Full Value on Shuksan

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Strava approach

Strava climb

After posting this adventure on Strava, one friend asked how I picked this objective. It's because it is one of the "Fifty Classic Climbs of North America." This book drove my development as a climber for the first two decades of my climbing career and I pursued them regularly. The past couple of decades, I've turned to other things, but I'm back interested now. My time for climbing such objectives is growing short and if I want them, I need to get after them.

The last one I did was the Northeast Buttress on Slesse with Derek. That was #36 for me. Shuksan would be #37 and the last one in the lower 48 states. All the remaining ones for me are in Alaska and Canada. 

The look of this face intimidated me. It was such a chaotic jumble of crevasses, seracs, and ice cliffs that I wondered if I had the skills. I'm not much of an ice climber. I knew the route sometimes doesn't even require any ice climbing, but sometimes it does and it can be very challenging then. To prepare for this route, years ago, I climbed and descended the Fisher Chimneys route with the Loobster. This at least allowed me to not only learn the summit rock pyramid, which is shared by all routes, but to learn the descent. One of the logistical challenges of climbing this route is that you descend a different way to a different trailhead. But we had that covered.

Derek's girlfriend Renee agreed to shuttle our car from the Nooksack Cirque Trailhead, where we'd start, to the Lake Anne Trailhead where we'd finish. She organized a peak-bagging outing with some girlfriends in the same area. I'd never see her on this trip, but her help made this ascent possible.

While this climb was on the list for this year, what really made it happen was when my friend Denise did the climb three weeks before. We owe a big thanks to her for providing the GPS track of the approach and some information about the climb. She mentioned that the descent was epic and they had to bivy a second time on the descent, but I didn't know Denise's climbing ability that well and just assumed we'd do better. I thought I was past that kind of hubris. I always tell myself to assume that everyone is fitter, faster, and stronger than me until I have concrete proof otherwise. In most cases, that proof is never forthcoming. But I had Derek with me and counted on him to be my ace in the hole. Suffice to say that now I have a much higher and more accurate opinion of Denise's ability and toughness.

I flew in late on Friday night and Derek picked me up. We slept in his apartment that night and headed north to North Cascades National Park the next morning at 6 a.m. We picked up breakfast along the way and got to the trailhead a bit after 9 a.m. We changed clothes, packed up, and were hiking a bit before 10 a.m.

We expected a lot of stream crossings on the approach and we both brought trekking poles to help out. I also brought Tevas because I didn't want to get my shoes wet and I didn't trust myself in bare feet since my feet are especially wimpy. So, I left the trailhead with three pairs of footwear. The Tevas, the Cyklon approach shoes I wore, and my La Sportiva G5 climbing boots. Derek didn't have a wading shoe, but he had the same boots and similar approach shoes (Uragano's). 

We crossed the first river via a log bridge and followed a well-defined trail for the first three miles. We went to rotate leaders at one point and I checked my Gaia map of the approach (thanks, Denise!) to find that we'd gone by our turn. We backtracked and found a very faint path descending to the creek crossing. Here, I took off my pants (I was wearing long pants) as I didn't want to get them wet and changed into my Tevas. I waded across and then threw my Tevas back over so that Derek could use them. We expected a lot of stream crossings, but this was our only one. At least on the approach.

Derek took over the route finding and did an expert job through the bushwhack. There was initially not even a hint of a trail. The only thing guiding us was an occasional orange or pink flag (hard to see as they were really faint) and sometimes bringing up Gaia. We eventually found a worn path and followed that up very steeply, but at least there was no more bushwhacking.

We continued to climb steeply and then emerged from the woods and had great views up towards the peak, though we couldn't see much of our route yet. We traversed slopes to a rocky rib above the lake far below to our right. We followed the rib until it merged with a very steep grassy slope. Then the path we'd been following petered out. We were a bit confused but knew we had to get on top of the steep grass. We went straight up the slope via a slight weakness. We had to grab branches and even hunks of grass to make progress. This was really the end of any defined trail.

Getting atop the slope was heinous but short-lived. We then followed the wooded ridge as it got less wooded and more alpine. We got to a steep wall that blocked access and took a break. I forged ahead without my pack to see if I could find a route around the wall. I traversed a steep slope to the left before going up a steep gully that was at least fourth class. Above I had gained the ridge again, so I reversed to get Derek.

