Grabbing the Dragon’s Tail- The Serpentine Arete, 5.8, III

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After 11 days in Portland I was getting the itch again, and I knew it would likely be my last chance to get on an alpine rock route for quite some time. Pat and I have long dreamed of getting into the business of alpine climbing in the North Cascades National Park. We packed up Friday night with hopes of making the long approach into Mt. Goode, but at the last minute the forecast hit 60% chance of rain on our summit day, so we pointed the car east and headed for Leavenworth, Washington.

We pulled into town around 7am on Saturday and were fortunate to make friends and secure a permit. Then we headed up Hwy 2 and warmed up on a nice two pitch line next to the highway called Canary. Good times, but the crux on pitch 1 got my attention, and Pat felt the air under his butt on pitch 2.

Good morning Skander, and welcome back to rock climbing with a smack in the face.

Pat eyes up the wildly exposed step across...

Scary step complete, time to get a move on- nice work Pat.

The real reason to come to Leavenworth though was a line I first saw in 2008- I was scared then, but when we needed to pick a different mountain for the weekend, it was one of the first to come to mind. The Serpentine Arete on Dragontail Peak is a gorgeous yet moderate line on one of the most prominent peaks in the eastern Cascades. After not rock climbing for over two months, and still uncertain of how my foot would do, I had a few doubts, but the last dance is the last dance, and you’ll never get the girl if you don’t ask.

The line starts at the snow directly above my head, heads right up the faint ramp, then left up the ridge.

Early morning light on Mt. Colchuck, just across the valley.

We left camp at 6am, and started across the snowfield at 6:50. The route is about 2,000 vertical feet and would entail a full range of technical skills, so we knew we needed to boogie. After cutting steps across the snowfield and jumping the moat from snow to rock at the base of the route, we were in the business at 8am, and made steady progress.

Across the moat and time to go!

Getting the business end- yours truly on the crux.

Supposedly not the crux, but Pat and I might disagree.

Close quarters on the last serious pitch.

We moved through the harder pitches efficiently, and we hit the easier ridge terrain around 2pm. The route gets a grade IV for the overall duration of effort (IV typically means a very full day of climbing), and despite the harder terrain being below us, we still had quite a bit of ground to cover. We switched to simul-climbing after 8 belayed pitches, and started to wander up the ridge, not always certain we were on the right path.

Pat looks to make short work of a few spicy steps.

We kept pushing, in retrospect tying in even shorter than the 35m we were at would have reduced rope drag and increased communication, but so it went, and we hit the summit ridge at 6pm. We coiled the roped and scrambled around to grab a gorgeous view of the lakes and Mt. Stuart, which were well worth the effort…

Loved by many, the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area does not disappoint.

The great granite beast, Mt. Stuart. I look forward to returning when I can.

Tired and happy on the summit.

We headed down on well packed snow, but with a sinking feeling that we were racing daylight. Quads burned, knees ached, and the trail wandered faintly. The views took an edge off the urgency, and we made it almost all the way back to the lake before true darkness fell.

So much gorgeous granite...

The hands show signs of a good day out.

Racing the light back to camp.

We did end up hopping rocks and bushwhacking in the dark to make it back to camp at 9:30pm. For our first grade III route, and new terrain that neither of us had been on, we had a blast. Also of note, there were no bolts on the entire route- so fun to climb super clean. Thanks to Pat for being a solid partner and friend, and always being down for the next big up.

In the photo of my hands above, there is a purple rope in the background. Normally I wouldn’t plug products here, but I need to give credit where due. The rope was a gift to me from my parents, it is a Sterling Nano that might be pure magic. I think of them every time I use it, and today it was the star of the show. 70m let us run pitches together, yet it was light when we doubled it over to simul-climb. It didn’t pick up dirt, it feels great in my hands, and doesn’t tangle easily. I am truly grateful for solid gear, and amazingly supportive parents- thanks.

Portland #2: Roots

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Returning to Portland after 9 weeks in Alaska raises many questions- why do I come back here? What is next? Am I really ready to keep going?

My first apartment building in NW, just across from Trader Joes.

