But, then became a ski mountaineer and my eyes gazed back to Mount Rainier. I needed to ski her. Two previous volcano-skiing trips to the Pacific Northwest were fruitful, but did not give ample opportunity for skiing Rainier. After missing last ski season due to injury, and coming back to a rather mediocre season in Colorado, I needed something. I needed a big goal, something that would be the highlight of my season. I decided that would be Rainier.

The Fuhrer Finger is one of the routes featured in Fifty Classic Ski Descents of North America, by Davenport, Newhard, and Burrows. But, it’s been on my list for much longer than this book has been around. Although the first ascent of Fuhrer Finger was o July 2, 1920 by Hans Fuhrer, Joseph Hazard, Heinie Fuhrer, Peyton Farrer, the first ski descent did not happen until May 3, 1980 by Dan Davis, Tom Janisch and Jeff Haley.

My friend Zach Taylor, whom I’d known when he lived in Colorado, is a now a travel nurse stationed in Washington. So, I reached out to him to block out some time for skiing in that general direction, with Mount Rainier being the primary objective. As the time came closer, we realized that the perfect weather window was about to happen – three days of open blue skies. My trip would start out with a bang – skiing the Fuhrer Finger on Mount Rainier.

With the bulk of my ski mountaineering experience being in Colorado, I had limited glacier experience. So, Zach and I set aside a whole day to practice glacier travel and crevasse rescue techniques on the slopes of Mount Rainier.

We used an area near the Paradise parking lot to practice prusiking while we headed up further to set up z-drags.

The next morning, we met Zach’s friend Justin in Ashford, who would be our third partner. We then headed up to Paradise where we would begin our route. From Paradise, the summit of Mount Rainier doesn’t look so far away. But, it’s over a 9000 vertical foot climb from there. Appearances can be so deceiving.

To get to the Fuhrer Finger, we first needed to cross the lower Nisqually Glacier. Justin and Zach.

Gnar lingered above us and we watched seracs fall as the temperatures warmed during the day. Me and Zach.

With overnight and glacier gear stuffed in our packs, they were rather heavy. But we charged on.

We then followed a ridge that lies between the Wilson and Van Trump Glaciers, ascending to about 9200 feet where we found rock formations that blocked the wind. We set up our basecamp here. Looking below our camp.

We got to work digging out snow platforms for our tents, drying our gear, melting snow for water, and cooking dinner. Our camp was warm and comfortable.

Beautiful view from my tent window! Mount Hood in the distance.

Justin and Zach enjoying a Rainier beer on Mount Rainier. Had to happen

The light softened as the sun lowered in the sky.

The scene was simply surreal. Once the sun set over the horizon, the temperatures quickly dropped. We retreated to our tents, anticipating and early start the next morning.

It’s hard to say which is more beautiful. Sunset, or sunrise.

From camp, we headed over toward the base of the Fuhrer Finger.

We had crossed several crevasses the day before and today would be no exception.

Although we had gotten and early start, we quickly realized it wasn’t early enough. We’d heard about the rockfall danger in the Fuhrer Finger, but I’d never experienced rockfall like this before. About 60 seconds a rock came whizzing down at us – most of them golf-ball sized but ranging up to the size of a baseball. After awhile, we stopped yelling “Rock!”. Because we just assumed there was always one coming down. I tried to seek the protection of a rock wall along the side of the chute, and found myself falling in waist-deep into a moat – and the moat went down a lot further just another foot away. I worked my way out of the moat and we continued onward. There really was no other choice. Finally, near the top of the Fuhrer Finger, we hugged the climbers right side, giving us a reprieve in the rockfall where I was able to snap this photo.

At the top of the Fuhrer Finger, we re-entered the upper Nisqually Glacier, which was heavily crevassed.

Seracs hung above us.

We opted to rope up due to these crevasses.

The upper reaches of the Nisqually Glacier are tedious. The view constantly seems to roll over to something ahead, and the glacier just keeps going and going. Once the slopes reduced in steepness enough that we all felt comfortable skinning once again, we dropped the rope. This photo shows Justin on the upper reaches of the Nisqually Glacier with Zach behind.