We continued up and up, now looking for a bivy site, but without much luck. We were again confused by the lack of any signs of a route. We took another break at a possible, though not very good, bivy site. We weren't sure where we should traverse right to get onto the glacier. Once again, I continued upwards solo in search of easier access and a better bivy site. I went by a few marginal sites, but at least they were better than below. Then I found it. The perfect site: a large, flat ledge at the edge of a 300-foot cliff overlooking the glacier with an incredible view of our route. Plus, we'd walk right onto the glacier just three minutes further. I descended back to tell Derek about it.

Once I could see Derek below me, I called out, "We're moving up!". I then reversed the tricky, brushy terrain and when I next saw Derek below he was carrying a pack that looked white. My pack is white, I thought and I knew immediately what he was doing. He had gone back to where we dumped our packs and was bringing my pack forward first. He dumped it at the saddle and then went back for his. This type of behavior is what I love about great climbing partners. We were a team in the deepest sense of the word. Derek wasn't considering what actions it would take to get him up the mountain, but what actions needed to be taken to get us up the mountain. 

High on the approach

That goes for all the food we carried. Once we leave the trailhead there is no "my food" and "Derek's food." That might have been the case on the drive, but once we start the adventure, it is our food. On this trip, Derek forgot to pack food. He knew I was bringing the freeze-dried dinner and with all the other items, it slipped his mind. No worries. I brought extra food and everything was shared. In fact, we finished still carrying some food. 

Our bivy site

When Derek saw the site I had picked out, he beamed. Later, he'd call it amongst the top three bivy sites he'd ever used. I know that the 17,000-foot camp on Denali is in that group. Maybe Thanksgiving Ledge on El Cap too?  Here we discovered that Derek wasn't the only one to forget something. We carried a Black Diamond FirstLight tent (on sale now). It's a bomber, light alpine climbing tent and it's packaged into two separate stuff sacks, unlike most tents, probably to split the load more easily among partners. Anyway, I grabbed two bags of the tent and didn't realize until we tried setting it up that I had the tent and the fly (with its one pole) and not the poles for the tent. Bummer. We used the tent as a 2-person bivy bag and put our boots inside just in case we got rain. The weather report for the night had been good. It proved accurate and we stayed dry.

I also forgot my two-ax leash. I know all the hotshot ice climbers don't use leashes but for a thrasher like me to go up on a big alpine face without some protection against droppage was foolish. It wasn't just the expense of dropping a $300 tool, but the fact that I'd need both tools to make it up the climb. 

Our rack consisted of three ice screws and one picket. We'd end up using all of them many times. We also carried a small rock rack, but it went completely unused. I'd done the 500-foot summit rock tower before and soloed up and down it without any trouble. I guess it didn't hurt to have a little extra gear in case we had to climb rock to escape the Price Glacier. We both carried down jackets which we didn't need. I wore mine at the bivy, but it wasn't very cold.

The alarm went off at 3:15 a.m. We moved a bit slower than anticipated and it wasn't until 4:20 that we had downed our breakfast, finished our coffee, and strapped on our crampons. Under headlamps, roped together with our 30-meter cord, I led us across a long traverse to the right. This route does a tremendous amount of traversing because the route starts on the far left of the face and finishes on the far right. This is some zigzagging, but it is predominantly a rightwards traverse. And the traversing doesn't stop there. Most of the descent is also a rightwards traverse.

At the notch below Nooksack Tower

I led across steeper and steeper ground, heading for the notch below Nooksack Tower. Once there, we regrouped and reviewed our general line of ascent. We had to continue traversing, but we also had to descend too. Our route called for dropping down below a huge crevasse, but once I had descended a ways, I called an audible to take a more direct route up to a section we called the "zig-zag", a maneuver through the big icefall in the middle of the face.

From a distance, I could see the gray that indicated ice as opposed to the pure white snow. Derek called this out immediately and I knew he was right, but from afar it didn't look too steep. But I was wrong. Not for the first or last time on this climb. The gray section proved to be rock-hard ice with a vertical section that I had to traverse and turn to avoid overhanging ice. Leading across this section, I thought, "What am I doing?" 

I can't normally ice climb my way out of a walk-in freezer and there I was taking a more difficult path. Yes, I didn't think it was going to be such hard ice. Or this steep. My intent was to just shortcut the route and save myself from losing the elevation. So, laziness got me there and laziness (and a stubborn streak to avoid admitting I was wrong) kept me there. I didn't want to retreat. Laziness is a strange quality to have while simultaneously considering yourself a climber. And it isn't just me. It is rampant among us and not just in the mountains. Fixed draws at sport crags exist for one reason: laziness.

