Gray Wolf Blog

The first glimpse I had of Mt. Shasta came about two hours south of the mountain. It was a nondescript stretch of I-5 which amplified the heat radiating from the surrounding valley. The waves coming off the asphalt almost made the first sighting appear to be a mirage as it was be hard to distinguish between the low lying hills and the mountain in the distance. But the snow capped summit was visible and could not be mistaken. Already a bit nervous about my first attempt to summit, as well as my first solo outing, the mountain weighted heavily on my mind.

I had not heard of Mt. Shasta until the fall of 1986. I had driven across country from Maryland to California and was heading north to Portland to visit some friends. At the time, it seemed to be unassailable. Something to look at in awe as we sped past at 70 mph. It was now six years later and I had been planning to turn 29 on the mountain for some time. I had spent numerous weekends climbing Indian Trail on Mt. Tam just north of San Francisco, but only mountain climbing can prepare you for mountain climbing. Still, it gave me a little idea of what to expect and help toughen up my feet.

Another hour north and there is no denying the presence. At times Shasta peeks out from the foothills, other times the south face appears. Clouds appear then vanish. 30 miles out you dive into the valley and the freeway runs along the river through Dunsmuir. A long uphill grade brings you towards Mt. Shasta City and the enormity of the mountain becomes even more apparent.

I had decided to climb the most popular route – Avalanche Gulch. Since it was my first time on the mountain and my first time soloing, I figured my odds would be better if I could follow the paths of others. Avalanche Gulch is considered the "easiest" route on the mountain, but the Fifth Season trail map stated that only 50% of the people make it to the summit from this approach. As I was climbing in late September and California was in it’s sixth year of drought, crampons and ice axe would not be required.

After stopping in town to register at the ranger station and get some bottled water I headed up the Everret Memorial Highway for about 12 miles until I came to Bunny Flat at 6800. It was possible to continue on for several more miles to the Old Ski bowl at 7400, but I wanted to stick to my plan. Great views of the south side approach can be had from the parking lot. The Heart and Red Banks are clearly visible along with Helen lake and the Middle Moraines. I loaded up my pack, adjusted my boots and started out on the trail for Horse Camp. You quickly pass Green Butte ridge to the right which is a popular starting spot for winter ridge approaches. The trail is well marked and climbs steadily. About a mile out you pass by a rain gauge. Still below the timberline, the mountain pops out every now and then.

At Bunny Flat parking lot

Another 30-40 minutes past the rain gauge, you arrive at Horse Camp and the Sierra Club Hut. This is the last place to get fresh water, if the spring is running. There are solar toilet facilities and a modest fee if you would like to camp overnight. I was packing all of my water as I believed that there would be little snow left at Helen Lake and that would be loaded with pumice and ash. The hike to Horse Camp is a good warm up for the next phase through the moraines.

Leaving Horse Camp also means leaving the tree line and the contrast begins immediately. A great gift to all who use the mountain is the Olberman causeway which is a stone path constructed by Max Olberman using only a large iron bar. The size of some of the boulders moved by this method is truly impressive.

After leaving the Causeway, the ground became dusty and loose. Being a dormant volcano, Shasta is always in a state of disintegration and rebuilding. With no snow cover, this meant climbing through loose scree and pumice, a much more difficult task than crampons on snow. I had left the parking lot around 1:00 pm and the Causeway around 2:30. I estimated another 2.5 hours and 3400 elevation to get to Helen Lake at 10800. I was soon presented with a split in the trail. One appeared to go to the left and along the base of Casaval ridge, while the other went to the right and appeared to weave between the middle moraines. I elected to proceed to the right and was quickly scrunching my way through the pumice.

The middle moraines are a series of large dirt piles that have been created over a very long time by large rocks falling down the mountain and becoming small rocks as they descend. These moraines probably receive their greatest contributions from the ridges which flank them to the north (Casaval) and the south (Green Butte). Rock fall continues unabated and can be the most dangerous after the snow has hardened. Rocks can then pick up enormous velocity as they hurl themselves down the steep slopes. But that’s a different story.

The trail was fairly easy to follow. As long as you are heading up, you are going in the right direction. When there is no snow cover, the dust and dirt is everywhere. The wind was light, but gusts would occur coating my sweating skin. Climbing through scree is pretty tough. It’s almost as loose as sand, but you can also twist your ankle on the loose rock.