In many ways, Portland is the city that I have become an adult in. I moved here on my own to work and live as an adult- my childhood was not here, my schooling was not here, my family is not here. I’ve lived here on my own, making my own friends, my own money, my own adventures, and my own mistakes on the way. This is the place that I first recognized the principles that I now feel re-dedicated to, and I’d be lying if I didn’t feel the roots of my adulthood sunk into earthy corners of this city.

Important progress on the front steps of The Commons.

My most recent contribution, and my first deck building experience.

Not surprisingly, I’ve had an intensely busy week since returning from my overnight bike tour last week. Great times with friends, significant progress made at the Commons project, and a few great workouts have meshed with more domestic tasks like sorting gear, buying bikes, and researching future travel options. There is a lot to do to recharge after my summer in Alaska, and in some ways I’m not quite ready to fire on another major adventure yet. Fortunately I’ve got a few weeks of smaller adventures planned, and sharing my plans with people here helps me re-motivate. I have the wonderful problem of too many great people to see, some of whom will have to wait. Tonight I’m headed north to fulfill some long overdue climbing goals in northern Washington State. Let’s hope the weather holds!

All of the recent residents of Breanne's house on Vancouver.

Med ball ring dips at Crossfit Fort Vancouver. More pain in my expression means more quality.

Dustin

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In January of 2008 a friend suggested I meet another person in Portland who was interested in green building. I met Dustin at the fountain on the west end of the Hawthorne bridge, and we went for a run around the Esplanade. I went home that night knowing I had met someone unique. For the last 3 years, Dustin has been one of my most important and reliable friends day in and day out- today was the last day we will spend together for a very long time.

The friend I met down by the river.

I’m headed on a bike tour abroad, and Saturday morning Dustin is moving to Berkeley, California to pursue a graduate degree in architecture. I’m not worried that our friendship will suffer (most of my closest friends aren’t geographically nearby), but it will be an end to working on his house, riding bikes, and burning a fire under southeast Portland stars. Long ago I realized that our friends support us both in affirming, and in questioning our ideas and actions. My friendship with Dustin has been one of the strongest supports to me and the course of action I have taken in my life. I know very few people who live their values as well as Dustin, or are able to make me look in the mirror so carefully.

I’m excited to see how our friendship continues to grow, the ideas we will share, and the ways in which we inspire each other to change the world. I hope that there will be more time to spend together in the future, and I know I will always feel grateful for the time we have spent these past few years. Thank you my friend, for so many great days.

Thanksgiving Day 2009 in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

Goofing around at the Spring Mountain Crags.

Risk

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When I talk to people and they find out I’m a climber, often they ask some form of- “isn’t that dangerous?” I often reply that driving to the base of the mountain is actually much more dangerous than climbing it. Usually, their question is followed by a grisly story of someone they know falling/getting frozen/hit by rockfall/etc., which are valid concerns, and which can also usually be managed with some degree of technical knowledge and practical humility. Don’t stand under a serac, don’t climb the hardest pitch at the end of the day, and don’t assume the weather will be good. Beyond that however, this question always raises an important train of thought for me- why are we willing to accept risk, and how do we manage the fear that risk can introduce into our experience?

Feeling the thrill and managing the risks, on The Thrill is Gone- Hyalite Canyon, MT. (photo by John Saunders)

All of us take risks every day. All of us take those risks for a reason, however sometimes those reasons may seem superficial. Riding your bike in downtown Portland or downtown Chicago (not the same level of risk, btw) has more risk than driving the same distance but also has some important benefits (parking?). Today, I went rock climbing for the first time since leaving Yosemite Valley in May, and there was risk involved. We managed the risks, and had a beautiful day out. It seems strange that our recreation seems so precarious to people (in fairness, some mountain climbing truly is), but perhaps it is simply that I am well accustomed to managing this flavor of risk.

Getting my feet under me again after 10 weeks without rock climbing. (Photo by Pat Clinton)

I mentioned the bike tour I’m planning, and part of that includes considering a variety of risks that I’m not accustomed to managing. Traveling in places I don’t speak the language, getting run-over, theft of my gear/clothes/bike/etc are all likely situations, and stand to significantly impact my experience even though I don’t really have a clue towards how to manage them. I find it easy to get trapped into doing nothing, or perhaps just something easier in an attempt to mitigate some of these potential risks and that frustrates me. So much of our world operates out of fear and it sickens me- limiting my experience out of fear makes me feel pathetic. To be sure, some fears are useful, but most will simply try to leave you being smaller than you truly are. In the end I believe that both the required risks, and the elected risks, enrich our lives and add value to our actions, they strip away baggage, they make our choices more meaningful. How do you manage the risks you take?

“Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness, to learn- anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.”
— David Whyte (House of Belonging)

Risk is the darkness, embrace it.

Change-Up

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After 4 days of traveling, I’m finally back in Portland for the next week or so. Lots of gear sorting, laundry, planning, and friends, frankly I’m excited to slow down a bit, but I’m also in the process of changing things up. As I mentioned in my previous post, I found a renewed dedication to living simply while in Alaska. I realized the best way to combine international travel with the simplicity I love might just be to ride a bike instead of a bus or a train while traveling abroad. So I’m changing things up.

I left Alaska at 1am on Monday morning, and arrived in Portland at 730am. After breakfast with one of my favorite people and collecting some stuff, I test-rode a Trek 520 touring bike at noon, and a Surly Long Haul Trucker at 300pm. I sorted through a few more things, ate dinner with another good friend who has (perhaps unwisely) opened her house to me as a landing pad, and fell asleep hard.

Practice random acts of bike fun.

At 630am Tuesday morning I picked up a stranger I met on Craigslist and drove to Seattle. At noon I test rode a Ti-Cycles Steliacoom Cyclocross Touring bike, and then headed north to Anacortes, WA. The guy in Anacortes was originally planning to meet me in Seattle, but had to back out with the promise that he’d make it worth my while to drive to Anacortes. I got to Anacortes at 2pm and bought the bike he was offering, with an unbelievable pile of extra gear along with it. He made good on his promise, and I made off like a bandit. Looking around my now very messy car, I realized I had exactly the right gear to make an important trip.

I went to San Juan Island for the first time in May last year, and it seemed that I had stumbled upon a mecca for bike touring. Taking your car on the ferry is not cheap, and the islands are wonderfully small- so getting around by bike makes quite a lot of sense. Alas, on that trip, we were not set up for bike touring, and could not participate in the random fun. The feeling in my gut told me this was an opportunity not to be missed. The ferry to San Juan leaves from Anacortes, and at 3pm Tuesday afternoon I realized I had just enough food in the car, just enough gear, and just enough time to pack up and make the 445pm ferry. Spontaneous adventure ensued. I didn’t have a tent. I didn’t have stove fuel. I didn’t have a sleeping pad. I didn’t have a campsite reservation. And then I realized I could do without all of those things.

At least for me, ferries usually mean adventure.

First stop, Roche Harbor, at the north end of the island.

I had a gorgeous touring to the north and then west sides of the island, and a perfect night sleeping under the stars. I felt like a kid on Christmas with nothing on my back rolling quickly around the beautiful scenery. I got up at 520am on Wednesday morning, biked back to the ferry terminal, got a coffee, and got on the 8am ferry. Was back at my car at 10am, ran a few errands in Seattle at noon, and was back in Portland at 4. Not a bad few days, and a good reminder that “You Must Buy the Latest Outdoor Gear or You Will Die.”

This is why they put in bike pullouts, and the things you miss when you're in a car.

San Juan County park- I slept right here to watch the entire sunset.

It was indeed a very good morning.

Re-Dedicate

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I’m headed back to Portland early tomorrow morning- I don’t like thinking about the fact this is my last day in Alaska for quite some time. As I mentioned upon arrival here I feel like Alaska inspires the best version of myself, and my summer has been full of those best experiences. I’ve been thinking of this as the second stage of my trip since quitting my job, and it’s been exceptionally fruitful. More than anything else, this time and this place has allowed me renew and refine my dedication to a few major life goals. Over the years I’ve found that it’s easy to make lots of goals, and hard to follow through on them. Sometimes I’m even reluctant to call them goals, perhaps the term principles would be more appropriate, and that a principle may encompass many elements.

Live more simply (encompasses the pursuit of more human experiences, human powered adventures, a greater sense of community, and more careful focus of my intentions).
Enjoy life to the fullest (encompasses being fit, being active, doing new things, embracing new challenges)

The next stage of my travels looks the least structured of my so far, and I’m excited to use that time to fully embrace these principles. There is a pain in my chest tonight, as I’ve started to feel a sense of belonging here. Going to Portland still feels like going back to the familiar, but with a new sense of the unknown because I’m not exactly sure why I’m going there, except for the fact that it is where my stuff is. Leaving here feels like I’m leaving something behind that doesn’t fit in my backpack.