I put in two screws with some effort. Placing gear while hanging off a tool is not something at which I'm adept. The saving grace was that it wasn't too cold, so that my left hand didn't go numb. With the second screw placed, I raced to turn the lip before my arms gave out. I belayed Derek off my one remaining screw. 

Derek at the top of the lower crux ice section

Derek did great cleaning the pitch and took over leading up towards our zig-zag, leading a long steep stretch of snow. We brought two Micros and used them to simul-climb. Derek led up and right and then zigged left, but when he zagged back to the right, he did so early and was atop a serac and not connected to the main glacier. It was a freaky place to be, and he retreated down to me, where I was belaying him. I took over the lead and went hard left, across a runnel and onto a buttress with some solid ice. I placed a screw and then a picket higher up and continued as the slope started to roll off. I belayed at the lip of a crevasse. This was a common belay scenario for us, as the crevasses marked short bands of flat ground. Sometimes we belayed slightly in the crevasse on a ledge just a couple of feet below the lip. It felt secure and safe.

After re-grouping, I continued right and then up, trying another shortcut versus dropping way down. We needed to cross the main gully splitting the face, and it was daunting to look at it. It appeared deep, wide, and dark, meaning it was sprinkled with rocks falling from above. We didn't want to linger in that gully for fear of getting beaned with a boulder. Thankfully, we crossed the gully easily and I then traversed further until I tiptoed along a tiny fin/snowbridge to cross the big crevasse. There was a bit of near-vertical climbing here, but the snow/ice was solid and it wasn't long. 

Things continued smoothly, though with some stress due to the constant crevasses and committing nature of the climb, all the way up to the bergschrund at the base of the last 400-foot snow face. The bergschrund was nearly a continuous, giant crevasse here, but there was one tiny section that allowed crossing to the vertical section on the other side. 

We belayed just before I tackled this section. I took all the gear, so Derek just belayed with his axes and body weight. I inched across nervously and then made a big step to span a gap and got a good stick with my axe. I moved up just a few feet and placed a solid screw. I then traversed about twenty feet to the right where the vertical section was the shortest, only about ten feet high.  I placed another solid screw here and climbed straight above it. The wall was slightly overhanging and the ice was rock hard. I had trouble getting my frontpoints to grab securely. But the ice was bomber...until it abruptly turned to soft snow. My feet were barely into solid ice and now I had to drive my shafts into the snow just above the lip. Then, my feet popped. I fell onto my axes and they slowed me for a moment before they ripped through the snow and I was falling. My feet hit the tiny ledge below and I fell over backwards, upside down onto my pack. Derek caught me just a few feet above the yawning crevasse below me. If I had gone into it, it would have been much harder to climb out.

Climbing the crux bergschrund

I fell about 15 feet, and the impact on my back was large but cushioned by my pack. Nothing fell out of or off of my pack. Most importantly, I never let go of my leashless tools. I still grasped them tightly in my hands. Worried that the fall and the necessity of getting up this wall would get into my head, I swarmed right back up to the hard section and tried again. This time I put my last screw in, about four feet above the other one. I tried again and moved up a bit higher. I desperately pushed in the picket with my hand, knowing it couldn't have held me, but throwing everything at the problem. Two feet higher and I was comfortable on my feet again. Derek said I should belay there, but with no gear, I moved up another twenty feet so that I could get into another crevasse. I placed both tools and clipped into them.

Derek was really solid following. I was braced and keeping all slack out of the line for fear that he'd come off like I did. No falls for him. I continued in the lead and traversed up and right, crossing the last of the bergschrund crevasses on a dicey but short rib. Now on the upper steep face, I kicked steps upwards. The snow here was wet and it continually shed small plates of slushy snow. A hundred feet up, I was able to dig down to some ice and place a solid screw, but that was the last of the ice. I placed a picket a hundred feet higher and then we moved into no-fall zone, being roped together with no protection between us. 

Roughly the route we followed

We didn't endure this stress too long before the slope started to roll back and once it did, it continued to get less and less steep. I went clear until the top flattened out and we took a break in the shade. Lower down, the sun on the face had me sweating streams into my eyes, yet ten minutes in the shade drinking had me moving on to warm up.

What followed was more traversing of slopes on glaciers, avoiding crevasses, as we worked our way to the west to get around to the southern side of the summit pyramid. I was getting tired and we were both getting dehydrated. We spotted climbers up on the pyramid and Derek took over kicking steps up to the base of the rock.

