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Ice and Glamour
Kevin and I had planned to climb Mt. Baker in June of 2006 during a week long trip to the Pacific Northwest in our attempt to bag 3 volcanoes in as little time. Due to weather, we ended up climbing one volcano and did a lot of fishing and beer drinking. It was probably for the better as there were only two of us, we planned to climb Baker via the Coleman Glacier, and standard practice for glacier travel should involve a minimum of three people. For those unfamiliar, a glacier is basically a large piece of ice, sometimes miles long, that flows downhill due to gravity. Total movement is usually measured in feet per year. Over the course of its travel, it may run over bumps and valleys that cause the glacier to crack and buckle. The cracks are called crevasses, and are interesting obstacles for climbers. Crevasses tend to run laterally across a glacier and are usually crossed by using a snow bridge, literally a frozen bridge of snow. The danger of course, is that snow bridges can break, and sometimes the crevasses are completely concealed and you don’t even know you’re on a snow bridge. This is where a rope and 3 climbers come in. Should one climber fall into a crevasse, the other two climbers should be able to stop the fall using ice axes and either the fallen climber can climb out, or the other climbers can set up a hauling system to pull the fallen climber out. With proper training and judgment, traveling on a large glacier is a relatively safe and incredible experience. In May of 2007, I flew to Seattle to meet my friends Kevin and Phil, specifically to climb Mt. Baker via the Coleman glacier. I walked off the plane to be greeted by both Phil and Kevin (they had never met before and had found each other somehow). We grabbed the rental car, drove north to Bellingham, and crashed in a Motel 6. We slept in, drove 30 miles east, stopped at the ranger station to get a permit and updated condition info, and followed a winding dirt road through thick forest to the trailhead. We should have been able to see Baker from here, but it was completely obscured by clouds. All we could see was the toe of the Roosevelt, one of the more impressive glaciers on Mt. Baker, and a few large waterfalls at its base. We slapped on our packs and hit the trail.
 Kevin (left) and Phil on the approach trail
There are a few things that I love about climbing volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest. A volcano covered in ice, fire and ice, surrounded by a ring of thick green forest, sticking up and out of the Earth and dominating the skyline for miles. Its chaos and serenity at the same time, and the mountain leans over you as you approach it. I was excited to finally set eyes and feet on Mt. Baker.
.jpg) Our first view of Baker's ice capped summit, 6000 vertical feet above us
The beginning of the trail winds around thick trees and over clear streams, meltwater from the glaciers. We can’t see Baker at first, but we can feel the cold air coming down from the mountain. Half an hour into the hike, Phil asks us how we’re feeling. It seemed out of place and I sensed something was wrong. He tells us that he’s “just not feeling it.” What?! He’s just not feeling the climb he says. He doesn’t feel like he’s in shape. It sounds like some sort of excuse to me because Phil out of shape is still in shape. Kevin and I convince him to continue and to see how he feels, but I know that he’s already made a decision. His head’s not in it. I think part of it is that he’s just a few months away from getting married. He’s talked about it a few times since the airport, and I think he just has a lot on his mind. We continue the hike, walking almost directly underneath a large waterfall, and then he tells us that he wants to go down. I try to talk him out of it, but he’s done. I didn’t show it but I was pissed off. We had planned this for months, taken the time off and spent the money. He says that we should head up without him, and that it’s perfectly safe to travel in twos on the glacier. That statement totally threw me back and made me even more upset, which I now made obvious. He knows that traveling in threes is standard practice on a glacier! He says he’ll drive back to Seattle and visit a friend there while we climb, and I think he wants Kevin and I to continue just so he can take the car. He was completely disregarding our safety. Kevin and I are forced to talk about the added risk of being without a third person on a glacier, the concern being how tough it would be for one person to stop a crevasse fall. Its early season and most of the crevasses will be covered with thick snow bridges, snow conditions are reported to be excellent this week, and the glacier itself isn’t very steep, but we don’t want to rely on not punching through. I’m not one to rely on luck, but to end the trip prematurely without at least having a look would be heartbreaking. Kevin and I decide to head up, and that we’ll turn back if we feel that we’re compromising our safety. We take the necessary gear from Phil and send him on his way, scheduling a meeting time for 3 days from now. I grumble under my breath about the added weight to my already heavy pack, and I hope Kevin isn’t upset that I had enlisted Phil as our 3rd partner. I had climbed and hiked with Phil countless times, and even spent a month with him climbing in Argentina a year or so back. Up until now not only had he been a great partner but he’d been a great friend. I was pissed off that he would abandon us but worried at the same time that something else was going on with him. Now weighing heavily on my mind, these were concerns that I would have to put off for a while if I was going to continue with Baker. Kevin and I work our way up through the forest, eventually moving from patchy to solid snow. The hike begins at 3000 feet, leaving almost 8000 feet of total gain to get to the summit, quite a haul. Our original goal was to make it to 6500 feet to camp for the night, but the Coleman glacier starts at 6000 feet and with just two of us we decide that we don’t want to cross the glacier with heavy packs. We’ll camp below the glacier and just have to deal with a long summit day. We continue moving up, and get excited when we get our first glimpse of Baker and its ice-capped summit through the clouds. We take some pictures and continue until we crest a small ridge at 5300 feet with an amazing view overlooking the chaotic Roosevelt Glacier.