Reflection is strong in the mountains.

Evenings are a great time to climb.

Feeling the deep wilderness on the Harper Glacier.

Exposure is a clarifying force- on the diving board at 17,200'.

Get Your Hands Dirty

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I spent 4 days this week working at Arctic Organics– one of the first and oldest organic farms in Alaska. After 8 weeks chasing various adventures, the simple, humble manual labor was intensely valuable. I’ve been staying in Palmer with my good friend Margaret who is the director of The Alaska Farmland Trust. Her group is working to preserve farmland in Alaska and grow the local food movement I cannot speak more highly of her efforts. She put me in touch with Sara and River who own Arctic Organics, and they introduced me to a carrot field that needed weeding… lots of weeding. I shared the work with a fun team of other kids in their 20s, working hard in the fresh air and pulling an enormous mass of unwanted biota from the carrot beds. It’s good to get your hands dirty.

Getting it done...

Have I mentioned I love biking to work?

True to the website statement, Arctic Organics is leading the charge for local organic food in Alaska, and while I did appreciate getting paid for my efforts, it felt like a privilege to be a part of their operation even if only for a short time. Nowhere else in the country perhaps is the issue of local food and sustainability so important- if food was not flown to Alaska in airplanes it is estimated that the state would start facing food shortages in as little as 3 days. Do you know where your food comes from?

Sometimes you gotta stretch out between weeding sessions.

Visionary owners, and folks I look forward to seeing again.

The opportunity also spurs some thoughts on labor- I couldn’t help but relish the feeling of looking down a freshly cleared bed after several hours of working on my knees. It’s a Case for Working with Your Hands, and a reminder that while work often prevents us from playing, it is also essential to balance the endless play I have had the pleasure of experiencing this summer. I have to admit, it felt good to go to work in the morning (but also that my knees didn’t feel so good after 4 days on the ground…). I look forward to including other new and varied work experiences along my travels, as well as considering what other options might give me more fulfillment in a permanent work arrangement.

Matanuska Peak

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When I first came to Palmer in 2007, I was taught to “always climb things that inspire you, regardless of their grade or requirements.” And I saw Matanuska Peak for the first time. It inspired me then, and now, so today I climbed it with two stellar local companions. 6,000′ vertical each way and 10 miles later, I’ll say I’ve earned my cheesy corn grits tonight. I’ll try to get a good photo of the overall peak and area tomorrow, I forgot to take one today…

Eluna- super awesome dog, and me, on the summit.

Not bad for a rainy day...

Coming down the cirque.

Stellar teammates. Thanks you two!

Exploring the Brooks Range

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Maybe its something about extremes, but Gates of the Arctic is the northern-most National Park in the US, and protects a vast expanse of the Brooks Range, the northern-most major mountain range in the world. I’ve wanted to get there since I first came to Alaska in 2007 and after one trip, it’s safe to say I’ll be back shortly. I was fortunate to use this opportunity to introduce my good friend Mackenzie from Valdez, AK to the fine art of backpacking. Mack is tough as nails, and stands out mostly to me for her willingness to jump into adversity and make the best of it. This trip was no exception, and we had a very good time.

There are no roads into Gates of the Arctic National Park. Just getting there is no small adventure- we drove 6 hours north from Fairbanks on the Dalton highway, sharing the partially paved road with massive industrial vehicles, Honda endurance motorbikes, and distinctly timid tourists. After checking in at the Arctic Interagency visitors center we left the car outside of an active mine walked west towards the park border. We didn’t get there the first night- it’s aways back in there, and we got our first fill of Alaska finest mosquitos, bushwhacking, and general bogginess. It being summer, we had continuous daylight, and didn’t really notice leaving the car at 10pm and making camp at 2am.

Crossing the Yukon River on our way north!

Ridgetop camps are awesome.