We both carried just one liter of water each which wasn't enough. We were both nearly out at the base of the pyramid and already dehydrated. We had our stove, though, and could brew up water whenever we wanted, though it would take a bit of time. We stowed all our gear on the first semi-flat ledge we found up the rock pyramid. 

Scrambling the summit pyramid

We changed into our approach shoes and soloed up the summit pyramid, following the same route I did with the Loobster years ago. This is such a fun, solid scramble (once up the first 100 feet). Derek led the way and we followed a beautiful rib of rock. The scrambling is about 400 vertical feet. We dispatched it efficiently and hung out on the summit. We had cell service! I called Sheri but she wasn't available. She'd call back soon, but once I descended off the top, I lost service. 

In the same time that a group of 8 guided climbers descended the bottom 300 feet, we climbed 300 vertical feet of snow up to the start of the route, switched out of boots and into scramblers, ate, drank our last water, soloed to the top, spent 15 minutes there taking photos and making phone calls, reversed back to our gear stash, switched back into boots and crampons, packed up, and headed down. 

We descended Hell's Highway and made the traverse across the Upper Curtis Glacier to the campsite above Winnie's Slide. We took an extended break here to rehydrate, eat, and rest a bit. We each drank an entire liter and left with full bottles

With our mountain boots still on, we kicked steps down the steep Winnie's Slide snow slope. Then through some talus down to the White Salmon glacier, which we crossed in just a couple of minutes over to the top of the Fisher Chimneys. Here, naively thinking we were done with steep, hard snow, we switched out of our boots for what we thought was the last time. Wrong! We descended until snow blocked the route and I led us down a false path, off route. By the time I realized my screwup, we'd descended quite a bit and I wasn't sure where I went wrong, though it must have been at the snow blockage. We were able to work our way back to the correct descent with some dicey scrambling on a very exposed traverse. This led to a steep slope of grass, scree, and slabs.

Once back on route in the Fisher Chimneys, which is just a ramp, we did two rappels. Heck, we already had on our harnesses and the rope was easily accessible on the side of my pack. Once at the base of the Chimneys, we encountered rock-hard snow on the final...glacier? Maybe this is an arm of Lower Curtis Glacier. There was no way to safely kick steps in our scramblers. We had to boot-up and don crampons once again. I'd keep the boots on the rest of the way -- clear back to the car. 

Putting on my G5 boots, I noticed that the BOA cable securing my boot was stuck in the zipper of the attached gaiter. I couldn't get it out. I could still wear the boot but not fully secure it or zip the gaiter. Upon returning to Boulder, I took it to Sportiva to fix it. They couldn't get it out either without breaking the zipper and BOA. Instead, they gave me a new pair of boots! Yeah, I love La Sportiva...

Derek slipped early on the glacier and went down, but expertly did a self-arrest and stopped almost immediately. We continued across the glacier to the rocky prow where the Loobster and I camped on our ascent. I promptly caught a crampon in the rocks and went down hard. My left ankle was twisted and I felt it, but I was fine to continue. We pulled off the crampons, stowed the axes, and got out the poles. Before we could get moving, though, the rain started in earnest. It poured on us, turning every tiny gully into a stream with crazy big drops. Descending the steep rocks at the bottom of this slope was a challenge in the running water and we were very focused here.

The trail crossed many snow gullies and one was particularly steep and a bit hard. I carefully kicked some steps and braced myself with my poles...until I didn't. I made a mistake and down I went, immediately accelerating down the slope. I had to drop one pole so that I could use two hands to drive the other pole into the slope to stop myself, which I did after about 150 feet of mostly out-of-control sliding, tumbling. If I wasn't completely soaked by the rain, I sure was now. And cold. My hands were frozen. Derek retrieved my other pole and we met up on the trail... and promptly lost it.

We got back on it and had little trouble following it to Lake Anne, which was completely covered in snow, as was the surrounding terrain. This was where we were sure the going would get easier since we just hit a popular trail only 4 miles from a trailhead. Oh how wrong that was. It turned out the Lake Ann trailhead was closed, as was the 2-mile road leading to it. So no traffic had been on this trail. And it was completely buried under snow. At least for the first three miles, we were on it. Or at least close to it, as we could barely tell if we were on a trail or not. 

The going was arduous and a bit dangerous. Stepping down off a steep section, I planted my butt onto a stump. Getting a sharp-stick enema is not nearly as fun as it sounds. Instead of the nice packed trail I envisioned, we got very confusing snowfields in forests, willows, and raging streams. We lost the trail too many times to count, and we forgot what it was like to have dry feet. Several times, after losing the trail so often, we decided to forge our own way and quickly learned of a huge stream or gully that forced us to backtrack.

