas on my flickr page (and see the larger versions).

It was late in the afternoon, but the weather was still good, so Trey and I decided to do some rappelling. We found a small cliff above a couple of small abandoned mines and set up our rope. I used my GoPro to take some videos of Trey rappelling, but unfortunately, the moisture in the camera housing had condensed and pretty much ruined the video. At any rate, here's a video of Trey rappelling down the cliff.

There was a neat crack running up the face and Trey decided to try and climb it. I set up a belay from on top of the cliff and despite his less than ideal boots, he made a successful attempt on it. It doesn't look like much in the videos, but it was a 25 foot cliff.



Just as Trey made it to the top of the cliff, we heard thunder on the other side of the ridge and had to make a hasty getaway down the mountain. Luckily, we made it down the mountain with little more than a few rain drops.

Dinner that evening proved to be another challenge. We'd brought hot dogs, baked beans, and a Coleman stove (we didn't bring real meat because of the fire ban). By the time we made it back to camp, Trey and I were both starving, and ready for a warm meal. Upon assembling the gas stove, however, I noticed the O-ring on the gas tank adapter was very cracked and dry. The first attempt to light the stove sent a large fireball right at my face. We tried a couple more times to light only the furthest burner from the leaking O-ring, but each time, the leaking gas eventually made it to the lit burner, igniting and making a secondary flame under the stove. Without a spare O-ring, it looked like we were going to be eating more PB&J sandwiches.

But we didn't give up without a fight. I carry dental floss in the emergency kit of my backpack and decided the waxy floss might suffice as a makeshift O-ring. I removed the dried, old O-ring and wrapped the O-ring track with dental floss until it protruded from the connector about as much as the O-ring had. I carefully slid the adapter back into the stove and crossed my fingers. After connecting the gas tank, we couldn't hear any gas leaking (when we hooked the tank up before, we could hear the gas hissing out). It turns out that dental floss makes a great O-ring in a pinch, and we were able to use the stove for the next two days with no problems. It's a good thing, too, because cold oatmeal didn't sound appetizing.

The next morning dawned warm and clear. We grabbed our fishing rods and set off, back up the trail to the Mohawk Lakes.


We stopped only briefly to admire the first, shallowest lake, then continued up to the next lake, higher than we had hiked the previous afternoon. Our goal was the first of the upper Mohawk Lakes; a deep alpine lake that supposedly held large fish for the taking. With determination, we cast our lines, willing the fish to bite onto the flies tied to the ends. The fish, however were completely oblivious to our flies, and we caught only one measly five inch fish in the two hours we spent ate the lake. The story remained the same as we spent the next couple of hours hiking to progressively higher alpine lakes. We could see the fish, but they wouldn't bite our lines. After spending an hour at the highest of the lakes and again watching the fish glide apathetically by our lures, we decided to head back down the mountain, stopping at each of the lakes one more time to try our luck.

When we arrived at the inlet of the second highest Mohawk Lake, we finally found what we were looking for. We'd found a spot where the fish were practically jumping out of the water to bite our flies. Withing two minutes of arriving at the lake, both of our fishing lines had been broken by aggressive fish (we were only using 5lb leader). As we were tying on new flies, we heard the thunder. This time, we could see the storm rolling through the valley perpendicular to ours. It was a tough decision; stay and finally catch the fish we'd been searching for all day and risk getting caught above tree line in a storm, or get down the mountain, having only caught two fish the entire day. A loud roar of thunder made the decision for us and we packed our poles, once again hurrying down the mountain to a safer elevation. We stopped to fish a lower lake, but again had no luck.

By the time we got back to the car, it was raining steadily and we still had to pack up camp. We did so hastily, as I wasn't looking forward to the rough, wet road ahead in our little Ford Fiesta. Luckily, with only a few bumps and scrapes to the underside of the rental, we made it back to paved civilization.

Though this adventure hadn't proved to be quite what we thought it would and the fishing was less than stellar, we had a great time and thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of our surroundings. And the next two days would more than make up for the lack of adrenaline....

Practicing Single Rope Climbing

Over the past month, I've mostly been trying to climb Mt. Hood. The weather has been pretty bad, so I've only made it to the mountain once. The one time Ben and made it to the mountain since our first trip, we climbed about 500 vertical feet and the wind became so bad we turned around. The wind was gusting up to 40 mph and blowing hard snow and ice crystals, driving them into our faces. We decided to scrap that trip and try again later. Unfortunately, we haven't had good enough weather to try again.