A half hour out from Horse Camp, I made it past the first big moraine. I rested for a bit and followed the trail with my eyes as it lead to Helen Lake. It was still a ways off. The features of the mountain become sharper and all the photographs you may have seen of Shasta Rama or Sergeant’s Ridge pale in comparison to the actual experience. After my brief stop, I set out towards the other moraines and began employing mental games to keep my mind off the remaining climb. Another hour and a half passed and I was at the base of Lake Helen. There are areas to camp at the third moraine, but I wanted to get as much elevation out of the way on the first day.

You lose direct sun fairly quick as Casaval ridge looms to the north. Temps drop accordingly. I was so heated up after four hours of hiking that I did not pay attention until I started to shiver. Hat on head and some hot soup helped stem the tide. Controlling body temperature is a big challenge while climbing. Id you sweat too much while climbing, your clothes will be soaked and you will get chilled quickly if the wind picks up.

The trails went to either side of Helen Lake, but I decided that the quickest way would be to hike directly up the face of this rather large talus slope. Needless to say, I wouldn’t recommend it. You climb the steepest slope over loose rock when you are the most tired. One bonus: I found the seat for the pit toilet which had been thrown down the hill. With that trophy in hand, I finally made the crest and found where the seat had originated. Fortunately, I didn’t disturb anyone enjoying that fine view.

Helen Lake is really just another big pile of rocks and dirt that has a fairly level top. Numerous rock rings have been constructed to help break the wind. There were a number of other climbers setting up camp. I found an empty ring and got my pack off my back. It was 5:00 pm.

I had a few hours before sunset. A good thing to have is a tripod chair and a pair of sandals. I had neither so I sat on my pack and stuck my feet in the dirt. After about twenty minutes, I rousted myself up, put my boots back on and began to set up camp. I set up my tent, broke out the stove and began preparing dinner. I was glad that I lugged my water, even though there were plenty of people chipping the brown chunk of ice that had somehow made it through the summer. I was so hopped on adrenaline that I ignored some tell tale signs of altitude adjustment. I chowed on my reconstituted food, finished it off with some hot cider, couple handfuls of trail mix, and watched the stars come out.

One of the most amazing things about climbing on Mt. Shasta is watching the mountain come out of and go into the darkness. During the day, you think you getting the clearest picture, but I think that it is at the in between stages of day and night that a much different portrait appears. Because you are so high, you can see the night spread across the valley floor, yet the sun may still be reflecting off the tops of clouds. The mountain appears to melt or merge with the valley as the darkness approaches. When there is no moon, you can’t see your hand in front of your face. When the moon is full, you can read a book.

The wind picked up and the temp dropped a little more. It was probably in the low 40’s; nothing like a winter time assault. I wanted to get to sleep early so I could be on the trail by 7 am. I was definitely tired and thought I would have little problem racking out. I had a fairly consistent pain in my lower back, but it wasn’t the kind that comes from pack strain. I was also starting to get a headache. This was a perfect time to take some Tylenol and get a good night sleep. Of course, I did not bring any so I had a most restful night tossing and turning and making another note in the things not to forget on the mountain list.

I was awake well before my watch alarm went off. Perhaps I had gotten four hours combined. I still had my headache. I had read a few books about climbing and the effects of altitude. This was a classic sign. Making my way out of the tent, I saw that some other climbers were already on their way out. I greeted the group across from me who were also just rising. When I explained my predicament, one fellow took mercy on my poorly prepared self and gave me two Tylenol. I thanked him heartily, wished them luck and started to get ready.

The Tylenol had a near immediate effect and my spirits lifted. I could see that the sun was just starting to rise, but Helen Lake was still dark. I forced myself to eat a decent breakfast even though I had no hunger. The hot cider did the trick and I headed off to greet the breaking sun with the ultimate panorama of the valley. It’s a pretty weird feeling sitting on a pit toilet at 10800 with another 3362 rising up behind you. Coming back to camp, I could see the early risers advancing on the switch backs heading towards the heart. Preparing my day pack, I got a sweet jolt of adrenaline. This is what I had been planning for. From the first pass six years before to the purchase of trails maps I had mapped out my plan on how to climb the mountain and now it was time to execute.