Derek handled all the navigation, using the GPS track from my previous ascent. He had it loaded onto his watch and without him leading the way, I'd never have gotten out. In fact, the one time I went into the lead, when Derek stopped to switch out of his boots, I promptly lost the trail and led out the wrong way. He quickly righted me, retook the lead, and I backtracked to follow in his footsteps.

So much of the hike out was walking over snow that could collapse at any moment. We broke through into crevasses, talus, streams, and the trail itself! The trail was a pretty deep rut, and snow would melt out underneath, forming a tunnel. We broke through them all! Happy to not twist a knee or bash a shin too bad, but we both have some cuts from it. And I broke my trekking pole (since replaced by Black Diamond -- thank you!)

The last mile of the trail climbed 800 feet out of the valley. I had almost forgotten about this indignity. How horrible to put such a big climb at the end of a descent! It was demoralizing, but we finally had some dry trail upon which to trod. It almost made the climb pleasant. It wasn't, but heavenly compared to the snow work that we'd been doing since 4:20 a.m. Alas, snow obstacles were replaced with deadfall, and the never-ending stream crossings persisted.

Derek got a text while still low on the climb. It was from Renee, telling us that the car wasn't at the aforementioned closed trailhead. We'd have to walk an additional two miles down to the Mt Baker Highway. That was tough to hear, but there was nothing to do but death march on. At least the road was dry.

Once on the road, our pace picked up. I was able to cut a big road switchback via a steep, hard snow slope, only because I was still in my mountain boots. Derek, in trail runners, had to stick to the road. He had to do an extra half mile because of this. I spotted him trotting to catch up! With a big heavy pack, 16 hours into the day, he was running. That's one tough dude. 

Back at the car, we immediately changed into dry clothes. I experienced the heavenly relief of removing my boots for the last time. We threw everything in and started driving almost immediately. We had a long way to go. We gave profuse thanks to our angel, Renee, who not only relocated the car but also loaded it with snacks. Donuts, Snickers, and Gatorades slid down our gullets. She even cleaned out our McDonalds trash.

The drive home was smooth save for a couple of fast food false starts. We missed the Burger King drive-thru by 2 minutes at 11:02 and had to go 20 more minutes to a Wendy's. We got back to Derek's apartment at 12:15 a.m. I was packed for the airport by 1 a.m. I showered and got to bed just in time for two hours of rest before meeting my Uber to the airport at 3:15 a.m.

Then things got bad... Airlines suck. Either their people, their software, their training, or their procedures and checklists suck. I was still in Seattle on Tuesday and booked to leave Wednesday. Fortunately, I got out via standby and was the last person to board the plane. But this is an off-topic rant not suitable for this report. Suffice to say that I'll never fly again. Just like I'll never climb again.

I’ve now done 38 50CCs. They are, in no particular order:

• Ellingwood Arete on Crestone Needle
• Durrance Route on Devil’s Tower
• Kor-Ingalls on Castleton Tower
• East Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock
• Royal Arches in Yosemite National Park
• East Face of Mt. Whitney
• South Face of Charlotte Dome
• The Southeast Face of the Clyde Minaret
• The Northwest Face of Half Dome
• The Nose on El Capitan
• The Salathe Wall on El Capitan
• The Regular Route on Fairview Dome
• The Lost Arrow Spire in Yosemite National Park
• Northcutt-Carter on the North Face of Hallet’s Peak
• The Petit Grepon in Rocky Mountain National Park
• D1 on the Diamond of Longs Peak
• Direct Exum Ridge on the Grand Teton
• The North Ridge of the Grand Teton
• The North Face of the Grand Teton
• Northeast Face of Pingora
• East Ridge of Wolf’s Head
• The Direct South Buttress of Mt. Moran
• The Finger of Fate on the Titan
• The Japanese Route on Mt. Alberta
• The East Ridge of Mt. Temple
• The North Face of Mt. Edith Cavell
• The West Ridge of Forbidden Peak
• Liberty Crack on Liberty Bell Mountain
• The East Ridge of Bugaboo Spire
• The Northwest Arete of Mt. Sir Donald
• Shiprock in New Mexico
• Steck-Salathe on Sentinel Rock
• The North Ridge of Mt. Stuart
• Becky-Chouinard on South Howser Tower
• Northeast Buttress of Mt. Slesse
• Traveler Buttress on Lover’s Leap
• Liberty Ridge on Mt. Rainier
• Price Glacier on Mt. Shuksan