.jpg) The chaotic Roosevelt glacier oozing from the upper slopes, our view from camp
The glacier is a maze of open crevasses and ice towers, and gives off a bluish glow. This is the first time I’ve seen such a massive and broken glacier up close, and it’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. With this view and the uncertainty of finding a better campsite any higher, we drop our packs. My only concern at this point is the 5500 feet we’ll have to gain on summit day. It’s a lot to chew in one day, especially when we’ll be carrying more than we’re used to: ropes, hardware for the glacier, and avalanche gear (avalanche gear usually consists of a shovel, a probe, and a locating beacon). I’m skeptical.
.jpg) Kevin on our rest day
Day 2 had been set aside as a rest day to practice crevasse rescue, so we slept in. We had the luxury of waiting for the sun to warm the tent before we got out of our sleeping bags, but the sun never completely showed itself. It was cloudy and rainy all day. We had recently practiced rescue scenarios with 3 people, but the technique is different with 2 so we went over it again and again, creating mock rescues on a slope near camp. We saw a guided group walking across the lower Roosevelt Glacier which gave great perspective as to how big it really was. We also kept our eyes on the icefall at the top of the Roosevelt glacier, high on the mountain where the glacier hangs onto an almost vertical rock face. Through the course of the day we would hear intense thunder-like cracking noises just as the icefall would release car-sized pieces of ice onto the glacier below, kicking up huge clouds of snow. A powerful and awesome thing.
.jpg) 6 climbers on the Roosevelt glacier
Now, I’m not sure which one of us started it, but at some point one of us started singing Fergie’s “Glamourous.” It was the last song we had heard on the radio in the car on the drive up, and we both admitted that it had been stuck in our heads since we hit the trail the day before. If you haven’t heard the song, Fergie spells out and sings the word glamorous over and over, and at some point there’s a line in there that goes something like, “if you ain’t got no money take your broke ass home.” Needless to say, this is a song probably most popular with teenage girls. I pictured the scene from the outside...what would someone think if they walked up on these two supposed mountaineers, roped together and ice axes in hand, singing about how glamorous we were?