I've added another piece of equipment to my single rope ascent/descent system, an ascender. In my previous post about rope climbing, I used a carabiner with a loop of rope in stead of a mechanical ascender. My new ascender makes the system easier to use, more versatile, and much quicker for climbing rope. Here's a picture of my ascender (a Black Diamond nForce Ascender) and my descender (a Petzl Grigri).


And a short video of me using it.

Mt. Hood Practice Climb

Friday, the 18th,  I set off with a friend I met through climb school for a practice climb on Mt. Hood. Our plan was to leave Portland after work, climb part way up Mt. Hood Friday evening, camp on the Palmer snowfield, then wake up early Saturday morning and climb as high as we could. Neither of us had summited a technical peak before, so it was largely a practice and learning climb, and we weren't sure if we'd make a push for the summit, or not.

We arrived at Timberline Lodge (a historic lodge and ski area on Mt. Hood that is the starting point of the standard route up Mt. Hood), geared up, filled out our wilderness permit and were on our way up the mountain by eight o'clock. From the parking lot at an elevation of 5,800 feet, we had a two-and-a-half mile hike up a snow field to reach our planned camping elevation of 8,600 feet. This portion of the climb parallels the upper ski lifts of Timberline Ski Area. Hiking up a partially groomed trail made the hiking easier in plastic mountaineering boots and a 30lb pack. About halfway to camp, the sun was setting and we'd reached the less protected area of the mountain, where the wind was gusting up to 20 mph.


We stopped for our first break to put on shell jackets and warmer gloves. From there on up, each time I stopped for a Clif Bar, the wind swept every bit of heat I'd worked up off into the night, so as to constantly prod me to keep moving. In the darkness, it seemed as though we were walking aimlessly, never getting closer to our goal.

Finally, after a three hour slog, we made it to the top of the ski lift (no camping is allowed in the ski area, so we had to get above it and into the wilderness area before we could find a place to camp). By that time, it was after eleven o'clock, the wind was howling, and we were searching by headlamp for a place to camp that was protected from the wind. There wasn't one. The snow was frozen solid, so digging a snow cave was out of the question; all we could do was use our ice axes to level two spots in the snow for our sleeping pads. We knew the sky would stay clear and weren't planning on sleeping for long, so we opted not to pitch a tent and just sleep under the stars. That turned out to be a mistake. It was my first time sleeping under the stars, without a tent, and when I cinched the mummy sleeping bag tight around my face, all I could see was a pitch black sky with thousands of stars glowing against it. I even saw a shooting star. When I rolled to my right side, I could see the lights of the city glowing in the distance (Hood is by far the tallest mountain around Portland). It was definitely the best view I've ever fallen asleep to.

That was the last time I smiled all night. Despite having a base layer, softshell jacket, down vest, down sweater and hardshell jacket on, and being wrapped in a lofty, winter-weight down sleeping bag, I froze my ass off all night. Shortly after we climbed into our sleeping bags, the wind shifted directions and cut straight across my sleeping bag, easily blowing through the thin fabric of the bag. I estimate the overnight temperature to have been in the low twenties, with a wind chill near zero (I was too cold to reach out of my bag and check the thermometer on my watch).

When we woke up at 3 am and saw a string of lights from the headlamps of other climbers making their way up the mountain, neither Ben nor I had the slightest motivation to leave the relative warmth of our sleeping bags and put on freezing cold boots to get the early start we would need to reach the summit. I just cinched the draw string on the mummy bag tighter and turned my face away from the cold air pouring through the face hole in a vain attempt to get a little sleep.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sky started to lighten and the miserable night had ended. The prospect of sun gave me the motivation to slide my feet into freezing cold boots and leave the protection of my sleeping bag. Ben cooked breakfast (read: boiled water to heat up freeze dried meals) and by 7.30 am we were packed up and ready to continue our climb up the mountain. Here is our "camp" after the freezing cold night.


Helmets, harnesses, and crampons on and ice axes in hand, we began our trek toward the upper reaches of the mountain. The great weather meant there were dozens of other climbers on the mountain, so finding the route up was not difficult. The good weather and the hot breakfast helped to make our progress quick. By 10am, we'd climbed to over 10,000 feet, just over 1,000 feet below the summit.


We had decided by that time that it was too late in the day for us to attempt the summit. We could already see congestion near the top of the route and the sun had started to noticeably soften the snow (climbing becomes significantly more difficult in soft snow and the dangers of rockfall increase as the temperature increases). Despite knowing we weren't going to make the summit, we decided to climb another 500 hundred vertical feet to see some of the prominent features of the mountain.