Zach was tired, and opted to stop in a safe spot while Justin and I charged on to the summit. The summit crater is pretty amazing, labeled on the map as Colombia Crest.

The true summit stands at 14,410 feet, a mound alongside the crater.

Justin and I exchanged photos of one another.

Me mimicking Michael Jackson on the summit with Liberty Cap in the background.

We then skied back down to Zach where we descended our ascent route back to camp. Zach.

Skiing among all the crevasses and seracs was surreal. Justin.

The upper reaches of the Nisqually Glacier are not steep, but I’ll admit I was glad about that as there were plenty of crevasses to make navigation challenging. Me.

Zach making his way to the upper Fuhrer Finger.

Justin and Zach in the distance.

Looking down the Fuhrer Finger. Thankfully, we encountered no rockfall during the descent.

Zach in the Fuhrer Finger.

Me.

Justin.

We descended back to our basecamp where took some time to relax and pack our things before continuing on with our descent down the mountain. We mainly retraced our route across the lower Nisqually Glacier. Justin.

And as we did, I captured this parting shot of Mount Rainier, with Zach in the forefront.

Our descent was over 9000 feet, all the way back to our vehicles – incredible!

After doing this route once, I now know that it would be entirely possible for those used to traveling at 10-14,000 feet to complete this route in one day instead of two. Maybe next time

Want to do this yourself? Among appropriate avalanche and glacier travel/rescue gear, you’ll also need:
– $25 entry fee to Mount Rainier National Park
– $48 for Mount Rainier NP Annual Climbing Fee (good for a year, even if you only need it for a couple of days)
– free camping permit
– A window of great weather!

The post Mount Rainier – Skiing the Fuhrer Finger (14 May 2018) appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

So there I was in Spokane, beginning our journey as the lone pig-tailed white girl amongst a horde of nocturnal train station loiterers. Ah, the florescent glow of 3:30 a.m. The shadow people wearily stirred, lighters flicked aflame and a draft sent crumpled up Cheeto bag cartwheeling past my feet like a tumbleweed. Blending in and curling up on a filmy bench for the next few hours was officially not an option. “Let’s pedal out of town,” I said to Zach. “Let’s get out of here and into the woods!”

Navigating by smartphone we wound our way to the edge of Spokane where we caught a bike path, then a lonesome highway for 15 miles. We arrived at the trailhead of the Columbia Plateau Trail just before sun up. The CPT is part of the nation-wide Rails-to-Trails conservancy that transforms abandoned railroad tracks into bike paths. It’s a very cool idea that, unfortunately in this case, is very far from being fully developed. More on this later…but for now, a preview:

After stocking up on food in a nearby town, we began what would come to be the most pleasant 20 miles of the trail. The beginning of the trail is developed pavement and dirt road riding and made for very easy and enjoyable riding through Turnbull Wildlife Refuge:

As a skier, mountain biker and self-proclaimed ‘mountain-girl’, I have not given myself much time to spend amidst the vast grasslands of the American West. Through the window of a car, the plains go by too quickly (or perhaps too slowly, if you’re trying to make it all the way across Kansas) to heed the intricacies and simple wonders they hold. But on a bicycle, rangelands blossom into surprisingly beautiful and diverse landscapes—the large number of bird species we encountered during our trip was a veracious testament to the value of preserving our grasslands (and wetlands) as habitat. And this is the unique magic of traveling on a bicycle: bicycling can transform an austere place into a fascinating and challenging one.

Oh, the delicious challenge we encountered over those few days on the Columbia Plateau Trail! After a pleasant beginning to the ride, on day two the trail abruptly turned to undeveloped railroad ballast…and stayed that way for the next 92 miles. That’s right: the next 92 miles of “trail” were to be a challenging mix of loose rocks and—oh yes—completely overgrown weedy portions.

I actually grew to be thankful for the bicycle-bushwhacking because it provided a more cohesive and consistent riding surface than the ballast, which felt more like riding through sand with grains the size of fists. No amount of chamois butter or padding can protect you from the unrelenting butt-pummeling that is riding on an abandoned railroad track. The fat bikes were definitely a good choice for this surface, however, I am not convinced that any bike has the power make railroad ballast fun for 92 miles.