.jpg) The Roosevelt
We were only occasionally able to see Baker’s summit, but it was a remarkable sight from camp. It gave me a spooky feeling, re-appearing and then re-disappearing into the clouds. We had an easy night, made a tasty freeze-dried dinner, melted some snow for water, and turned in early. We had plans to wake up at 1 am for an early departure, as it’s safer and easier to ascend early before the snow softens up. At 1am the alarm goes off, and we wake up to the sound of heavy rain on the tent. To me it’s the sound of our chance at the summit disappearing. We decide to go back to sleep and get up again in an hour. Still raining. We give it yet another hour. The rain sounds a little lighter, and we decide to give it a go, now or never. It takes an hour plus to eat, get dressed, and get our packs together and at 4:30 am, we’re ready to go. The rain had just about stopped, but visibility is poor and I can hardly make Kevin out 30 feet away. Since we won’t know for sure when we’re getting onto the glacier, I keep a close eye on my altimeter and at just under 6000 feet we rope up. We continue up an easy slope, and at 7000 feet and 7am we come up through the clouds. The sun is out and the views are amazing. Now I’m awake and excited, it’s a beautiful day and I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
.jpg) 7am and through the weather
We can see open crevasses off to the sides, but the center of the glacier is in excellent shape so we work our way up the middle. Snowbridges tend to sag a little and can collect light powder snow blown over by the wind, so every time I cross what looks like a slightly brighter stripe across the glacier, I warn Kevin and he keeps the rope a little tighter. Since I’m leading and we’re moving uphill, it would be pretty tough for me to fall in and drag Kevin upwards and into a crevasse, he can most likely stop me from falling in just by standing there. It would be more of a struggle if Kevin were to fall in and pull me downhill, so when Kevin crosses, I watch carefully. I keep a little bit of slack in the rope so that if Kevin does punch through, I have more time to react. Since we weigh about the same, once I've crossed a snowbridge, it’s a safe assumption that it will hold for Kevin but all the same I keep my fingers wrapped tightly around the head of my axe, the proper grip already in place in the event that I need to use it. The glacier is at a moderate angle, and is covered in smooth windswept snow. There are chunks of ice spotting the glacier in the distance, fallen debris from the upper slopes. It is a beautiful environment, and I feel lucky to be a part of it for a short time. We make smooth and steady progress for a few hours, taking the occasional break to refuel. At 9000 feet we come across a large band of paper white snow, our sixth or seventh suspected crevasse. This one was a little bit larger, maybe 15 feet across. I warn Kevin and he keeps a close eye. I put one foot onto the snow bridge, then my second foot, and the bridge collapses. A combination of my pack and the rope pulling tight stops me at my waist, my feet dangling into nothing. I spin around using my hands, make eye contact with Kevin, kick my crampons into the wall of the crevasse, and climb out. Kevin thinks its funny that I took the time to look at him, but it all seemed like a split second to me. I take a look at the hole where I punched through. Blackness. The fall didn’t frighten me as much as I thought it would, and if anything, it boosted my confidence. It happened the way it was supposed to. We sidetrack 50 feet or so and I test the snow bridge. It breaks again, this time with just one foot, so we traverse another 100 feet. Solid. We cross and continue the climb as the wind picks up. Now on the upper half of the Coleman Glacier, the snow has turned solid and we hardly leave a mark. I can feel the purchase of ice beneath my crampons with every step and it feels and sounds good. A sub-summit of Baker, Colfax peak, towers over our right side, with Baker to our left. A series of rounded humps and ledges mark the end of the Coleman glacier and separate us from the Roman wall, a steep slope leading up between two towers of ice, the last obstacle before we reach the summit plateau.
.jpg) The Roman Wall
As we get closer to the Roman Wall, the wind becomes violent as if a switch had been flipped. It feels like its going right through me, and at this point that I realize we’ve been moving for six hours and that I’m tired. The wind blows tiny bits of ice and snow across the glacier, the way you’d see a dust storm tearing through open land in a movie about the wild west. Its so thick that it’s hard to see my feet sometimes, and its very intimidating to say the least. We stop for a few minutes to rest. I think about turning back, and Kevin can see it in my face. It would be pretty easy to turn around right now, especially with the hardest part of the climb staring us in the face. I can definitely think of more reasons to go down than to go up, but I knew that I would regret it. It would haunt me and I would have to come back.
Windy conditions
.jpg) 2 climbers starting up the Roman Wall
I look around again and notice that there are two climbers ahead of us, a couple that we had met on the glacier. We had spoken briefly, and after telling them we were from San Diego, they commented on how nice the weather was there. Kevin replied with “yeah, its boring,” and made us all appreciate our current position. The couple doesn’t seem to be struggling with the wind, and I realize that we’re at a saddle between Baker and Colfax, a natural wind tunnel. We push on and the wind eases up considerably as we start up the Roman Wall, good thing. The climbing becomes steep, but manageable. Even though we’re off the Coleman, we stay roped up due to the two huge open crevasses in the Easton Glacier waiting for us at the bottom of the slope. We put our heads down and concentrate on our foot and ice axe placements. After what seems like the longest hour of my life, we top out and reach the summit plateau with 3 other climbers who had carried skis up and were planning on making us extremely jealous during the descent.