Looking back at Helen Lake

I got my day pack ready and was quite relieved that I would not be needing crampons or ice axe since I had brought neither. The trail leading out of Helen Lake was fairly well established. As there was no snow or ice, a long series of switch backs led through the scree and up towards the Heart. I was able to see other climbers further up the slope, so I started out. It was 7:30 am.

The slope steepend quickly as I left Helen Lake. Scree provides more of a firm climbing surface than sand, but not by much. I was wearing my gortex jacket and a pair of shorts. Several changes of socks along with two quarts of water and various other necessities were stowed in my hip pack. I had loaded up with accessories at REI and was glad that I had decided to get a pair of mountaineering glasses, rather than depend on a standard pair. The leather flaps on the side of the glasses were very effective in keeping ash and pumice from getting into my eyes.

About an hour out of Helen Lake, I started to get a rather dull pain in my middle back. This was accompanied by a rather queasy feeling in my stomach. I estimated my elevation to be around 11500 and didn’t need a physician to tell me I was feeling the effects of altitude. Fortunately, I had been given a couple extra Tylenol by my camp mates. These eased the pain in my back and, after a brief rest for some chocolate, my stomach churned less.

Approaching Red Banks – The chutes are off to the left.

As I continued upward, the sun began to rise over the mountain. I had cooled down quick during my brief rest, but I was soon removing my jacket. Sun block and a tethered cap followed. I was now approaching the Heart, which is a large protruding formation and is the proverbial fork in the road. I could see the earlier climbers proceeding of to the
right or east towards the Red Banks. Since this was my first time on the mountain, I decided that the brightest course of action would be to take the route that no one else was on and I headed off to the left or north. While the original trail had been traveled on enough to leave a discernible trail, I quickly discovered why very few had chosen my special route.

The slopes were very unstable, so I was forced to stay close to the Heart, picking my way over rocks for about 45 minutes until I reached the chimney formation. This formation was built by the melting waters of the glacier that rested behind it. The glaciers had cut slots in the formation in 60 to 70 degree slope. As I got closer, I could see that the ice was still present in the slots and the slots were much wider than I had expected; about six feet across. I was in a bit of a predicament. I could climb back down to the Heart and then climb back up the correct path, but I had expended so much energy during this stage, that I was not enthusiastic about surrendering my altitude so quickly.

After examining several of the chutes, I found one that appeared to have a path to the glacier. The only problem was that I had to climb about 25-30 feet up the face of the chimney to reach the spot. The rock at the base of the chimney was decent, but as I ascended it deteriorated rapidly. At about 20 feet, it turned to shale and I was afraid to go higher. I was also afraid to climb back down. There was one last option. The other side of the slot had a small flat patch of ground that led to another path to the glacier. The only problem was that it would require a jump across six feet of highly inclined ice. I
knew that I would be unable to clear the slot in one jump and that I would need a spot in the middle that I could land on.

As I look back on the events that were about to occur, I am definitely made aware of how lucky I was not to be severely injured or worse. Perhaps it is the fact that a certain combination of adrenaline and determination can over come a situation that would not normally be attempted. Perhaps.

I was now determined to jump across the slot. Holding onto the face with my left hand, I leaned out over the ice and began hacking out a landing area for my boot in the middle of the flow. The ice was about a foot thick and I was able to cut a three by three area. I positioned myself on the face. It seemed to make the most sense to hit the patch and push off with my inside leg (left). I adjusted my gear so that nothing would slip or come loose.

Having never jumped out of a plane, I find it hard making the comparison, but will do so anyway. This moment happened some time ago, but it is still burned into my memory. Holding the face, no one else around, well aware of the fact that this gamble could cost me big, things became very quiet. I focused on the patch, took a breath and leapt.

My biggest fear was that I would slip on impact or when I pushed off. I hit the ledge square and pushed off. Concentrating on the open patch across the slot, I landed with my right leg. The slope caused me to land off balance and I reached for an outcrop to steady myself. Unfortunately, it was a large, loose piece of shale that separated from the hill and fell straight for my knee. I jerked myself against the face and watched the rock go racing down the chute and explode on the larger rocks below.