So it was with smiling butts that we welcomed the opportunity to take a road detour when we stumbled upon the scant farm town of Benge, Washington. From Benge, we linked seldom-traveled county roads to the tiny towns of Washtucna and Kalotus and eventually re-joined the CPT on the Snake River where the trail was developed again. Sidenote: the highways out there were very well maintained with great visibility and wide shoulders—eastern Washington offers many beautiful options for road-touring and welcoming small towns if you ever get the chance!

Our road detour also allowed us to skirt a couple of suspicious gaps in the map we downloaded…which turned out to be unmaintained and impassable bridges that were blocked off with barbed wire. This lack of development is a shame, because this ride would surely be a hidden gem of the PNW if this trail were, well, a trail. So, roadies, keep an ear out for the day the CPT gets paved. Then ride it from Pasco to Spokane (lest you battle the relentless westerly headwind we encountered, whom I named “Goliath”).

Our four days on the Columbia Plateau Trail were as unforgettable as they were, surprisingly, enjoyable. Truly, the trip was a beautiful reminder that things are not always as they seem: The vast rain shadow of eastern Washington is far from empty—it is full of diverse plant life, interesting geological history and the vivid music of many birds. Similarly, a flatland trail with a total elevation change of less than 4,000 ft over 150 miles is, apparently, far from our idea of a facile vacation—it is a savory trial of perseverance and, now, a fond memory.

Zach’s story and pictures from our trip can be found here.

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I got my first glimpse of Mount Adams from our camp spot before we began. Much of the lower mountain had sustained a forest fire in 2012, so the forest did not hide the mountain—she stood proud. My head cocked back, me eyes widened and my jaw fell open. There she blows!

The first day, we skinned about two-thirds of the way up Mount Adams. At the start our climb, we skinned out of the burn-zone into a green sub-alpine forest where the sweet taste of spruce and fresh cedar flooded every breath. The scent hung in the air like Christmas morning, conspicuously sneaking into your nostrils. Sadly, the smell was slowly replaced by sulfur as we zig-zagged up past tree line and entered ‘Volcano Planet’—filled with rocks and snow. Breezy, barren and home for the night.

After a pleasant night spent under a full moon, the three of us awoke at four to get started for the day. The sky was purple already—another clear, warm, sunscreen-every-hour type of day opening its eyes.

Donned with crampons and ice axes, we climbed and climbed that morning—the wild blue hills and the bustling world beneath growing farther and farther. As I neared the top of the first headwall, I began to feel weary. More weary than I would expect to be. I continued to pump water and granola bars into my body, knowing that with each step I was closer to the top and closer to the down. My feet hung heavy off of my legs, swinging almost carelessly into established tracks. As I crested the first headwall, the final thousand-foot climb stood before me.

I took a seat on my pack for a moment, gazing out to our beginning. “You’ve made it this far,” I thought, “The snow is still firm, the sun hasn’t touched it yet. You have time to make it to the top safely. You can do it. Slowly, you can do it.”

Zach and Cam sensed my fatigue and stayed behind me, allowing me to set the pace. I was burned, and beginning to feel light-headed. We trudged, we paused, I panted, we marched on…until I began to lose my balance. The first time I fell I snagged my crampon on my pant leg and tripped to my knees. “No biggie, it happens,” I thought, staggering to my feet. We marched on. Then I started stumbling more frequently, and my dizziness was not subsiding with water or food. At this point we had reached almost 12,000 ft in elevation and were within about 500 vertical feet of the summit. We were so close. “I’m from Colorado! I have spent my whole life at 8,000 feet! I don’t get AMS!” I joked. But apparently, I do. Zach was kind enough to escort me down a few hundred feet to a position where we could still keep eyes on Cam as he pushed for the summit.

Lucky for me, the top of our line, the SW Chutes, was a few hundred feet lower. After some rest, we geared over to skiing, which (of course) was instantly rejuvenating. Over 8,000 vertical feet of turns (okay, and some trudging too) back to the car!