.jpg) Kevin tops out on the summit plateau
The summit of Mt. Baker is a huge circular plateau, with a 150 foot bump on one side, the high point within a 100 mile radius. Kevin and I unrope, drop our packs, and make the walk over. This was one of my more emotional summits. It was one of the longest and most challenging summit days I’d ever had, and the rewards were great. It was also the first time I’d felt such a strong bond with another climber. There is an emotional element that goes along with being roped to somebody else, knowing that your lives depend on each other, sharing the hardships and the experiences of being in such a beautiful and hostile environment. Once on top, we celebrate the views with the skiers and everyone high-fives and hugs each other. There is a thick cloud cover below, and only the tallest peaks in the area penetrate the clear sky. We can see another volcano, Glacier Peak to the east, and Rainier to the south, an unbelievable 110 miles away. A large fumarole below us pumps the smell of sulfur into the air, and we only realize its size when we see 3 climbers down below, heading down the Easton Glacier.
.jpg) Kevin enjoying his view from the top
 The wind pulling my ice axe leash
.jpg) 3 climbers descending the Easton glacier near a giant fumarole
It being so late in the day, we don’t waste much time. Thanks to our late start, its noon and we should be half way down by now. Not to mention that even with our down jackets on, the cold is making us question our plans for Alaska. It hadn’t bothered us too much on the way up since we never stopped moving for more than a minute or two, but now it was catching up to us. We take our pictures and start the descent. We pick up our packs, re-rope up, and two hours later we’re almost off the glacier. At this point, we’d been moving for 10 hours straight. We‘re both exhausted, and I was feeling particularly weak as I have a bad habit of not eating or drinking enough when it’s that cold. We stop to rest, collapse, and lay there for a few minutes. One of us starts singing, “G. L. A. M. O. R. O-U-S, we’re glam-or-ous!” We laughed heartily, a bit delirious.
.jpg) Resting on the Coleman during the descent
It was freezing up top, but now it was smoking hot. The intense afternoon sun reflecting off the glacier was creating an oven-like atmosphere. We peeled off a few layers, ate and drank, and continued down, eventually hiking back into the clouds. Visibility was again low and the snow was soft. Clouds act like a blanket around the earth, preventing the snow below the cloud layer from freezing overnight. We should have been down to camp before the afternoon sun turned the snow into slush, but now we were sinking to our knees with every step. Postholing. I hate postholing. Every step is a chore and progress is slow. We take frequent breaks and I eat mouthfuls of snow when the urge arises. Once off the glacier, we unrope and attempt to slide down the final snow slope on our butts, but the snow is too soft. We suck it up and make the final steps into camp. As I get into the tent, pull off my boots and lay down, I think of one of my favorite quotes:
"But I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, his greatest fulfillment of all he holds dear, is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious"- Vince Lombardi
It’s now 4pm, almost 12 hours after we left for the summit. Before I fall asleep, Kevin and I entertain the idea of staying another night. We had arranged to meet Phil today, but if we don’t have the energy to make it down tonight, he can and better be there waiting for us tomorrow. I sleep for half an hour, which gave me enough energy to eat some chocolate and an energy bar, which gave me enough energy to help Kevin pack up camp. With the thought of a nice warm hotel bed, we head out. Since we had initially planned to be down earlier, and we were going to be descending in the dark, there was a concern that Phil would not be there waiting for us. He might just assume we’re coming out the next day, and take off for the night. Kevin says that if he’s not there, he’s going to punch him in the face. I know Phil’s a good guy, but if we end up camping on the side of the road after all this, a punch in the face sounds reasonable. We snowshoe down from camp, stumbling around with our big packs and weak legs, eventually trading the snowshoes for headlamps and finishing the hike through the forest in the dark. At 9pm we come off the trail, where Phil was waiting and had been waiting all day. As I pick my legs up and put them in the car, I feel guilty that I thought there was a chance Phil wouldn’t be here. A 17 hour day, one of my longest and toughest, and not coincidentally one of my most memorable. We get a clear moonlight view of Baker on the drive out. Phil and I never really spoke about what happened on Mt. Baker. We didn’t talk very often for a few months, I went to his wedding in July, and we started hiking and climbing together again when he returned from a long work trip in October. Back to normal and no grudges. My only regret is the lost opportunity, because the only thing better than climbing a great mountain with one friend is climbing it with two.
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