We stopped just below the Devil's Kitchen for a rest (named for the hot, bare rock in the foreground, the steam venting from this fumarole lends a strong odor of sulfur to the air).

On the left side of this picture is the Hogsback, (a snow saddle that runs from one rim of the volcano to the other) where climbers gear up for the final summit push. That was our final destination for the day.

From our vantage point on the Hogsback (~10,500 feet), we could see dozens of climbers making their way up the last section before the summit (this congestion is one reason we opted not to push for the summit that late in the day: the large concentration of beginner climbers has caused accidents on Mt. Hood before). In this picture, you can see the route above us with lots of climbers heading toward the old chute.


After relaxing and enjoying our view from the Hogsback, We started to make our way down. When hiking 14ers in Colorado, I truly believe that going down is harder than hiking up. I found the opposite is true when it comes to climbing snowy peaks. Glissading (sitting on your butt and sliding down the mountain, using your ice axe as a brake) made the thousands of vertical feet we had climbed up in the past 13 hours rush by with little effort on the way down.

Despite the long, cold night and not reaching the summit, our climb was very successful in that I learned a lot. It was my first time walking with crampons, sleeping under the stars, and climbing on a glaciated peak. Ben and I also got to scout the route up the mountain and after learning from our mistakes, we'll be more prepared next time and are confident we'll reach the summit. I'm very excited to have a new hobby, as my climbing career is just beginning...

(as usual, the rest of the pictures are on flickr, and these are definitely worth checking out)

Climb School

Since I moved to the west coast, which is full of glaciated mountains, I decided to pursue a long time interest of mine; mountaineering. I signed up for a mountain climbing course several months ago through a local climbing club, the Santiam Alpine Club, and had been looking forward to it ever since. The first weekend of May was the outdoor portion of the climb school and was probably the most fun I've had since moving away from Colorado.

We camped along the Columbia River Friday night and woke up at 5.30 Saturday morning to get ready for the rock portion of the class.


At Horsethief Butte, we learned about rock climbing anchors, practiced belaying other climbers, practiced rappelling, and practiced many other climbing techniques. The day culminated with a 95 foot rappel from the top of Horsethief Butte (I brought my GoPro to film it, but unfortunately, the battery was dead). Here I am about to step off the edge.


And here I am rappelling down it.


We got to "sleep in" til 6.30 Sunday morning and after breakfast set off for Mt. Hood and a day on the snow.


We practiced walking on snow in rope teams, learned about snow anchors (such as a bollard, as seen on the Man vs. Wild episode with Will Ferrell), practiced catching a partner's fall while on a rope team, and at the end of the day, practiced self arresting if you fall and start sliding down a snow field. Here I am at the beginning of the day practicing walking with an ice axe (I'm on the far right).


One of the best things about the class is that I met a lot of people with similar interests. I've already done a practice climb part way up Mt. Hood with one of the people I met (more on that in the next post). The class has also opened up some other opportunities for me. I'm signed up for a glacier travel/crevasse rescue class and an ice climbing class later this year through the club.

Rope Climbing

I took full advantage of the great weather we had this weekend and started preparing for one of my future adventures. If you remember Matt Fuller's visit to Colorado in the summer of 2011 (check this post for a refresher), we spent most of our time exploring abandoned mines and the rest of our time working on an elaborate system to drop into a vertical mine shaft. To summarize, our system was unsuccessful and I only managed to drop about 20 feet down a 100 foot vertical shaft.

 

Ever since I climbed back out of that hole, I've been planning how to go back in it, but this time make it all the way to the bottom. Safely.

I finally started buying some of the equipment we'll need to safely explore the mine. Getting down the shaft is the easy part. It's getting out that requires some work. Here's a video of me practicing climbing up a rope hanging from my back porch. This particular rope climbing method is called the Yo-Yo system and is used by tree climbers and spelunkers (in case you want to Google it).

I still haven't bought all the equipment I want (you can see in the video that I'm using a carabiner and short section of rope, known as a Bachmann knot, instead of the more common mechanical ascender) and have some tweaking to do to the system. This is a first step, though, and a good proof of concept. Here's a close up of my current ascent system, for the curious.


I like it because you are always connected to the Grigri (the blue thing) and you can switch from ascend to descend and vice versa quickly and without any potentially unsafe connections/disconnections. The Grigri is great for descending because it allows you to easily stop mid descent and hang without using your hands or tying off the rope.

I also practiced prusiking, a method of climbing a rope using only two loops of smaller cord. It works pretty well.