Right off the bat, we dropped into 3,000 feet of perfectly warmed, wide-open corn. The snow was perfectly even, edgable, soft and stable. Bliss. It was the carefree, wind-in-your-hair, springing from turn-to-turn type of skiing that dreams are made of.

As we worked our way down and back into the trees, the skiing became a bit more sloppy…as one could expect from temperatures in the fifties. We wound our way through the burnt forest, grins as big as the crescent moon on our faces. Body aches and sunburns were no worry at all. The turns were spectacular, the climb was beautiful and dang it, I want to see that summit! I’ll be back for you Mount Adams!

The post TR: SW Chutes of Mount Adams, Washington (8 May 2014) appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

Mount Saint Helens is certainly not the tallest volcano in the US. But, it is probably the most famous volcano due to it’s explosive eruption in May, 1980. St. Helen’s got ticked off with the world and blew her own head off, killing acres and acres of trees, and leaving piles of ash and dust everywhere.

But that was not the end. Though St. Helens now stands about 1300 feet shorter, it’s explosion has created a new landscape that is springing into life. One of the best examples of this is Spirit Lake, which lies on the northern slopes of St. Helens. During the eruption, the lake was filled with so much lava and ash that the lake rose 200 feet. These deposits and other volcanic gases made the lake so toxic, scientists thought it would take hundreds of years for the lake to recover. But recovery is happening much faster than expected.

Due to it’s infamy, St. Helens has become one of the most climbed volcanoes in the States. And believe me, it has the crowds to show it too. Though we knew the skiing might yield steep and exciting turns, we still felt the yurning of this historic natural landmark.

Post-eruption access to the summit is currently all done from the south side, though there is talk of the Forest Service building a trail from the north soon. We first tried to reach the Climber’s Bivouac trailhead at 3800′, but the road was closed due to snow. Should we expect anything less. So, just like snow added 1000′ to our climb on Adams, snow added 1200′ to our climb on St. Helens. Just another hour, I thought to myself.

We parked at the Sno-Park at 2640′ and found very dry conditions. We knew we’d be walking some miles on trail instead of snow. So we started out in hiking boots right away.

Even when we first spotted the snow we longed to be climbing on, it was still an hour away. Perspective is misleading here in the Pacific Northwest. It’s hard to believe that this peak is capped with well over 3000′ of snow here…. Everything is bigger than it seems.

We walked for two hours on dirt before finally reaching the snow. Instead of following the main ridge route, we opted to escape the line of ants and climb up a gully just to the right of the ridge. We were happy to be away from the masses for a bit.

Me climbing up the gully with Mt. Hood in the distance.

But, the gully was hot. Protected from the breeze and with sun reflecting all around us like we were the focus in a parabolic solar dish, I was really hot. My pace slowed. I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I puked on the snow.

I don’t handle heat very well – ever since I hiked the Grand Canyon rim to rim in a day in 115-degree temperatures. I was 19 and didn’t know about electrolytes and that I needed to not only be drinking water, but to be eating food so that my body could actually absorb the water. Instead, it sloshed around in my belly for hours, and I eventually puked up some sort of green slurry. I suffered heat exhaustion that day. But, I made it out eventually.

I took a few steps away from the green-colored snow and sat down. Remembering the electrolyte lesson from my Grand Canyon experience, I took a sip of water and grabbed a gel, gulping it down as fast as I could because the taste of anything and everything in my mouth made my stomach churn. I’ll admit, I wanted to quit. But I don’t want to have to hike all those miles of dirt just to come back again, I thought to myself. So, I pushed up my sleeves, shoved some snow in my sunhat and put it on my head, and continued on climbing toward Matt whom I’m sure was wondering what the heck was taking me so long.

Matt and I were on the same page. We both agreed it was hot, and that we had to get out of the gully as soon as we could. So, we climbed out of the solar dish and onto the ridge. We were rewarded with a breeze, but we also found ourselves surrounded by the masses.

We generally stayed climber’s left of the main route to avoid feeling like we were miner’s on the Chilkoot Trail. Note the bergschrund in the snow between us and the other climbers. Yale Lake is in the distance.

We finally reached the top of the ridge and the volcano crater. Adams coming out to greet us.