I didn’t wait to ponder how my body might have reacted to such a toboggan ride, as the adrenaline was coursing through my body. My assessment had been right: there was a path to the glacier. The slope decreased as I scrambled up the slot. The ice had melted on the south side of the slot and I was able to get decent footing. Another five or ten minutes and I was standing of level ground looking out over the valley. And I was only half way to the summit.

The chimney route had taken me further north than the traditional route through the Red Banks. The wind picked up a bit and the sun was shining brightly. I put my gortex shell back on as my sweat soaked shirt became clammy in a hurry. I headed off to the south, across the foot of the glacier and re-connected with the trail about twenty to thirty minutes later. I was now above the southern part of the Red Banks and stopped to rest, re-fuel and change socks. There were a number of large rocks that proved to be effective wind breaks. It was so quiet with just the sound of the wind and dust hitting the rocks.

This took around ten to fifteen minutes and I was soon back on the trail. Thin bamboo sticks helped mark the proper path from the Red Banks. Another twenty minutes or so brought me to Misery Hill. Misery Hill was completely exposed and I could see a long set of switch backs climbing the barren slope. I would venture that this stretch is so aptly named in that one has spent a good two to three hours getting through the Red Banks, only to be confronted with another significant climb.

By this point, the adrenaline had worn off, and the large chunks of ground that I had covered under it’s influence began to exact their toll. The temperature rose into the mid 70’s and I removed my shell. It became a series of one foot after another with the ash swirling around to coat every open pore. I had already gone through one quart of
water and need to ration the remaining to get me back to the summit and back to Helen Lake. It took about a half an hour to reach the top of Misery Hill, where, for the first time, the summit came into view.

From Misery Hill, you trek another fifteen to twenty minutes across the summit plateau. The summit is only a couple hundred feet higher than the plateau. The plateau goes across the top of the Whitney Glacier, which drops off dramatically. The trail to the summit starts on the north side of the summit, near some active sulfur springs. It winds it’s way around until you finally emerge. The summit itself is not particularly dramatic and leads to the adage "Do you climb the mountain in order to reach the summit or do you reach the summit in order to climb the mountain?" That being said, I was euphoric when I was able to sit at the top and place my name in the register. Several others were at the summit and while hellos were exchanged, everyone seemed content to let the silence sink in. It had taken around four hours and fifteen minutes, so of which I attributed to the little detour.

Approaching the summit

I enjoyed the summit view for about fifteen minutes, changed socks again and got ready for the descent. Overstating the obvious, it sure was easier to walk down hill. As I came down Misery Hill, I passed the fellows who had provided me with the critical dose of Tylenol. We spoke briefly and I could more than empathize with the weary, yet determined look in their eyes. I followed the trail back to the Red Banks and descended through a cut in the formation. This brought me to another series of switch backs from which I could see Helen Lake. My pace quickened and I strode/slid through the loose rock and pumice. Clouds of ash coated me as the afternoon sun showered the hill side.

Looking south west from the summit

Looking back across the summit plateau

My legs were a bit wobbly as I stumbled into camp a little over two hours after reaching the summit. A brief rest for water and some chow. Loaded up the trusty Kelty, swung it on my back and headed down yet another series of switch backs.

A little over an hour later, I trudged into the Sierra Club hut. I filled up my water bottles from the sweet spring, cast a glance over my shoulder and struck out for Bunny Flat. I was feeling a bit woozy, but the euphoria still reigned. The thought of the parking lot getting closer with each step was a big comfort. A light breeze was rustling through the pine trees and I drank in the sweet smell of mountain air. What good is life, if you don’t do some living?

Finally, the parking lot came into view and I was able to drop my pack. Bunny Flat affords magnificent views of the mountain. I loaded up the car, eased out of the lot and headed down the EMH. Spent and happy, I grabbed a burger and turned south on I-5. I kept sneaking glances over my shoulder and in the rear view mirror until distance obscured her from my view. See you soon, my friend.

Here’s a thousand words

At different times during the descent, I would look back to see just how high I had climbed. I remembered looking up at the slope in the morning, not knowing what to expect. After the descent, I was in more awe of the mountain than when I had started. Ignorance can get you to the mountain, but transcendence makes you return. You are fortunate indeed, if you can find a spot that lends itself to both physical and mental challenge. Mount Shasta makes it for me.