Mt Logan attempt, September 4th-6th, 1999
The plan this weekend was Mt. Logan, a fairly remote peak just east of the main crest of the North Cascades, and one of the state's 10 non-volcanic peaks over 9000ft. Labour Day weekend provided the three days needed to climb this peak.After deciphering the approaches in the Becky guide, we decided the most painless way in was via Thunder and Fisher creeks, to the Banded glacier. This way, it was a mere 15 miles and 4000ft to get to base camp.
We arrived at the Marblemount ranger station to get our permits before they opened (so we could self-issue). Another party was there issuing themselves a permit for Boston Basin... that place has a quota, so you can't self issue.
Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the Thunder Creek trailhead (in the Colonial Creek campground). Greg was first into the campground bathroom, and had a very traumatic experience there. While he was in stall #2, another person ("all I could tell is he was wearing white running shoes", Greg would later say) rushed into the bathroom and tried to make it to the toilet in stall #1. He didn't quite make it, and instead defecated on the bathroom floor, only a foot or two away from the toilet. And a foot or two away from stall #2, containing Greg. Greg emerged from the bathroom clearly very disturbed.
An accident in the bathroom (photo by Jesse)
Our own morbid curiosity dictated that we each go and see it for ourselves. I am not better for the experience. I joked about taking a picture, but then Jesse said "I'll do it". And he did.
Sometime later, a 10-ish kid walked by with his father. Greg whispered to us "I think it was him", pointing to the kid's white running shoes. We could vaguely remember this same kid hurriedly walking by us toward the bathroom, shortly before the incident.
A (perhaps intoxicated?) woman dressed in dark clothes (black leather?) passed by us this fine
morning and asked us if we were climbers and where we were headed. She told us her husband
once took her mountain climbing.
"He asked me and mah son, do you want to go to the beach, or the snow. Our son was all excited
about the snow, so we said 'the snow'.
"Ah don't know which mountain it wuz. Rainier maybe, or something."
She rambled on about how there were switchbacks, and it made it really difficult. Everyone of
them fell, because of them damn switchbacks.
"Now when mah husband asks us where we wanna go fer vacation, Ah jus' say, 'I don't care, you just
take us whereever'".
Which way to McAllister Camp?
Shortly after 8am, we left the trailhead, elevation 1200ft, on our way to the summit of Mount Logan, elevation 9100ft. Nearly 8000 vertical feet of "Cascadeness" stood between us and the summit.
The flat miles along the river bottom went by fairly quickly. Occasionally we were treated to views of the neighbouring peaks rising steeply from the valley, and dusted with snow. The day was cool and overcast, perfect for hiking (the forecast had been for sun on this day). The cloud deck was high and non-threatening though, and none of the peaks were shrouded in clouds.
A Greg Witch sighting
The breaks came every few miles... at Junction Camp, we lounged in the soft, green, dry moss that covered everything on the forest floor. We thought about cutting out rectangular thermarest-sized strips of moss and using them to sleep on, but decided the rangers wouldn't like that.
ICM (Incredibly comfortable moss).
Here we turned up the Fisher Creek valley and the trail became more rugged, climbing and descending more than the dotted line on the USGS map would suggest.
At long last, we came to the stream marking the end of our trail travel, and the beginning of a 1600ft bushwhack up to an un-named lake north of Logan. Here, we were 14 miles from the road. At first we climbed on a faint path through open forest. Later, the path mostly disappeared, and the brush became thicker. We encountered several cliff bands, requiring class 3 moves on exposed dirt. This non-trivial bushwhack wasn't even mentioned in the approach. Such is the nature of the Cascades. At least we were no longer on the trail, and thus were not threatened by the difficult switchbacks which so troubled that woman-dressed-in-black's family.
Mossy forest near the Fisher Creek / Thunder Creek junction.
The terrain finally flatened out and we knew we were close to the lake. Still, it seemed to take forever to cross brushy little knolls and sidehills... we ended up in a swampy area, thinking this might be the lake. As we battled brush to find a suitable camping spot, we found the real lake, and a small open area in which to camp. The bugs were out in force... not suprising considering we were immediately adjacent to a lake and a swamp.
The white specks in the picture are mosquitos
We set up while fully clothed from head to toe to avoid the insects, and then scouted out the route for the next day. The terrain from here was very confusing, and we had a fun time trying to match the features we saw to the map. In front of us was a melange of lake, talus slopes, cliff bands, glacier ice, ice falls, rock pinnacles. We eventually realized we could clearly see Thunder Peak from our vantage, and decided on a route for tomorrow, which would bring us up 2500ft to the top of a ridge. Beyond this, we could not see, but we had to descend onto the Banded glacier and ascend it to near Logan's summit.