But, due to a very dangerous cornice on the crater, we could not peer over into the crater itself until we downclimbed a little to the east. The views were worth it.

The crater, Spirit Lake, and Rainier obscured by clouds.

Matt and I on the summit.

Though I could have lingered there for awhile, with the unexpected extra vert and the bad heat, our climb had taken longer than we expected. It was time to ski. Matt.

Me.

I put together a video from the helmet cam footage we captured. The video really captures the perspective of how big everything is, even if it doesn’t look like it. We skied over 3000′ back to the trail, about half of which is actually covered in the video.

Mount St Helens Ski (21 June 2012) from 14erskiers on Vimeo.

Upon reaching the dirt trail, the ski boots came off and the hiking shoes came back on.

I wished I’d been smart enough to bring shorts.

And then we continued down, walking two more hours to the car.

Matt and I were tired after three days of skiing the three volcanoes in the area – Mt. Hood, Mt. Adams, and Mt. St. Helens. But, we felt completely satisfied. With inclement weather moving into the Pacific Northwest for the next few days, we knew our ski trip was done. Thanks to Matt for agreeing to join me on another crazy adventure!

We stopped to snap one last shot of our third objective, St. Helens.

Though we’d skied our three primary objectives, a trip like this always creates a desire. I think I’ll be coming back for more

Links to Other Reports from this Trip:
Volcano-Bound!
From SLC to Shasta
Shasta Ski (14 June 2012)
Shastarama Ski (16 June 2012)
Lassen Peak – Closing a Volcano
Oregon Days Off
Mount Hood (19 June 2012)
Mount Adams (20 June 2012)
Mt. St. Helens (21 June 2012)
From the Gorge to Craters

The post TR: Mt. St. Helens (21 June 2012) appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

Being only a part-time teacher at the moment, my salary is extremely small – the smallest I’ve had since college. The only way I could afford this trip was to be a dirtbag. Now, I’m no stranger to the dirtbag role. I’m quite good at it really. But, I do enjoy certain luxuries. After four nights of camping in California, I was ready for the little luxuries in life – like a shower. Not just a sun-shower or a “bathe-in-the-lake” kind of shower. But a “I-can-shave-my-legs-and-enjoy-the-steam” kind of shower. That’s how we ended up at my friend Rana’s house in Hood River. And when I say friend, I really mean my husband’s friend. Although I’ve heard stories of the infamous Rana from Frank and all his cronies, I’ve only met Rana a few times. Yet, she invited us into her house and we decided to set up camp for a few days. It was a dirtbag trip with a bit of luxury. I’m extremely thankful to her as I am to the many other friends and strangers-who’ve-become-friends that have let me in their houses so that I can live my ski-bum dream on a part-time teacher’s salary.

So, shortly after I turned off my singing phone, I slowly emerged out of the cocoon that was my sleeping bag. I was surprised that it was already light outside and that birds were awake and chirping as if they actually enjoy the morning. As it turns out, a few degrees of latitude actually really does makes a huge difference near the solstice. I went about my morning rituals, eventually shoveling some yogurt and granola down my throat and gulping the absolutely necessary cup of Starbucks Via into my blood stream. Did I mention that Starbucks should be the next sponsor of ski mountaineers?

At 5 am Matt and I left and headed toward Mt. Adams. We passed over the Hood River toll bridge and caught the most amazing view of Hood River and the Columbia Gorge. I couldn’t help but stop for a picture.

I don’t know if was the Via finally kicking in or the morning’s dose of sunrise beauty, but finally life felt spectacular again.

After a quick detour in Trout Lake to obtain a permit ($10 weekday), we were on our way to the trailhead. We were hoping to make it all the way to Cold Springs, but this year’s high levels of snow wouldn’t allow it. We parked a little below the Morrison Creek Campground, at about 4700′, nearly 1000 feet below where we hoped to be. Oh well. No matter. Only an hour more. The extra vert is really nothing in a 7,500′ day.

We walked up the road toward Cold Springs, which had mixed patches of snow and dirt. With consolidated snow, we felt walking was still more efficient then skinning. We took time to enjoy the views.