We spent 2 days moving up the Glacier River valley, then climbed a broad ridge to the northeast gaining 1,200′. There are no trails in Gates of the Arctic National Park, so while our mileage was low, our effort was not. After Denali and a short turnaround in Palmer, I felt no need to push for mileage as Mack and I got used to working together to sort out navigation, river crossings, and camping arrangements. Once on the ridge, we continued northeast towards Jesse Peak, then south along 10 miles of gorgeous ridgeline, staying more than 2,000′ above the river bed to the west. It was spectacular. Trails in the highcountry were furnished by the local Dall Sheep population, whom we were privileged to observe on several occasions. We walked when we wanted, we played cards when we wanted- we journaled and talked and listened to music off one iPod and one set of earbuds. Compared to the moutaineering and technical climbing I’ve focused on this year, it was a glorious vacation at the top of the world. Enjoy the photos…

Double rainbows are awesome.

Ridgetops are the fastest way to get around back here.

Post-trip, pre-shower, after dropping the bear cans.

Part 7: Teardown

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One of the stipulations of being on the Muldrow Glacier patrol was also to assist with tearing down the 7,000+ lbs of tents, food and supplied stored and used by the National Park Service at 14,000′ on the West Buttress route of Denali. This usually takes place every year in the second week of July and involves packing the camp into helicopter netloads, and flying the loads off using the A-Star helicopter taking ~500lbs per trip. My first patrol in 2009 (in which I was able to visit the South summit of the mountain), was conducted expressly to complete this purpose, so the task was not new to me.

This view seems familiar...

The best pooper view in the world?

July 8 myself and three others descended to the 14,000′ camp to begin teardown and meet another NPS patrol- two others stayed high to return to the south summit on July 9 as the good weather was sticking around. In hindsight, this left quite a bit more work for some of us down low. The Park Service often has a hard time figuring out when when and how to schedule and stage these loads, so teardown can be a cat and mouse game between the rangers on the ground, the weather, and helicopter availability. We pulled into camp, and the park administration immediately called wondering if we had loads ready to fly.

The next few days were lost in a blur of furious activity. The rest of our team arrived at 14 and we put our backs into getting things packed tight. The weather unfortunately, rewarded our efforts with a whiteout and unfliable conditions for 3 straight days. With loads rigged and ready, we were stuck until we could fly loads. Most volunteers had flights on the 14 and 15, so the evening of July 12, one ranger and 7 volunteers left on ski/snowshoe to walk to basecamp and fly out, while one ranger, myself, and 2 other volunteers with looser time commitments stayed behind to finish packing and fly loads once the weather broke. We knew we still had a lot of work to do, but it was a hurry up and wait situation, with 7 folks not being able to wait any longer. The 8 folks walking down had their own adventure in the horrendous conditions of the lower glacier- multiple cravasse falls, whiteout, and slogfest conditions were reported.

Just a little snow on the tent to shut down helicopter operations.

The morning of July 13, the clouds broke clear and we got word the helicopter was finally inbound. Starting around 9am, we sprinted to make the final arrangements, and fly off 15 helicopter net loads before the weather closed in. Not quite enough. We sat with 2 loads to go plus one trip for ourselves, and debated sitting on the mountain for another few days with minimal food and fuel, four guys to a tent. Around 7pm, things cleared up just enough to get the last loads, and ourselves, off the mountain. We felt a little like heros, but mostly we just felt worked- physical labor at 14k will drain you. We flew back to Talkeetna on the last flight and landed back in town around 9pm, just in time for last call at the West Rib. There was much celebration, and a nail biting finish to an outstanding expedition.

Thanks to Dave, Tom, and Minu for working like machines to get it done at the last minute. Thanks to Chris for bringing me on patrol in the first place. Thanks to Josh, Drew, and Bob for their unlimited encouragement and partnership. Thanks to Andy and Rico for the ride home. Thanks to Amanda, Margaret, and Michael for making Alaska feel like home away from home. Thanks to all of you for sharing the adventure with me, I’ll post more photos as I sort through them.

Minu and I, on the commute home after a hard days work...

stickthefeeling

engineering, adventure, and balance

Grabbing the Dragon’s Tail- The Serpentine Arete, 5.8, III

Portland #2: Roots

Dustin

Risk

Change-Up

Re-Dedicate

Get Your Hands Dirty

Matanuska Peak

Exploring the Brooks Range

Part 7: Teardown