The view from our camp on the lake.
As night came, the skies cleared somewhat, and we were hopeful that the forecast wouldn't come true (rain, rain, more rain). The plan was to wake up at 6am, with a preliminary 5am weather check (and get up then if the skies were clear).
5am came and went with overcast socked-in skies. The 6am alarm sounded, and we grudgingly awoke. My body was still exhausted from yesterday's long approach. I felt mentally rested, but physically tired. At approximately 6:01am, it began to rain. By 6:02am, it was a downpour. This downpour continued until exactly noon, when we finally got out of our tents and bivy sacs.
Matt Cary, a student of The Force
We slowly ate breakfast amidst the bugs, and prepared for the hike out. The plan was get as far as possible down the trail, and continue out the rest of the way on Monday.
Jesse looked at the tarps he had been sleeping on. There were large puddles of water on them. Large enough to fill water bottles. Jesse couldn't stop talking about how good the water on his tarp looked. Nice and clean, we wouldn't need to purify it.
The bivy folks were pretty soaked, while Stephen and I, in a tent, faired quite a bit better.
nih hee hee!
The bushwhack down to the trail was an adventure in itself. The wet plants and dirt made everything more dangerous. All the brush was downsloping, making footing extremely difficult. It was basically "lower yourself by holding onto thin plants". Progress was slow.
Soon, we encountered a fairly high cliff band we couldn't recall from the way up. 20 minutes of probing the brush on either side finally provided a sketchy passage, preventing the need for a rappel. From here on, we did better than the way up, and encountered no more cliff bands.
Time for Jesse's meds.
It rained on and off throughout the day, and we made it to Tricouni camp, 2000ft, before darkness set in. Here, Jesse and Greg continued in the dark to the trailhead. Jesse was totally soaked, and saw no reason to spend another wet night in the woods, when he could be at Bumpershoot instead (where he would, we later found out, be ridiculed by a street performer). Greg was ambivalent, but because of the car situation, it was better if he accompanied Jesse.
Matt, Stephen and I settled ourselves in for the night at the otherwise deserted Tricouni Camp. Stephen tried to start a fire with some wet wood by burning it on his Whisperlite. It worked... until he removed the Whisperlite, and the flames were promptly extinguished by the wetness. Matt and I tried to set up a covered area with two tarps, but it ended up having several gaps in it, and we were occasionally caught by deluges of accumulated rain water on top of the tarp. Matt slept under this tarp system, and it kept the rain off of him, except for the tarps periodically releasing their water on his feet.
Matt and the Great Dead Tree.
On Monday, we hiked out the remaining 8 miles in less than three hours, contemplating the intense mossiness of Thunder Creek valley, and how if you left some gear, say your pack, or even yourself, in one spot for too long, it would probably be assimilated into the Moss Collective, never to be seen again.
Somewhere along the way, a helicopter zoomed overhead. I wondered if there had been a rescue.
Suspension bridge across Thunder Creek.
Upon arriving back at the trailhead, or just before, we paused to read all the informational signs... as if we weren't quite ready to leave the quiet green of the forest...
The bathroom was clean.
Forest along Thunder Creej.
We went to the Buffalo restaurant for lunch, and realized we each had a growing dislike for the place, mainly in the area of service... but also, as Matt pointed out, because it was a greasy spoon that was trying to be upscale (with the prices that accompany that), but failing to realize that there are just some inalienable facts... such as, it will always just be a greasy spoon. Our waitress never smiled, and didn't talk much. She forgot Matt's milk. Every picture or painting on the wall had a buffalo in it. Everywhere you look. Buffalo.
We stopped in at the ranger station to sign out. Our ranger friend Ingrid was there... I inquired about the helicopter, and she said that there had been a report of a guy with a parapente, or parachute, that had hiked in to somewhere around MacGregor Mountain, jumped off, and gotten caught in the trees. They found nothing.
Whitehorse Mountain and some bicycles on top of some moving car, from Darrington.
We arrived back in Seattle by mid-afternoon, but still had to return Greg's car to him. We caravaned over there, Matt and I in our respective trucks, and Stephen driving Greg's car. On the way, a green Becky guide emerged from the back of Matt's truck with explosive force, landing in the opposite lane, and getting run over by several cars. Matt was oblivious to the heroic rescue Stephen and I performed for his book.