We finally put skins on at Cold Springs.

But admittedly, the trek was seeming slog-like. I was much happier when I could actually see our intended goal.

But we still had hours to go. Matt with Mt. Hood behind.

We eventually make our way up to Suksdorf Ridge. It seemed the peak was oh-so-close. But, like everything in the Pacific Northwest, it was still far far away.

We paused on the false summit and spoke with another skier who said that we should drop our skis if we wished to continue up to the true summit. “The skiing is not very good from there to here,” he said. “Yeah but I’d much rather ski down than walk down, no matter how bad it is!” I replied. So the skis went to the summit.

We reached the summit nearly 8 hours after starting. And the summit was surprisingly and relentlessly windy and cold. We did not last long there. But, we did snap a few pictures of the views. Rainier in the distance.

St. Helens.

The skiing from the summit was rimey and bumpy for sure, but certainly not miserable enough to have dropped our skis. But, the real skiing began at the top of the false summit, down the southwest chutes. Matt.

We enjoyed some absolutely fantastic corn for thousands of feet.

Me.

Matt.

At about 8000 feet, we began traversing left (south) to meet up with our ascent route. We paused to take a look back at the south chutes. They don’t look like 4000′ do they? But, my legs certainly felt like they’d just skied 4000 feet!

We kept traversing left, following other skier tracks. We thought we’d meet up with the Round the Mountain Trial, which would lead us back to Cold Springs. But, instead, the tracks ended up descending down a drainage. Though a bit treacherous and annoying we stayed on snow most of the time. We realized we’d probably been following the Morrison Creek drainage and the Short Horn Trail. Eventually, we popped out at the Morrison Creek campground, having skied over 7000 vertical feet!

Another successful and fun day! We took time to admire the peak that we’d just stood on hours before.

Thanks to Matt for yet another fantastic day in the PNW!

Links to Other Reports from this Trip:
Volcano-Bound!
From SLC to Shasta
Shasta Ski (14 June 2012)
Shastarama Ski (16 June 2012)
Lassen Peak – Closing a Volcano
Oregon Days Off
Mount Hood (19 June 2012)
Mount Adams (20 June 2012)
Mt. St. Helens (21 June 2012)
From the Gorge to Craters

The post TR: Mt. Adams (20 June 2012) appeared first on 14erskiers.com.

In any case, the skiing at Stevens didn’t disappoint. I’d long heard great things about the mountain, and as long as it isn’t raining, as it often does here in WA, Stevens sits solidly in my top ten list for North American Ski Areas. It never hurts to have an awesome guide like Stone, either. Some sampling of the terrain:

One of Stone’s friends:

Self-portrait somewhere in the vicinity:

It was hard enough chasing Stone around without stopping to take photos, so POV will have to suffice. Most of the video was a short hike from the area, although there is plenty of in-bounds terrain that is just as good. They’re just so spoiled here that the thought of skiing something with more than one track is nearly unthinkable.

Stevens Pass 2-17-11 from 14erskiers on Vimeo.

I tried to roll out of Steven’s with plenty of time to make it through the border crossing and arrive in Pemberton at a reasonable hour. Sometimes the border is a piece of cake, sometimes it’s a pain in the butt. Sadly, on this trip I got the latter, with a full search of the truck and accusations that I was moving to Canada. I tried to tell them I would have been taking a lot more skis and my bike as well if I was, but they weren’t buying it. Meanwhile, a storm was brewing in North Vancouver that continued all the way through Whistler. A couple of one-hour delays on the highway and a crazy game of “weave through the stuck cars” eventually got me to Pemberton around 3am- a 12 hour drive that usually takes half that. I snapped one photo during a good part of the drive- I’d have to call this drive one of the worst I’ve ever done:

In the end it was worth it, and we got to ski the beer spines (names will be withheld and made-up on this trip) the next day, but more on that later…

More Road Trip 2011 Posts:
Stevens Pass
No Sleep Spines
O Face
Pemby BC
Luna Creek
Trandem Trees
Whistler/Vancouver
Down Days and thoughts on snomo skiing
Dope Creek 1
Dope Creek 2

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